The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (55 page)

I said finally, "Fenton came to Koretia with Carle's help in order to teach you what needed to be changed in Koretia. And I . . ." I hesitated, feeling a flush surge over my neck and ears.
Emlyn nodded. "Yes, that's what I think as well: that you were sent back to Emor in order to teach the Emorians what needs to be changed in their land. Perhaps through Carle, since he seems to be the key in all this."
"But I don't believe that anything
should
be changed in Emor," I said. "It's exactly the opposite. If you really want to help Koretia – if the god wants to help Koretia – then you should allow the Emorians to take control of the Koretian government. As a dominion, Koretia would still have the independence to keep its culture, but the gods' law would be replaced by the law – by the Chara's law, which would end the blood feuds and everything else that is evil in this land."
The words poured out of me. I had not realized, till I spoke them, how great my desire was to see this happen. I expected Emlyn to be angered by this suggestion, but he simply wrapped the band of his mask around his finger and said, "If you have children, will you teach them that the gods are worthy of honor?"
I was startled by this sudden change of topic. "I wasn't— I mean, I hadn't intended to, but . . ." I was silent a while, absorbing into my memories the truth of what the gods had actually willed during all those months when I thought they had executed Fenton. Then I said quietly, "I'll have to think about it more, but . . . Yes, I think so. I won't teach my children that the gods' law is worthy of honor, but I'll teach them that the gods who hate the evils of this land are worthy of honor."
"And your grandchildren? Do you believe that your children will teach them to honor the gods?"
Startled into an understanding of what he meant, I made no reply. Emlyn put the mask to one side as he said, "Adrian, don't think that I'm unappreciative of the virtues of Emor. In your own way, I believe that you and the other Emorians serve the gods. But that is your way, and Koretia has its own way. If the gods' law were destroyed, in a generation or two the Koretians would have forgotten to worship the seven gods and goddesses of Koretia. This I am sure of."
"But you can't let the gods' law continue!" I cried. "The blood feuds—"
"The gods' law existed before the blood feuds did. The corruption in the Koretian law can be removed without destroying our law—"
"The corruption will return," I said firmly. "It must return, because there are no alternatives for the Koretians but to avenge crimes through feuds. They need the Chara's law to provide that alternative—"
Emlyn rose to his feet, sighing. "Adrian, I didn't bring you here to fight about whether your religion is better than my religion. . . . No, listen." He held his hand up. "You've evidently given this a great deal of thought, much more than I have; perhaps this is part of the gods' plan for you. But you're speaking to the wrong person. You have your role to play in Emor, and I have mine here in Koretia – we each have our own duties. If Emor is to take part in this war in any way, it will have to be through you. The god has not placed that duty upon me."
I played with the leather of my back-sling strap, realizing, for the first time, that I would walk out of this room alive. Finally I lifted my head and forced myself to say, "Emlyn . . . if you let me go, I will have to tell my official about our meeting."
"I want you to do so. That is one of the reasons I have been hunting you so hard for the past months." Emlyn reached forward with his hand and helped me to rise from the pallet, saying, "Adrian, you've seen for yourself that I have no interest in meddling in Emorian affairs. If Emor takes part in this war that the Jackal is waging, it will do so in the gods' time, but I will not bring Emor into the war myself by troubling its people. Yet I know that the Chara doubts this; he fears that my activities will spill over the border. I want you to tell the Chara what you've heard me say: that my battles are against the new nobility and the other Koretians who will not accept reforms of the gods' law. I have no quarrel with the Chara or his land."
I said, my voice tight, "For my report to be complete, I would have to tell my official who you are."
Emlyn was standing in shadow. I could see no more than that he was not smiling. "That is a choice you will have to make for yourself," he said quietly. "All I can tell you is that, if I am unmasked, my life will not be long. I can use my powers to protect myself against individual men, but not against a unit of soldiers sent to arrest me."
My throat ached with tears withheld; I stooped to scoop up my back-sling. When I looked back at Emlyn, he was smiling. "Follow your duty," he advised. "If your duty truly takes you that way, I won't think the less of you for revealing my identity."
I said in a voice still strained, "You said that was one reason you hunted me. Is there another?"
Emlyn nodded. "Yes. To warn you to stay away from your village."
I slipped the back-sling onto my shoulder, feeling a dull ache grow inside me. This time I did not bother to hide the wound. "My father is still angry?"
"He has taken a blood vow to give you over to the new priest for judgment, should you return to the village. The new priest believes in the gods' law as it stands, and all of your family is bound to aid your father in his vow. You will find no assistance there."
"If you . . ." I hesitated, but Emlyn was already shaking his head.
"I tried to speak to your father, both masked and unmasked." He gave one of his bright smiles. "I was lucky to escape alive on both occasions. No, cousin; the only help I can give you is to offer you this warning."
I swallowed the pain in my throat and said, "I appreciate it. And for telling me the rest, especially the part about Fenton. If there's anything I can do for you – anything that wouldn't go against my duty—"
Emlyn reached the door before I did and rested his hand on the latch. I could hear Griffith and Morgan chatting outside in a relaxed manner while the Jackal interviewed his kinsman. "The debt is mine," he said. "Only a spy could have carried my message to the Chara. Is there anything that I can do for you? Any wish that needs fulfillment?"
"Thank you, but no," I replied politely. "I'm really quite—" And then I stopped, and I felt my heart drive blood to my farthest extremities.
Emlyn was still standing next to the door, his hand on the latch. His tunic was that of a lesser free-man and was sober in color for that of a jeweller; his bladeless belt was frayed. And his face was that of the Jackal.
He had not put on his mask; the mask had shaped his face, turning his amber eyes to gold, and his smiling mouth to a snarl. The whiskers shimmered like cutting wire, and the teeth glowed silver under the shadows. The fire in his eyes was of the type that eats men.
I did not realize that I had retreated until I felt the wall against my back. Sweat ran into my eyes, blurring my vision. The voice I had heard at the beginning of our conversation, the voice so much like Emlyn and yet so unlike him, whispered in thunder, "Tell me what you wish, son of Berenger."
"I—" My throat was so dry I had to start again, while my mind groped like a sick man for the nearest thought at hand. "I'd like to make a sacrifice for Carle. I've always wanted to do that. And— If it's possible, I'd like to make a sacrifice for the Chara."
The Jackal walked forward. I could feel the heat of his fire like the breath of a wild beast. His hand, glowing like embers, reached up toward my forehead, in the gesture of a priest pronouncing a curse upon those who break the gods' law. It hovered above my skin as my gaze rose to it. Then the rumbling whisper said, "Be at peace, servant of the Lawmaker."
The hand fell, and with it something fell from me – I could not say what. When I looked again at the Jackal, he held my cousin's face.
"Do you have time to dine with us before you leave?" he asked. And his smile was the smile of the Jackal, yet it was the smile also of the boy I had known as a child.
He opened the door, and waiting there was Griffith, holding in his hand the jewelled dagger I had given Siward: the High Priest's dagger, Fenton had told me, made by a craftsman in the south. Emlyn showed it to me with a smile before placing it sheathed upon his belt. I found myself being swept forward by the other thieves toward the meal awaiting us.
That is all I can remember of my meeting with the Jackal. It will be enough for me to think upon for years.
 
 
Law Links
6
THE BALANCE
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The second day of June in the 943rd year a.g.l.
It's dawn now; I can hear Quentin whistling the night patrol home. The day patrol has already gone outside the hut to break its fast. I will have to start for the army camp soon, though I still haven't decided what I will tell Captain Radley about my meeting with the Jackal.
I did have sense enough to wait a week before slipping over the border. I knew that Radley would never forgive me unless I followed standard procedure for losing a hunt that is after me. I know better than Radley that, if Emlyn chose to hunt me after he released me, the best of the Chara's spies couldn't have prevented him. But I can't explain that to Radley.
I arrived here yesterday afternoon to find Quentin awake early. He wounded his dagger arm last month, in a daring rescue that I only heard about from the others, and the pain has been keeping him awake during the day. After I had enquired after him and the patrol, and had ascertained that Carle was returned to Emor from his latest mission, I hesitantly told Quentin what the Jackal had told me – not about his identity, but about the war he is waging.
Quentin, crouching down to stir the dinner pot with his unwounded hand, was silent a while after I finished. Then he said, "And is he?"
I smiled at Quentin's ability to cut through to the heart of matters. "Does it matter to you? You don't worship the gods."
Quentin added a stick to the fire. "It wasn't part of my grandfather's training. But still . . . I'd be interested to hear your opinion."
I took the ladle from his hand and continued the stirring. "Yes, he is. You could tell from his eyes." I took a sip from the stew, wincing as it bit at my tongue. "I'm not sure how to tell Carle. I'm afraid that he'll think less of me if I say that I believe the Jackal is really a god."
"Among the many worries of a spy," Quentin said, "one that you need not concern yourself with is that Carle will ever think less of you. His debt to you is too great."
I sat back on my heels, staring. "Whatever do you mean? The debt is mine; if he hadn't taken me under his care—"
"The stew is boiling over," Quentin said.
For the next minute, we were preoccupied in tossing dirt on the fire to extinguish it. As I wiped my hands clean on the grass afterwards, Quentin said, "You've met Carle's father."
I nodded. "Have you?"
"Briefly. He accompanied Carle to the borderland when I was fourteen and Carle was eight—"
"When you and Carle helped Fenton to escape. Yes."
"Carle was mainly responsible for that; I wouldn't have had the courage." Quentin leaned forward to stir the stew carefully, then sat back again on the grass, saying, "When Carle first entered the patrol, I greatly feared that he would become like his father."
"But—" I stopped suddenly. The sun was beginning to dip behind the peaks. Nearby I could hear the day patrol exchanging weary signals with each other.
"The day Carle and I met," I said slowly. "What he did to me then . . . Had he done that before?"
Quentin nodded, leaning back onto his hands and then shifting his position so that his weight was upon his unwounded arm. "He had never before disobeyed my orders, but on several occasions he disciplined prisoners or guards under his care in a manner stricter than necessary. To say that of a patrol guard is to say a great deal, of course. With most guards, the problem I have is teaching them to show appropriate sternness, but with Carle the problem was the opposite. He knew only his father's discipline, and even a gentle version of that was beyond what was necessary. And aside from that . . ."
"Yes." My voice was firm; all was clear to me now. "I've seen that too. He has the seed of his father's cruelty in him. He keeps it deeply buried, though."
Quentin shook his head. "Not during his first three years in the patrol; then he was like a man riding a wild horse. He was barely able to keep control of himself. If he'd been any less talented than he was, I would have dismissed him from the patrol, for I could see the shadow of disaster whenever I looked at him."
"But he's not like that now," I said, bewildered.
"No," Quentin replied. "He met you."
The sun slid behind the peaks, and Quentin rose with a whistle, beckoning the patrol to supper. Nearby, Devin joyfully whistled the day patrol home. The night patrol emerged from the hut, some of the guards heading for the food, while other guards started for the latrine and waterfall. Fowler caught sight of me and called out his greeting, so I had no opportunity to talk with Quentin after that.
It is just as well. I could not have found any words to reply.
The fourth day of June in the 943rd year a.g.l.
In the end, Carle gave me the answer to my dilemma.
"Let me be sure I understand you correctly," he said after I had told my tale on the evening of my arrival back at our tent. "You spoke with the Jackal – you ought to receive a gold honor brooch for that tracking, by the way – and he offered you information. Some of it is information on his goals; we've been under orders to obtain that information, and so you'll report your findings to Captain Radley. But one piece of information that you learned could place a kinsman of yours at risk of losing his life if you told anyone, and you're not sure whether your duty requires you to report that information as well." Carle drew off his undertunic. Many months have passed since he was last ashamed for me to see his whip-torn back. "This information that relates to your kinsman – did Captain Radley order you to obtain it?"
I shook my head, and Carle smiled as he dipped a rag in the bucket of cold water next to his feet. "That's an easy conclusion to your quandary, then," he said. "Tell him."
The evening was chill, as all Emorian evenings seem to be. I hugged my naked chest with my arms. "You believe that it's my duty to tell him?" I said in a low voice.
Carle's smile broadened, and he tossed me the rag so that I could take my turn with the water. "What I ought to have said is, 'Try to tell him.'"