The Redemption of Althalus

by Eddings, Leigh;Eddings, David

  “I don’t think the weather’s going to cooperate, Emmy,” Eliar said dubiously. “If we made the trip on the ground instead of through the House, it’d be the dead of winter before we reached my Chief’s Hall. It might help if you could stir up a blizzard or two.”

  “I’d really rather not. Those glaciers are starting to melt, and I don’t want to tamper with that. Tell the others to mention ‘unusual weather’ and ‘a very mild winter’ every so often. That should cover our tail feathers.”

  “How’s Bheid doing?” Eliar asked.

  “About the same,” she replied. “He’s still wallowing in his guilt.”

  “How long does he think he’s been here?”

  “He’s not really sure. He’s starting to mix real time with House time.”

  “That’s a novel term, Em,” Althalus noted. “I sort of like it, though. ‘House time’—yes. It gets right to the point, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m glad you approve, pet.”

  “Let’s get started, then,” Althalus said to Eliar. “The sooner we get your Chief married, the sooner we can go back to Perquaine and spoke Ghend’s wheel.” He grinned. “That’s starting to turn into my favorite hobby,” he said.

  Eliar and Althalus joined the others in the foothills of Arum, and then their “resident hero” smoothly led them through a door into a corridor in the north wing of the House.

  “You’re getting better and better at that, Eliar,” Sergeant Khalor observed. “I knew exactly what you were doing, and even then I couldn’t tell precisely when we stepped through that door.”

  “Practice, my Sergeant,” Eliar replied modestly. “If you do something often enough, you’re bound to get better at it.”

  “Where are we going to come out, Althalus?”

  “Just a few miles south of Chief Albron’s Hall. Emmy wants to get this wedding out of the way so that we can concentrate on that revolution in Perquaine. Oh, I almost forgot, we’re supposed to act surprised at how mild this winter is. We’re coming home about six weeks before we possibly could if we actually had to cover the real distance, so it won’t be as cold as it should be, and there won’t be as much snow piled up as everybody’s going to expect.”

  “I’ll practice my look of astonishment,” Khalor said drily.

  “I’d really like to introduce you to her, Andine,” Eliar said earnestly to the tiny Arya the next morning at the breakfast table in Albron’s Hall. “One of these days before too much longer, she is going to be one of your relations, after all.”

  “I think you’ll like Eliar’s mother, Andine,” Chief Albron said. “She’s a beautiful lady.”

  “Why doesn’t your mother live in the village, Eliar?” Gher asked curiously.

  Eliar shrugged. “My father built the cottage just outside of town, and I don’t think the idea of moving’s ever occurred to my mother. She says it’s where she belongs.”

  Chief Albron sighed. “It’s one of the great tragedies of our clan,” he said sadly. “Eliar’s father, Agus, was one of the greatest warriors in our history. He and Khalor were almost like brothers.”

  “Yes,” Khalor agreed. “We were very close.” There was a kind of flatness in the way he said it that seemed strange to Althalus.

  “If I had any kind of literary talent, I could pen an epic romance about the first meeting between Agus and Alaia—that’s her name, of course,” Chief Albron said.

  “It’s a beautiful name,” Leitha noted in a very sad tone.

  “Indeed it is,” Albron agreed, “and it’s quite clear that Agus was Eliar’s father. It was Khalor, I think, who introduced them. I happened to be there at the time, and I’ve never seen anything like it. No sooner had they laid eyes on each other when it became obvious that they were both hopelessly in love. Wasn’t it, Khalor?”

  Sergeant Khalor nodded, not even bothering to speak.

  “We haven’t intruded on Alaia,” Albron continued. “I think she’s still in mourning.”

  “Well, not entirely, my Chief,” Eliar said. “She’s always glad to see me, and she doesn’t send people away when they come by the house.”

  “I think I’d like to meet this lady myself,” Astarell said. “Why don’t we all pay her a short visit and invite her to our wedding?”

  “What a splendid idea,” Albron said enthusiastically. “Eliar, why don’t you and Sergeant Khalor go tell your mother that we’ll be paying her a call? It wouldn’t be very polite if we all just showed up unannounced on her doorstep, now would it?”

  “We’ll go tell her right now, my Chief,” Eliar replied enthusiastically. Sergeant Khalor, however, looked just a bit gloomy.

  ———

  Alaia’s cottage was a small, neat structure built of carefully squared-off logs, and it had a steeply pitched shake roof. It stood a short distance outside the village that was tightly clustered around the walls of Albron’s stone fortress, and there was a small garden outside the kitchen door.

  Eliar’s mother was a fairly tall woman in her late thirties. She had chestnut-colored hair, and her eyes were a deep, deep blue. “She’s gorgeous!” Andine murmured nervously to Leitha.

  “I noticed that, yes,” Leitha replied.

  “Do I look all right?” Andine asked with some slight apprehension.

  “You’ll do just fine, dear,” Leitha assured her. “Don’t be nervous.”

  “She is Eliar’s mother, Leitha, and I do want her to like me.”

  “Everybody likes you, Andine. You’ve got tons of adorability leaking out of every pore.”

  “Will you stop teasing me, Leitha!” Andine exclaimed.

  “Probably not, no. It’s my favorite hobby.”

  Alaia greeted the leader of the clan with a formal and very graceful curtsy. “Chief Albron, my house is honored by your presence.” Her voice was rich and full.

  “It is we who are honored, Alaia,” Albron replied, bowing.

  “And this is my Andine, Mother,” Eliar introduced the Arya of Osthos.

  Alaia’s smile was rather like the sun coming up. Probably without even thinking, she held out her arms to the tiny girl.

  Andine ran to her, and they embraced warmly.

  “My, aren’t you the tiny one?” Alaia said fondly. “Eliar told me that you weren’t very big, but I hadn’t expected you to be quite this small.”

  “Would it help at all if I stood on my tiptoes?” Andine suggested.

  “You’re just fine the way you are, Andine,” Alaia told her. “Don’t change a thing. Eliar says you’ve undertaken the chore of feeding him.”

  “It’s my life’s work now,” Andine replied.

  “It’s a very large chore for one so small.”

  “I try to stay ahead of him, Alaia. I’ve found that if I always have food in my hand ready to pop into his mouth, I can keep him from eating the furniture.”

  They both laughed and looked fondly at the young man.

  “I think we need to talk, Althalus,” Leitha suggested. “There’s something you should know about.”

  “All right. Is it urgent?”

  “Probably not, but let’s go talk about it right now, shall we? It won’t really take very long, and I don’t think we’ll be missed for a bit.”

  “You’re being cryptic again,” he said as they quietly left the cottage.

  “Don’t be such an old grouch, Daddy,” she chided him.

  They crossed Alaia’s small garden and entered a grove of towering trees near the river gorge.

  “All right, Leitha,” Althalus said, “what’s bothering you?’

  “Sergeant Khalor’s very uncomfortable, Althalus.”

  “Are you saying that he doesn’t like Eliar’s mother?”

  “No, just the opposite. He and Alaia had been ‘walking out together,’ as the saying goes, before he introduced her to Eliar’s father, Agus.”

  “Oh?”

  “You heard Chief Albron’s description, didn’t you? When Agus and Alaia met, it was one of those ‘love at
first sight’ things. Khalor’s very perceptive, and he immediately saw what was happening. He loved Alaia—and still does—but he and Agus were as close as brothers, so he hid his feelings and stepped aside.”

  “This is one of those gloomy stories, isn’t it?”

  “It gets worse. After Agus was killed in some meaningless war down in the low country, Khalor thought there might be room for some hope, but Alaia was absolutely crushed by her husband’s death, and she’s been in almost total seclusion for all these years. When Eliar began to train for his life as a soldier, Khalor sort of took him under his wing. If you pay close attention to them, you’ll probably notice that they’re more like father and son than Sergeant and Corporal.”

  “Khalor does sort of look out for Eliar, now that you mention it. Does Alaia have any feelings at all for Khalor?”

  “She thinks of him as her oldest friend, but I caught a few hints from her that it might go just a bit further—if Khalor would just relax a bit.”

  “That’s all we need right now!” Althalus growled. “I think I’d have been happier if you hadn’t told me about this, Leitha.”

  “I’m trying to keep your tail feathers out of the soup, Daddy,” she told him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s a situation that Dweia might find very interesting, don’t you think? And if you neglect to bring it to her attention, she might be a little put out with you, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I wouldn’t have known about it if you hadn’t dragged me out here and told me this sad little story.”

  “Why, Daddy,” she said in mock astonishment, “you didn’t think I’d keep any secrets from you, did you? Then, of course, if I hadn’t told you, it might have been my tail feathers that’d get dunked in the soup. I love you dearly, Daddy, but not that much. Now that I’ve handed it to you, you get to take care of it. Aren’t you proud of how sneaky I can be?”

  “I’d really be a lot happier if you’d drop this ‘daddy’ business, Leitha,” he said plaintively.

  She gave him a sudden, stricken look, and then she began to cry, burying her face in her hands.

  “Now what?” he demanded.

  “Leave me alone.” She sobbed. “Go away, Althalus.”

  “No, Leitha, I won’t do that. What’s wrong?”

  “I thought you were different. Go away.” She continued to sob.

  Without even really thinking about it, he put his arms around her. She struggled just a bit, but then she wailed and clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably.

  She was obviously too distraught to talk coherently, so Althalus reluctantly decided to do it “the other way.”

  Leitha’s thoughts were chaotic as Althalus very gently intruded into her awareness.

  Stay away! Stay away! she pleaded silently.

  “No, I won’t do that,” he said aloud, still searching.

  A myriad of her memories from the village of Peteleya in Kweron flooded over him, and her overwhelming loneliness cut into him like a knife. Despite her “gift,” Leitha had grown up in almost total isolation. Her father had died before she’d been born, and her mother had been insane—not raving mad, perhaps, but “strange.” The other children in Peteleya had been about half afraid of Leitha and her uncanny-seeming ability to know what they were thinking, so she’d had no real friends as a child, and she’d grown up in nearly total isolation.

  And in fear. The shadow of the harsh-faced priest, Brother Ambho, still hung dark and menacing over all her memories, his lustful hatred of her growing stronger with each passing year. Her attempts to avoid him had been fruitless, since he’d followed her wherever she’d gone, and the dreadful image that crawled through his imagination had filled her with terror, a terror that had virtually erased her ability to think or to act.

  Though she had known his intentions, she’d been quite helpless. In time, his accusation and the mockery he’d called a trial had taken place, and her inevitable condemnation to the flames had come about.

  And then Bheid had come to Peteleya with earthquakes and avalanches in his wake to save her from the fire.

  “It wasn’t entirely his idea, Leitha,” Althalus told her, speaking aloud. “Emmy sent us, and the Knife was involved as well.”

  “I know that now, Daddy,” she replied, “but I was wound just a little tight that day for some reason. Then, after Eliar showed me the Knife, I wasn’t alone anymore. I was suddenly up to my ears in family, and Bheid had made that possible—at least that’s the way I saw it.”

  “And now you love him.”

  “I thought that was fairly obvious, Daddy.”

  “There’s that word again.”

  “You don’t listen very well, do you, Althalus? That’s part of what the word ‘family’ means, isn’t it? When we were back in Wekti and Eliar couldn’t see, you kept beating me over the head with ‘family,’ ‘brothers and sisters,’ and all those other clever reasons you invented to persuade me to lower my defenses and let Eliar into my mind. Didn’t you realize that you were offering yourself as my father when you did that? I really need a father, and you volunteered. It’s too late for you to back out now.”

  He surrendered. “I guess there’s a sort of perverse logic to what you’re saying, Leitha. All right, if it’s ‘daddy’ you want, ‘daddy’ it is.”

  “Oh, good!” she said with feigned enthusiasm. “Now, what are we going to do about poor Brother Bheid?”

  “Emmy’s taking care of it.”

  “No, Daddy, she isn’t. She’s waiting for you to realize that it’s your responsibility.”

  “Where did you come up with that peculiar idea?”

  “I have my sources, Daddy. Trust me.” Then her pale face grew pensive. “A day’s coming when Bheid and I are going to have to do some dreadful things to certain people, and we’ll both need somebody to hold on to. I think you just got the job.”

  “Could you be a bit more specific, Leitha? ‘Dreadful things’ is a little vague.”

  “It’s the best I can do for right now, Daddy. Dweia knows, and she’s trying to conceal it from me, but I’m catching some hints. You’ve got to bring Bheid back to his senses, Althalus. He must be able to function. I can’t do this alone!”

  And then she began to cry again, and without even thinking, Althalus took her in his arms and held her until it had passed.

  “I need to go back to the House,” Althalus told Eliar as the party was returning to Chief Albron’s Hall from Alaia’s cottage.

  “Is it urgent?”

  “Probably. I need to talk with Emmy. She’s been playing games again, and she’s starting to irritate me.”

  “You’re going to get yourself in trouble, Althalus.”

  “It won’t be the first time. When we get there, I think you’d better wait in the dining room.”

  “It’s going to be one of those?”

  “Probably so, and you don’t want to be around once Emmy and I get started.”

  Althalus and Eliar dropped back as Chief Albron and the others moved up through the village, and then they stepped into an alleyway, where Eliar opened a door that only he could see. “Good luck,” Eliar told Althalus at the foot of the stairs leading up to Dweia’s tower.

  Althalus grunted and stomped up the stairs.

  “What a delightful surprise,” Dweia said pleasantly when Althalus banged the tower door open.

  “Stop that, Em,” he said shortly. “You knew I was coming, and you know exactly why.”

  “My, aren’t we peevish today.”

  “Quit. Why didn’t you tell me what you wanted me to do?”

  “Bheid wasn’t ready yet, love.”

  “That’s too bad. I’ll make him ready. Between the two of you, you’ve just about destroyed Leitha, and I won’t permit that!”

  “You’re taking this ‘daddy’ business seriously, aren’t you, Althie?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Now where’s Bheid?”

  “You’re not going to hurt hi
m, are you?”

  “That depends on how stubborn he gets. I might have to slam him up against a wall a few times, but I will get through to him. Then you and I are going to have a nice, long talk.”

  Her green eyes narrowed. “I don’t care for your tone, Althalus.”

  “You’ll probably get over it. Where’s Bheid?”

  “Two doors down the corridor from the dining room—on the left. I don’t think he’ll let you in, though.”

  “How’s he going to stop me?” Then Althalus turned and went down the tower stairs two at a time.

  “No hitting!” Dweia called after him.

  Althalus reached Bheid’s door and stopped briefly to get his anger under control. “Bheid,” he said then, “it’s me—Althalus. Open the door.”

  There was no answer.

  “Bheid! Open it! Now!”

  There was still a profound silence.

  Althalus decided at the last instant not to use any one of a half-dozen words from the Book to open Bheid’s locked door. He kicked it to pieces instead.

  Bheid, blank eyed and unshaven, huddled in one corner of the cell-like room, rhythmically banging his head against the stone wall.

  “Stop that,” Althalus told him, “and get on your feet.”

  “I am lost,” Bheid moaned. “I have killed.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” Althalus replied, shrugging. “It wasn’t very neat, but it got the job done. If you’re going to make a habit of it, you should practice a bit.”

  Bheid blinked incredulously. “Don’t you understand?” he demanded. “I’m a priest. Killing is forbidden.”

  “You didn’t have any problems with hiring those assassins to kill the Aryo of Kanthon.”

  “That wasn’t the same at all.”

  “Really? What’s the difference?”

  “I didn’t personally kill the Aryo.”