Path of Honor (32 page)

Saljane did not answer, only wrapping her mind more closely around Reisil’s.

Suddenly the air went out of the room. The door flew from its hinges, hitting the opposite wall with a deafening bang. The high-pitched sound of tearing metal screamed up and down the corridor. Echoing booms ricocheted down the maze of palace passages as door after door was wrenched off its hinges. Then Reisil heard a violent crash rolling up out of the entrance hall and resonating through the rest of the palace. With it came a wash of something else, something she felt like maggots in her flesh, like sun-beams on her skin. Magic.

It was here. It had come at last.

It howled with a voice that sounded like all the demons in the Demonlord’s nether realm. It called to her, demanded her. Its rage was tangible. No more hiding. It wanted judgment. Revenge. For what, Reisil couldn’t guess. But beneath all its roiling emotions, she felt the choking hurt it—
he
—could not hide, could not eradicate, could not escape. It drew the healer in her. She couldn’t resist such agony.

“Come on,” she said aloud to Saljane, lifting the goshawk up to her shoulder. “He’s waiting for us.”
For me.

Reisil picked her way to the Grand Foyer, stepping over the remains of doors and ignoring the white-faced denizens that peered out into the black corridor at her passing. She followed the sound of that howling, a long breathless note that burrowed through her head. Reisil strengthened the walls of her mind, giving herself a short-lived relief as she started down the great staircase. At her sudden distancing, the
presence
leaped against her defenses, battering at her with a blind rage unpolluted by reason. Reisil’s legs buckled, and she caught herself on the railing, her vision going cloudy.

A gust of frigid air rose up the rotunda. Reisil shivered. She found her way by touch, creeping close to the wall. Ten steps, twenty, forty. The floor flattened out under her boots. She stood still, head tilted, trying to make sense of the blur in front of her, head pounding with the pressure of trying to withstand the continuing assault. If not for Saljane, Reisil would have long since collapsed and passed out.

She blinked, eyes watering. Shapes materialized. A man, taller than she, not so tall as Kebonsat. And beside him, something else.

Reisil took another step forward, her brow furrowing. Then suddenly her vision cleared as if swept away by magic, as if the being attacking her wanted her to see. Her mouth dropped open, and she stared.

Beside the man hunched a beast. Larger than a draft horse, it was matte black with fine, overlapping scales and a long sinuous neck. Barbed ridges ran down the length of its neck and faded along its tail. Its head was as long as Reisil’s leg, with curved teeth meshing together along its powerful jaws. Its nostrils were ringed red, its eyes buttercup-yellow slashed with crimson. Its wings, delicate and gauzy, were slightly raised over its back. It faced her, crouching down, razor talons cutting grooves in the marble. As it stared at her, as
he
stared at her, she knew his name.
Baku.
And more. He and the man were
ahalad-kaaslane
.

Only they weren’t. Pity filled Reisil in a flood. The anger, the resentment, the devastating bitterness—all of these made sense now. The man had refused Baku, had refused to be his
ahalad-kaaslane
.

~Saljane, they are us. He is you. We must help him
.

She felt Saljane’s answering emotions, too deep, too raw yet, despite all their time together. They needed no words. They knew what needed to be done.

Her mind locked with Saljane’s, Reisil stared into the beast’s fulminating eyes and dropped the walls protecting her mind.

The world rolled over. Like a headland in a storm, wave after wave of relentless emotion washed over her. She felt Baku’s endless frustration and pain at the indifference of his
ahalad-kaaslane
. And because he was no ordinary animal made sentient by the Lady, but instead was a sentient being with deeply felt and complex emotions, he felt his
ahalad-kaaslane’s
rejection even more violently.

Reisil made no effort to conceal anything from him. She allowed him to ransack her mind, delve into her secrets, rifle through her fears, plunder her hopes. She let him tread those raw places that she could hardly bear to think of herself: her own sense of betrayal with Sodur, her continuing failure with the plague, her sense of unworthiness to be
ahalad-kaaslane
.

And all the while she took his pain.

How long the onslaught went on, Reisil didn’t know. She clung to Saljane, needing her
ahalad-kaalsane’s
strength, yet knowing their closeness would lend fuel to Baku’s envy and rage.

Then she felt an arm come around her shoulders, and she was being held against a hard, broad chest.

“Baku, you must stop. We have found her. Will you kill her?”

Baku gave a scream of defiance and clutched himself deeper into Reisil’s mind. For a moment she had the image of a starving wolf guarding its hard-won prey, and then her muscles went slack as her mind lost cohesion and her thoughts melted into insanity.

“Baku!”

This time it was an order, and instantly Baku obeyed. Moments ticked away. Reisil drew a breath between trembling lips. Tears ran down her cheeks. She blinked. Inches away from her face hovered Baku’s muzzle.

~Coal-drake
. The voice was deep and grating, like rocks tumbling in a slide.

She stiffened and stared. He regarded her steadily with unnerving red-and-yellow eyes. His breath puffed over her cheeks, smelling of old stone and metal.

~I may speak to whomever I choose.
He sounded haughty and disdainful.

He did not answer, but Reisil could feel his fury rising again. She winced as her head throbbed harder and glanced up at his companion still bracing her against his chest.

He was neither handsome nor ugly. He had a wide face, heavy brows, high cheekbones, and a broad, prominent nose. His lips were wide and sensual above a strong chin. His hair was long and black and loose, but for a handful of braids decorated with beads, feathers and bits of polished wood. Heavy gold earings dangled from the lobes of his ears, and beaten hoops of the metal circled up the back of them. He wore a wrap of brilliant colors—scarlets, greens, yellows, blues and oranges. His tunic was dark green and barely long enough to cover his stomach. Heavy gold bands circled both biceps, and two more circled his wrists. Short, tight-fitting trousers covered his legs to mid-calf, and on his feet he wore boots typical of those worn by farmers in Kodu Riik. A long tube rose up over his back, attached to a leather baldric. A pouch hung at his waist and beside it hung a long knife in a scabbard, longer than a dagger, shorter than a sword.

“You’ve been looking for me?” she asked blearily.

He inclined his head.

“Why?”

He touched the ivy on her face. “This.”

“Did the Lady send you? When She sent you Baku, did She tell you to come to me?” She straightened, her face lighting with eagerness.

He looked away, his face pained. “No. The nahuallis sent me.” His words had a curious sense of being carefully chosen, carefully articulated. There was a softness to his consonants, as if he was used to speaking a much more fluid tongue. He added reluctantly, “They did not know about Baku.”

“Nahuallis?” Reisil repeated, brows furrowing.

He nodded. He stood abruptly, stretching out a hand to help her up. Baku continued to press close, only a hand-span from her ear.

“I am called Yohuac Amini Achtopa Pilli,” Baku’s companion said, closing his right hand into a fist and laying it over his heart, thumb against his chest. He bent into a low bow, holding it for several seconds. “I have been sent to seek the foreign nahualli with gold leaves on her face. We suffer from the effects of an evil magic. It warps the weather and the beasts and the land. We have had floods and devastating storms, poor harvests, frightening beasts and great illness.”

Reisil’s mouth fell open. Mysane Kosk and the wizards’ spell. But where had he come from that it could have such a devastating effect on his land?

“The nahuallis have done what they can to heal our land, but can do no more,” he continued. “Their visions told them of you. That you could help.”

Reisil swallowed, mouth dry, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead, trying to quell the headache that throbbed there.

“I don’t know who or what these nahuallis of yours are, but their visions lied. I can’t stop it,” she said baldly.

He blanched. Reisil could almost have laughed at his shock. Another fool thinking she could save him.

“But the nahuallis—They were sure that—”

“They’re wrong.”

He stood, feet braced apart. He crossed his arms, a stubborn look hardening his expression. “I cannot accept that. The gods would not send visions that lied.”

“But they’d watch while their land and people were destroyed,” Reisil said bitterly. “Think what you want. I don’t know how to stop it. And Kodu Riik suffers because of it.” His face darkened, but Reisil didn’t give him a chance to retort. “If you’re in that much trouble, why send you? Why didn’t some of your nahuallis come?”

“There are too few nowadays. They could not be risked on such a dangerous journey.”

“But you could?”

“It was thought my chances of success were better.”

“And did they foresee you becoming
ahalad-kaaslane
?”

His gaze flicked to Baku and away and Reisil felt an answering surge of anguish and rage from the coal-drake. “No. They await my return.”

The words were troubled, and Reisil softened toward him. Who knew better than she how painful it was to refuse to become
ahalad-kaaslane
?

“Would someone explain to me what is going on here?”

Reisil flinched. The Verit stood on the stairs flanked by the two sorcerers and a squad of guards holding torches. The sorceress was nowhere to be seen. Others crowded in the doorways and hovered in the shadows farther up the staircase.

“Who is responsible for this mess?”

Dread held Reisil frozen. Everyone already suspected her of being a traitor. And now the palace had suffered a magical attack, and here she stood in the middle of it. If until now there had been a single soul who believed she wasn’t interested in taking power for herself, there wasn’t anymore.

“I am. Or rather, my companion.” Yohuac stepped forward.

“And you are?” Aare’s voice dripped venom.

“I am Yohuac Amini Achtopa Pilli.” Once again he gave that fisted bow, but this time he did not bow nearly so low, or hold it so long.

“And who are you?”

“He’s
ahalad-kaaslane
,” Reisil announced, startling herself. Every eye fastened on her. She lifted her chin. “He’s just arrived. He’s had a long, difficult journey, and he wishes a place to sleep.” Reisil had no idea what his journey had been like or how far he’d come.

“After destroying half my palace?” Aare demanded contemptuously. “I’d sooner invite in the Patverseme host.”

Fury kindled in Reisil at his open challenge to the Lady’s law. Never before had he so publicly dismissed the
ahalad-kaaslane
.

“Fix it, Baku,” Reisil ordered, never looking away from the Verit.

~Fix it now
.

The coal-drake didn’t move. But suddenly the air around him shimmered and spun with tiny white sparks. They danced over the twisted, drunken doors of the palace. The ruined metal slabs unbent and smoothed themselves, settling into their jambs as if fastened in place by invisible hands. The gathered watchers ducked and dodged as the sparks streamed past into the palace, illuminating darkened corridors and rooms with glittering white light. In their wake, doors mended and leaped back into their frames, cracks in the walls and ceilings sealed, shattered windows gathered together and fitted themselves back into their sashes.

Reisil stared at the Verit, forcing herself to stand still, feeling her magic boiling up. She tamped it down, reining her anger in hard. Losing control at this moment wouldn’t help any, much as she wanted to singe his short hairs. Right now it was important that they believe Yohuac and Baku to be
ahalad-kaaslane
. Much as it might gall, the Lady’s law gave no one the authority to command the
ahalad-kaaslane,
and despite the Verit’s words, he wasn’t ready to put her laws to the test. Not yet. Knowing they could do magic, he’d be less inclined to send an assassin to eliminate the problem. Reisil didn’t doubt he was capable of it. She thought fleetingly of the assassins hunting her. Was the Verit the hand guiding them? She brushed away the thought. Now was not the time.

A sparkling rain began to fall in the silence of the Rotunda as Baku’s magic returned. The tiny embers drifted down in winding patterns, coalescing on Baku’s hide in a tapestry of stars. They faded slowly, leaving the hall in the gloom of flickering torchlight.

“Your palace is repaired, Daz Varakamber,” Reisil declared. “We will excuse ourselves now. It is quite late. We will disturb you no further.”

With that, Reisil moved toward the stairs. Baku and Yohuac trailed after, Baku’s talons clicking on the marble. Neither the Verit nor any of his companions seemed inclined to step aside until Baku brought his head close, snorting through his red-rimmed nostrils. As a body, they stepped hastily aside.

Reisil climbed the steps quickly, her head spinning. Baku remained inside her mind, a hungry, waiting presence. She felt him push against her link with Saljane as if testing its strength. She could speak to him, if she chose, and he would answer. Just like Saljane. She recoiled from the idea. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to work.