[Lanen Kaelar 01] - Song in the Silence (43 page)

The Council was going badly, but Shikrar and I
had done what we might—now it was up to
them. My people had much to discuss,
and they were not accustomed to acting swiftly in such
matters. I had no choice but to leave
my fate and Lanen’s to the Council.

As I awaited their summons, for further debate or
to hear their decision, I set myself in
Meditation of the Winds. I heard no
voices this time, for which I was deeply thankful. I let my
soul fly on
the Winds, let calmness and order take my thoughts that I might see my way
clear.

Do not mistake me, I had no intention of simply
accepting the word of the Council if they
demanded her life—but I had little
time in which to think of a more reasonable alternative. It
was harder
than I had imagined, since every answer seemed to include exile from our
people,
indeed
from both peoples, for both Lanen and me. Still, perhaps time would heal these
wounds.

My heart grew heavy then, for it was the first
time I truly gave thought to how short my
dearling’s span of years would be. I
could easily live fifty years alone, in contemplation. Many
of the
Kindred spent that much time in seclusion simply by preference.

In fifty years, at best, Lanen would be in her
old age. It was more likely that she would be
dead. Coward that I was, I could not
sit alone with that thought. I left my chambers and went
to the
Boundary to speak with Kédra.

He, of course, was full of a joy no other doings
could displace. I played willing audience to
his need as he spoke of his pride in
Mirazhe and his newfound delight in their youngling. It
that had been all the tenor of his
speech I might have tired of it sooner, but he could not say
enough in
praise of Lanen, and he in his turn listened when I spoke of her as I had not
dared
do
with any other, even Shikrar.

As time went on, however, and the sun sank into
the west, I found I was calling out to her
more often and becoming more and more
disturbed at the lack of answer. Surely she should
have awakened by now? The wind had
turned with sunset and blew from the south, and in the
darkening twilight suddenly I caught
a whiff of Gedri nearby. Kédra had smelt it as well, and
we both knew
it was not Lanen.

In moments a figure appeared in the twilight at
the edge of the trees, looking all ways, then
speeding to the place of Summoning.
It was a female, smaller and darker than my dear one,
but swift and sure in her movements
despite an odd twist to her body. There was no trace of
the Rakshasa in her, though her eyes
looked strange.

She could not have been more than a tree’s length
away when she called out in a loud whisper.

“Akor? Akor? Guardian, are you there? Lanen
told me to seek you here.”

I waited. She spoke very quickly, and fear
surrounded her.

“Akor, I need to talk to you. Akor?”
Then, as if to herself she muttered, “Damn, what were the
other
two—Shikrer, something like that, Kaydra—the Hells—Akor?” she called
again, louder.
“Akor,
damn it, Lanen told me to come here. She’s in trouble!”

My heart fell like a stone. I moved swiftly to
her and leaned down all in an instant so that my
face was barely a length away from
hers. “What kind of trouble?”

She let out a yelp and leapt back. I had not
desired to frighten her, but it occurred to me once
it was done that I might more swiftly
learn her tidings if she had some fear of me to spur her
on.

I drew back a little, but stayed down on the same
level. ”I will not harm you, child of the
Gedri. You are friend to Lanen?”

“Yes. Are you?”

I admired her courage. ”I am Akor, the King of
the Greater Kindred,” I said solemnly, “and I
would give my life to protect her
from harm.”

“Then now would be a good time to start.
Marik’s got her—”

“I took her to him to be healed.”

“Yes, yes, she’s healed right enough, but
he’s got other plans for her. His demon master, that
Caderan, has her drugged or
ensorcelled or something like. I saw her, she’s chained to a wall
in his cabin
and there’s a demon not a foot from her face. As best I can tell it just sits
there and
sings
out when she wakes. I’ve heard their talk, though, and sure as life they have
worse in
store
for her when true night falls.” I shivered, as though the winds of deep
winter blew
through
my soul. True night was all but upon us.

Kédra spoke quietly from behind me, the anger in
his voice barely held in check. “How can
you know this? Is it in some public
place, where all may approve?”

“Sweet Lady, do you think we’re all
depraved?” she replied sharply. How swiftly the Gedri
move from
fear to anger. “He’s got her behind locked doors and bolted shutters. If
the rest of
the
Harvesters knew about this they’d either go for his hide or bolt in terror. I
went looking for
her
and I saw her through a break in the shutters.”

“I think you have put yourself in danger by
coming to us,” he said, chastened.
Her voice was also more gentle as she
replied, “I like the child, and despite what happened to
her, she
trusts you. If anyone can help her against demons, surely you can. The legends
say
you
dragons are life-enemies of the Rakshasa.”

I had not spoken, for fear I would scorch the
ground. Fire swelled within me at the thought of
the Rakshasa near my dear one. Even
as I crouched I spoke to the messenger through
clenched teeth.

“What is your name?” I demanded.

“Lanen calls me Rella.”

“Then for your tidings, Rella, I thank you.
Where is the place where she is held captive?”

Her directions meant little to me, but the place
was not far, thank the Winds. “Do you stay
here with Kédra,” I said.
“I believe it is not safe for you to be in that place.” I bespoke
Kédra
even
as I sprang into the night sky.
”Tell
Shikrar where I am gone and why, and protect this
Rella from
her people and ours. And in my name, summon Idai from the Birthing Cove if
Mirazhe is
well. In the face of this madness I fear I shall need her. I will return with
my
dearling
as soon as I may.”

My words to
the Winds,
I prayed as I flew
, let my speaking be true.

Marik

The guards’ cabin was changed beyond all
recognition. More than anything else it reminded
me of that hidden room in my first
Merchant House in Mara, when Berys and I made the
Farseer that was the cause of all my
pain.

I had trebled the guard, and all six had strict
instructions to let none nearer than thirty paces,
including themselves. My own cabin
was more than fifty paces distant, and I could only hope
it would
remain free of the taint of our activities. Such things make it hard to sleep.

As for ourselves—Caderan had spent all the hours
since dawn placing wards and other things
in readiness, in and about the cabin
and the grounds. Since the girl had Farspeech, we would
be in danger as long as she was
awake, until the dedication was complete. His preparations
were
exhaustive. The girl herself sat slumped in a chair and chained to the wail, as
she had
been
all day. The Rikti who guarded her perched on her knee, alert, and whenever she
struggled to
consciousness Caderan spelled her asleep again.

On his advice I wore the Ring of Seven Circles.

He had provided a small wooden altar—no more than
a table, really, but in the last few days
he had carved things deep into the
wood. I recognised the seven circles of the Hells, but
outside the largest circle there were
sigils I had never seen before. When I looked at them,
they seemed almost to move— but that
might have been the candlelight. On the floor around
the altar were scriven in chalk seven
more circles, to keep the demon bound.

On the altar were seven candles, all short,
stubby things, placed evenly outside the carvings. A
cup I recognised from earlier in the
day, when he had drawn my blood into it, lay in one
corner, along with a wand and a large
bowl full of choicest lansip leaves. In the center a round
brazier sat
piled high with coals. I was surprised that they were yet black and cold, but
at a
word
and a gesture from Caderan they lit themselves. In moments they glowed deep
red, like
so
many malevolent eyes gazing out at us. “The sun is well gone, night
approaches,” he said.

“Let us begin.”

He reached into a pouch at his waist and threw
something on the coals. I was amazed to smell
lansip burning. For just an instant
the place was filled with rare perfume, the very touch of
bliss—but at
a word from Caderan the smell went instantly rancid. He laughed. “So eager
they are for
lansip,” he said, and his voice shocked me. From its usual high nasal
register it
had
sunk, now far deeper, into a rough and powerful range. It seemed almost to echo
in that
small
room.

Now he began to chant, low and soft, his voice
steady. All the while he sang he gestured in air
with his hands, drawing out symbols
(I recognised one or two of the strange carvings from the
altar),
making passes over the candles each one in turn. At first I thought it my
imagination,
but
it soon became obvious mat the room was in truth filling with a foglike haze.
The very air
was
thicker, crowded almost. It was hard to breathe.

It was also, obviously, hard to concentrate.
Caderan’s voice went more slowly now, the
syllables (which I had heard him
rehearsing by the hour for days) taking more and more effort
to pronounce.
His tongue stumbled now and then, and each stumble was greeted by a flare of
flame from
the brazier as if some intelligence waited there for him to falter. The last
words
were
preceded by long pauses, but when they left his lips they were whole, and when
the last
was
pronounced he drew a deep breath of satisfaction. From the altar he took up the
wand and
couched
it to each of the sigils in turn.

”Come, Dark One, thou art summoned. Lord of the
Third Hell of the Rakshasa, I call upon
thee—by circle, by sigil, by
offering, thou art compelled. I charge thee by my power, I charge
thee by these
sigils, I charge thee by this offering of blood—” Here he poured the dark
liquid
from
the small cup into the coals, setting off a hissing and a stench. “—and of
lansip—” Here
he
emptied the large bowl into the brazier. “—come to this place. By my own
power I
summon
thee, by the power of Malior, Magister of the
Sixth
Circle
, I summon thee, and to
bring and to
bind thee I call thee by name.”

The name sounded to me like a string of grunts
and clicks and curses, but there was no
mistaking it for anything but a demon
name. Caderan had warned me and I had fasted now for
a full day, so that when the sound of
it made me heave naught escaped me but a little bile, that
I caught in a
cloth. Even I know it is unwise to leave such personal essences in the presence
of
demons.

When I looked up I saw that the thick air had
begun to congeal above the altar. It outlined
limbs surprisingly fair and well
made, though the shape of the head made me reach again for
my cloth. As
it grew more solid it appeared to be the torso and upper limbs of a comely man,
though the
skin was deep red streaked with black, but above sat the head of a nightmare. It
had far too
many eyes and mouths, scattered it seemed at random about the many disparate
lumps that
made up what sat on its thick neck. When it spoke its breath was the stench of
rotting meat,
and its voice was flat as death.

“Behold, fools, I am come,” it said.
“None may summon the Lord of the Third Hell and live.
Die in
agony.” And with those words the mouth nearest Caderan grew ten times its
size,
ringed
with teeth like daggers, and reached for him.

Without a word Caderan leaned back, and the
Raksha (to my shock) found itself unable to
pass the carven circles that
surrounded the brazier. Its attack was arrested as though it had
hit a wall,
though naught but air blocked its way. It screamed. a gut-wrenching scream, and
pounded at
the barrier, to no avail.