The Golden Sword (35 page)

Lalen squeezed through and closed and locked that half-door, his quick eye even replacing the rusty curtain that Chayin had thrown back to expose it. Chayin, who sat now upon the rumpled couch covers, was fully dressed. In his hand he held a braided strap, of the sort with which Parsets discipline women. Wide it is, and not fearsome in itself. Wielded by Chayin’s strength, by a man’s strength, it was a very terrible instrument indeed. I recalled the feel of that strength when I had displeased him in the desert. I looked around. I might have been in Arlet, rather than Astria. Celendra had brought all her accouterments with her. She had played at submission a long time. But now she shook with fear. She would find out how the reality differs from the fantasy. She moaned softly. She would moan often, as a crell. She did not know, of course, unless her forereading had told her, that she would be crell. I found it satisfying. There is never ease between beautiful women. I took pride in my position of high favor with these powerful men, and joy that she was not so favored. I stretched out upon one hip and crooked my leg. I was no longer angry. Celendra would get exactly what she deserved.

“I bought her token from Wiraal, and one for tomorrow night, also. I paid, even, a deposit for overage, that I might have her undisturbed from now through the morning of second seventh. The fee was exorbitant. She was flattered, and so should she have been. I have better cleaning threx stalls in Nemar. It was hard for me to believe,” said Chayin, grinning broadly, his face turned so she could not see it, “that this was truly the Well Keepress, when I found her. I told her I would have no lesser in my arms. That is the truth. I think I have never had.”

Sereth had walked around Celendra and was leaning against the window. When I lived here, those windows had no M’ksakkan crystal in them. The room was all reds, browns, and blacks. I looked up at the ceiling that was also roof to this tower. That, at least, was unchanged. Once a year, the stars lined up with the etchings of the constellations. It is a glorious sight, upon the anniversary of the Well-raising. This night, it was not unlovely.

I went to Sereth, thinking to give solace. His face was against the pane, his shoulders hunched. Only when I peered up into his eyes did I realize I could not give it.

I reminded myself that this woman had birthed him his only son. That in her, he saw Tyith, and what she had done to him in revenge for the boy’s death. That she had known Tyith would die, I did not doubt. What lay between them, that a woman would sacrifice her own son to destroy the man who had brought that child upon her? I touched him, wordless, and to my surprise, he took me under his arm and laid his chin upon the crown of my head. I felt the stiffness leave him. I kissed the hollow in his neck, running my tongue there lightly.

“Be silent in this,” he whispered to me, “unless I ask you to speak, no matter what is said.” He looked down upon me sternly.

“I promise,” I said, and a smile touched him.

Forever he was silencing me, and forever I disobeyed him, without meaning to do so.

There was a sharp, muted, sound, the sound of lash upon flesh. We both turned. Chayin struck her once more upon the back. The leather hissed, parting her skin. She lunged upon her tether and presented her buttocks to him. He greeted them with a restrained stroke. Welts rose high and angry upon her black cheeks.

“She likes that,” said Sereth dryly. “Do not give her too much.” But those devastating, knife-sharp blows were not to Celendra’s liking. She wriggled and cried out around her gag. Chayin, for all his punishing savagery, was very careful. And I realized he did not use his full strength upon her. He struck always as men strike women, judging, giving quarter, and even that was too much for her. Huddled before him, her neck stretched to the tether, she seemed smaller than I remembered her. Chayin, put down the lash.

He leaned over, twisting her head back. The couch creaked with the strain as the leash hummed taut.

“Do you like that?” he asked her, his face close to hers, shaking her head back and forth. She made noises around her gag. There were tears in her eyes. “Blink if you like being whipped.” Celendra did not blink. “Good,” grunted Chayin. “You are not supposed to like it. When you are crell, you will bring me the lash in your teeth, upon your knees, begging.”

Celendra struggled wildly. She was half Parset, and she knew, better than I had known, what it meant to be crell. Chayin arched her back by the hair until she lost her balance and fell heavily, her body held off the ground by the collar and leash.

“Estri, Sereth, come sit here.” I ran my palms over my face, that I might smooth away any shadow of my mixed emotions. I went and sat by Chayin, where he patted the couch beside him. Celendra’s knees were at Chayin’s feet. Sereth came and sat near me. He looked down at her, his face cold. She met his eyes, pleading, shaking her head to and fro; little strangled noises came out of her. I put my hands around Sereth’s arm, leaned my head against it. Celendra watched me. I smiled politely.

“We have not been,” said Chayin to her, “properly introduced. I found it served me to fabricate a name,” he explained to Sereth, who needed no explanation. “Jasrey aniet Saer”—he grinned—“is the name I used, if you have need to call me by it.”

“Son of a threx, are you?” Sereth laughed. Celendra looked between them, horrified, understanding. “Let me introduce you two properly. Celendra Doried bast Aknet, meet the man that set your father about the chaldra of the soil; Chayin rendi Inekte, chosen son of Tar-Kesa, cahndor of Nemar, cahndor of Menetph.”

Celendra found strength in her to renew her struggles. Chayin kicked her casually in the diaphragm. She choked and coughed and finally knelt quiet, her head down. Tears fell upon her breasts, ran off those dusky nipples, raining down upon her thighs and knees.

“Stop it, crell, or I will give you a beating worth such a production!” Chayin, snapped, irritated. Celendra sniffled. Her shoulders ceased heaving. She straightened perceptibly.

Chayin ran the length of braided leather back and forth between his long-fingered hands. Celendra watched the motion, hypnotized. If she had been a man, it would have been the sharp-fanged huija he used upon her, and her back no more than shredded flesh upon exposed bone. I had seen it. Celendra had not. The welts she bore were nothing. I knew. She did not know. I shot a glance at Lalen, sitting cross-legged before the rust-toned curtain, drawn sword on his knees. Lalen, I saw, also recollected what it was to be crell. His stony face showed his contempt for her, she who did not know.

“That is better,” said Chayin. “Straighten your back. Pull your stomach in. Throw those breasts out.” With each order, he slapped the leather loudly against itself. She was quick to obey him.

“Celendra ...” Sereth said softly. She flinched as though she had been struck, and raised her face to his. “We know about your arrangement with M’ksakka. Your friend Dellin lies bound and gagged, helpless in his own keep.” Celendra shuddered. Her head bobbed. Her shoulders sank, and she slumped. Chayin brought the coiled lash down hard across her breasts.

“I told you to sit up,” he said. She sat up, her eyes upon Chayin’s hands. She had begun to sweat. Little beads of it broke out upon her forehead, between her breasts.

“I have given you to Chayin. Do you understand that? So sure were we, so easy was it to take you, that your fate was decided a set before you fell to us. You have been a crell this whole time—Chayin’s possession, only you did not know it. Now you know. You, by my will and design, shall be less than a beast of burden in Nemar. I gave you to him. You are his.”

Celendra’s body pleaded with him. If she could, she would have kissed his feet. She could not. All she could do, she did—widen her eyes and tremble and make tiny noises like some poisoned yit.

“As you may know, there are many different kinds of crells,” said Chayin informatively. I thought of those oiled, fragrant girls he had kept at his palace in Nemar North. I thought of the cell where I had been chained. “What your lot is like depends on you. Though you are surely no man’s ten, you might keep yourself from the mines. We shall see. I will free your tongue, and with it you will choose for me. You will repeat exactly what I say. You will beg to live, as crell to me.”

And he took his gol-knife and cut the hair that bound her mouth. The shorn tresses fell to the floor. He pulled the balled, soaking hair from her mouth. She chose for him then, as I had so long ago. With quaking voice she proclaimed herself crell. She gave her life to another, that she might not die. I felt, for the first time, a twinge of sorrow. Chayin was not playing. He truly did not like her; doubtless he would not keep her. I wondered what her lot would be like in Nemar.

Sereth rubbed his hand up and down my arm. He touched me lightly on the lips. I started, realized I had been staring.

“Celendral” Sereth snapped. She raised dumb eyes to him. She seemed stunned.

“I want you to tell me exactly what precautions you have taken against your master’s forces. You do not know how much I know. If I were you, I would not lie.”

She tossed her head. For a moment I saw Celendra, haughty and regal, who had once said to me that there were not many men who could conquer her, even for a night. Then that woman was gone, and a velvet-soft stranger looked out of those eyes at him.

“I knew it,” she whispered. “Each night, I waited. I knew it would come. When they could not kill you, I knew it just a question of time. I am glad.” She choked. “Glad the waiting is over.” And her shoulders shook, though she kept them well back. Sobs wracked her. Sereth shook his head and leaned back upon the couch, impassive.

Chayin struck her across the face. She composed herself. Her breasts quivered.

She told us what she had done: she had called upon the Slayers, who waited for Day-Keepers’ approval. If they got it, any approaching army of Parsets would be dealt with by a contingent of Slayers, who were already preparing. When that was in progress would more Slayers swarm into Astria herself and dispatch the yra of jiasks who pleasure there. Also, she told us what we already knew—of Dellin and M’ksakka—and what she said, we knew was true.

“I want you to call a messenger. You will issue certain orders,” Sereth said when she had finished. He still leaned back, nonchalant and easy upon the couch.

“No,” she whispered. Hope lit her face bright.

“Do not tempt me,” Sereth advised, sitting up. He regarded her, amused.

She shook her head. “If you need me, there is hope yet. No.”

“Little fool,” he mused, as he got to his feet. He took the tether and unclipped it from the couch, arching her up until he could hook the clip to the chain between her ankles. She lay there, her body a tight bow, helpless. She had sought to bite him. He was not pleased.

“With your permission, Cahndor?” Sereth paused, kneeling over her, his hand in her chald.

“I have always wanted to see how you do it,” said Chayin, leaning forward. “I have seen the results, but never the work in progress.”

“It is only”—Sereth grinned—“a matter of timing.”

In less than an enth Celendra wrote the message that Sereth wanted. In fact, she pleaded passionately to be allowed to do so. When Sereth’s hand came close to her lips, she kissed it. They unbound her hands that she might write it, and then they reshackled her.

She begged that they leave her hands free until she had seen the messenger. Sereth would not allow it. They had seen her thus before, he said. It was only she who saw the difference, only her submission that shamed her, he pointed out, locking her wrists again to her ankles.

Sereth, wisely, gave her no rest from his hands, lest she come back to her contentious self too soon. Over and over he, repeated to her what she was to say.

“Should you not hide?” asked Chayin.

Sereth chuckled. “Clump yourselves. Often in Arlet there were more than two in a couching. I doubt it is different here.” I saw the flaw in his thinking, but he had bid me be silent.

I was between Chayin’s legs where he sat upon the couch, with Lalen curled around him, when the messenger’s knock came.

Sereth opened the right-hand door, keeping it between his body and the messenger’s sight. Those carved doors had been in my family two thousand years.

The man stood there, blinking. He noted Celendra, expressionless. Sereth closed the door. I twisted to see him better.

“High Lady!” he gasped, and went upon his knees, his forehead to the Parset rug.

Sereth momentarily went blank. I stood, uncertain, half-risen. Then he nodded.

I went and knelt before Ges, whose father’s father had been in the service of my mother’s mother. I touched his shoulder. He raised misted eyes to me. We were within a year the same age. His open-faced countenance had not changed. His blue eyes sparkled with joy. I offered my cheek that he might kiss it.

“We thought you dead, Estri.” He waved his hand around. “Things are troubled.”

“More than you know,” I said softly. “But I am not dead.” I smiled at him. I hated to do it, but the contingency was upon us.

“I need your help,” I said to him.

“Anything,” he promised. My eyes found Sereth’s, for confirmation. He gave it.

“At sun’s rising, put upon the door the sign of Feast of Conception, that none may disturb us. Between now and then, find, if you can, every man and woman loyal to Astria and bid them wear a white armband, that we will know them, and fight beside us to reclaim the Well.” White and silver were my colors, once the colors of this room, for four generations the colors of Astria.

“There will be many anxious to do so. What of the Parsets?” He did not see, as we had thought such a one would not, that I had no right here, and that what he did would make him outlaw.

“They are my helpers. We will fight Celendra’s men, and what Slayers raise hand against us. These messages of Celendra’s are our doing. See that they get to the hostel. And more you must do.”

Ges, like a trustful tasling about to be slaughtered, nodded. “There are few here who would uphold her,” he said.

“Listen to her, take these words of ours from her mouth, spread them, and return.”