In the Realm of the Wolf (39 page)

Kesa Khan shivered. “You saw all this in a single day? It has taken me fifty years.”

“I had fifty years less to travel.”

“What else did you see?”

“What is there that you wish to know?” countered the Drenai.

Kesa Khan bit his lip and said nothing for a moment. “I know it all,” he lied, shrugging his shoulders. “There is nothing new. Have you located Waylander?”

“Yes. He has altered Gulgothir in disguise. Two of my priests are watching him, seeking to divert any search spells.”

Kesa Khan nodded. “It is almost time to retrieve the crystal,” he said, transferring his gaze to the flickering fire.

“It should be destroyed,” advised Dardalion.

“As you wish. You will need to send one of your men, a priest who is unlikely to be corrupted by its power. You have such a man?”

“Corrupted?”

“Aye. Even in its dormant state it exerts great influence, firing the senses like strong drink that removes inhibition. The man you send must have great control over his … passions, shall we say? Any weakness he has will be multiplied a hundred times. I will send no Nadir on such a quest.”

“As you well know, there is one among my priests with the strength to overcome such evil,” said Dardalion. He leaned in close to the wizened shaman. “But tell me, Kesa Khan, what else is down there?”

“Have you not used your great powers to find out?” countered the wizened Nadir, unable to keep a sneer from disfiguring his face.

“No spirit can penetrate the lower levels. There is a force there many times stronger than anything I have encountered before. But you know all this, old man, and more. I do not ask for your gratitude; it is meaningless to me. We are not here for you. But I would ask for a little honesty.”

“Ask all you like, Drenai. I owe you nothing! You want the crystal, then seek it out.”

Dardalion sighed. “Very well. I shall do just that. But I will not send Ekodas into the pit. I shall go myself.”

“The crystal will destroy you!”

“Perhaps.”

“You are a fool, Dardalion. Ekodas is many times stronger than you. You know this.”

The abbot smiled. “Yes, I know.” The smile faded, and his eyes hardened. “And now the time for pretense is over. You need Ekodas. Without him your dreams are dust. I have seen the future, Kesa Khan. I have seen more than you know. Everything here is in a state of delicate balance. One wrong strategy and your hopes will die.”

The shaman relaxed and added fuel to the flames in the brazier. “We are not so different, you and I. Very well, I will tell you all that you desire to know. But it must be Ekodas who destroys the evil. You agree?”

“Let us talk, and then I will decide.”

“That is acceptable, Drenai.” Kesa Khan took a deep breath. “Ask your questions.”

“What perils wait in the lower levels?”

The shaman shrugged. “How would I know? As you say, no spirit power can enter there.”

“Who would you send with Ekodas?” Dardalion asked softly.

“The Drenai woman and her lover.”

Dardalion caught the gleam in the shaman’s eyes. “You are transparent in your hate, Kesa Khan. You need us now, but you want us all dead eventually. Especially the woman. Why is that?”

“Pah, she is of no consequence!”

“And still the lies flow,” snapped Dardalion. “But we will talk again, Kesa Khan.”

“You will said Ekodas?”

Dardalion remained silent for a moment. Then he nodded. “But not,” he said, “for the reasons you believe.”

The abbot stood and left the room. The shaman fought down his anger and remained sitting cross-legged before the fire. How much more did the Drenai know? What had he said of the Uniter? Kesa Khan summoned the words from memory:

A vast spider’s web of possible futures. But most of them did not interest me. I followed the path that leads from Kar-Barzac and the child to be conceived here. A girl, a beautiful girl who will wed a young warlord. Their son will be mighty, their grandson mightier still.

Did he know the identity of the young warlord? Where he might be found? Kesa Khan cursed softly and wished he had the strength to walk the paths of mist once more. But he could feel his heart beating within the cage of his ribs, fluttering weakly like a dying sparrow. His dark eyes narrowed. He had no choice. He must go on with his plans. Let the Drenai destroy the crystal; it was not important to the future of the Nadir. What
was
vital was that Ekodas should journey to the chamber, and with him the woman Miriel.

The merest moment of regret touched him then. She was a strong woman, proud and caring.

It was, he admitted, a shame she had to die.

*    *    *

Angel looked down at the perfectly healed skin of his torn palms, then up into the face of the young priest. “There is no mark,” he said. “No scab or scar!”

The young man smiled wearily. “I merely accelerated your own healing processes. I have also removed a small growth from one of your lungs.”

“A cancer?” whispered Angel, fear rising in his throat.

“Yes, but it is gone.”

“I felt no pain from it.”

“Nor would you until it was much larger.”

“You saved my life, then? By all the gods, priest, I don’t know what to say. My name is Angel.” He thrust out his newly healed hand.

The priest took it. “Ekodas. How goes it on the wall?”

“We’re holding them. They’ll not try scaling the battlements again. Next time it will be the portcullis.”

Ekodas nodded. “You are correct. But it will not be until tomorrow. Get some rest, Angel. You are no longer a young man, and your body is very tired.” The priest glanced over Angel’s shoulder. “The boy is with you?” he asked.

Angel looked around. The deaf child was standing close by with Angel’s green cloak draped over his shoulders. “Yes. Your large friend—Merlon?—suggested that I ask you to look at him. He’s deaf.”

“I am very weary. My powers are not inexhaustible.”

“Another time, then,” said Angel, rising.

“No,” insisted Ekodas. “Let us at least examine him.”

Angel waved the boy to him, but he shied away when the priest reached out. Ekodas closed his eyes. The child immediately slumped into Angel’s arms, deeply asleep.

“What did you do?”

“He will come to no harm, Angel. He will merely sleep until I wake him.” Ekodas placed his open palms over the child’s ears and stood stock-still for several minutes. At last he stepped back and sat down opposite the gladiator. “He had a severe infection when very young. It was not treated and spread through the bones around the ears. This damaged the eardrums, making them incapable of relaying vibrations to the brain. You understand?”

“Not a word of it,” admitted Angel. “But can you heal him?”

“I have already done so,” said Ekodas. “But you must stay with him for a while. He will be frightened. Every noise will be new to him.”

Angel watched the young priest move away across the hall. The boy stirred in his arms. His eyes opened.

“Feel better?” asked Angel. The boy stiffened, his eyes flaring with shock. Angel grinned and tapped his own ear. “You can hear now.” A woman moved past them, behind the child. He swiveled and stared at her feet as they padded across the stone floor. Angel touched the boy on the arm, gaining his attention, then began to tap rhythmically at the table at which they sat, making small drumming sounds. The child scrambled from his lap and ran from the hall.

“What a great teacher you are,” Angel muttered. Weariness flooded him, and he rose and walked through the hall, finding a small unoccupied room in a corridor beyond it. There was no furniture there, but Angel lay down on the stone floor, his head pillowed on his arm.

And he slept without dreams.

Miriel woke him, and he sat up. She had brought him a bowl of weak broth and a chunk of bread. “How are your hands?” she asked him.

“Healed,” he told her, turning them palms upward. “By one of the priests—Ekodas. He has a rare talent.”

She nodded. “I have just met him.” He took the soup and began to eat. Miriel sat silently beside him. She seemed preoccupied and continually tugged at a long lock of hair by her temple.

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you, Miriel. Are we not friends?”

She nodded but did not meet his eyes. “I feel ashamed,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “People are dying here every day, yet I have never been happier. Even on the wall, when the Gothir were advancing, I felt alive in a way I have never known before. I could smell the air—so sweet and cold. And with Senta …” She blushed and looked away.

“I know,” he told her. “I have been in love.”

“It seems so stupid, but a part of me doesn’t want this to end. Do you know what I mean?”

“Everything ends,” he said with a sigh. “In a curious way it is what makes life so beautiful. I knew an artist once who could craft flowers from glass—fabulous items. But one night, as we were drinking in a small tavern, he told me he had never once fashioned anything with the beauty of a genuine rose. And he knew he never would. For the secret of its beauty is that it must die.”

“I don’t want it to die. Ever.”

He laughed. “I know that feeling, girl. But Shemak’s balls! You’re young, not yet twenty. Draw every ounce of pleasure you can from life, savor it, hold it on your tongue. But don’t waste time with thoughts of loss. My first wife was a harridan. I adored her, and we fought like tigers. When she died, I was bereft, but given the chance, I would not go back and live differently. The years with her were golden.”

She smiled at him sheepishly. “I don’t want the pain my father suffered. I know that sounds pathetic.”

“There’s nothing pathetic about it. Where is the man himself?”

“Gathering torches.”

“For what?”

“Kesa Khan has asked me to lead Ekodas through the lower levels. We are to seek out a crystal.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No,” she said firmly as he started to rise. “Ekodas says you are more tired than you will admit. You don’t need a walk in the dark.”

“There could be danger,” he objected.

“Kesa Khan says not. Now you rest. We’ll be back within a couple of hours.”

For the merchant Matze Chai, sleep was a joy to be treasured. Each night, no matter what pressures his ventures loaded on him, he would sleep undisturbed for exactly four hours. It was Matze Chai’s belief that it was this blissful rest that kept his mind sharp while he was dealing with treacherous Gothir tradesmen and wily nobles.

So it was with some surprise that when he was awakened by his manservant, Luo, he noticed that the dawn was still some way off and the night stars could still be seen through the balcony window.

“I am sorry, master,” whispered Luo, bobbing and bowing in the moonlight, “but there is a man to see you.”

Matze Chai absorbed that information and much more. No ordinary man could have prevailed on Luo to disturb his rest, nor would anyone of Matze’s acquaintance leave the servant in such a state of fear.

He sat up and removed the net of silk that covered his waxed and gleaming hair. “Light a lantern or two, Luo,” he said softly.

“Yes, master. I am sorry, master. But he was insistent that you should be awakened.”

“Of course. Think no more of it. You did exactly the right thing. Fetch me a comb.” Luo lit two lanterns, placing them on the desk beside the bed. Then he brought a bronze mirror and an ivory comb. Matze Chai tilted his head, and Luo carefully combed his master’s long beard, parting it at the center and braiding it expertly. “Where did you leave this man?” he asked.

“In the library, master. He asked for some water.”

“Ah, water!” Matze Chai smiled. “I will dress myself. Be a good fellow and go to my study. In the third cabinet from the garden window you will find, wrapped, I believe, in red vellum and tied with blue twine, a set of parchments and scrolls. Bring them to the library as soon as you can.”

“Should I summon the guard, master?”

“For what purpose?” inquired Matze Chai. “Are we in danger?”

“He is a rough and violent man. I know these things.”

“The world is full of rough and violent men. And yet I am still rich and safe. Do not concern yourself, Luo. Merely do as I have bidden you.”

“Yes, master. Red vellum. Third cabinet from the window.”

“Tied with blue twine,” Matze Chai reminded him. Luo bowed and backed from the room. Matze Chai stretched and rose, moving to his wardrobe and selecting an open-fronted robe of shimmering purple, which he belted to his waist with a golden sash. In slippers of softest velvet he moved down the
curving staircase into the long, richly carpeted hall and across into the library.

His guest was seated on a silk-covered couch. He had discarded a filthy Sathuli robe and burnoose, and his clothes of black leather were travel-stained and dusty. A small black crossbow lay beside him.

“Welcome to my home, Dakeyras,” said Matze Chai with a wide smile.

The man smiled back. “I’d say you were investing my money well, judging from the antiquities I see around me.”

“Your wealth is safe and growing apace,” Matze told him. He sat down on the couch opposite the newcomer, having first lifted the foul-smelling Sathuli robe between index finger and thumb and dropped it to the floor. “I take it you are traveling in disguise.”

“Sometimes it is advisable,” admitted his guest.

Luo appeared, carrying the scrolls and ledgers. “Put them on the table,” said Matze. “Oh … and remove these items,” he added, touching the robes with the toe of his velvet supper. “Prepare a hot scented bath in the lower guest room. Send for Ru Lai and tell her there is a guest who will require a hot-oil massage.”

“Yes, master,” answered Luo, gathering up the Sathuli robes and backing from the room.

“Now, Dakeyras, would you like to examine the accounts?”

The man smiled. “Ever one step ahead, Matze. How did you know it was me?”

“A midnight guest who frightens Luo and asks for a glass of water? Who else would it be? I understand there is a price on your head once more. Who have you offended now?”

“Just about everyone. But Karnak set the price.”