by Carol Berg
Some among the survivors wanted to execute the three Derzhi, but the commander of the outlaws had spread the word that it was forbidden.
“What kind of fools are these not to finish them?” asked Aleksander as he sat on the rocks at the opening of the defile, binding up a gash in his right arm. “When Edik learns of this battle, every village within a league will be destroyed no matter what. But these three Nyabozzi will never let this go. They’ll hunt your Yvor Lukash and these villagers to the netherworld to avenge such a defeat. Not to mention carrying tales of the winged warrior.” He glanced up at me.
I was standing nearby, slumped over a rock, still sweating and nauseous from my long-held shifting, trying to talk myself out of a retreat into the rocks to vomit and take a nap. I needed to speak with the outlaw commander as soon as he had time. I didn’t recognize his or any of the painted faces that moved through the thinning crowd, encouraging, soothing, hurrying the prisoners to move on before anyone came looking for the missing caravan. “Blaise forbids them to kill unarmed men,” I said.
“He wasn’t always so generous. Not until he met up with you.”
I took over binding Aleksander’s arm. He was no good with his left hand and was making a mess of it. “Actually I’m sorely tempted to stick a knife in those three,” I said. “We buried twenty-three prisoners, some no older than those two.” I nodded to the two pale Andassar boys who were wrapped in borrowed cloaks and their fathers’ arms. “The Veshtar had already gelded every boy in the caravan.” That was why no Veshtar survived. The satisfaction that I could now control and direct my rage palled only slightly when I looked on the carnage I had wrought.
“Bloody Athos.”
I finished with Aleksander’s arm and had wandered off in search of a suitable branch to serve him for a walking stick, when Avrel came to the Prince and bowed. “Good Lord Kassian, I cannot leave without expressing our gratitude.”
“Thank these Lukash men,” said Aleksander brusquely, “and my companion, wherever he is, the one with the extraordinary abilities.” Neither man could have seen me in the scrubby trees just behind the Prince. “I was rescued just as you were. And you had already kept us from starving.”
“Your friend ... the avenging spirit ... I know not what to call him. Arago is a simple man’s name, but the one I saw this night is not a simple man, and surely he has no need of a poor man’s thanks.” Avrel shook his head. “But you, my lord, had no cause but your own safety. The spirit would have taken you away from our battle, yet you stayed and fought with us. We of Andassar are privileged to have sheltered you. No wonder the gods send you a guardian spirit. May they ever light your way.” He bowed deeply and started back toward the other villagers.
“Avrel!” The man turned at the Prince’s call. “You were a fine left leg.”
Avrel smiled, bowed again, then ran after his friends who were starting their long trudge home.
“Your reputation as an avenging spirit will never grow to what it should be if you continue puking up your guts after such a show,” said Aleksander when I tossed him a sturdy stick, retreated behind his rock, and proceeded to do just that. “Here come your outlaw friends.”
I wiped my mouth and forced my stomach back in place just in time to greet the tall man with the painted face who was walking slowly toward us. Beside him was the youth who had taken me captive and five other outlaws. To my astonishment, their swords were drawn. Aleksander growled and his hand flew to his weapon, but a warning movement of the commander’s hand stayed him. “Who are the two of you?” The young leader was very nervous.
“That hardly seems the way to greet my friend here who saved your rebellious asses this night.” Aleksander did not react well to having a sword drawn on him. “One who could likely—”
“I think the commander is just being cautious, Kassian,” I said, preferring the Prince not recount my abilities that never seemed to live up to people’s expectations. “We are strangers, and I happened to mention to the young fellow there that I knew Blaise and Farrol. They don’t like those names bandied about, I would guess.”
“Indeed you’ve hit upon the matter,” said the commander. Blood soaked his shirt from a gash in his shoulder and dripped down his cheek from a cut on his forehead. “You fought against the slavers ... Yet you are Derzhi. And you, Ezzarian”—he nodded at me—“clearly you are an extraordinary sorcerer, yet you ride with a Derzhi. What am I to do with you? We cannot permit you to go free, knowing what you know. Yet our orders are—”
“Cannot permit us to go free. You stupid, arrogant imbecile! You allowed Nyabozzi slavers to go free.” Aleksander waved the stick I’d brought him, and the outlaws drew closer, menacing.
“Kassian, please!” I said sharply. I didn’t think the Prince appreciated the severity of the nervous young commander’s dilemma. “Commander, I know the hard truths of outlaw life. I know that you are telling yourself that your oaths must not be swayed, even by such service as we have done this night. But those I’ve named would not be at all pleased if you harmed us, even if it were possible for you to do so. And this sorcery you noticed ... does it not merit a word to your leader? I think he would be dreadfully unhappy if he knew you had crossed an Ezzarian with such a talent as mine. Don’t you agree?”
I would have sworn the man turned pale under his paint. Not all of Blaise’s outlaws were allowed to know that he and a few others of his kind could shapeshift. From the shape of his eyes, I suspected that the commander was himself an Ezzarian, perhaps one of the children born like my son and Blaise. But the man said naught of that. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry. But we must protect our leaders. I cannot permit a Derzhi to go free with the knowledge you—”
“Then take us with you,” I said.
“Impossible!” Aleksander and the commander said it together.
“Naddasine returns tomorrow,” growled the Prince.
I ignored him. “Bind our eyes if you wish, Commander. Believe me when I say, I understand your problem, but I promise you that the Yvor Lukash will have your balls if you harm either me or my friend.”
“To take prisoners to our camp is forbidden,” said the commander like a runner who, though doubting his stamina, yet forces himself to the end of the race. “For an Ezzarian, we could perhaps make an exception, but never for a Derzhi.”
I stood up, and for one single moment, I let the demon blue of my eyes flame and my demon’s pale gold light flicker at the bounds of my skin. Even Aleksander edged backward on his rock. “I insist.”
I hated frightening people. The lesson had been taught me early, and was one of the most vivid of my childhood.
Using melydda to tease, annoy, and bully others was certainly a part of being a child in Ezzaria, though quickly abandoned as one became immersed in the serious business of training for the demon war. Yet, on one occasion when I was some eight or nine years old and had not yet fully realized what my gifts were to be used for, I got into some mischief, locking another child in a barrel and terrorizing him with the illusion of bears pawing at it. The other child had done me an injury—I never could remember exactly what it was afterward—but I felt quite justified in taking such cruel revenge.
Drawn by the child’s screaming and the noise of my illusion, my father came running down the forest path. As soon as he was in sight, I stopped, of course. My father extracted the child from the barrel, comforted him, and sent him home. Then he crouched down beside me and said, “Unfair, Seyonne. Unjust to raise your hand against one who cannot fight back on your terms. Did you even think?”
I started to regale him with the particulars of the dispute, but he raised his hand and said, “I am going to get into this barrel, and I want you to do again what you did to Wyyver. Exactly the same.”
I was horrified. “But I could never—”
He laid his hand on my mouth and said, “But you did. Now, do as I say, and for just the same length of time as you did it to him.” He climbed in the barrel and made me lock down the cover
with my melydda, until he could not push it out. I caused the barrel to shake and roll and splinter, accompanied by bearlike roaring, just as I had done to the child. By the time the roaring and shaking stopped, I was weeping at wreaking such humiliation on the man I honored and loved above everyone in the world. My father had no melydda. This was the first time I had ever considered that I had the power to do him such cruelty. When he crawled out of the barrel, I threw myself in his arms, begging his forgiveness and swearing I would never again use my gifts for such ill purpose.
“I believe you,” he said, and pressed me to his pounding heart.
But, of course, intimidating Blaise’s men was far preferable to killing them or whatever else it might have taken to persuade them not only to leave both of us living, but to take us back to their camp. I admired their courage for confronting me at all.
Aleksander was furious with me and threatened to stay behind, especially when we were required to yield our weapons.
“The only way they’re going to leave behind a Derzhi who knows Blaise’s name is to leave you dead,” I said. “Of course, I could probably scare them into leaving you alone, but I won’t do that unless you ask me politely.” I knew the likelihood of his doing that. “Do you really imagine you’ll get to see Naddasine after this? Even if the old man is alive, he’ll not dare meet with you. You’ve nowhere else to go.”
Aleksander knew these things. He was not a fool. I only wished his stubborn heart would not require me to say them so bluntly.
We were given our horses, and once I had helped the Prince mount up, we were separated, Aleksander to ride near the front of the party under the watchful eye of the commander and I with the riders at the back. Sixteen outlaws made up the group, every one of them injured. Several I doubted would ever fight again; four more were wrapped in their cloaks and laid over their mounts. For two others, there had not been enough pieces left to take home. We rode for several hours, and my guess about the young commander was proved true; I felt his subtle workings that moved us through the ways as Blaise did. Before we could have traveled a tenth of the actual distance to such a landscape, we set out across a wide srif, the dunes unmarked by any recent passing. I saw Aleksander glance about curiously, but he would not deign to question those who rode beside him, and he soon sank back into brooding.
Before very long, the commander called the party to a halt and said the time had come to cover our eyes. “I’m risking my own position to take you in,” he said in answer to my reassurances of goodwill and Aleksander’s mumbled invitation to kill him first. “And I cannot guarantee your safety once we arrive. No matter what power you possess, someone will take you down if you are judged a danger to our cause. Do you understand that?”
“We understand,” I said. “We give our parole, do we not, Kassian? We’ll not use anything we see or hear against the Yvor Lukash or his cause.”
Aleksander spit into the sand.
The commander drew his sword and laid its point on Aleksander’s belly. The moment hung breathless, until Aleksander glared at me and nodded curtly. Of course, I could have prevented any harm. I could have prevented this last humiliation, too. But serving his pride would only prolong what must come.
They tied scarves around our eyes, dropped bags over our heads, and then, with a gracious apology to Aleksander, took our horses’ reins. The commander knew enough of Derzhi custom to realize the insult of forcing a warrior to ride without control of his own mount.
Within a quarter of an hour, we were winding upward along a steep, hard-packed trail. The smell of dust and tarbush soon yielded to cedar and pine, and then to grass and wild lavender. A pleasant coolness settled on my skin, a fine mist that tasted of dawn ... and I’d scarcely begun relishing the wonder of it before our horses were brought to a halt. A number of people were watching, but voices were muted and activities paused as I helped Aleksander dismount and laid his hand on my shoulder to support him. He yanked his arm away.
“This way,” said the commander. “Our leaders are waiting.”
We were led across a flat stretch of ground, Aleksander limping slowly beside me. Hands forced my head down, and I understood why when my shoulders brushed a fabric doorway and I smelled the damp canvas of a tent. A large tent, as I could stand up easily and my senses told me there were at least five people already inside.
“Here they are, as Jinu reported,” said the commander. “I can only plead my case by saying that without these two fighting alongside us, we would have lost far more than six of our own. Perhaps failed altogether. And, as Jinu will have told you, the Ezzarian presented incontestable evidence that he is ... more like some we know than an Ezzarian of the ordinary sort. I’m not sure we could have killed him.”
“I didn’t think you would approve of that,” I said, wishing I could think of something more clever to greet my unseen friends. “I hoped not, at least.”
But before my wit could blossom further, all words died upon my lips, for when our hoods and blinders were removed, neither Blaise nor Farrol was there to greet us. The tent was quite large. crammed with baskets and bags of flour and grain, jars of oil, and other supplies for a large encampment. In the center was a long table with maps and papers spread on it, and several men and women bent over them, some seated, some standing, all of them glancing up as if we had interrupted a critical discussion. Only one of them did I know ... the one to whom my captor deferred and whose dark eyes grew guarded and wary at the sight of me. Elinor.
CHAPTER 22
What do you say to someone who last saw you raging in madness, savagely destroying another human being? Sorry seemed quite inadequate. I’m all right now was not exactly true. You don’t need to be afraid would be presumptuous. And here I was, stained with blood again, and reeking of death and enchantment. Elinor’s friends would likely have informed her how the winged Ezzarian had killed more than three quarters of the Veshtar by himself. In the service of her cause, I told myself. To save her raiding party that would have perished but for Aleksander and me. Nonetheless, I found myself voiceless in front of her, unable to look her in the eye, unable to ask the questions that crowded my tongue at the sight of her. How does he fare, mistress? Does he grow well? Is he happy?
Elinor’s voice was composed when she broke the stunned silence. “You’ve done exactly right to bring them here, Roche. Blaise would be most distressed if this man and his friend . . .” Her voice drifted away for a moment. “Everyone, leave us,” she said crisply, jumping to her feet. She hurried her company out of the tent, snapping orders. “Roche, find Blaise. Wherever he is, get him here now. Give your report on the raid to Farrol; I’ll hear it later. And tell Farrol to double the guard at the perimeter—on the chance you were followed. Jinu, arrange for food and drink to be sent here for our visitors. We must not be disturbed until I say.” As soon as the others had left, she spun on her heel. “I didn’t send for a healer. Do you need—?”
“I’ve no desire to impose upon your hospitality,” said Aleksander stiffly. “There are many other places I need to be.”
“Indeed . . . if you are who I think you are, anywhere you go will see you dead. Jinu said you demanded to come to us.”
The Prince could have made a glacier shiver. “This Ezzarian wished to come here. It wasn’t my idea.”
I needed to introduce them properly. My lord, this is the foster mother of my child, who is doing her best to undermine what remains of your empire. Mistress Elinor, this is the man who once vowed to slaughter you and all your fellows, but who will, if I can keep him alive against his stubborn efforts, change the world in some way absolutely beyond my understanding. And, by the way, I am still quite mad and getting no better, but I’m somewhat less likely to hack you to bits than the last time you saw me. The thought had never occurred to me that Elinor would be here.
“Do you have any idea the danger you’ve brought us?” Elinor whirled on me. “If the Emperor gets wind that this man is anywhere near the Yvor Lukash ... The only thin
g that’s kept us safe these past months is that the Derzhi are so obsessed with finding him, they’ve not pressed us too hard. And to bring a Derzhi here into our very heart, one who has ordered our deaths . . .”
“Mistress Elinor—”
“Send me away, then,” said Aleksander, cutting me off before I could even decide what I was going to say. He folded his arms
across his chest. “Or even better, sell me to my father’s cousin. Then you can pay for better warriors, so perhaps you won’t set out on these absurd ventures that get people slaughtered—the very people you’re trying to help.”
The woman leaned forward, her hands pressing on the table, her eyes aflame. “As if you are concerned about the people, those you and your Derzhi assassins have enslaved and murdered and driven to desperation for five hundred years. How dare you, of all men, speak of the—?”
“Wait!” I said, wanting to shake them. “Please, my lord, if you would allow me. If we could just begin again ... I’m truly sorry to come like this with no warning, mistress. I understand the danger, and I’d never put any of you at risk lightly. But time and circumstance have put us in your hands when we’ve run out of alternatives.” Aleksander was ready to burst when I turned to him again. “My lord, Mistress Elinor is Blaise’s sister, whose good husband fell at the hands of the Hamraschi as did your father. She has lost parents and friends to the Twenty, just as you have lost so many dear to you. Her brother and her child are in danger every day, just as your wife and Lord Kiril are. Our enemies are the same.”
