A Flame in Hali (66 page)

That tyrant voice whispered once more through his skull.
You swore . . . revenge . . .

For an instant, the old habit of obedience paralyzed Eduin. He heard his own voice, now a child’s, now a man’s, pleading, promising, begging for mercy.

But those words had been spoken long ago and far away, distant in both time and space and the unfathomable geometry of the heart.

“Get out of my way!” he howled, “or by Zandru and all the demons in his Seven Frozen Hells, I will walk right through you!”

Eduin’s belly cramped. He knew his body here was only a mental fabrication, yet he felt the twisting as physical agony. Anger flared in response, spreading like a wildfire through a grove of pitch pine. Fists clenched, teeth bared, he strode toward the ghostly figure.

The figure shimmered, as if light itself crumpled. Instead of the lineaments of an old man, stooped and bearded, a cloak swept back to reveal the bone-pale features of Naotalba. She lifted her chin. Her white throat glimmered in the gray light.

“Not hers! I never meant hers!”

Fool of a mortal! Do you think to bargain with me now?
Naotalba shifted, and he sensed all the legions of frozen demons at her back. Her breath touched him, icy as the coldest grave.

Eduin drew back. He realized what he had done. He had poured all his hatred, all his rage, all his father’s twisted need for revenge into the figure of Naotalba. She was as beautiful as when he’d first seen her in Saravio’s mind, a human woman with the power to stir men’s hearts. But there was no pity left in her. She had become as hard and unfeeling as any stone.

Because he had made her so.

Once Eduin had been innocent, full of hope and trust. In his own madness, his father had taken him, twisted him, crippled him. He had no choice in what he had become, and yet in a terrible way, he was still responsible for his deeds.

He could never undo what he had done, the things he had set in motion, the lives he had ruined. But he could choose what to do now.

Eduin set his jaw and plunged through the shadowy figure. Whiteness shocked through him. He could not see or feel or breathe. It was far worse than passing through the coruscating
laran
Veil that guarded Arilinn Tower.

The next instant, Eduin stumbled free.

A Tower stood there, slender and shining. A woman, her robes the crimson worn only by a Keeper, darted toward him. Curls bright as flame streamed down her back. Her gaze was steady as she met his in recognition.

D
yannis passed from sleep to waking in the space of a heartbeat. Pulling aside the summer-weight bedcovers, she sat up. Her room at Hali Tower and the corridor beyond it lay quiet. With her
laran,
she felt the slow rhythms of sleeping minds and, farther off, the hum of activity from kitchen and yard. Milky predawn light filtered through the partly-drawn curtains. A gentle breeze, cool and fragrant with night-blooming flowers, barely stirred the air.

The fragments of her dreams slipped away, leaving only a sense of unease. She had been working regularly long into the night until Raimon urged her to relax more, to take time for fellowship and exercise.

“You will be of no use to yourself or to the circle if you are too exhausted to work properly,” Raimon said. “Knowing your limits and respecting your own needs are as much a part of the training of a Keeper as anything you do in a circle.”

Varzil had watched her uncritically, with that sympathy of mind, that deep understanding. He was the only one at Hali Tower to truly understand why she dared not stint or hold back, why she must prove herself. It was not because she was a woman. Ellimara Aillard, whom Varzil was training as a Keeper back at Neskaya, felt no compulsion to work harder and better than any five men.

If I am to have the power and authority of a Keeper, then I must also have the discipline to use it wisely.
Never again would dragons fly, born of her unthinking rage. Never again would a careless word cause another’s death.

Her strategy was working, for as she gained in skill, her fears had diminished. Little by little, she began to trust herself. Varzil’s arrival at Hali Tower had strengthened her faith in herself. In his clear vision, she glimpsed her own goodness.

Varzil never told her not to work so hard, or attempted to soothe her with bland reassurances. He refused to offer advice, and she knew why. If he told her what to do, he would then become responsible for the consequences. If she were to rely upon herself as Keeper, then she must be free to make her own decisions.

Barefoot, not bothering with a shawl, she hurried through her sitting room and flung the outer door open. Her brother stood there, holding a
laran
-charged glow. In its light, his gray eyes glinted.

She put her hands on her hips. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It is time to say good-bye.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Just so.”

For a long moment, she stared at him, not quite sure she’d understood. “Then we need to talk.”

Varzil dipped his head and stepped inside. Dyannis excused herself and went into her bedroom to change. As an under-Keeper, she enjoyed larger quarters than she had as a mere circle worker. When she’d objected, saying that she had no need for two separate rooms, Raimon had pointed out all the times she had met with him in his own chambers. Now she was glad to be able to hold a private discussion in some place other than her bedroom.

It took only a few minutes to wash her face and hands and pull on a sleeveless tunic over a simple underdress, the kind of loose, comfortable clothing she preferred. Her hair was still braided for sleep in a single plait reaching almost to her waist.

Varzil stood beside the window overlooking the courtyard. He’d lit several candles, enough for them to see each other’s faces. He turned at her approach, and they settled themselves in the two cushioned chairs beside the hearth.

“Now,” she said, “tell me what this is all about. I thought you were to stay here until the end of autumn.”

“So did I, and so it must be given out.”

That confirmed her suspicion that his departure was to be kept secret. “Is it some mission for Carolin?”

“Very astute, little sister. As I once said, you have an instinct for statecraft.”

She shrugged. “I made a lucky guess, that’s all. It wasn’t hard. You brought us good news from Isoldir, that
Dom
Ronal was prepared to make his peace with the Lady of Valeron, but these are shifting times, and even the best intentions may not hold. Nor is that the only brewing storm. Asturias still threatens our own kinsmen at Serrais. From everything I have heard of him, their general, the man known as the Kilghard Wolf, is not to be trusted. And—”

Varzil held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You need not elaborate further. For every kingdom or Tower that has sworn itself to the Compact, there are three others who are ready to set all the land ablaze in their quarrels.”

Dyannis nodded. This must be some business having to do with the Compact, then, and one that demanded secrecy. If Varzil’s mission were known, rumors would fly before him, possibly placing his cause in jeopardy. Varzil had already gained a considerable reputation among the
Comyn
lords as either a savior or a madman. His revolutionary ideas had made him a traitor to his class in the eyes of more than a few members of the Council.

She asked if there were any way she might aid his mission.

“As a matter of fact, there is. Carolin has a horse waiting for me by the lake, and from there I will travel with a party of traders in salt and furs.”

Dyannis nodded. The cargo would not be rich enough to tempt bandits to risk an attack against numbers. In plain clothing, mounted on a lackluster beast, Varzil could easily avoid any particular notice. That is, if no one were looking for him.

She caught his affirming nod. No wonder he had been welcomed with such a public spectacle. The king himself had come to the Tower to visit him.

“Hali is big enough, now that we have two full circles at work, that days—even a tenday—might pass without encountering every other person here,” she commented.

“You might hear someone mention a person, and that would have the effect of keeping him in your mind, just as if you had seen him,” Varzil said.

“That is true. I could let drop, ‘Varzil says this,’ or ‘Varzil did that,’ just as if I had come fresh from meeting you. I need not say
when
you had said or done something.”

Varzil laughed softly. “You were always a fine conspirator. If we had been closer in age, I think that Father would have been hard-pressed to handle both of us.”

“No,” she said, her voice coming with unexpected softness, “you, being the elder, took the brunt of it.”

“You would have been married off, with five healthy sons, and never known the difference,” he teased.

She met his gaze steadily. “I would have known the difference. Believe me, I would have known.”

“I should know better than to say such things,” he admitted. “When I was a boy, I thought only of my own misery. I knew that if I had to stay at home and be the dutiful second son our father wanted, I would go mad. I have since learned that women, rich or poor, suffer even more unrelenting confinement all their lives. To have such Gifts—and to have no way of using them—if that is not a living hell, I do not know what is.”

“We speak of Zandru as the Lord of the Seven Frozen Hells, but I think he does not rule everywhere,” she said. “I think there is a special land of torment for women, in the shadow of Zandru’s Bride, Naotalba the Accursed. She was human once, or so the stories go, and so only she can know what has been lost, what—what might have been.” Her throat closed up.

Why should the idea affect her so deeply, when she now had everything she wanted? She had the training to use her
laran,
a useful independent life, the rank and privilege—and power—of becoming a Keeper. Why then did thoughts of failed hopes and unfulfilled talents fill her with sorrow?

The moment passed, a mist seemed to lift from her sight, and she saw a mirror to her own sadness in the eyes of her brother. She remembered how he had talked about his lost love, Felicia.

A little shudder passed through her shoulders. She stood, rubbing her arms. “The dawn approaches, and you must be on the road. I will do what I can, and hold you ever in my thoughts.”

“As you will be in mine.”

On impulse, Dyannis pressed herself against him, hugging him as if she could not bear to let him go. He was one of the few people she could embrace without distress. Their bond, as sister and brother, as fellow telepaths, made the physical contact especially close.

She did not know if the sickness in her heart came from the emotions stirred by their conversation, or some dreadful premonition. Even disguised, even guarded as he would be, the roads could be perilous. Yet, there was nothing to be done. She could not hold him here, not if Darkover were to be freed from the horrors of
clingfire,
lungrot, and bonewater dust.

She pushed herself away. “On with you, then. Walk with the gods, and return to us in their good time.”

“
Adelandeyo,
” he answered, and slipped away into the fading night.

Several days later, Dyannis sat at the window of her outer chamber, cradling a mug and watching the first light creep into the eastern sky. She should be resting, she knew, instead of sipping
jaco
that would surely keep her awake half the morning. A sense of unease, of imminence, had been growing in her ever since she dissolved the circle last night. The work, recharging
laran
batteries, had gone smoothly, uneventfully. What, then, troubled her?

She wondered if Varzil had met with some difficulty along the road. Ever since their parting, a light rapport had remained between them. The connection ran deeper than that of brother and sister. It was more akin to a twin-bond, strengthened and deepened by their shared work as Keepers.

No, she would surely have sensed it if Varzil had met with some harm. She was overtired, and the general anxiety of the world outside had seeped through her
laran
shields. She must take greater care.

A knock at her door startled her from her inner musings.