Bradley, Marion Zimmer - SSC 03 (29 page)

 
          
"Now
I understand how you eluded me in the streets."

 
          
"I'm
a hunter," Wess said irritably. "What good would a hunter be who
couldn't move silently and fast?"

 
          
"No,
it was more than that. I put a mark on you, and you threw it off. No one has
ever done that before."

 
          
"I
didn't do it, either."

 
          
"Let
us not
argue,
frejqjan. There isn't time."

 
          
She
inspected the cut, then dipped her hand into the side of the sphere, brought
out a handful of water, and washed away the sticky drying blood. Her touch was
warm and soothing, as expert as Quartz's.

 
          
"Why
did you bring me here?"

 
          
"So
we could talk unobserved."

 
          
"What about?"

 
          
"I
want to ask you something first. Why did you think I was a woman?"

 
          
Wess
frowned and gazed into the depths of the floor.

           
Her boot dimpled the surface, like
the foot of a water-strider.

 
          
"Because
you
are
a woman," she said. "Why you pretend you are not, I
don't know."

 
          
"That
is not the question," Lythande said. "The question is why you called
me 'sister' the moment you saw me. No one, sorcerer or otherwise, has ever
glanced at me once and known me for what I am. You could place me, and
yourself, in great danger. How did you know?"

 
          
"I
just knew," Wess said. "It was obvious. I didn't look at you and
wonder if you were a man or a woman. I saw you, and I
thought,
how beautiful, how elegant she is. She looks wise. She looks like she could
help us. So I called to you."

 
          
"And
what did your friends think?"

 
          
"They
... I don't know what Quartz and Aerie thought. Chan asked whatever was I
thinking of."

 
          
"What
did you say to him?"

 
          
"I.
..." She hesitated, feeling ashamed. "I lied to him," she said
miserably. "I said I was tired and it was dark and smoky, and I made a
foolish mistake."

 
          
"Why
didn't you try to persuade him you were right?"

 
          
"Because it isn't my business to deny what you wish known
about yourself.
Even to my oldest friend, my first lover."

 
          
Lythande
stared up at the curved surface of the inside of the sphere. The tension in
her eased.

 
          
"Thank
you, little sister," she said. She looked greatly relieved. "I did
not know if my identity were safe with you. But I think it is."

 
          
Wess
looked up suddenly, chilled by insight. "You brought me here
—
you would have killed me!"

 
          
"If
I had to," Lythande said easily. "I am glad it was not necessary. But
I could not trust a promise made under threat. You do not fear me; you made
your decision of your own free will."

           
"That may be true," Wess
said. "But it isn't true that I don't fear you."

 
          
Lythande
gazed at her. "Perhaps I deserve your fear,
Westerly
. You could destroy me with
a thoughtless word. But the knowledge you have could destroy you. Some people
would go to great lengths to discover what you know."

 
          
"I'm
not going to tell them."

 
          
"If
they suspected
—
they might force you."

 
          
"I
can take care of myself," Wess said.

 
          
Lythande
rubbed the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. "Ah, sister, I
hope so. I can give you very little protection." She
—
he,
Wess
reminded herself
—
stood up. "It's time
to go. It's nearly dawn."

 
          
"You
asked questions of me
—
may I ask one of you?"

 
          
"I'll
answer if I can."

 
          
"Bauchle
Meyne
—
if he hadn't behaved so
stupidly, he could have killed me. But he taunted me till I recovered myself.
He made himself vulnerable to me. His friend knew I had a knife, but he
attacked me unarmed. I've been trying to understand what happened, but it
makes no sense."

 
          
Lythande
drew a deep breath. "
Westerly
," she said, "I
wish you had never come to Sanctuary. You escaped for the same reason that I
first chose to appear as I now must remain."

 
          
"I
still don't understand."

 
          
"They
never expected you to fight.
To struggle a little, perhaps,
just enough to excite them.
They expected you to acquiesce in their
wishes whether that meant to beat you, to rape you, or to kill you. Women in
Sanctuary are not trained to fight. They are taught that their only power lies
in their ability to please, in bed and in flattery. Some few excel. Most
survive."

 
          
"And the rest?"

 
          
"The
rest are killed for their insolence. Or
—
"
She smiled bitterly and gestured to herself. "Some few . . . find their
talents are stronger in other areas."

 
          
"But
why do you put up with it?"

 
          
"That
is the way it is,
Westerly
. Some would say that is the
way it must be
—
that it is ordained."

 
          
"It
isn't that way in Kaimas." Just speaking the name of her home made her
want to return. "Who ordains it?"

 
          
"Why,
my dear," Lythande said sardonically, "the gods."

 
          
"Then
you should rid yourselves of gods."

 
          
Lythande
arched one eyebrow. "You should, perhaps, keep such ideas to yourself in
Sanctuary. The gods' priests are powerful." She drew her hand up the side
of the sphere so it parted as if she had slit it with a knife, and held the
skin apart so Wess could leave.

 
          
Wess
thought the shaky, uncertain feeling that gripped her would disappear when she
had solid ground beneath her feet again.

 
          
But
it did not.

 
          
Wess
and Lythande returned to the Unicorn in silence. As the Maze woke, the street
began to fill with laden carts drawn by scrawny ponies, with beggers and
hawkers and pickpockets. Wess bought fruit and meat rolls to take to her
friends.

 
          
The
Unicorn was closed and dark. As the tavern-keeper had said, he did not open
early. Wess went around tcr the back, but at the steps of the lodging door,
Lythande stopped.

 
          
"I
must leave you, frejojan."

 
          
Wess
turned back in surprise. "But I thought you were coming upstairs with me
—
for breakfast, to talk. ..."

 
          
Lythande
shook his head. His smile was odd, not, as Wess had come to expect, sardonic,
but sad. "I wish I could, little sister. For once, I wish I could. I have
business to the north that cannot wait."

           
"To the
north!
Why did you come this way with me?" She had got her bearings
on the way back, and while the twisted streets would not permit a straight
path, they had proceeded generally southward.

 
          
"I
wanted to walk with you," Lythande said.

 
          
Wess
scowled at him. "You thought I hadn't enough sense to get back to
myself."

 
          
"This
is a strange place for you. It isn't safe even for people who have always lived
here."

 
          
"You
—
" Wess stopped. Because she had promised to safeguard
his true identity, she could not say what she wished: that Lythande was
treating her as Lythande himself did not wish to be treated. Wess shook her
head, flinging aside her anger. Stronger than her anger in Lythande's lack of
confidence in her, stronger than her disappointment that Lythande was going away,
was her surprise that Lythande had pretended to hint at finding Satan. She did
not wish to think too deeply on the sorcerer's motives.

 
          
"You
have my promise," she said bitte.rly. "You may be sure that my word
is important to me. May your business be
profitable.
"
She turned away and fumbled for the latch, her vision blurry.

 
          
"Westerly,"
Lythande said gently, "do you think I came back last night only to coerce
an oath from you?"

 
          
"It
doesn't matter."

 
          
"Well,
perhaps not, since I have so little to give in return."

 
          
Wess
turned around. "And do you think I made that promise only because I hoped
you could help us?"

 
          
"No,"
Lythande said. "Frejojan, I wish I had more time
—
but what I came to tell you is this. I spoke with Jubal
last night."

 
          
"Why
didn't you tell me? What did he say? Does he know "where Satan is?"
But she knew she would have no pleasure from the answer. Lythande would not
have put off good news. "Will he see us?"

           
"He has not seen your friend,
little sister. He said he had no time to see you."

 
          
"Oh."

 
          
"I
did press him. He owes me, but he has been acting peculiar lately. He's more
afraid of something else than he is of me, and that is very strange." Lythande
looked away.

 
          
"Didn't
he say
anything?

 
          
"He
said . . . this evening, you should go to the grounds of the governor's
palace."

 
          
"Why?"

 
          
"Westerly
. . . this may have nothing to do with Satan. But the auction block is
there."

 
          
Wess
shook her head, confused.

 
          
"Where slaves are offered for sale."

 
          
Fury
and humiliation and hope: Wess's reaction was so strong that she could not
answer. Lythande came up the steps in one stride and put his arms around her.
Wess held him, trembling, and Lythande stroked her hair.

 
          
"If
he's there
—
is there no law, Lythande?
Can a free person be stolen from their home, and . . . and ...
"

 
          
Lythande
looked at the sky. The sun's light showed over the roof of the easternmost
building.

 
          
"Frejojan,
I
must
go. If your friend is to be sold, you can try to buy him. The
merchants here are not
so
rich as the merchants in the
capital, but they are rich enough. You'd need a great deal of money. I think
you should, instead, apply to the governor. He is a young man, and a fool
—
but he is not evil." Lythande hugged Wess one last
time and stepped away. "Good-bye, little sister. Please believe I'd stay
if I could."