by Tom Deitz
“At Your Majesty’s will.”
Barrax indulged himself in a full glass of thick Eronese wine and a slice of buttered bread as he paced the room. It was times like this he needed someone to confide in. Some beloved kinsman. A bond-brother, perhaps, such as the Eronese had. Such as his son all but had. He had his own opinions on these and other matters, but he needed someone he could trust, dammit. Someone whose agenda mirrored his own, and who valued the same things he did.
Briefly furious, he flung the goblet at the nearest tent pole, not caring that expensive glass shattered. He was pouring another as the guard entered, with two others. Kraxxi stood between them, dressed in a clean belted robe of Ixtian cut and Eronese cloth, shaved and bathed and with his hair combed, but looking gaunt for all that. He was also barefoot and barelegged beneath the padded shackles that bound his ankles and his wrists. His eyes, however, were calm.
Without asking, the guards thrust him into the seat vacated by the Chief of the Ninth. Barrax wondered idly if it was still warm, and if Kraxxi would notice, as he’d seemed to notice other things Barrax hadn’t expected.
“Lord Lynnz and I have been discussing your fate,” Barrax rumbled, giving neither name, relationship, nor title, as he had vowed not to do in Kraxxi’s presence.
Kraxxi, as was typical, did not reply.
“You are allowed to speak.”
“I have already told you what I had to say.”
“About the gem?”
“I gave you Eron. You should either give me freedom or end my life.”
Barrax glared at him. “The woman gave me far more of Eron than you did. But tell me, what form would this freedom take? Would you go north or south?”
“Perhaps I would do neither. Perhaps I would go where there is none of this endless contention and playing of games. Perhaps I would go east, take ship, and sail until I could sail no farther. Or go west over the mountains, to the unknown land beyond.”
“Alone?”
“I’ve survived alone before.”
“Or I could kill you.”
“We both know that. Clearly you have a reason for keeping me alive.”
“More than Lynnz knows. Would you like to hear them?”
“No, but I suppose you’ll tell me anyway, since they’re bound to be things that would hurt me to know.”
“You know me well, you think.”
“I have known you long. That’s almost the same thing.”
“Very well, you’ve been frank. So will I. You’re bait.”
Kraxxi’s eyes rounded ever so slightly, but Barrax caught the gesture. “I see you’ve guessed for whom: your friends the triplets. They also have sentences of death upon them. I would enjoy watching you watch them die.”
“You enjoy watching death, period. Maybe that’s because you’re already dead inside.”
Barrax all but leapt to his feet. “You dare! You hope to goad me into killing you.”
Kraxxi shrugged. “I have little to lose by making the attempt.”
“Your life.”
“Such as it is.”
“The woman’s life. Don’t think I don’t know you love her.”
“Did love her, perhaps.”
“I keep thinking how interesting it would be to have her conceive a child by you. A child I could hold for ransom. Or a child I could use to torture you. A child you could watch cut from her womb. A child you could both watch … die.”
To Barrax’s surprise, Kraxxi looked less shocked than sympathetic. “Don’t look at me as though I’m mad, boy,” he raged. “I am entirely too sane, I assure you.”
“Merryn’s clan will kill you,” Kraxxi said simply. “They—”
He broke off, for a warrior had burst into the room, fresh from the road, to judge by his travel-stained clothes. Still, he had doffed his sword before entering, which few had grace to do. It took Barrax a moment to identify him: Lord Orlizz. He’d been on patrol to the northwest. “Majesty—I apologize, but you had wanted to be told at once …”
“What is it?”
“Better I should show you.”
Barrax thought of sending the man away, but something in his earnest demeanor made him reconsider. “Very well. Approach.”
Orlizz stepped neatly past Kraxxi, reaching to a heavy leather pouch at his side. But when Barrax held out his hand, the man shook his head. “Better you should see it on the table.”
King though he was, Barrax cleared a place among the wines, revealing an expanse of white-brocaded velvet lavishly stained with purple and red. Orlizz set the pouch there, undid the drawstrings gingerly, and upended it to let a second pouch roll free. That, in turn, contained another, of black velvet. Barrax’s hair prickled unaccountably as he watched the last pouch emptied.
And found himself staring at a smooth red stone, in whose depths flecks of colors gleamed. Indeed, as the Chief of the Ninth had said, like an opal.
“Can it be touched?” Barrax inquired, trying to keep his voice calm, since he had no idea whether he’d been presented with a weapon or a threat.
“With caution, I would suggest. It doesn’t seem to like certain people.”
A brow shot up. “Like?”
“It’s the only way to describe it,” Orlizz replied uncomfortably.
Barrax refrained from touching it. And would continue to do so, until he’d taken certain precautions. Amazing coincidence, this: to discuss it and have it appear all in one day.
“How did you come by this?” he demanded.
Orlizz shifted his weight, and wouldn’t meet his king’s eyes. “By accident, actually. We were on patrol to the north. We happened on a fire-damaged hold where we found an Eronese man of whom you may have heard, and, more importantly, a set of Ixti-born triplets.”
“No!” Kraxxi blurted out, strangling further reply with a sob.
The king fumbled a pouch of gold from a chest beside the throne and handed it to the warrior, who took the gesture as the dismissal it was, bowed, and left.
“Well,” said Barrax to his hated son. “Maybe if I sit here another hand the King of Eron himself will walk in and hand me his crown. If not … I seem to have acquired three more prisoners you can watch die.”
CHAPTER XXI:
AUDIENCE
ERON: NEAR SOUTH GORGE-NEAR SPRING: DAY XXX–AFTERNOON
A push from behind sent Eddyn stumbling forward into a deeper darkness than that he’d already endured, courtesy of being made to ride blindhooded for three days—ever since he and the triplets had been captured. He tripped on something and skidded forward on hands and knees, barking both painfully. His shackles clanked against stone flooring marginally warmer than that he’d previously trod. He was indoors, then. Someone grabbed him from either side, hoisting him up. Hands fumbled at the hood, and he could see again—enough to make out a small stone room and three other figures hunched on the floor. Daylight flooded in from behind, making him squint, and then he was thrown to the floor again. The door—a massive square of plain oak—slammed behind him. Bars showed in a head-sized vision-hatch at eye height. The only other light came from a tiny brazier in an otherwise empty fireplace. Water dripped to the right. And someone was breathing.
“Welcome to Ixti in exile,” came a voice he hadn’t heard since his capture. He jerked his head up.
“We didn’t betray you,” Elvix murmured, easing down to join him. “I want that clear right now.” She wore the plainest wool robe imaginable, as did her sister, who remained where she was. Tozri was there, too. It was he who had spoken first, but his face was serious now. And puffy. Eddyn wasn’t the only one who’d suffered hard use, though he doubted his ribs, knees, and half-frozen hands and feet would profit from company. Or his jaw, in which two teeth wobbled, courtesy of a cuffing he’d taken when he’d protested his condition.
“Where are we?” he dared. Almost afraid to speak.
“It’s your country, so I have no idea. From what I saw when they put us in here, it looks like it might’ve bee
n a cloister of some kind.”
“Possible,” Eddyn acknowledged, easing around to stretch out on the floor. Elvix sat beside him, close, but not too close. Their relationship had shifted again. He didn’t know in which direction.
“You know this place?”
Eddyn shrugged—which hurt. “We rode south to meet the army, then north again; that much I do know. We’ve covered enough distance to be halfway to South Gorge, and there’s a ruined cloister on the way there that Priest-Clan abandoned during the plague. It would make a perfect prison, with a little work, and I suspect Barrax has more prisoners than places to house them.”
“You’re right there,” Tozri agreed. “I doubt they’d have quartered us together otherwise.”
“Why bring us at all?” Olrix challenged. “We’re under sentence of death in Ixti.”
“Maybe because Barrax has something in mind besides simple execution,” Elvix offered. “It would be just like him.”
“Maybe he thinks we know something about Eddyn’s gem,” Tozri chimed in pointedly.
Eddyn glared at him. “There’s nothing to know about it, it’s just a—”
“This is no time for lies,” Tozri spat, rising and starting to pace. “I don’t know if it’s the stone you had, but I know that woman I met at War-Hold has a special connection to some rare gem out of Eron, and I know you’re kin to her.”
“And how do you know?”
“Kraxxi told me.”
Eddyn reeled at the revelation. “Kraxxi? You mean Barrax’s son?”
Tozri nodded. “Once. Now in exile.”
“But what—? Eight, man, if I’d known this back—”
“You’d have what? We all needed friends that night. We as much as—” he broke off, eyes narrowing—“That gem was supposed to belong to Merryn’s brother. What were you doing with it? Or are there two? Is that the reason you were unclanned? Because you stole it?”
Elvix rounded on him. “Think, brother. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have had it with him if he’d been unclanned for stealing it.”
Olrix whistled her dismay. “It’s a powerful thing—if what Kraxxi told Toz about it is true: that it allows people speak mind to mind across distances.”
Eddyn didn’t reply.
“Can it do that, Eddyn?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that it can alter perceptions and let people share minds. It’s proof the soul can exist independent of the body. Priest-Clan doesn’t like that. Otherwise …”
“It’s why we’re alive,” Olrix concluded tersely. “Barrax thinks we know how to work it.”
Elvix regarded Eddyn levelly. “Do you know how to work it?”
Eddyn shrugged, remembering how it had place-jumped him, and then how it had failed him when he’d attempted that again. “I know very little. But one thing I do know: It doesn’t like me. I doubt anything I’d be able to do with it—if I can do anything at all—would come to any good end.”
Fright woke him.
Eddyn stared blearily at the guard who’d that moment opened the door to the cell. Light lanced in, but it was the long light of afternoon. Black shadows stretched across the pavement. Stone and flesh alike held a fiery glow.
“Which one of you is Eddyn?” the soldier demanded, squinting into the gloom. He peered first at Tozri, then at Eddyn. Eddyn jerked awake, fumbling for any semblance of a weapon, even as part of him sought to recapture the dream he’d been having. It took a moment to realize his situation. “I am,” he said before sense suggested that might not have been wise. Then again, he was Eronese. Among his coprisoners, that much would’ve been obvious.
“You are to come with me.”
Eddyn started to balk, but then noticed that two more guards stood ready outside, with others undoubtedly close to hand. He rose carefully, meeting the man’s eyes with proud challenge—the Ixtian was half a head shorter than he, he observed with smug satisfaction.
For a wonder, they didn’t blindhood him as four of them escorted Eddyn out of what was indeed the cloister he’d supposed, and into a sea of tents that seemed still to be spreading along a vale he recalled as being three days’ trek south of the Gorge. They steered unerringly for the largest, an extravaganza of exotic sylks veiling more serviceable canvas with a riot of gaudy color. The flag of Ixti flew above, bracketed by golden streamers, to indicate that the king was in residence.
The lead guard disappeared briefly, but quickly returned, whereupon he and his fellows ushered Eddyn into a tunnellike antechamber. “Kneel,” one hissed, forcing his shoulders down. “You must greet his Majesty of Ixti on your knees.” Eddyn glared at him and knocked the hand away with sufficient force that all four men reached for their daggers. By which time he was striding forward—into the king’s audience tent. He stopped just inside, hands folded before him, standing as tall as he could. Whatever advantage the king of Ixti had over him, Eddyn was taller—and intended to play that advantage.
The king, however, was enthroned on a dais two steps above the floor, which put their eyes on a level. Nor did the king react as Eddyn risked the first of what he’d decided might be many affronts. Whatever else he was, he was High Clan Eronese—in his own land—and would yield to no invader.
Barrax merely raised a brow and dismissed the soldiers who’d been Eddyn’s escort with a careless wave of his hand. A hand from which something bright depended: a cage of silver wire hung from a silver chain.
The gem!
“This should look familiar, Eron-man,” the king announced, letting his gaze shift from the gem to Eddyn, and back to the gem again.
Eddyn didn’t react.
“There are many ways to reach the truth,” the king drawled. “Truth from the start would be best for all involved.”
“Trinkets on chains are common in Eron,” Eddyn dared. “Or did you loot that from one of the border tombs?”
Barrax tensed ever so slightly, but his hand never stopped slowly spinning the gem. There was smoke in the air, too: braziers burning green imphor wood, to lower his inhibitions, he was certain. He’d have to be careful what he said, and even then might not be able to hide what he knew—which wasn’t a great deal.
“It doesn’t like me,” Barrax continued. “I wonder, does it also dislike you?”
“I have no standard by which to gauge such things,” Eddyn replied somewhat more circumspectly.
“Oh, but I thought magic gems were found in every stream and cave in Eron.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Do you want to die, Eron-man?”
“There are worse things.”
“I’m considering several right now. It would be best if you cooperated.”
“How?”
“Show me how this thing works.”
“Gems don’t work, they simply … are.”
“Geen shit!”
Eddyn started at the coarse phrase. The level of commerce seemed in the process of changing.
Barrax leaned back in his makeshift throne and stroked his geen-claw dagger meaningfully. “Two more people have spoken to me of this gem,” he said. “One had only hearsay, but the other … there is reason to suspect she had firsthand experience with some of its powers. Since you actually had the thing in your possession, I thought perhaps you might know … more.”
Well, Eddyn thought, that certainly made a few things clearer. Unfortunately, he really did not know how to work the gem—except possibly in one way—and even that had taken him by surprise, as it clearly had Avall. But maybe …
He tried not to grin as a plan took form. “I might be able to do something,” he conceded. “But whatever you think, I am not the master of the gem. Nor, it would seem, are you.”
“Then how came you by it?”
“By rankest accident. I … fought with the owner and wrested it from him. Not so much to possess it as to thwart him.”
“Should I believe you?”
“I know what these fumes are. Do you believe them?”
Barra
x glared at him, but rang a tiny bell. A pair of guards appeared instantly. “Bring this man closer,” the king commanded. Though surprised, Eddyn didn’t resist as the guards snared his arms and ushered him none too gently to a small chair across the table from the king. “Hold him,” Barrax said. “And if he does anything, kill him.”
“I may not be able to do anything,” Eddyn protested, taking the seat, still thinking furiously. “I truly know almost nothing about this thing save that it is … important.”
“Enough to precipitate a war, it would seem.”
Eddyn ignored that. Once again, he’d found himself balanced on the fine edge between heroism and treason. If he could succeed at what he hoped, he might—might—be able to redeem himself. If not … well, traitor would make a nice cap on rapist, vandal, thief, and murderer. And if things went as they could, he at least might be able to trade a slow death for a fast one. “I will need to touch it,” he said.
The king—who did not touch it, Eddyn noted—laid the gem and its accoutrements on the white-velvet tablecloth.
Eddyn stared at it briefly, then closed his eyes, silently uttering one of his rare sincere prayers to The Eight for whatever aid they might feel inclined to bestow. A deep breath, and he slid his hands across the fabric to bracket the stone. Slowly, tentatively, he moved his index fingers inward to where the actual surface of the gem showed within its cage of silver—partly in fear of what he might find himself, but also hoping to invoke an atmosphere of dread that might catch the king off guard.
Another breath and he touched it—right, then left. He did feel something, too: a pulse of anger and dislike, but along with them a vague sense of … familiarity, like a known enemy met in a room full of even more hostile strangers.
But what did he do now? He only knew how to do one thing. And what did Barrax know? Probably that one could use it to communicate over distance—which was its most important military advantage. But Eddyn didn’t know how to do that, though he’d tried over and over to contact Rrath and Tyrill—unsuccessfully. Nor had the gem proved helpful; in the end, it had given him no more than a headache.
