My efforts to voice-duel with John were stymied, however, when I discovered he held the same view. I was further subdued when I learned he believed this, not because he wished to marry early like me, but because, as a future celibate priest, he was concerned with the welfare of the couples to whom he would minister.
Puzzled by this self-possessed boy, I had accepted his invitation to visit the priests' house. There I found that, while John was well liked by the other orphan boys, he was isolated from them by his priestly ambitions and therefore had no close friends. With the impulsiveness I inherited from both my hot-tempered father and my affectionate mother, I promptly placed John under my care, resolving to protect him against any troubles that might come his way. I explained this resolution to him immediately, not out of pride but so that he would know he had nothing further to fear. He had accepted my proclamation of mastership with quiet submission, but there had been a faint smile on his face I could not interpret.
Now, as we reached the bright, humid area of the sanctuary, John paused at the threshold with the same smile on his lips, and he whispered the words that priests speak to the gods when asking permission to enter holy ground. I waited impatiently behind him; I honored the gods, but I was not one to waste my time on customary demonstrations of respect. As the prayer reached its end, I jostled my way past him in order to kneel beside a pool of water that had collected from the morning's rain. Reaching down to dip my hands into the cool relief of the water, I paused to stare at my reflection, which I rarely saw. At the moment that I caught sight of myself, I had been chuckling inwardly at John's determination to worship the gods wherever he went, so the lines of my face were struggling to contain the laughter that poured out of my eyes and trembled upon my lips. I smashed the reflection in a gleeful assertion of my power; then I turned to look at John.
He was kneeling beside a small heap of twigs he had taken from a pile he maintained in this place. His tinderbox had been taken from his belt pouch, and he had just succeeded in sparking the flint. The kindle-light fell upon the twigs and started them smoking.
I waited until the tiny blaze was well under way and John had whispered the ritual words above his play sacrificial fire before I said, "That fire is the reason the Emorians haven't been able to conquer our land. The Jackal and the other gods aren't on the Chara's side; they would never allow the Emorians to win over us."
John, sitting cross-legged beside the fire, cupped his left hand briefly over the flame before snatching it back from the heat. "The ways of the gods are mysterious, but certainly the gods must watch over those who seek their protection. The Chara claims he can shield the Koretians against our enemies if we surrender, but the gods can protect us better than any man. Perhaps the Chara should spend less time fighting and more time building fires to the gods."
"Or building fires of any sort," I said with a laugh as I drew myself over to his side. "The reason the Chara hasn't won this war is that he doesn't know how to fight properly. What's the use of holding a battle over a town if the Chara leaves the town standing afterwards? Only a weakling would leave a town unburnt after he conquered it. No Koretian could fear an army commander who showed such mercy."
"I don't think they fight with fire in Emor," murmured John. He carefully extinguished with dust the last of the sacrificial flames, and then rose to his feet and stared with bowed head at where the fire had burnt.
I rose too and placed an arm around his waist, saying firmly, "Stop worrying. It won't happen."
John did not look my way. He said softly, "Will you promise me something? If the Emorians attack, and you're not in immediate danger, will you stay at your house? I don't want to have to search the entire city for you."
I gave him a reassuring squeeze before releasing him in order to twirl over to the opposite side of the small sanctuary. "I promise you, I'll stay where I am," I said. "If you get frightened at the priests' house, just come to me, and I'll take care of you."
John raised his head then. "It's not that. It's that people become separated in war. It could take us years to find each other again . . . and if one of us died, we'd be separated by death. We might not even recognize each other when we met again."
"That's silly," I said, speaking brusquely to cover my nervousness. "I'd know you even if we met in the Land Beyond."
"Maybe not." John pushed back a forelock of hair that sweat had plastered against his brow. "People change, you know. Maybe one day, years from now, you'll be working in the city as a soldier, and I'll have become a priest who ministers to the Emorians—"
"You wouldn't," I interrupted. "The Emorians don't worship the gods."
"Maybe they will by then. Perhaps I'll turn up at your door and speak to you with an Emorian accent because I've spent so long with the Emorians, and you won't recognize me as a result. So you'll say, 'I beg that you impart to me your name,' and I'll tell you who I am, but you won't believe me because I've changed so much, and since I work with the Emorians, you'll shut the door and refuse to welcome me into your house."
This dreadful little tale caused me to sag into such misery that I had no energy left with which to fight John's vision of the future. Watching my face, John said with the same quiet conviction, "I'll tell you what we should do. We should become blood brothers. That way, we'll always have the marks of our vows to remind us of one another, even if we never see each other again."
I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. "You didn't want to do that when I suggested it last year."
"I didn't think the time was right. I believe that you should wait for a sign from the gods before pledging your blood. You saw the Jackal today, so perhaps that's our sign. Do you remember the words?" He slid the dagger out of his sheath as he spoke.
I nodded eagerly. "Can we swear vows of service to the gods also? That would make it even better."
John was silent a moment, touching the tip of the dagger lightly with his finger. Then he said, "If we do that, I think we should offer a sacrifice. The gods have to help us keep our vows, and I don't think it would be right to ask their help with two vows unless we were willing to offer them a gift in return."
I smiled, hopping from foot to foot at the thought of making three blood vows at once. John stared beyond me for a moment, his eyes focussed at the darkness of the passage beyond. Then he placed the dagger tip against his right wrist, selected the spot that all Koretians are taught from the moment they are cradle-high, and bit the blade into his arm, digging deep enough to make a scar that would remain. As he did so, he said, "I, John, do swear unto the Unknowable God and my blood brother's god that I will show true faith of friendship toward Andrew son of Gideon, protecting him against all harm and helping him to keep his vows. I bind myself with this vow until death and beyond. I further swear that I will do all that lies within my power to bring peace to this land. In token of my willingness to obey the will of the gods . . ."
For the first time John hesitated. Then he said firmly, "I sacrifice unto the gods my desire to become a priest. If it be their will that I take up some other duty, I will do as they wish."
I stood in hushed silence, watching a flicker of pain pass through John's eyes as he offered his sacrifice. Then he smiled at me and handed me the blood-stained blade. Cutting into my left wrist with a stoic determination not to flinch, since even John had kept from doing so, I said, "I, Andrew son of Gideon, do swear unto the Jackal God and the Unknowable God that I will show true faith of friendship toward John . . ." I hesitated and looked over at John, but he gave a quick shake of the head. Unlike the other orphan boys, he had not randomly selected a patronymic, any more than he had randomly selected a god to serve. I continued, "Toward John, protecting him against all harm and helping him to keep his vows. I bind myself with this vow until death and beyond. I further swear that I will do all that lies within my power . . ." I paused. An idea had formed in my mind; rather than give myself time to doubt its wisdom, I finished quickly, ". . . to bring freedom to Koretia and to kill the Chara." I grabbed John's arm and pressed his wrist against mine so that our blood mingled and our vows were joined.
It was not until after John had gently pulled his arm away that I looked up at his face and realized what I had done. I offered him the dagger, hilt-first, and said, "You don't have to help me with that last part. That's just my own vow."
John looked at the blade without moving. "We'll have to kill the Chara To Be also."
"Who?" I asked, inwardly relieved that I would have help in fulfilling my difficult murder vow.
"The Chara's son, Lord Peter. The Emorians regard him as also being the Chara, since he's the heir."
"So we'll kill him too," I said testily, nonplussed at being burdened with a second murder. "It won't be that hard if we find them together."
"I suppose not," said John softly. "The Chara's son is only a boy."
Faintly above us, I could hear once more the eerie howl of the jackal as it closed in on its spoils. Angry at myself now for my impetuosity, I thrust the dagger forward once more and said, "Here. Clean it before the blood dries on the blade."
John searched my face with his eyes before saying, "You didn't finish the vow. You have to offer your sacrifice."
"Oh, that," I said carelessly. "I don't know what sort of sacrifice the god would like me to make, so I'll let the god choose whatever he wants. I'll give him anything I have."
John said quietly, "You ought not to make that sort of offer unless you mean it."
"I'm not afraid," I said with a laugh. I barely heard what I was saying; I was simply trying to hide my continued annoyance with myself at forcing my peacemaking friend to swear a murder vow. "I know that the god won't take anything from me that I truly need, and you may be sure I'll make good use of whatever he leaves me." I tossed the dagger into John's hands and then, since there was little room to move in the small passage, I twirled in one place like a bird caught within the vortex of a death wind.
When I finally stopped, clutching the wall to steady my dizzy body, I saw that John was smiling as he wiped the blade clean on his tunic. He said, "Let's go see the Jackal now."
"You mean it?" I bounced toward him in delight.
John nodded. "Not to offer him our service – just to tell him about our vows and how we made them because you saw him. He'll be pleased to hear that."
I did not wait for John to have doubts again but began to race down the dark passage toward the cave. I knew the passage so well that I could do this without fear of running into any obstacles. I had nearly reached the boy-sized opening that led to the final, shadowy stretch of the passage when John grabbed hold of me from behind and whispered, "Quietly! You can't burst into the god's presence like that. Pretend that you're a bottom-ranked soldier meeting your commander."
This image sobered me, so I followed John's lead as he wriggled through the hole and began walking quietly toward the golden light. Already I could hear the sound of men's voices. Before we had stepped out of the masking darkness, I stopped to stare at what lay ahead.
The glowing stone always filled the main cavern with dim light, but now the cavern was daylight-bright because a large bonfire had been built in the center of the area before us. The smoke, tickling our noses with the scent of pine needles, rose into the high ceiling, leaving the cave floor free of the dark mist.
There would hardly have been room for the smoke in any case, so close-jammed were the men. Dozens of them stood near us, all dressed in soldiers' armor and all going about their business with an efficient intensity. Their hurried yet steady movements reminded me of the visits I had made as a small child to where my father worked. There at the Koretian army headquarters I had watched soldiers burnishing their shields, whetting their blades, and securing their spearheads. Here too I could see all these activities, but with one difference. As I felt John draw close to me, I realized that he too had noted the difference: these men had skin the color of sandstone.
We had found the Emorian army.
CHAPTER TWO
It was not the entire army, of course. Most of the Emorian soldiers must still be fighting in the north, fooling our subcommander into thinking that the Koretian capital remained safe from attack. What we were seeing, at a guess, was the Chara's vanguard, the section of the army that attacks first and swiftest. Only the vanguard could make its way down Daxis quickly enough to arrive at the Daxion side of the mountain without forewarning.
Even then, if the troops attempted to circle Capital Mountain by going around its sides, the Koretian divisions left guarding the city would receive advance notice, and the Emorians would lose their element of surprise. Instead, the Emorians – having persuaded the Daxions to break their alliance with Koretia, having prepared to sneak through the back door of Koretia – had added to their cleverness by plotting to pour down the mountain by way of the cave. The head of the vanguard was already stationed here, awaiting the right moment.
All of this came to me later. At the time, I underwent only shock at the Emorians' knavish scheme and – it cannot be denied – keen pleasure at having found out their secret. I looked around at the soldiers. The rank insignia they used was familiar to me, for the colors of the cloaks and tunic borders were a universal sign within the armies of the Three Lands of the Great Peninsula. But instead of the Jackal-black uniforms that Koretian soldiers wore, these soldiers were dressed in brown, as though they were peasants or priests. It seemed an odd color for the rich land north of us to choose for its army.
I thought I glimpsed a couple of men uniformed in grey, chatting with ease with one of the Emorian lieutenants. I stared hard at the Daxion border guards, wondering what had happened to the Koretian border guards. Had the Daxion guards let arrow-armed men through to kill the Koretian border guards? Or had the Emorian army taken care of this task? Or perhaps the Daxion guards, pretending to meet with the Koretians over some routine border matter, had turned with treachery upon the other guards and had slaughtered them in a moment meant for peace.