Path of Honor (31 page)

At last she began again, her voice sharp and clipped. “Sex is a common ordeal in
penakidah
. Pleasure, pain, humiliation, cruelty—these are all distractions from the magic. It is when we are most preoccupied that we are most vulnerable and begin losing control of ourselves, of our magic. Then our secrets are loosed and the
pengakum
learn what we have been hiding. Touch is
dangerous
.” The last was said almost apologetically.

“I see,” Juhrnus answered, and a horde of terrible images rampaged through his mind. In all of them he saw the sorceress, her masters using her in unspeakable ways. His head spun, and a surge of revulsion hit him. He began to cough, his stomach roiling, glad that she could not see him clearly. Or could she? Reisil had the wizard-sight—the ability to see just as well at night as at noon. Why not the sorceress as well? Juhrnus spun around and retched violently. When at last he found his equilibrium, he wiped his lips with his sleeve and turned back to her, still feeling that soul-deep tie locking them together.

She stood still, as if waiting for a signal from him of how to act, what to do next.

“So,” he said hoarsely. “What am I to call you?”

She hesitated. “My name is Kedisan-Mutira.”

“A mouthful.”

“Dual names are a
penakidah
tradition—a mark of station, a privilege of our status.”

“You are not yet
penakidah
.”

She sounded surprised. “True. But unless I fail, I am permitted the name.”

“You will not fail.” But Juhrnus wasn’t thinking of her. He was remembering the first time he’d heard Esper’s voice. Raised by his grandmother after his father had died in the war and his weaver mother had drunk herself into the river, he had been wild and angry and rebellious. But the Lady had seen something better in him. She’d given him Her faith and trust, and because of that, Juhrnus had become a man he could respect. And something about Kedisan-Mutira said she wanted to be
penakidah
as much as he had wanted to be
ahalad-kaaslane
, and nothing short of death was going to stand in her way. He grinned at her, feeling a sudden thrill of pride for her determination.

“You will not fail. But surely they will have begun to miss you by now. Won’t that make them suspicious?”

“They will not miss me yet,” she said. “They would like to think me in a nobleman’s bed, seducing his secrets from him. An
ahalad-kaaslane
would work just as well. Sex is a tool for many things.”

Her words were remote and impersonal.

“I can fake it if you can,” he said at last. And then she chuckled, and the sound made his knees sag. It was like warm, aged whiskey running through his bones.

“Why do you want to help me?”

“I don’t like your masters.”

“Why?”

“I’m a good judge of character. And you don’t like them any better than I do.”

“It is not a question of liking them. They do as they must. As do I.”

Something in the inflection in her voice caught his attention. “Why have you told me all this?”

Juhrnus felt her breath on his jaw as she bent close. He started when her fingers slid up over his cheeks, ran over his browbone and down his nose to rest against his lips. Then her mouth was against his ear, her body pressed against his as she stood on tiptoe. “It is never too soon to gather allies,” she murmured.

And then she pushed past, taking with her the spell of warmth that had protected him from the wind and weather. Ice and wind flayed his face and sliced through his clothing. He stumbled after her, skittering across the icy cobbles, his head reeling with her touch, with her words.

 

“Allies? For what?”

Metyein sprawled on a chaise drawn close to the roaring fire, a brandy glass tilting dangerously between his fingers. Juhrnus had shoved up an overstuffed chair from the corner and sat with his bootless feet propped on the andirons. Esper stretched down the length of his
ahalad-kaaslane
’s legs, eyes closed, the end of his tail flicking slowly back and forth. On a table between the two men were the remains of their dinner.

“Scallacian politics. I think she plans to make a grab for power. To accomplish it, she wants allies, and if we can fix the plague and the
nokulas
, Kodu Riik might be in a position to help her. Or Reisil will, and the Iisand, if we can cure him. And we’ll want allies too. We may have to fend off an attack from Patverseme or their banished wizards; one of them is likely to be hungry for us. They always have been. Of course, Aare will be a problem if he takes the throne. But even that can be an advantage for Kedisan-Mutira. Sooner or later you know he’ll decide to go after Patverseme again. If she helps him win, she gains his gratitude and support when she sails home. And Aare won’t care whom he’s in bed with, so long as he wins.” Juhrnus’s lips twisted with the mention of
bed,
remembering the way Kedisan-Mutira had casually referred to bedding the sorcerers as part of her trials. The idea still left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Not a bad game if she can win it. Can she?”

“She didn’t say it in so many words, and I can tell she’s afraid she’ll break and show her hand. And there was something strange about her too. Like she’s in a hurry to pass her tests, but at the same time she isn’t eager for it to happen tomorrow. Like she has a schedule.”

“Won’t be very long. Under three months, she said? Wonder how long the tests go on?”

“All she said was that her masters had to start before then. But by the sound of it, nothing they’ll do to her will be short or sweet.” His imagination was entirely too fertile when it came to envisioning what they would do to Kedisan-Mutira. “But neither can they afford to spend too much time away from Aare. He’s not so trusting.”

“I don’t trust ’em out of sight for a minute, and I’m not nearly so paranoid as Aare.” Metyein swigged down the rest of his brandy and poured himself another. “What do you suppose the sorcerers are up to? Why bring her along knowing they’d have to test her?”

Juhrnus stroked his fingers over Esper’s back, feeling the sisalik’s croon rumble against his thigh. It was echoed in his mind. He smiled. “I don’t think they had a choice. This ritual has rules, and she’s due for testing. They
couldn’t
leave her behind.”

“I hope to the Lady they don’t find out the truth about the Iisand. Aare might not have brought them here, but he clearly thinks he can make lapdogs out of them: his own pet sorcerers. But he’s a fool if he believes they’ll heel for him.” Metyein yawned and rubbed the stubble on his jaws. “Reisiltark is the only one who can hope to stop them if they decide to attack.”

“He’s willing to have the sorcerers as pets, but if he could, he’d drop her in a deep well and pretend she never existed.”

“Don’t think that he won’t,” Metyein said, sitting up. “I’ve known him a long time, and I’ve been hearing things in the city. Someone’s stirring the pot against Reisiltark. It’s like a campaign. Every tavern, every market stall, every hovel where you can buy a meal or a drink. There’s always somebody whining about how she’s refusing to heal the plague. How she wants to take power herself. How she heals the poor in the Fringes and ignores everybody else. She’s building herself an army, they say. She’s going to march through Koduteel and turn everyone out and give their houses to the Fringefolk.

“I’m seeing less and less green, my friend. Red is the color now. And it means hate for Reisil. I don’t like it. The complaints are too systematic to be coincidence. And if Aare is behind it—and it’s got his stench all over it—then this is just the first step in getting rid of her. Through slander or a dark alley, he’s got no intention of letting her interfere with his rule. The fewer supporters she’s got and the more noise there is about her being a traitor, the easier it will be.”

“Chodha,”
Juhrnus said.

“He’s getting ready. When the plague really breaks here, it’s really going to turn people against her. And Aare won’t waste time. He’ll take his first opportunity. And Reisiltark has got to be made to leave before it happens. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“There’s only one other way, and it’s no safer.”

“The wizards.”

Juhrnus nodded.

“I hate to say it, but she might be right. They do have answers. If she can solve the plague and the
nokulas
, then we don’t have any problems. We get the Iisand back, he sends the Scallacians away. The Iisand supports the
ahalad-kaaslane,
and the people will follow his lead.”

“Point’s moot anyhow,” Juhrnus said, sounding unconvinced. “We don’t know where to find them.”

“Does it matter? If we can find out, then we give her a map. And if we can’t, she’s still out of Kodu Riik searching the hills and safer than she would be here.”

“You think you can find out? No one else seems to have a clue.”

“No one else wants to know, do they?” Metyein returned sardonically. “Besides, Sodur may know. He’s not been particularly forthcoming with his information.”

Juhrnus made a rude sound, and Metyein smiled sympathetically. “But if anyone knows where the wizards are, it’s the people of the Fringes. They’ve been moving cross-country to get here. Someone saw something strange, heard something, found a footprint or saw smoke. I’ll be able to find them. Count on it.”

“All right. Do it. What about your father?”

Metyein gave a short, humorless laugh. “He’s been busy. Up to his neck in this business with the sorcerers. I’d bet my life on it. He’s hardly found time to climb his mistress, much less talk to me. He’d just as soon I stayed out of his way these days. He won’t notice where I’ve gone.”

He stood up, straightening his clothing, fingering the tears in his pants from Esper’s claws and wincing as he grazed the scrapes in his skin. “I’m on my way, then. Good luck with your lady sorceress.”

“Right,” Juhrnus replied, thinking of her explosive touch on his skin. “She and I have an appointment to see the city at dawn.”

Metyein opened the door.

“Better get some sleep. Sounds like you’ll need it.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and shut the door as the mug Juhrnus had thrown thudded against it. But when Juhrnus finally slept, his body moved restlessly as he dreamed of Kedisan-Mutira and her lightning touch.

R
eisil stared up at the carved canopy arching over her head. In the fireplace crackled the remains of the vanity table. Saljane dozed on her perch, head tucked under her wing, and outside the wind rattled the balcony doors.

Reisil sighed and shifted, pulling the heavy bedclothes over herself to ward off the chill creeping between the cracks of the doors and shutters. She hadn’t bothered undressing except to shed her boots and her gauntlet. Her head throbbed, and the whirl in her mind refused to let her sleep. She had endured the intolerably long supper sitting between a self-righteous know-it-all preaching the evils of the Fringes and how to eradicate the “vermin” there, and an equally annoying second or third son of a minor house who felt compelled to grope her under the table at every opportunity. All the while she’d been unable to look away from the Scallacians. Everything in her screamed
danger,
and yet she could do nothing about it.

After the supper, she’d stalked the Great Hall. Juhrnus and the sorceress disappeared for a time, and on their return, the Scallacians retired to a private salon with Verit Aare and his retinue. Soon after, Reisil returned to her rooms to find the debris from the vanity table and the crossbolt on the mantel where Kebonsat had set it. She stirred up the fire, adding logs until it was a roaring inferno, then tossed both the remains of the table and the poison-tipped crossbolt into the flames and flung herself onto the bed to await sleep. And was still waiting.

She went over her conversation with the Vertina, wondering if she’d sabotaged Kebonsat’s chances. Kebonsat and the Vertina had hardly spent a few moments together. Mostly she’d danced attendance on the two sorcerers. How she might have felt about that, Reisil couldn’t tell. The Vertina’s expression remained unvarying in its congeniality. And Juhrnus? Had he learned anything? She thought about knocking on his door to find out, but dismissed the idea. She didn’t want anyone seeing her going there in the middle of the night.

She burrowed deeper into the bedclothes, wishing for sleep. Kebonsat was expecting her at dawn, and she was beginning to want weapons training as much as he wanted her to have it. She was tired of being defenseless.

 

At first she thought it was a nightmare. A force of anger, hatred, desire and desperate need swallowed her. It filled her nose, her mouth, her ears, dragging her down into a depthless mire. Reisil struggled against it, gasping, but the more she fought, the tighter it held her.

Her mind was spinning into fragments, and she hardly knew her own name or where she was. Suddenly Saljane was there in her mind, a streak of cleansing white fury. Against Saljane’s brilliant presence, the other could not retain its grip on Reisil. It let her go, but Reisil could feel it lying in wait, its hunger for her palpable.

The
presence
from the bluffs, from the Scallacians’ attack at the reception.

Reisil kicked her way out of the bedclothes and sat up. Tears rolled down her cheeks, both from fear and in strange sympathy for her agonized attacker. Saljane leaped to the bed beside Reisil, the ivy pattern on her beak glowing fiercely. Reisil hugged the goshawk against her chest. She couldn’t formulate any words, couldn’t gather her shattered thoughts.

At last she let go of Saljane, realizing she was drenched in sweat. Her sodden clothing clung coldly to her skin, and she shuddered at the sensation. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stripping off her tunic and trousers and donning fresh ones in the darkness. She poked a candle into the fire’s coals to light the wick and stubbed the end into a holder on the mantel. She splashed her face before sliding into her boots and buckling on her gauntlet. Dressed and ready with no place to go, she began to pace around the room.