Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (46 page)

The room was so cold. My head throbbed, and my hands would not stop shaking. I gathered a

blanket around my shoulders. “I don’t know what to believe. You sent my son and his abductor to

Zhev’Na. How do you know so much about all this?”

I hadn’t thought Exeget could look any more disagreeable, but his smile could have wilted a dead lily.

“I am the man you know. You just don’t know everything. Nor did Dassine until the days before he died.

Nor do those who lurk in Zhev’Na, believing I am the most faithful of servants, who has sold his soul to

preserve the remnants of his power, and who so diligently carries out their plans to destroy his world and

his people.”

Logic and history forbade belief. “You violated the madris, commanded Baglos, your madrissé, to kill

me.” Seri had prevented the foolish Dulcé from poisoning me when Dassine had sent me across the

Bridge to prevent its destruction, and the other preceptors tried to trade my life for the safety of Avonar.

“That was an act of desperation. I didn’t trust Dassine after his sojourn in the Wastes, and I didn’t

know what he’d done to you. The D’Natheil I knew could never have succeeded in the task that had to

be done. As long as the Bridge exists, the world has hope. I believed you would destroy it. And so I

believed you had to die. Thankfully, that was not necessary.”

“And Madyalar . . .”

“Madyalar has served the Lords since before you were born. Happily for us, she is stupid and the

Lords know it.”

“You told her that the boy is my son.”

“She would have learned it from her mentors eventually. There’s no point in hiding what will be

known anyway. It’s how I have survived. For that same reason I sent the boy and his captor on their

way and have convinced the other Preceptors that he is safely tucked away with trustworthy friends of

mine. Lacking sufficient power to prevent the Lords’ hold on the boy, I appear to aid them. Meanwhile, I

bide my time.”

“So what are we to do?” Whether or not I could accept his honesty seemed superfluous. I wasn’t

going to be able to help anyone. I couldn’t wrestle a bird. “I’m in no condition—”

“—to fight? On the contrary, your condition is perfect. It’s one reason we must move quickly. You

are in shambles, yet quite competent to take part in the test of parentage. When the Preceptors examine

you, they’ll see the truth.”

“No use putting off what will happen anyway.”

“Exactly. The boy will be proved. The Lords will think they’ve won.”

“My life will not be worth much after that.”

“Also true. But we will control the situation. As you said, no use putting off what will happen anyway.

I’m sorry, my Prince. ...” And then he proceeded to tell me his plan, and how it was I would have to die.

CHAPTER 26

Gerick

“Why did he kill himself?” I asked. “If he hates us so much, why wouldn’t he fight? What was wrong

with him?”

Darzid paced up and down my sitting room. His eyes flashed red—true ruby red—right in the middle

of the black. “He was mad. A coward who could not face his own disintegration.”

I didn’t see how a coward could do such a thing to himself, but perhaps if he was mad ... “I don’t

understand him at all. There was something—”

There’s no need for you to understand
, said Parven.
This is only a momentary diversion
. The

Lords were crowding each other in my head. Ziddari’s anger hung inside me like a stomachache.

The fools, to allow him to have a weapon at hand
! That was Notole.

“I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t like I expected.” I wanted them to explain things.

I knew about Avonar. It was one of the soft, beautiful places—D’Arnath’s place, where his Heir

guarded the Bridge he had made to corrupt the world where I was born. The man who greeted us when

we stepped through the magical portal into someone’s study looked soft, too, and was almost bald.

Ziddari had told me that this man was a secret ally of the Lords. “A useful man, one who hates well.

While you should never truly trust them, those like Exeget are worthy of an alliance, because you can

always predict what they will do.” Ziddari had also told me that neither Exeget nor the Lords’ other allies

in Avonar knew that Darzid the Exile was truly the Lord Ziddari, and that he planned to keep it that way

a while longer.

The soft-looking man inspected me rudely. “Astonishing,” he said, touching my ear. “He is almost not

recognizable as the same child. And I see he has found favor with the Lords. Matters progress quickly.”

“Gerick knows his place in the worlds and embraces it with courage and determination,” said Darzid.

“The Lords of Zhev’Na take his words seriously. Indeed, I would not like to stand between him and the

one on whom he plans to wreak his sweet vengeance.”

“His opportunity is at hand,” said Exeget. “Once the boy is proved, we will hand over the Prince.

He’s half mad. Only the audacious fool Dassine would think of cramming the scraps of two souls into one

mind. Now as to the boy . . .”

Exeget wanted to “examine” me in some way before the test of parentage, but Darzid refused. They

argued about it for a long time. Parven had instructed me to be silent while in Avonar so that no

Dar’Nethi could sneak into my head, so Darzid did all the talking. I trusted him to watch out for me. Our

interests were the same. Our enemies were the same . . . the Prince . . . my father. The Dar’Nethi.

While Darzid and Exeget talked, I wandered around the room, looking at all the things. Shelves and

long worktables held flasks and tins, packets and bundles, measuring instruments and glass lenses, small

brass mechanisms of all kinds, and a hundred other interesting things.

At least a thousand books were stacked on the shelves, as well. I ran my fingers over the bindings. A

few were written in Leiran. Most in the language of this world. The longer I looked at them, the more I

understood. I had realized several weeks before that I no longer used the language of Leire. Even before

I knew that I was living in another world, without even realizing I was doing it, I had started speaking the

Dar’Nethi language. It was certainly easier to learn things here. I thought of the question about why there

were no books in Zhev’Na, but neither Parven nor Notole answered me. Darzid was still arguing with

Exeget.

In between two of the bookcases was a tall, narrow window with lots of small panes and an iron

latch. When I first walked past the window, I could have sworn I saw a face pressed up against it—a

boy’s dirty face. I looked at the books for a little while, then wandered past the window again. The face

was gone. It didn’t seem worth mentioning.

I forgot all about the boy at the window when Exeget left the room, and Darzid called me over to the

table. “Would you like to watch what goes on?” he said. “Catch a glimpse of our enemy?”

I wasn’t sure I did, but didn’t want to seem a coward. Darzid picked up a round, smoky glass and

passed his hand over it. It was splendid! In the glass I could see Exeget crossing a room to stand before

a raised platform where five other people sat. In front of the platform was a single chair with someone

seated in it. The hood of his white robe was drawn down low just as I had seen him in the garden at

Comigor—the Prince D’Natheil.

When he uncovered his face, his hands were shaking badly, but his face didn’t look like he was

afraid. Nor did he look proud or disdainful or anything like I expected. He looked more like one of the

tenants of Comigor—I couldn’t remember the man’s name. The tenant had fallen ill, getting thinner and

paler every day for half a year until he couldn’t lift a scythe any longer. Papa called in a physician for fear

of fever or plague, but the physician told Papa that a disease was eating away the man inside, and nothing

could be done for him. The man kept on working through harvest, the other tenants carrying him to the

fields so he could earn his family’s winter sustenance, but every time I saw him, I wondered what part of

him the disease had eaten away. The Prince looked just like that man. I believed it when the people in the

room said he should be dead. The Prince looked like he believed it, too.

When the time came, Darzid motioned me through the door into the room where my father was. I

tried to look like a sorcerer prince with powerful allies and a blood debt to repay. One of the Lords

whispered inside my head.
Have courage, young Gerick, and do not be afraid of what transpires
.

But I couldn’t recognize which one of them was speaking.

Everything the Prince said . . . during the testing and then after he got the knife and threatened

everyone away from him ... it all sounded very nice. He claimed that he and Seri had cherished me, cared

about me, and he said how he had been sorry he had to die before I was born. But the knife he held was

the same one I’d seen in my dreams, the knife that had killed Lucy. The crest with the lions and the arch

and the stars—D’Arnath’s coat-of-arms—was engraved on it. The same crest I’d seen on the sword

that had killed Papa.

The Lords had explained to me how the Prince had killed Papa to protect D’Arnath’s evil Bridge and

keep the true powers of sorcery all to himself. What kind of warrior would pretend honorable combat

when he knew it wasn’t possible? Papa wasn’t a sorcerer. I hated D’Natheil—this man Karon—for

being my father instead of Papa, and I hated him for making me evil like he was. And so I spat at him and

told him how I’d sworn an oath to destroy him.

I was sure he would laugh at me then, because he was so big and powerful and I was not. Or maybe

he would get angry and tell me why he wanted me dead. But instead he told me that he hadn’t done what

I thought, and that he was sorry. Only then, when he said he was sorry, did he first look me in the eye.

Only for that one moment. Then he slit himself open right in front of me.

I guess it was Darzid who pulled me away, though the Prince was no threat any more. I stood there

like a fool watching him fall to the floor and bleed everywhere, while everyone else was running around

and screaming. A woman cried out the Prince’s name—my father’s name, Karon—and about the time

Darzid dragged me through the door back into the workroom, I realized that the voice was Seri’s.

“Wait!” I said. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to see Seri again, so I could decide what I thought

about her. I wanted to make her tell me whether or not the Prince had known I was their son and if she

had really set him to carry out her revenge. I wanted to ask her what it was the Prince had been trying to

tell me in that instant before he died. No one had ever looked at me the way he did, and I didn’t

understand it.

Nothing that had happened in Avonar had made any sense. . . .

You did well, young Lord
, said Notole. Even though she was talking to me, I could feel her trying to

calm Ziddari and Parven’s anger.
You left no doubt in anyone’s mind that you repudiate your father

and his restrictions on our freedoms. I would have encouraged you to behave just so if it had been

possible to communicate with you. The Preceptors protect their chambers well. Even your jewels

were closed. Our next meeting will be on ground of our choosing
.

So that was why the Lords didn’t answer my questions while we were in the chamber. But then—I

thought back carefully—who kept telling me to have courage and not to be afraid?

Who was what
? whispered Notole.

“Nothing. It was just confusing. Everyone was shouting.”

You were afraid?

“No. Not really. I didn’t want to see the Prince or listen to him. But I wanted to learn about him, and

why he does such terrible things.”

“Well, there’s no need any more. We’ve had a great victory this day.” Darzid was leaving, beckoning

my slaves to fill my bath. He didn’t sound happy. “D’Natheil is dead. And it was so much easier than we

could ever have guessed it would be. Only one regret. The mad Prince has robbed you of your revenge.

We were going to let you kill him tonight.”

From the next day my training took up again as if nothing had happened. With Parven helping me feel

how to move and how to see my opponents’ openings and strategies, I improved rapidly at swordplay

and hand combat. Two different slave boys had to be taken away when I damaged them. I asked

Calador if they were all right after, but he said it was none of my concern. When I said that perhaps he

should let my partners wear leather armor like my own, now that I was getting more skilled, he said no.

The Lords had commanded that my partners would wear no armor.

Parven came into my mind, then, and said that a warrior had to know that every stroke meant

something.
Your hand must know the sensation of steel on flesh, and not quail from it. Your eye

must see beyond blood and determination, knowing clearly which strokes will damage and which

will not. These slaves could have no higher value than to aid in making their new Prince

invincible. Now, continue, and do not even think of holding back, for I will know of it. The

opponent you spare will be dead before another dawn
. And so I told Calador and Harres to look for