Daughter of Regals (49 page)

“Dom Peralt stared at
her and did not respond. He felt that he had somehow fallen into drunkenness
again—his wits refused to function. That she had come here, he thought
stupidly. A witch. Had come here. It required understanding, but he had none to
give. Her gaze called him down the road to his soul’s ruin, and he could not
understand.

“Some of his plight she
was able to see for herself. After a moment, she released one hand from his arm
and raised it to his temple. Her fingertips stroked the tight skin there, where
the pulse of his life beat—and— “Faugh!” Ser Visal muttered. “A murrain upon
you all. Words will not convey it. Such things defy utterance. She touched her
fingers to his temple, and his thirst was gone. Impossible! Yet it was true. In
an instant, all that pain left him. And the relief was sweet! Surely even such
louts as you are may grasp that the relief was sweet.

“But its sweetness came
to Dom Peralt commingled with flavors of horror. Some wit returned to him at
last. He grabbed at Thamala’s wrist, pulled her hand from his temple. ‘Why are
you here?’ he demanded in his dismay.

“His grip hurt her
iron-scored skin, and she did not like the look of his consternation. But she
answered him bravely. ‘To free you, as you freed me. For all its faults, life
remains desirable. Come.’ Gently, she attempted to tug him out of his
amazement.

“She was unprepared for
violence. He flung her from him, so that she sprawled among the rats. Heaving
himself up from the pallet, he crouched on his feet, ready to spring after her.
As she regained her legs—more lithe and strong of movement than Growt’s
treatment of her would have augured—he panted at her, ‘Witch!
Why are you
here?’

“‘Witch, is it?’ she
replied. ‘I know that tone. I had expected better of you, Dom Sen Peralt.’
Straightening her hair with her fingers, she faced him angrily. ‘Well, be
answered. I am indebted to you for my freedom—and I pay my debts. I have come
to give you that which you gave me.’

“Too horrified to
realize that now it was she who did not understand, he raged at her—but softly,
softly, so that the guards would not be roused. ‘You damn me,’ he hissed. ‘There
is no debt. Your freedom was only a matter of a few coins. A paltry sum. Trivial.
I could make a hundred such purchases and not feel the price. Your freedom
cost me
nothing.
And you damn me for it.’

“‘No,’
she
retorted. She had been much abused in recent days, and her temper was somewhat
short. ‘This I will not endure.’ Power curled in her fingers as she raised her
hands against him. ‘Murder and treachery have become the constant lot of my
kind, and I accept those things as well as I am able. At the least, I have
turned my back on revenge. But insult I do
not
accept—not while I am
still able to defend myself. If there are evil and damnation here, they are
your
doing, not mine.

“‘We whom you call
witches commit no crimes. We desire only to live in peace among the less and
woodlands that we love—and to expand our knowledge of the weaving of true
dreams—and to barter our help for the simple necessities we lack. And for that
we are
slaughtered.
You and your precious Templemen abhor us because we
are free in spirit—and because we possess knowledge which you are too cowardly
to share.’

“Dom Peralt sought to
interrupt her indignation, but she did not permit him. ‘Do you believe,’ she
continued, ‘that I need only wave my hands to steal clothes and cleansing and
access to your cell from anyone I choose? No! The first I obtained honestly,
healing the walleye of a child and the abscessed teeth of a goodwoman in trade.
And for my appearance here—by good fortune, the outer street was deserted. But
two guards hold the door of this building. Scribes labor at desks everywhere,
lettering indictments. Four more guards dice with the jailer, thinking themselves
secret. Three Templemen confer together nearby. And between that chamber and
this, six guards more. For all of them,
all,
I spin the dreams which
enable them to believe they have not seen me. No harm to them— but women like
myself have gone mad under such strains.

“‘Heed me well, you who
despise the aid of witches. I pay my debts. But you will accompany me without
insult, or I will cramp the tongue in your mouth until it chokes you.’

“Here at last Dom Peralt’s
wit caught up with him. By a great effort, he reined his growing frenzy. Under
careful control, he rose from his crouch, straightened his back. ‘Your pardon,’
he said, his voice at once hard-edged and quiet. ‘I meant no insult. When I
bought your freedom, I cared not what you were. I care not now. And I believe
that you have come here honestly, intending to help me.’ Then his urgency
returned, too strong to be stifled. ‘But you know not what you do. Whatever is
done now, you have damned me. The escape you offer must be seen as the work of
witchcraft. No other explanation will occur to the minds of the Templemen.
Therefore they will hound us until I falter, lacking your powers—and my life
will be forfeit upon the spot. Or we will be taken in the attempt, and your
involvement will give proof of my guilt, dooming me without defense to the
cauldron.’

“Now she saw the import
of his fear. Her anger fell away. Dismay softened her face. But he was not
done. The vision of his plight drove him. ‘While you remained free, there was
hope for me. The Templemen might harm and harass me, but they could not procure
the judgment of the judica without evidence—without you, without proof of your
witchery, without demonstration of complicity between us.’ For the moment, he
believed that Templeman Knarll would never wrest a confession from him. My friends
who speak against me would alter what they say, when they were given time to
see that they would imperil their own fathers by witnessing falsely. I had
hope.

“‘It is gone. You give
the Templemen the demonstration they desire. Your freedom truly cost me
nothing more than discomfort and inconvenience. Your help costs me my life.’

“There he stopped. I
have said that he was not blind. How could he close his eyes to the bitter
grief which welled up in her at his words? As grim as talons, her hands covered
her face. Her shoulders stretched the fabric of her blouse, knotting to
restrain sobs. She had been
much
abused—too much to be endured. Helpless
and alone, her mother had been taken to the cauldron, and Thamala had fled for
her life. The gypsies had betrayed her to Growt. And Growt’s record of rapes
and beatings,” commented Ser Visal mordantly, “would daunt a lesser man. Her
sufferings transcend your imaginations, whelps. And now the one act of kindness
she had received she repaid with ill. You are taught, all of you, I do not
doubt, that women weep easily and often, for any reason. But I tell you, it is
no small matter when such a woman as Thamala weeps. She was at once fierce and
pitiable to behold, and the sight would have touched a harder heart than Dom Peralt’s.

“But while he stood
there like a lout, shuffling his feet in shame and groping desperately to
conceive some new hope for them both, she returned to herself. The pity went
out of her—the fierceness remained. Meeting his gaze, not as a woman who wished
for counsel, but as one who desired to know his mind, she asked, ‘What would
you have me do?’

“Dom Peralt was a young
man—a youth and a fool, as I have said. But he was growing older swiftly. The
thought of what he might expect from the tender mercies of Templeman Knarll
came to him with some force, but he put it aside. Swallowing his fear, he
replied, ‘Escape. Relock the door, return the keys. Preserve your freedom.
Ignorant that you have come here, the Templemen will remain without evidence.
Eventually, I will be released.’

“Perhaps she was
unaccustomed to such answers. For a long moment, her clear eyes searched him.
Then she asked softly, ‘Do you believe that?’

“In response, he made
shift to appear certain and resolute. ‘Yes.’

“She shook her head. ‘No.
You think it. You reason it. But you do not believe it.’ Briefly, a shadow of
her own fear showed in her face—a face not formed for fear.

But she took a deep,
shuddering breath and dismissed what she felt. Her arms hung at her sides, the
strength gone from them. Yet there was strength enough in her voice. ‘I pay my
debts,’ she said. ‘Summon the guards.’

“He gaped at her. If he
had spoken, he would have protested that she had lost her wits. The Templemen
would bind her over to the judica for certain and terrible death— after they
had tortured her enough to sate them. But he was too astonished to reply at
once. Mad—she was unquestionably mad.

“‘You will capture me,’
she continued. The look in her eyes was bleak and dire. ‘You will deliver me to
the Templemen. That will ascertain your innocence. You will be freed.’

“Thinking her mad, Dom
Peralt sought to reason with her. ‘It will not be believed. You are a witch. I
have no means to capture you. The Templemen will suspect some trick. They will
believe that we have agreed together to obtain my release—so that I may in turn
contrive to rescue you. The fact that you came to me will damn us both.’

“For an instant, thought
furrowed her brow. She glanced toward the keys which she had thrown to the
floor. Then she shrugged. ‘You will slip the key-ring over my wrists. That will
give you means. If I am held powerless, none will doubt that you have captured
me.’ Her loathing for the touch of cold iron was evident, but she did not let
it sway her. ‘My debt will be paid.’”

Ser Visal coughed,
cleared his throat, drank. Sitting slumped in his chair, he resumed with a
sigh, “Ah, the strange courage of witches. She put Dom Peralt to the test in a
way which humbled Templeman Knarll’s threats. He saw at once that her plan
would succeed. Some lie would be required to account for her presence in the
cell, but the evidence of iron held about her wrists by his own hand would
defeat all suspicion. He would be freed. And she—why, she would go to the doom
which God demands of all witches. Though he was young and debauched, he
understood that his soul hung in the balance here. If he captured her, he would
be saved.

“It was not in him. He
had purchased her freedom with a few coins. She meant to purchase his with her
life. The simple injustice of it was more than he could stomach.

“‘No,’ he replied,
though his head reeled with fear and his guts knotted sickly. ‘I will not.
There is no debt. Do you hear me? I deny that there is any debt. I did not buy
your freedom. You were evilly used—whatever the Temple teaches. With a few
coins, I merely restored what was yours by birth and decency. And the blame of
my plight does not fall to you. It is on my head. I was too drunk to do what
any sane man would have done—to take you with me and release you only when you
might better profit from your freedom. I
will not
accept the sacrifice
of your life in so small a cause.’

“Thamala waited until he
was done. Then she said, You are brave, Dom Sen Peralt.’ Her tone suggested
both mockery and respect. ‘But no coin measures the value I place upon my life.
How do you intend to prevent me?’

“For his pride—if for no
other reason—he attempted to match her. ‘I need do nothing,’ he said, ‘nothing
other than wait. When next the guards come to this cell, they  will find us
together—and then we will both be undone. He smiled wryly through his fear. ‘To
avert that outcome—so that your life will be preserved, and I will be  able to
hope—you will depart before the guards come, relocking the door after you to protect
my protestations of innocence. Of what worth is my life,’ he concluded, ‘if it
may only be saved by your death?’

“The witch shook her
head again. ‘You are mistaken,’ she said. ‘The world has need of such men.’ For
no evident reason, her voice now seemed to come to him from a great distance.
The candlelight blurred, as if his eyes  were failing. ‘Therefore,’ she uttered
ma tone which could  not be refused, ‘it will be necessary for you to dream.’

“Then the flame of the
candle shrank away, and the cell’s darkness closed over his head. He heard
nothing beyond the promise she had made, at once fierce and gentle. ‘I pay my
debts.’

“But in the dream— “Faugh!”
spat Ser Visal. “Dream, indeed. Witchcraft.

 With her wiles, she
deprived him of will and choice. Faugh!” Hawking up phlegm, he grabbed for his
flagon and drank. But he did not stop his tale. Despite his apparent
indignation, he sounded weak and in some way frightened as he said, “I shudder
for his soul. In the dream he was not himself.

“In the dream, he raised
his voice and shouted lustily for the guards. He kicked the door so that it
rang against the wail. He shouted again. Then he went to the key-ring.

“She held her hands
behind her back for him, but they would not both fit through the ring. No
matter—one sufficed. With iron closed about any part of her, she was caught.

“At that moment, he felt
that he began to awaken. But still the dream persisted. He could not break free
of it. He could only watch with the taste of horror in his mouth as guards came
to the cell at a nm and he called out to them, saying, ‘Here is the witch
Templeman Knarll seeks. She sought to seduce me to her foul ends, but I have
captured her with iron,’ and Thamala made pretense of struggling against him
while he clasped the ring over her wrist.

“He did not return to
himself entirely until the Templemen had taken her from him, to bind her with
surer fetters, and Templeman Knarll had grudgingly granted his release. Then he
found that there were tears in his eyes, and they would not be stanched, for
the deed was done, and he could not now afford to cry out in anger or protest.

“I must have more wine.”

The candles had begun to
wane, a reminder that afternoon was on its way to evening and all of us were
required by our God-fearing families—and by Temple curfew—to be in our homes
before vespers rang. But none of us thought of such things. For a long moment,
none of us thought to stamp our feet and produce money so that the keeper would
bring more wine. We were held. All our attention was centered on Ser Visal. He
appeared oddly shrunken in the fading candlelight, his eyes glazed by what he
saw in his mind, his stubbled checks ashen and sagging from the bones of his
skull. At another time—during another tale—we might have nudged each other and
winked, thinking in silent laughter that the heat of the hearth made him melt,
that his fat flesh was composed of nothing but tallow and wine, which he
sweated away. But not now. We were held. And he seemed hardly to be aware of
us.