Lyrec (20 page)

“I have this notion,” she said, “which began when I first set eyes on you, that you are very dangerous, and very careful about it. However, I find in spite of my presentiment that I trust you somehow. I think the danger you represent isn’t to me, but to Ladomirus, and I see by the look in your eye this is so. For which reason I’ll ignore what I know and satisfy myself for now merely by watching you. We may in the future prove of use to one another.”

When he said nothing, she left.
 

One day, she thought, he might be useful to her, but that day had not yet come. Tomorrow she would send him out to Maribus Wood and let him ride a border patrol for a week or two. The less he knew of what went on in the castle, the more he would have to rely on her when and if a time serving their mutual interests arrived. She had never allowed anyone to stand on equal terms with her, and that wasn’t about to change. It was the reason she was still alive and not a whore or a peasant. This was no time to change her policy. To stand with men, she had to stand alone.

Chapter 12.

The two figures—a man dressed in dark robes and a boy wrapped in a cape—walked quickly through streets that were crowded though it was near midnight in Atlarma. The majority of the multitude were drunken revelers participating in the combined wake and celebration that would continue until after the coronation. None of them recognized the Hespet beneath his purple robes. Nor did they identify their own king-to-be as the boy with him.

Slyur led the way past brightly lit brothels and darkened shops. Tynec dragged along after him, yearning to ask a thousand questions but saving them for the right time and place. Slyur kept him hurrying through dark alleys, taking turns to avoid a crowd, running the risk of meeting up with thieves or worse in one of the narrow passages between shops. Some of the streets were cobbled, but most were dirt. Alleys which served as latrines stung their eyes and nostrils with acrid fumes; the ground here was muck. Tynec had never experienced anything like it and never wanted to again. In all the years he had lived in Atlarma, he had never entered this darker side of its life. He had no idea that he was indirectly responsible for the filth and congestion here.

He slipped suddenly and fell on the stones. The Hespet did not wait for him. By the time he got up, he had to race past three ugly, indecent women and into another alley by himself, catching sight of the priest only then, running to keep up, nearly tripping over a body lying there, either drunk or dead. Tynec ran on, not wanting to know which. He charged out of the alley.
 

A hand caught his throat and yanked him sideways into the dark recess of a doorway.

Slyur motioned him to keep still. Tynec swallowed his heart and obeyed. The new street contained no taverns—dark, deserted shops and a storage house for community surplus lined the narrow dirt track. Slyur tugged him on. They moved quickly, quietly between two more buildings into an alley so cramped that they had to walk sideways through the first part of it.

Three streets further south they emerged from the alley, then fell back fast against a wall as a patrol rode casually past. Across from them stood one of the walls that surrounded the temple of Chagri.

Here was the trickiest part of their journey, for the temple was enclosed also by beggars and cripples camped upon its yard and down into the ditches beside the road, spilling out and onto the thoroughfare. The two figures waited, the Hespet pressing Tynec behind him. It seemed to Tynec an hour of hesitation, but it gave him time to think. He did not like what he was doing, most of all resenting that he had not been allowed to mention it to Cheybal or, at the very least, his grandfather. The Hespet, having come to him in secret, forbade such things with a warning of the terrible dishonor he would bring upon his family if he did.

His grandfather would break under the weight of shame. A family secret kept for generations would be unforgivably revealed to the world, and the source of the strength of his lineage would collapse.
 

The priest sounded sincere, even incontestable, although he fidgeted over every detail.

A commotion began across the street. The people there—those who could—began to stand up. They in turn aided others in getting up. Some of them began muttering and gesturing. From farther down the road came cheers and shouts, which swept toward them in a wave. The coach of the Hespet rolled into view.

Caught up in the drama, Tynec was spellbound by the sight of these poor beggars leaping onto the coach, some of them crawling into the road in front of it and narrowly missing being trampled beneath the horses. He was suddenly jerked aside again. Holding onto the back of his neck, the Hespet dragged him away from the coach, along the shop fronts. No one in the ragged crowd paid them any attention now. Everyone was in pursuit of the coach.

The priest and the boy arrived opposite the eastern gate to the temple. They scurried across the road and along the short path to the gate. One blind man sat against the wall, weeping because he could not join in the petitioning of the coach. On hearing their approach, he cried out, “Is it you? I’m ready, I’ve waited.” He hurried to get up. “Great God, I embrace you, I’ve always done so! Now let me
see
! No, wait—don’t pass me. I’m
worthy!”
His words disintegrated into sobs.

Having opened the grillwork door with a key, Slyur pulled Tynec inside. The Hespet looked around. As he’d anticipated, no other priests were in view; they were all busy elsewhere, most at the front entrance where they would now be prying beggars like barnacles off his coach. He had instructed the driver that he would be staying in the castle and would walk home in disguise later to avoid the crowd. He had also insisted the driver take supper before returning, which allowed the Hespet time to get to the temple.

The yard was dark. Light came from the priests’ quarters along the south wall. A row of hedges paralleled the walk from the gate to the side entrance of the temple building, and though Slyur and Tynec kept near the hedge, Slyur strode boldly along, acting as if nothing surreptitious were going on at all. No one noticed them.

Inside the temple, the night candles had been lighted. Their glow was steady, reassuring. The Hespet removed his disguising outer robes and took the cape from Tynec, depositing them on a table that they passed on their way into the center of the temple.

The statue of Chagri gleamed in the candlelight. Bits of mineral within the
chidsist
figure glittered like stars. The candles were hidden on stands in the hollow of Chagri’s shield, placed in such a way as to fill the statue’s unfinished eyes with shadows. The eyes thus seemed to look down with a harsh verdict. Tynec met them once and did not look up again. He directed his attention to the priest, noting with a certain satisfaction that the Hespet, too, seemed cowed by the statue.

“I will leave you now for a short while, Tynec,” Slyur whispered, then coughed and cleared his throat. “When the moment is right we’ll meet Chagri and you will have bestowed upon you the secrets he gave your father and his—the secrets that will make you as proud a ruler as your—as Dekür was.” He left hastily.

Tynec’s eyes shone like glass. He was almost sure the priest was lying to him. Maybe it was all so fantastic that even the Hespet could not accept it. What secrets could he have meant? How could anybody entrust such secrets to him? Tynec could not recall his father ever acting through any abstruse powers—his father had always acted openly, sometimes hotly. He almost never had mentioned the god of war, and not once in any positive way. His father had resented the idea that someone could actually worship war.

Tynec listened. In their hiding places, the candles hissed. He could not tell where the Hespet had gone. Uncomfortable with his back to it, he shifted so that he could see the statue without having to stare at it directly. This proved to be a mistake—seen peripherally, the statue appeared to move with each small waver of candle flames. Anxiously, Tynec backed away from it. His feet crunched the stones. The sound crashed through the huge chamber, and he took slight consolation in the knowledge that at least no one could sneak up on him. His fingers rubbed lightly on the hilt of his belt dagger. He moved to the corner, his back against one wall. On either side of him a candle burned. He waited. With each passing minute, he grew more at ease.

The statue offered no threat, and neither did the Hespet. Although his father had never brought him here, the temple did not awe him. His father had worshipped in the much larger temple of Anralys, asking for guidance, health and wisdom for his family. He never prayed for anything that Chagri might offer.

Tynec reflected on the wretched people he had seen camped around the temple. Never had he encountered so many helpless and destitute people gathered in one place. He’d not realized that so many of them existed in Atlarma. How did they survive? Why was nothing done for them?

The first thing he would do upon becoming king would be to pass a law concerning the unfortunates. There were so many. He would banish them all from the city. That way—

What
had he thought? He hadn’t meant that. His brain must be tired to have thought that—he was jittery, his thoughts had drifted. Not banishment, for the sake of charity! How ridiculous. Those people must be helpless. They could not fight to defend the city, but they could certainly die. When the attack came on Atlarma, they could be placed out front as a barrier to shield the soldiers. A human battlement, yes, don’t banish them. He could see it now: bodies adrift like logs jamming a river, carrion birds circling in the plumes of smoke. Death—the order of disorder, the certainty amidst chaos. He so looked forward to the day of destruction.

For now, good-bye, Tynec.

The young boy moved from between the candles and across the room. His puppet-body was easily manipulated. He’d barely noticed as his mind was dislocated.

The Hespet returned a few minutes later. He saw the expression on the boy’s face and did not have to ask if the transformation had been a success. The boy said, “Hello, Slyur—ah, but I mustn’t call you that. You must be the Hespet to me in this form or someone might grow suspicious.” He stretched his arms up and flexed his fingers. “A healthy little boy, this. Good. Now. you and I can rule well and certainly more wisely than an eight year old, heh?” He chuckled. “You’ll have your favorite world of clerics and worshippers—soon, more than ever before. I’ll guide you, don’t worry. However, as regards the secular world, hereafter you needn’t concern yourself with it at all. I shall reshape it soon.”

Slyur made no answer.

“Oh, and you needn’t accompany me back, either. I can find my way to the castle through the detritus, and I would just as soon wander the streets a bit, soak up a little of the local debauchery. Good night, priest.” He marched out past Slyur in triumph, like a young warrior on his way to battle. His footsteps ground away into the night.

Chapter 13.

Deep within Maribus Wood, Lyrec rode his lone vigil with Borregad draped across his shoulders and trying very hard to be asleep. He kept to the trail as instructed. The other two patrollers had parted company with him that morning and he did not know how close they might be or if they rode somewhere behind him to observe his compliance the orders Talenyecis had given him.

During the earlier part of the ride, he had struck up a conversation with the two. They claimed that to patrol Maribus was an honor; in both their cases, they’d won the privilege by capturing and returning escaped field workers. Whatever he had unknowingly done, it had obviously won him favor in the eyes of Talenyecis. But this, they warned him, had a darker side he should be careful of. Talenyecis was possessed of unknown but obviously perilous sexual tendencies—a number of men had won the honor of a visit to her quarters, and most had ever been seen again. The others—the survivors, as they were called—refused to speak of it, but clearly whatever had happened had been humiliating. But when Lyrec asked who had disappeared, the soldiers confessed that they’d not personally known any of the men but that the stories were far too numerous to doubt. “Don’t trust her, ever,” both men warned, “especially when she rewards you. Everything she does has a double meaning.”

Once they split up and he rode off alone, Lyrec wondered just what he
had
done to deserve this so-called honor. He wished he had found a time and situation to probe Talenyecis and uncover her motives, but she had not returned to the barracks again and had spoken to him this morning just long enough to assign him the patrol. For awhile he considered hidden motives, but could think of only one—murder. He might well be riding into a prearranged ambush, perhaps staged by the same two soldiers. Then, as many uninterrupted hours and numerous fruitless probes into the general vicinity passed, he had abandoned the idea. Whatever her reason, it was somehow to his advantage.

“Borregad,” he said, “are you awake?”

“Mmm.”

“When we get back, will you be able to find that hidden room again?”

“Of course, but—” he raised his head suddenly “—you don’t mean to face Miradomon
there
, do you?”

“That’s exactly my intention. If, as you say, he’s called through the integrant of his
crex
there, then what better place? We’ll catch him off-guard, expecting Ladomirus. We could never hope for another opportunity like this. He appears in a mortal form—”

“An
im
mortal form, if I might say. Ladomirus called him a god. For that matter, he referred to himself as one. These gods are the equivalent of us in a peculiar sort of way. They’ve all sorts of powers, controlling fundamental aspects of the world. They can make storms. They can level cities. But they don’t live among the lesser creatures.”

Lyrec laughed. “You can’t actually believe in these gods? When was the last time we visited the remains of a world and saw the gods come down to inspect the damage?”

“What about Caudel’s tale? ‘The gods came down and obliterated everything,’ he said. It could be more than myth.”