The Riven Shield: The Sun Sword #5 (10 page)

“He understands more. Why do you think the Lambertans are honored?”

“For precisely those reasons.”

“No. They are honored because they hold power.”

“But—”

“And they consider that power a duty. For if they can cleave to those things they hold as
truth,
and still be honored, honorable men, they serve as an example that it is
possible
to do so. Fredero chose the Radann because he admires the Lord and he despairs at what is done in the Lord’s name. He became kai—at some personal expense—because he hoped to impose those beliefs upon the men who carry the Lord’s symbol and do the Lord’s work.”

“And what is the Lord’s work?” Marakas asked bitterly. “I have walked among the corpses that are left at the end of a day in service to the principles the Lord holds dear. I have tended the injured, the dying; I have returned broken the men who came with youth and weapons under the service of flags and commanders who cared little for their loss. I have carried the news of their loss to their wives and their sons, and in those cases where the families were too poor, or too base, to uphold the responsibilities of the dead, I have seen women and children sold into slavery because they are not beloved of the Lord.

“What is there, in this
work,
to admire?”

“Nothing at all,” Jevri said gravely, and with just the hint of a nod. “But let me ask a different question. If you were to change this, how would you start? By destroying the Radann? By burning their temples? By the acts of a war which would repeat, in an endless cycle, that which you have justly decried?”

Marakas stared at this seraf, this man who continued to serve.

“Is that the reason that you joined the Radann?”

“That,” Marakas looked away, “and one other. I desired freedom from the dictates of the Tor’agnate, and service to the Lord was the one way in which I might find it. I have no wife, no children,” he added, “to hinder me.”

“And you intend to take no other.”

“No. I have already failed the only woman I cared to offer my name.”

Jevri nodded. He walked, and Marakas followed, but the lesson was not yet finished. “I ask you to observe the kai el’Sol. He will invite you to travel in his company; it is an honor that you may, perhaps, be worthy of. Accept that invitation.”

“An invitation offered by a man of power is seldom open to refusal.”

“Do not insult us,” Jevri said curtly.

Marakas had the grace to feel shame. But he also felt curiosity, and something else that he did not care to name, and when he at last met the kai el’Sol, he forgot both. For Jevri el’Sol did not lead him to the kai’s austere rooms; did not take him to the gardens or the platforms that the kai’s position made his by right. He led him instead from the splendor of the ancient stone building into the grounds of the Tor Leonne proper, through the winding paths of tall trees that offered the illusion of privacy.

The light was upon the Lady’s Lake, and in the distance, the wavering reflection of the palace of the Tyr stretched out, and out again, broken by floating lilies and the movement of summer insects. Gold leaf caught light, warming it; the rays of the sun, embroidered upon a field of azure, flew in the winds.

Amelia would have been reduced to the silence of awe and wonder, but their son would have known no such dignity. He felt her presence, for the first time in years, at the side of this solemn man, and it cut him deeply.

So deeply that he did not, at first, recognize the standing stones, the carved statuary, that Jevri led him to. There were open bowls at the feet of that stone monument, hidden from view by the low-lying leaves and petals of delicate flowers. But they were full, these bowls, and tended by birds with no necks, who wisely took flight at the passing shadows of men.

“I will leave you now,” Jevri said quietly.

Marakas nodded.

Because men did not come, in daylight, to this place, they did not gather here. Certainly not the Radann; this was the Lady’s shrine.

But it was here, in the hollows of the carefully tended shrine, that Marakas el’Sol met Fredero kai el’Sol.

He did not see him at first, for he had not made peace with the Lady, and not since the rites that the deaths of his family demanded had he sought her shrine. He came as stranger to this place; he carried no water, no wine; brought no incense, and no candles. But he had girded himself with no weapon either, and he stared a long time at the words that time, wind, and sun had not defaced upon the standing stones.

A man did not bow at the Lady’s shrine when the Lord’s face was turned upon him; such obeisance, if offered, was offered when night had fallen and night thoughts were allowed their reign. He therefore felt no need to bend at knee, to bow head. But the compulsion—hated, cursed—coiled within him, demanding stillness, silence.

“Marakas,” the kai el’Sol said, and Marakas turned.

To this man, he could bow should he so choose. But although he recognized the crest of the sun ascendant upon his chest, he offered nothing.

“To the Lady,” Fredero said, “that which is the Lady’s.”

“In her time.”

“In her time.”

They stood, separated by shadows and foliage and the questions which, unbidden, remained unasked.

“Make peace with the Lady, if you can. Such peace is a thing that the Lord cannot take from you.”

“The Lady failed them,” Marakas replied, the bitterness of years undiminished. “I served her, as any with her gifts might serve, and in return, she failed me.”

“Ah.” The kai el’Sol rose, and rising, made Marakas aware of the fact that he had offered what no man was required to offer. “So.”

“You summoned me.”

“Yes.”

“How may I serve?”

“You may not. Not yet. Where I go, there must be no fury, no hatred, no anger such as the anger that sustains you. I have watched you, this past year, and I have waited. I will wait longer, if that is necessary. But I wish you to be whole. What would your wife desire, were she beside you now? Think on it. The sun will fall, soon; the Lady’s time will begin. Wait here.”

Marakas had no desire to obey this command.

“And think. She chose you, and you her, for a reason. Would your wife have desired you to turn your back upon the gifts that you possess? Did she not, time and again, counsel you to offer comfort and aid to those who were less fortunate than she?”

Marakas felt his eyes grow round and wide. “Did you know my wife?”

“No.”

“Then how—”

“You could have made much, much more of your talent than you did. You could have been a richer man, a more powerful one. You could have owned houses, serafs, and a place in the court of any man you chose to serve.

“But you came to the Radann. I believe that nothing happens without reason, even the bitter death of a loved one. And I believe that had your wife been a different woman, you would have had all of those things, in abundance—and I would not now have you. Forgive her for her absence. Forgive her for your failure.” He turned and began to walk away.

Marakas did not call him back.

But something did; he turned, the robes of his office catching light and containing it. “I will come to you in the dusk, and I will ask of you a favor at that time.”

In the evening light, Marakas par el’Sol awoke. He could not say why; no sound greeted him when he sat up in the confines of his poor tent. Such a tent as this had not been his home for some time, but he was Radann; he was not trapped by the finery that rank bestowed.

He could not stand in the small tent, but felt no loss of dignity when required to crawl through its narrow length to push aside its flap.

The Lady’s face was bright in the night sky. There were clouds, thin as fine, Northern lace, that obscured the paler of the stars, but she was undimmed. Silver light shone. Without hesitation, he reached for his dagger and his wineskin. He broke dirt with the tip and the flat of unsheathed steel, making the most primitive of bowls by dint of his effort. Into these, he dripped water with care, and wine with abandon. She would understand.

The Sea of Sorrows was before him, and not even the most fanatic of her followers denied themselves water here.

On that day, too many years ago, he had made his peace with the Lady.

Funny, that he should think of Fredero during the Lady’s time. It was Amelia who most often came back to him; Amelia and the ghost of a son whose smile was so bright, whose joy was so infectious, they could only continue to exist encased in memory.

But they stood in shadows this eve; it was the kai el’Sol whose spirit the Lady invoked.

And as he had done on that first day, Marakas par el’Sol bowed to the will of the kai el’Sol, and followed where he led.

Fredero could not have become the kai el’Sol without dint of will, display of force, cunning, guile; he could not have held that position without prudent exercise of the same. Although the par el’Sol did not speak, words could be coaxed from those who served them, and Marakas had, with a diligence that he had shown little of since his induction into the ranks of the Radann, coaxed those words, those tales, from any who could be moved to speak.

He built a story, a picture, a painting in progress, of the man who led the Radann. And when he was certain of facts—and facts were sifted for with the care of a man who has lost a diamond among grains of rice—he went at last to the one man who, he was certain, knew Fredero kai el’Sol better than anyone.

And during this time, Jevri el’Sol was available. He had not found it odd, then, although in retrospect he should have.

“Marakas,” Jevri said, bowing. His rooms were sparsely furnished; mats lay between the narrow stretch of walls, and upon those mats, a hard roll, and a low table. That low table now bore the weight of his plain, fine sword, and in a low, flat dish, a young lily.

“The kai el’Sol,” Marakas said, kneeling as Jevri gestured toward the table. The older man rose, and from a corner of the room, in a small cupboard, retrieved two fine ceramic cups and a flask of sweet water.

He poured, with a grace and elegance that was absent from the rest of his movements—the remaining elements of his tenure as seraf to a high clan. “Yes?”

“Is it true that he survived three attempts upon his life as par el’Sol?”

“Inasmuch as men who serve the Lord would stoop to such measures, yes, it is true.”

“And true as well that he defeated Caranos par el’Sol for possession of
Verragar
?”

“Yes. I see that you have been . . . busy.”

Marakas had the grace to color.

“But is it of these events that you have come to speak?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. There are others. Before he rose to the rank of par el’Sol, there were also difficulties. Men consider the name Lamberto to be a challenge, or perhaps a judgment. He was almost embroiled in a delicate trap involving his brother, and he avoided it with care.” The old man lifted his cup and waited.

Marakas joined him, guest to his host. He drank first.

“But surely you would expect no less from one who has become the kai el’Sol.” There was a slight pause. “Ties of blood are ties of honor that demand loyalty; abjure those, and the most base of behavior manifests itself. The Radann are not brothers; they are equals in the eyes of the Lord.”

“And the Lord’s laws.”

“Indeed.”

“There are other stories.”

“There will always be other stories.”

“It is . . . the other stories that have brought me here.”

“Ah.” Jevri set the cup aside, his eyes piercing and clear as the water it contained.

“Is it true that one of the Radann in the Tor Leonne fathered a child?”

“Many have.”

“And are the laws of the Lord not clear?”

“They are clear.”

“But the man was not executed.”

“No.”

“At the will of the kai el’Sol.”

“Indeed.”

Marakas was silent; he lifted the water; he drank. It slid down his throat as if it were air. “The kai dismissed him from the ranks of the Radann.”

“Yes.”

“And he sent him to Mancorvo, to his brother’s house.”

“You have delved deeply. Yes. With the woman and the child. His brother met him, spoke with him, and judged him worthy of employ. He serves the Lambertan clan.”

“In what capacity?”

Jevri’s eyes narrowed. “I dislike wasted words. You must know of this, or you would not ask.”

“I know of what is said, but many things are said. I want the truth.”

“Truth is difficult. The man serves as Tyran to the Tyr’ agnate.”

“Even though he is an oathbreaker.”

“Even so.”

“And Lambertan honor?”

“The kai el’Sol sat in judgment. He considered the man’s youth, his crime, and his honesty.”

“What honesty?”

“He was young,” Jevri said quietly. “And the woman came to him for protection in the village to which he had been sent. She, too, was young, and fierce in the way the young are. Saving her life was a bond that the young Radann could not break; he understood that in his absence there would be no protection for her, for she had lost her brothers to skirmishes with the bandits that season.