The Golden Sword (3 page)

“What was that?” I choked. My vision dimmed and sharpened, my ears rang. The drug was strong. I heard the air rustle; the two men, breathing sounded loud as the roaring of Santha. My heart was a kapura drum keeping double time.

“So you speak. Good. Here. Only drink three swallows,” the bearded one said, and handed me a larger bladder.

This I smelled before I tasted, and it was water, cold and good. I was reluctant to stop after the third drink, but their eyes were upon me, and I handed it back. Hael took it from my grasp and corked it. He leaned over me and put his thumbs to my eyelids, each in turn, and then to my temples and wrists. He turned to his cahndor and nodded. That one grinned, white teeth flashing.

“Chayin,” said the one called Hael, putting his hand upon his cahndor’s shoulder, “we should either ride or raise apprei.” He got to his feet. “She is strong and resilient. When she is healed and clean, she might even be pleasing. If you would find out, you should leave her be, let her rest.” And he turned and was gone without waiting for answer or dismissal.

I thought it strange that a jiask would talk to his cahndor so. To raise apprei, the portable cloth house of the Parset, or ride on was surely a decision the cahndor was capable of making on his own. A Slayer would not have spoken so to one of the Seven.

The cahndor gazed after the one called Hael. He spat upon the ground, and turned back to me. He raised my chin with his hand, gently, so that his eyes met mine once more. I saw the nictitating membrane for a moment; then it was gone.

“What shall I call you, little crell? Hael says you will live. Do you want to live?”

“I am Estri of Astria, Hadrath diet Estrazi,” I said. I thought the second question rhetorical. I watched his face closely, but my name meant nothing to him.

“No,” he said to me, “you are not. You are an unnamed crell, bound for the appreida of the Nernarsi. Your chald”—he ran his hand under the eighteen-strand belt at my waist—“means nothing here. You have but one choice open to you; you may live, crell to me, Chayin rendi Inekte, cahndor of the Nemarsi. Or you may, at this moment, choose to die. Choose now, for the choice will never again be given you.”

The look upon his face convinced me he did not speak in jest. The wind from the abyss buffeted me. To renounce my chald, my heritage, my Well, my freedom, to renounce all of those for my life—what choice was that? And yet, death renounces life.

“What if I do not wish to choose?” I asked him. My voice trembled in my own ears.

“Then I will choose for you. But if that be the case, then you are bound by my will.”

“We are all bound, Chayin rendi Inekte.” It was my voice that spoke, insolent and defiant, but I had not willed it to do so.

I saw the anger in his eyes. I swallowed, my fear-dry mouth sour and sticky. If he chose death for me, so be it. If he chose to make me crell, then it was not by my will, and I was not bound by his choice. I was not unhappy that the power within me had so spoken.

Chayin rendi Inekte, cahndor of the Nemarsi, took up the rope in his hands. He slid its length between his palms, coiled it around his fists. A long-legged, narrow-beaked pandivver landed, snapping its wings, near my knee. It regarded me, unblinking, head cocked. I could see the pulse beat in its throat. Finally, satisfied, it furled its pinions and began to hunt, stabbing its shari, beak into the ground, throwing its head into the air to swallow, then repeating the process. Its long legs carried it away, bobbling, its feathered rear raised to the moon.

“You know nothing, crell, of our customs. Uncommitted, your lot will be hard. Perhaps too hard. As a favor, I will bind you here and leave you for the desert,” he said as he rebound my hands behind my back, and passed the loop of rope about my belly, tying it in front. “I have not the time for you.”

He got to his feet. I looked up at him from where I knelt on the sand. The horror of my situation had me frozen. I had thought he would take me, or kill me quickly, mercifully. But he would leave me bound and helpless in the barrens, food for whatever first happened upon me. He turned his back to me, and the moonglow fired the Shaper’s seal on the cloak he wore. My father had done this to me, placed me here in the path of pain and dying, that I might not interfere in his plans. Of all I had suffered at the hands of men, his stroke had been the cruelest. Pawn had I lived, pawn would I die. Defiance rose in me. I would not be so easily dealt with!

“Cahndor,” I called softly to his retreating back, though the word came hard and bitter to my tongue. I would beg for my life, bide my time. This was no Mrysten I faced, but a desert primitive. I had not spent so long in Well Astria for nothing. I would play the conquered, but eventually, it was I who would conquer. As he had bound me with rope, so would I bind him, with desire. I would spread the knowledge I had gained upon Mi’ysten and free us from the Shaper’s Mi’ysten manipulation. To do so, I must live. To live, I would do what was needed.

“Cahndor,” I called again.

Chayin rendi Inekte, cahndor of the Nemarsi, turned and came to stand before me.

I put my cheek to his booted foot and kissed it. Kneeling, my hair in the dirt, my lips against the rough leather, I waited.

“Speak, little crell, speak the words.” His voice held amusement, triumph.

“I choose to live, I beg to live. Do with me as you will.”

“Say, then, that you choose to live as crell to me, and speak my name.”

I did so, though the dust blurred the words and my voice was weak and shaky. For a moment I thought he would not accept me, but would leave me; even though I had prostrated myself before him.

“I think,” he said, after a silence in which my heart thundered, deafening, “you shall be Miheja. It is a good Parset name. Live up to it.” And he lifted me to my feet. I was much shamed; my sense of purpose, my plan did not ease me. The smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, danced in his eyes, burned my skin. My legs were unsteady under me; I weaved upon my feet.

“A crell does not gaze into the eyes of her cahndor, unless so commanded,” he informed me. I dropped my eyes.

“Nor into the eyes of any man or woman of the Nemarsi,” he cautioned. His voice seemed far away, the words unclear. The ground beneath me reached up, calling. A haze of red consumed it; then the red was dark, and I felt his arms about me, and the dizziness faded. The drug was wearing off, the stimulant effect receding. I was again conscious of my throbbing feet, my thirst, my hunger, my weakness. He picked me up in his arms and carried me. His skin was hot, and slick against mine.

Among the others he set me down. I counted ten of them, squatting on the rocky ground. Bladders of drink and wraps of meat littered the sand. Beside the bearded Hael he placed me, and sat himself. Hael’s eyes were for his cahndor. My eyes were for the wrap of leather upon which rested a half-eaten joint of meat. The smell of it had me salivating. My stomach voiced its need. Chayin rendi Inekte picked up the meat and gnawed at it.

“What name have you given her?” Hael asked.

“Miheja,” Chayin answered around a mouthful. I lay between them, hands bound under me. My cahndor had not seen fit to free me. Hael looked at me; his eyes searched mine. I looked away, remembering.

Hael uncorked a bladder and lifted my head that I might drink. In the bladder was not water, but some warming brew with which I was not familiar. He then cut some meat and fed me pieces, slowly, with his fingers. After three bites, my shrunken stomach could hold no more. I turned my head away. His hand on my forehead turned it back to him, so that I could not avoid his bearded face. He smiled down at me, and his smile was gentle.

“Perhaps you will win, in the end, little Miheja,” he said in a voice so low the others could not hear. He leaned over me, his hand once again on my forehead. I felt strength pour into me through his palm, the heat of it burning. He had the healer’s touch, and I wondered what other touches he had, what he meant by his obscure comment as his hands did his work.

“Put her up before you. I would not overly tire Saer. If we leave now, we will make Wiyuta jer by sun’s rising. There we will raise apprei,” Chayin said. He got to his feet and strode to the dozing threx, huddled together, heads drooping. The men were up and moving, hurriedly reclaiming their bladders and meat. None spoke as they worked. I thought it strange that so many men were so quiet. It is not that way among the Slayers.

Had picked me up and carried me to the threx, where he sat me astride a large black and swung up behind me. I would not ride, this time, upon my stomach, with my face in the dirt. He reached around me and drew up the reins. Chayin’s threx was already started, a cloud of dust marking his trail. Hael kicked the black into a run. Its gait was easier than the cahndor’s mount, but with my hands bound behind me I had no way to keep my balance, and was glad of Hael’s arms around me on the reins. The threx’s bristled neck snaked low as he hit his stride, and I could see the pointed ears flicking back and forth as he picked his way at breakneck speed across the treacherous ground. Foam sprayed up, rising on the wind from his frothing mouth. Hael gave him more rein.

When the black threx was so close to Chayin’s dapple that each bristle of its tail was distinct from the others, Hael reined him up, content to follow. The Shaper’s seal sparked in the moonlight like some festival firestick before us in the night.

“How did you come by that cloak?” Hael asked in my ear. His beard itched my neck, his matted chest hair my back as I leaned against him.

“It was a gift from my father, when I entered the desert.” I turned my mouth to his ear, that the wind would not snatch my words away.

“And what did you seek here?”

“A way home, to Astria. And a man of Arlet. And a Day-Keeper.”

“What father,” said he, “would allow his daughter to seek where she cannot find? The home you will see will not be Astria. Except among the crells, there are none of Arlet with us. There are few enough in Arlet. But a Day-Keeper, now, that is another thing. If you sought one, then you have found one.” His arms tightened about my waist as the threx swerved to avoid some obstacle, then veered back behind the cahndor’s mount.

I had thought as much. The way he had spoken to Chayin, the concern he had shown for me, his healing skills, all marked him. And he had the cryptic tongue of his kind.

“It is a certain Day-Keeper I seek, one for whom I have a message.”

“Although there is little exchange between us and our past-brothers, the times have pushed us closer. I could deliver such a message.”

“For a crell?” I asked bitterly.

“That cloak marks you. Chayin is ignorant by choice of what does not please him. He will learn. One does not instruct the cahndor. There is little enough I can do for you. You should accept my offer.”

“To Vedrev of Arlet, then, take this message. I am Estri, returned from discharging the chaldra of the mother. I had success in that, and it should be so written. Say also that Sereth crill Tyris’ actions on my behalf were above reproach.”

I felt his arm tighten, heard the intake of his breath, felt the imperceptible shake of his head.

“How long have you been upon this chaldra? And where have you been that you do not know what has occurred?” At his words, I felt the ice wind again upon me. “Even in the Parset barrens, we have heard that news.”

“What is the date?” I asked. “I have been long sequestered.” I could not tell him more, not yet. “What news is it that I have not heard?”

“The date is Finara second first, 25,695.”

It had been more than two years, Silistran time, since I had been with Sereth beneath the Falls of Santha.

“And what is it,” I asked again, “that I have not heard?”

“That Vedrev has taken up the chaldra of the soil, and at the hands of Sereth crill Tyris.” Ahead of us, Chayin slowed his mount. Hael did likewise. I was aware, but vaguely, of the silhouetted tyla palms, the smell of fresh water in the air. Amid the barrens was an expanse of life, and growth.

“We approach Wiyuta jer, little crell. Name me another Day-Keeper to whom you would like this message given.”

I hardly heard him. Vedrev dead, and at Sereth’s hand? What had happened? How could such a thing be true? And what of Sereth? It is unthinkable, a heinous crime, for a Slayer to kill a Day-Keeper.

“Ristran, perhaps,” I answered, when he repeated the question. “Ristran of Astria.”

I had to know. I asked what was in my mind, what constricted my heart and made my tongue huge and unwieldy in my mouth.

“Does Sereth live?”

Hael laughed. I did not like the sound of that laugh; there was no humor in it,

“Indeed he does. But enough talk of these things. For you, all that exists is the Nemarsi, and its cahndor. You had best forget Sereth of Arlet. I will do what I said, and deliver your message, but you might be better off if I did not. Things are much changed in Arlet; indeed, upon the face of all Silistra. Sereth crill Tyris is much changed. You are better off crell to Chayin than you would be if the past-Seven of Arlet knew you yet live. I would not, if I were you, speak your given name again, as long as you yet breathe. Forget who you were. Let Estri, Well-Keepress of Astria, remain unfound. I thought it might be you when I saw that sign upon the cloak.” He reined up the black threx, lest he pace abreast of Chayin’s dapple in his haste to reach the grassy jer.

“Tell me,” I pleaded, “why you say these things.” He shook his head, and did not speak again to me, but let the threx he rode have its head. The black came up beside the cahndor’s threx and was then content to match him. The dapple’s ears went back, he snorted and snapped, and the cahndor slapped him sharply with the flat of his hand. The animal jumped and lunged, and Chayin pulled so upon the double bits that the foam dribbling from the threx’s mouth turned red.

The black was much unnerved by this, and danced and quivered beneath us. Once again Hael reined him back. He leaned forward to sluice the new sweat off the sleek shoulder.

Hael's head snapped around, his eyes narrowed. “What transpired? Did you choose for him?”