Path of Honor (28 page)

The first sorcerer tipped his head. He was a lean man with bony features and hard muscles roping his thin arms. Reisil returned the bow in equal depth, taking satisfaction in the slight flare of his nostrils.

“At his side stands Waiyhu-Waris, Oljebak of the Berjudi, honored Musnah of His Supreme Greatness, Tengkorak-Gadai, Suzaerain of Scallas.”

His bow was even more shallow than the first, and Reisil mirrored it exactly. This sorcerer was slightly younger than the first, though his face was wider, his features more coarse. A ring of silver pierced his left nostril and from it dangled more charms. The muscles of his arms were thick and meaty, reminding Reisil of a stevedore. She wouldn’t like to encounter him in a dark alley. Not that he needed a dark alley. Not that any of them did.

“And finally, this is Kedisan-Mutira, Emak of the Endul, favored
penabidan
of Jebak Menegal-Hakar and Oljebak Waiyhu-Waris.”

“Abi,” Menegal-Hakar added in a slow, scornful tone.

Reisil turned at last to the sorceress. As their eyes met, Reisil’s skin prickled. Whatever menace the men represented from Scallas, this woman radiated a threat that licked Reisil’s skin with a hungry tongue, standing every hair of her body on end.
Like a wolf among the sheep.

“It is my honor to meet you,” the sorceress said in a husky voice, bowing from the waist, never taking her eyes from Reisil.

Reisil took Saljane onto her fist to return the bow, drawing Saljane into her mind as she summoned her magic. She straightened slowly, examining the other woman closely.

The sorceress was dressed in similar garments to the men, though the colors were variations on scarlet and purple. Blood and bruises, Reisil’s mind suggested, and her mouth went dry even as sweat sprang up all over her body. The sorceress wore a similar chain undergarment, and in addition, she wore delicate silver cuffs around her wrists and neck: narrow flat bands engraved with lovely, filligree patterns.

Before Reisil’s heartbeat slowed again, the dinner gong sounded, and everyone around her began lining up for the processional into the Dining Hall. Watching the Scallacians, Reisil remembered with stark vividness seeing them together on the deck of their ship. The division between the sorceress and her companions, a crevice like an inverted mountain. As she watched them now, she could see it again. And more. The two men had no sense of what hid within their companion.

~She is the great lizard that hides itself in shallows and snatches its prey as it comes to drink,
Saljane replied ominously.

Turning, she found Juhrnus waiting beside her. “What’s wrong?”

Reisil shook her head. “I wish I knew. But heed what Sodur said—get close to them and soon. Especially her. There’s something brewing between them. Something very dangerous. We have to know what it is. We have to know
now
.”

T
he ivy on Reisil’s face had begun to glow, and a wash of red filled her eyes. The Lady’s beacon.

Without a word, Juhrnus plunged away into the crowd. He reached the place where the lines had begun to take shape, the Verit at the head of one, escorting his sister, the Lord Marshal at the head of the other, escorting a dowager crusted in jewels. Behind each came one of the sorcerers accompanied by high-ranking noblewomen, and third in the Verit’s line came the sorceress accompanied by Kijal Deviik. Juhrnus paused, scowling.

“Something wrong?”

Juhrnus started, finding Metyein cas Vare beside him. “I need to sit with the sorceress,” he said without explanation. Metyein didn’t ask for one.

“All right. Follow me. Be ready.” He strode away, and Juhrnus hurried after.

Juhrnus slowed, turning his head to meet Esper’s yellow eyes. The sisalik sometimes seemed to have a grasp of the court that Juhrnus could hardly begin to fathom.

~Watch him
, Esper warned.

Metyein had approached Kijal Deviik. He spoke quietly against the older man’s ear. His expression was bland, but something in what he said made the Kijal’s face darken. He turned and spoke a moment to the sorceress, then hurried away with Metyein.

Juhrnus wasted no time wondering what Metyein had said to draw the Kijal off. Instead he slid casually into the Kijal’s vacated place, ignoring Sodur, who stood in the opposite line beside another
ahalad-kaaslane
.

“Your pardon, Dajam. You seem to have been abandoned. Would you allow me to escort you instead?”

The sorceress cast him a hooded glance. “If you wish.” Juhrnus bowed as he lifted his elbow for her hand. He fidgeted in the silence that descended between them. It was rude to say nothing, but he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot.

“How do you find Kodu Riik so far?” Jurhnus asked at last, wincing at the inanity of the question. “It is not always this cold or stormy,” he went on as a thundering wind rattled the windows. “We’ve had a delayed spring.”

“I see.”

“I know it’s much colder here than Scallas. The palace rooms can be drafty. I hope you are not uncomfortable.”

“No. It is . . . fine. Very fine.”

“Good.” His ears felt hot, and he was glad the procession had begun to move. “Anyway, the spring will be here soon. It should warm up then.”

“Pity.”>

They soon arrived at their seats beneath the baldaquin on the raised dais at the head of the room. The tables were swathed with fine white silks sparkling with gem beads and decorated with ethereal carvings of ice. Spun-sugar fairies in rainbow colors cavorted on the ice, while inside sparkled delicately wrought ornaments of silver and gold.

As everyone sat, the Surveyor of Ceremonies rose and made the traditional welcome, and then presented the salt to the Verit in an elaborate stone crock carved in the shape of a gryphon. Then the Laverer was summoned with a ringing gong to wash each guest’s hands. Watching the sorceress wash her hands, Juhrnus noticed for the first time that beneath the chains and rings, her fingers were callused and scarred as if from heavy work. She caught him looking. She flexed her fingers, turning her hands over and examining them meticulously.

“One, two, three, four, five,” she counted, ticking off each finger. “None extra that I can see. No warts, no growths. What do you see that puts that look on your face?” she said, fixing Juhrnus with the full force of her stare.

He felt it like a blow to his midsection, and the breath whooshed out of him in a gust. Seconds ticked past. Finally he drew a thin breath into his flattened lungs. “I see—”

“What?” She sounded curious rather than angry.

“Danger,” he answered, and then instantly wished the word back.

But she only nodded. “Is that all?”

Juhrnus shook his head.

“What else?” Her voice had turned gentle, cajoling. It slid up his spine like red-polished fingernails. He felt himself harden, his loins aching with sudden lust.
Is this a spell?
He didn’t know. Didn’t care.

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, confess his lust, he remembered Reisil’s face, the flare of gold on her face, the crimson filling her eyes. His body went cold, and his hunger for the sorceress evaporated.

“Danger and mystery,” he said finally. The sorceress eyed him, one eyebrow arching up. Then she turned away to speak to the Basham sitting on her other side.

~Nothing. I would have felt it.
But a haze of worry accompanied Esper’s thoughts.

Esper hesitated.

~Tell me
. There was more impatience in Juhrnus’s mindvoice than he intended.

Juhrnus frowned.
~I don’t understand.

~It was—I don’t know how to say it.
The haze of apprehension thickened, and Esper squeezed his claws tight.

Juhrnus winced and stroked Esper’s head with his free hand.
~Try. It’s all right.

Juhrnus had a sense of Esper drawing a deep mental breath, trying to find words for something he had no words for.

~There is something—a thread—between you, connecting you.
Esper sounded frightened and forlorn.

Juhrnus fell silent, his brows furrowed. Absently he rubbed at his chest, as if to find a fisherman’s line hooking into his flesh. If not a spell, then what? His jaw hardened. If she thought to use him, to control him somehow, she would be severely disappointed. Whatever was going on, he was warned. She would not take him unawares.

“Did you hear me? Or are you unwell?”

Juhrnus stared uncomprehendingly at the sorceress.

“Are you unwell?” she repeated.

“What do you mean?” Juhrnus asked thickly.

She looked away without answering, and Juhrnus straightened in his chair. He needed to get ahold of himself. But before he could find a way to again engage her in conversation, the Surveyor of Ceremonies struck the gong again, summoning the Cupbearer to test the wine. He approached the long serving table. He drank a glass from each barrel, after which, the moonfaced young man paused for a full minute as if waiting for the fatal clench of poison around his innards. When he’d completed the wine, he moved on to the ale and cider. Next came the liqueurs, and before long, he’d begun to weave and stagger. The watching crowd laughed as he bumbled and lurched and was eventually led away. Next came the Verit’s blessing and welcome, and then began the food and entertainment.

A fanfare sounded, and the first course began with the service of a light, delicate wine, platters of various breads and a mouthwatering array of meats, cheeses and vegetable spreads. They were served in pastry shells shaped like roses, orchids and tulips. Given the drought, the long winter and the shortage of food in the city and Fringes, it was a decadent beginning to an even more decadent feast. Juhrnus could hardly choke it down. As for the sorceress, she ate sparingly, taking bare sips of her wine and spending more time pushing her food around the plate than eating.

Though it was Juhrnus’s turn to converse with her, the Basham on her other side chatting animatedly with the woman on his right, he couldn’t scrape up anything to say, his tongue clinging to the roof of his mouth.

“What do you call your
ahalad-kaaslane
?” she asked suddenly, coming to his rescue.

“Esper. He’s a sisalik. From the western part of Kodu Riik. Gets hot there, and swampy. Lots of trees.”

“He dislikes the cold, then.” She sounded disapproving.

Juhrnus smiled. “He does enjoy a good fire.”

“I’d like to see the rest of the city,” the sorceress said abruptly.

“I can show you around,” Juhrnus offered quickly. If he could get her alone, perhaps he could discover something. . . .

“I would hate to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble. I would be pleased to do it.”

Once again she cast him that glittering look, and Juhrnus squirmed on his chair.

Soon the next course began, and it was time to flirt with the Preili on his left. Beyond he could see Menegal-Hakar, gimlet eyes flickering over the assembly as he speared food into his mouth. He seemed unimpressed by the parade of servants presenting platter after platter of beautifully prepared foods—meats molded into hedgehogs and badgers, whole roasted pigs, dozens of varieties of fish, twenty different omelets made of quail eggs, roasted partridges and pheasants still in their feathers with gilded beaks and claws, and more. Between each course came jugglers, minstrels, balladeers, illusionists and instrumental sets.

Determined to discover more about the sorceress, with the next course and change of partners, Juhrnus began asking a barrage of questions. “Tell me about Scallas. What’s it like?”

“Hot.”

“Quite a change for you.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have family?”

“My mother.”

“You must miss her.”

“Yes.”

“What about your father?”

“Gone.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“In Keemasan. Our capital city.”

“Tell me about it.”

She did not answer, cutting into the golden apple that had just been placed on her plate. She took a bite, chewing slowly, then laid her fork and knife down.

“It’s beautiful. The buildings are built of many-colored stones, gleaming in the sunlight like fairy sculptures. They are carved from bottom to top with celebrations of Dahre-Sniwan.” Her voice dropped at the mention of the name of Scallas’s patron god. “There are gardens everywhere, in every tiny corner, on rooftops, on window ledges. Even in the niches of the walls. They overflow with fragrant flowers of every color and variety, filling the air with glorious smells. The bushes and trees are extraordinary, growing in fantastical shapes and so brilliantly green. Water is precious in Scallas. Though the cloud-wardens call the rain, there is scarcely ever enough. But the gardens show our devotion to Dahre-Sniwan.

“Keemasan is an oasis for thousands of birds. Their song is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. No matter how many walls separate you from the outside, morning or night, you can hear them.”

She stopped and Juhrnus waited, hoping she’d say more. But now came the parade of pastries: pies, cakes, tarts, custards, truffles, fruit breads and compotes. Now the sorceress had turned to her other partner. The plump Preili on Juhrnus’s left was busy with the mountain of sweets on her plate and in no need of Juhrnus’s attention. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the sorceress.