The Well of Darkness (7 page)

As I walked between my two guards out of the barracks toward the huge structure that was the traditional family home of the Harthim Lords—who, according to Eddartan law, were usually the High Lords, as well—it wasn’t lost on me that I looked a whole lot like any other High Guard member.

Except that my companions each carried sword and dagger, and I didn’t have a weapon. Any sword would have felt good in my hand, but I wanted Rika back.

Thinking about the steel sword reminded me of Obilin, which turned my thoughts to Indomel, which made me wonder about Zefra, which generated a pang of anxiety over Tarani, which brought me full circle to Obilin again. I hadn’t seen the man since he’d ordered my imprisonment. Absence hadn’t made me any fonder of him. And that made me think of Rika again.

Quit fretting
, I ordered my subconscious, which ignored me.
Indomel has some of the answers you want, and we
‘
re nearly there.

We went into the Harthim house by the front door. I found I was surprised to find it fairly ordinary, though scaled slightly larger and richly furnished. My time in this house on my last trip had been spent in Zefra’s quarters, in a back wing which bordered Pylomel’s beautiful garden. Ricardo was expecting the High Lord himself to live like Louis XVI, surrounded by courtiers and flagrant wealth.

Maybe this was just Pylomel
‘
s influence,
I thought.
All that gorgeous stuff hidden away in the treasure vault
—
Gharlas called it. Pylomel certainly was a hoarder. And Indomel hasn
‘
t had time to change anything, even if he wanted to.

We went through the huge center room—in a more modest home, it would be called the midhall—and entered a small parlor. I was facing a huge double-doored entryway. The guards saw me into the parlor, then left me alone.

Not for long. Obilin opened the double doors and bowed mockingly.

“Do join us, Lakad.”

Lakad was the name I had used to get into the High Guard. It was also the only name by which Indomel knew me.

So you
‘
re keeping my secret, are you, Obilin?
I thought as I edged past the High Guardsman.
For your own purpose, of course. But I won
‘
t spoil it for you. The less Indomel knows about me, the better.

Indomel was seated in a room that tried to create the illusion of informality and failed dismally. For one thing, the standard stone ledges were missing. The chairs—seven of them—had frames of wood, not the more common Eddartan material of bamboo-like reeds. The fabric which served as seat and back was thickly embroidered. Thread ends, poking up here and there, betrayed age and wear.

For another thing, the chair arrangement was designed to make Indomel the focus of the room.

Seven chairs
—
this must be an “unofficial” Council chamber, where the Lords really make their decisions. I
‘
d certainly be able to think more clearly here than in the shadow of that tall bronze panel.

For me, the focus of the room wasn’t Indomel—it was Tarani, standing with Zefra behind the young High Lord’s chair.

I let out a great sigh of relief. Tarani looked well, if a little tense. The only thing that mattered to me right then was seeing the flash of joy that crossed her face as I came into the room. She regained her composure quickly; I took that as advice, and controlled my impulse to run right over Indomel and scoop her up in my arms.

A couple of other factors counseled me to restrain myself. This “parlor” felt like a courtroom. It spelled danger I couldn’t predict.

It doesn
‘
t look as though Tarani
‘
s on trial here
, I thought.
The way she
‘
s standing there with Zefra, both of them dressed formally, she seemed more part of the jury. That would indicate that Indomel
—
trusts her? Not in a million years. At least that she
‘
s protected in some way. I don
‘
t want to screw that up for her.

So between shame and speculation, I merely walked into the room and stood calmly in front of Indomel.

The boy had changed little since the last time I had seen him.

He bore a family resemblance to Tarani and Zefra. The delicacy of bone structure was less noticeable, in Indomel’s face, than the flatness of his cheeks and the sharpness of his widow’s peak. The tusks which occupied the position of human canine teeth seemed extraordinarily large because the other teeth were slightly smaller than normal. His eyes dominated the face, looming dark and large from underneath the minimal supraorbital ridge that seemed to be a Harthim characteristic.

Physically, he was nearly identical to the Indomel I had met in Lord Hall. But there was a subtle difference in his bearing. Then he had been a spoiled child—not a harmless one, as his secret connection with Obilin attested—but a child.

As the High Lord, he had more mature and cautious a bearing, but no less nasty a nature.

“Do sit down,” he said. “One should not learn the manner of his death while standing.”

It was an obvious attempt to rattle me, but I wasn’t buying. I’d been living with the prospect of immediate death for the last six days. And I had the feeling he was just goading me.

“You aren’t going to kill a man who just had his first bath in weeks,” I said, taking the chair that was offered. Obilin remained standing by the door, looking extra alert. Tarani was watching us with interest. Zefra was staring out the window. Indomel and I were the only ones sitting.

“Perhaps we have fastidious executioners—had you not considered that, Lakad?”

Indomel really believes my name is Lakad. Not only has Obilin kept his mouth shut, but neither Tarani nor Zefra has been forced to reveal anything about me.
I looked again at Zefra, who hadn‘t moved since I‘d come into the room. She stared off out the window I faced, a disturbing blankness to her face.
Can that be an act?
I wondered.
Whatever it is, captive or not, Tarani still has some power over the High Lord.

For the first time in six days, I started to feel hopeful.

“You forget, High Lord,” I said, managing not to pronounce the title sarcastically, “that I’ve had dealings with the High Guard. I’d say that, given the chance to kill somebody, they’d be much less interested in style than in efficiency.”

Indomel laughed at that, and relaxed back into his chair.

“You have described yourself, my friend. For did you not enroll in the High Guard, just before the unfortunate death of my father? You are not yet released from that duty and you shall be placed, at Obilin’s request, directly under his supervision.”

I looked at Obilin, who couldn’t quite hide a smirk of satisfaction.

“Obilin appropriated … the sword I was carrying,” I said. “May I have it back?”

“A bold request,” Indomel said, not missing the fact that Obilin and I weren’t the best of friends. “Especially from a man who could as easily be executed as hired. Were it not that the lady Tarani has convinced me that the third member of your group, a man whom Zefra identified as Sharith, was actually and independently responsible for Pylomel’s death—”

“Sharith?” Obilin interrupted, taking a step into the room. “Then there
were
sha’um?”

Obilin‘s surprise was welcome.
It
‘
s clear that Obilin and Indomel haven
‘
t talked to each other much. Now, if I can just keep it straight about who knows what …

“
A
sha’um,” I corrected him. “It left with Thymas.”

“Your friend abandoned you so readily?” Indomel said, then smiled. “Ah, I think I see. The lady Tarani was a source of conflict between you. As I believe she is between you and Obilin. Am I right, Guardsman?” he asked, looking at the little man with amusement as Obilin’s face darkened. “Of course I am right.”

Indomel stood up and paced slowly inside the wide semicircle of chairs. He was wearing a floor-length tunic and vest, tied with a jeweled rope; there was a soft clinking as the rope ends swung against each other in response to his movement.

“I welcome the attachment between you and the lady Tarani,” he said. “Because it offers me certain assurances. She has been most persuasive in her efforts to keep you alive, and has made certain—uh—concessions on your behalf.”

“Concessions”?
I wondered. I had a heart-sinking memory of Pylomel and his peculiar appetites.
Surely not his own sister
, I argued with myself.
Or would he have taken Obilin
‘
s part … God, no!

“You will have heard that I am of a thrifty nature, Lakad. It seemed wasteful to provide food and shelter to a strong and healthy man, whose fighting skill has been well proven—hence the decision to, um, extend your enlistment in the Guard.”

He paused in front of my chair. “The lady Tarani is being treated with honor,” he said, “but that could change at any time. Only those of us in this room—yes, I am aware of Obilin’s knowledge—know that I have a natural
elder
sister. Should even a rumor of this reach beyond the five of us, Tarani’s comfort will be threatened. Should you fail your assigned duties as a High Guardsman, she will suffer. If you try to escape, she will die. Is that stated clearly enough?”

“Yes,” I said. I was trembling. I dared not look at Tarani.

Indomel nodded, seemed to relax, and then smiled broadly.

“As to your specific assignment,” he said, “I was faced with a dilemma, caused by Obilin’s personal feelings toward you and the lady Tarani.”

Obilin stiffened at the sound of amusement in the High Lord’s voice.

“On the one hand,” Indomel continued, “Obilin is
totally
loyal to me, and will in all things obey my wishes.” The High Lord moved over to the small man, at least fifteen years older than himself, and put his hand on Obilin’s shoulder.

Ricardo had once seen a human pat a dog on the head with just that air of condescension. Obilin reacted in just about the same way—except that his ears wouldn’t fold back.

“On the other hand,” said Indomel, “I have a great deal of sympathy for his admiration of my sister and his hatred of you, and I would prefer to spare
him
the embarrassment of letting his feelings violate his loyalty. I have promised, after all, that you shall
live.

“Therefore, you shall report to Obilin directly, as he requests, but from a distance. As of this moment, you will be in charge of the Lingis copper mine.”

I don’t know who was more startled, Obilin or me.

“Me? Supervising slaves? I won’t do it!” I exclaimed.

Indomel laughed. “It sounds as though you’ve been talking to those stupid Raithskarians,” he said, then whirled on Obilin, his mood change swift as lightning. “Go prepare the transfer orders. He will leave immediately.”

I had to hand it to Obilin. The rug had just been pulled out from under him, but he recovered quickly, betraying his reaction only in a slight shakiness in his voice. “Naddam, the present supervisor, is a good man, High Lord. What reason shall I give for replacing him?”

“Think of something,” Indomel shouted. “The death rate among his slaves is higher than anywhere else. Tell him it’s punishment for working them too hard. Tell him it’s reward for such devotion to his work. Just
write the order.
“

It was unquestionable a dismissal. The High Guardsman backed out of the room and closed the double doors, glaring at me all the way.

“Raithskar,” Indomel said, and took a deep breath to calm the rage he had let us glimpse. “The name reminded me of a matter which does not concern Obilin.” The High Lord went to a shelf area on the wall behind me and lifted a wooden box. He set it on a lower shelf, opened it with his back to us, and turned around with both fists closed.

“Where,” he asked, “did you get this?” He opened his left hand to display a blue jewel, darker blue lines hinting at a crystalline structure deep within it. Tarani and I both gasped.

There seemed no point in hiding that part of the story. I had twisted in the chair to watch his movements. I turned back around and spoke with my back to the High Lord.

“Gharlas stole it from Raithskar,” I said. “We got it from him.”

“Not this one, you didn’t,” Indomel said. He came into the center of the grouped chairs, kicked aside the edge of the carpet and threw the jewel hard at the marble-slabbed floor. It shattered with a surprisingly soft sound.

“Glass, as I discovered shortly after you left Eddarta—at least, as I suspected, when my dear mother proved to be overconfident of her powers. I took it from her, reserving judgment on the gem in favor of further experimentation. She …”

He looked at Zefra, who merely stared back at him, unflinching. She hadn’t yet said a word.

“The lady Zefra was punished for her temerity, I assure you. My next thought,” Indomel continued, “was to wonder how the three of you had arrived in the Council Chamber. It was unthinkable that no one would have seen you enter, equally unthinkable that anyone, seeing a stranger go into the Council Chamber, would not alert the guard.

“There
are
two doors into that room. It is well known among the Harthim that Troman’s Way exists, though its secret has long been lost to us. Once I suspected you had somehow discovered it, and entered the Council Chamber
through
the treasure vault, I was understandably anxious to verify that the treasure was intact. By that time, I could hear the other Lords shouting about Pylomel’s death and searching for me, but I thought it wise to inspect the vault first.”

He took a deep breath. “As it turned out, it was
very
wise. Only
I
know that Gharlas was killed
inside
the vault, instead of at the foot of the Bronze, where the others found his body. (A poetic statement, of sorts, isn’t it? Yet I was less concerned with symbolism at the time than with the weight of my dead uncle’s bones.)

“Only
I
know,” he said, his voice rising slightly, “that the High Lord’s treasure has been systematically pilfered, all the jewelry and gemstones replaced by
glass imitations
. It was at that moment that I began to suspect the truth—that an imitation Ra’ira had been left here, to inspire my mother to over-tax her abilities in trying to control me. A wonderful thing, the mind. Because she and I both believed she had the true Ra’ira, she did actually succeed—temporarily.