Path of Honor (5 page)

“And you think She does?” Reisil said.

His lip curled. “She always watches. But they forget, just like you.” He gestured at the scrawled curses and hexmarks. “Seeing that filth, can you doubt what I say? Why do you think I spend so much time in the palace? Why do you think—?”

Sodur broke off abruptly, his cheeks red. Reisil stood very still. A quiver began deep in her chest. Her mouth went dry. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, a vast darkness looming before her.

There was something—Something she should
see
.

And then it came to her.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Everything inside her turned sere and cold and hard. The pain was like a needle through her brain. Her knees sagged. With great effort she caught herself, standing firm. No. Not in front of him. Never, ever again. Naïïve? Not anymore. Nor trusting.

She took a step back, her voice uninflected, giving no hint of the storm raging inside. “It was you all the time. You sent anyone away who might be my friend, who might tell me what’s going on. And the rest of the
ahalad-kaaslane
—you told them to avoid me. Convinced them they couldn’t trust me.” It wasn’t really a question, but she hoped with all her heart that he would protest.

Sodur said nothing, his lips pursing.

Pain tightened around her throat like hot copper wire. It was all she could do not to spit at him. “All the time you said not to worry, they’d come around, and all the time you were sabotaging me. Why?” Reisil bit the tip of her tongue, welcoming the pain.

Reisil’s voice cracked, and she spun away. She paced down the street, her gait stiff and graceless. She managed a dozen feet before Sodur strode past and stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

His face was haggard and unrepentant. “I’m sorry Reisiltark,” he said, deliberately using the more formal term of address. Empty words. He was trying to manipulate her, to get her to focus on the plague and not on his lies. That way his plan, whatever it was, wouldn’t be ruined. Her palm itched to slap him. She balled her hands into fists and shoved them in her pockets.

“It isn’t so simple. With the Iisand as he is—”

Sodur broke off, a spasm rippling across his thin face. Unwilling sympathy bloomed in Reisil’s chest. Sodur and the Iisand had been close friends before the death of the Mesilasema. But since then, the devastated Iisand had become a recluse, refusing even the company of old friends. The Iisand’s unofficial abdication had hurt Sodur deeply. It had left Kodu Riik drifting and vulnerable. Now his eldest son, the Verit Aare, maneuvered for the regency, while the bickering Arkeinik attempted to lead the land, presided over by Lord Marshal Vare. Little was accomplished. The only thing they all seemed to have in common was that they despised Reisil.

Her lips tightened, her sympathy evaporating. He had made them hate her. “Why?” she repeated.

Sodur didn’t answer right away, rubbing his hand over his face and pinching his lower lip.

Fury crackled up inside Reisil. “Don’t bother. You can keep your lies. You want me to see for myself, act for myself? Then that’s what I will do.”

“You want to know why? The
ahalad-kaaslane
are in terrible danger. If we want to serve the Lady, if we want to protect Kodu Riik, then the
ahalad-kaaslane
have to find a way to resurrect the nobles’ allegiance. I am one of the few
ahalad-kaaslane
that certain powerful nobles yet trust. They have included me in their discussions, allowing me to offer counsel. If only to appease the Lady. But they do not like you, Reisil. They fear you, and they think you are playing coy with your powers.”

“Whose fault is that?” she demanded. He ignored her.

“Worse, given the rift that already exists and their own eagerness to be out from under the
ahalad-kaaslane
thumb, here you are with the magic to force their cooperation. But if it is believed that you are not welcomed among us, if it is believed that you will not become the banner for the
ahalad-kaaslane
, the court relaxes. It buys us time for you to do what you need to do. That is why.”

Sodur paused, wiping his forehead.

“Believe it or not, your isolation protects you. If they thought you were an immediate threat, they would kill you tomorrow. It’s the only way to keep you healthy and whole until you can solve the problem of your magic. And that, Reisiltark, is my duty to the Lady.”

Reisil shook her head in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself? What happens when I do manage to conquer my magic? You’ve made me their enemy. They’ll be so afraid of me, they’ll treat me like a Patversemese wizard. No matter what I do now, they’ll always see me as a vicious dog they can’t turn their backs on.”

“You’re wrong. You’ll cure the plague. They’ll have to trust you. The
ahalad-kaaslane
will stand beside you.”

“Now who’s being naïïve? Thanks to you, the
ahalad-kaaslane
think of me as another Upsakes. No one will believe I haven’t withheld my power on purpose. You’ve painted me a traitor, and nothing is going to wash it away. You should have told me. If you had—” If he had, what? Reisil didn’t know. “I’m not going to be your puppet anymore.”

“You aren’t my puppet. Trust me—this was
necessary
.”

“Necessary?” She shook her head sharply. “That’s just what Upsakes thought when he kidnapped Ceriba and had her raped and tortured. He thought he had all the right answers too.”

Sodur had stiffened, his face turning pale. “You’re too innocent, too green an
ahalad-kaaslane
, to understand. You don’t know the court as I do. You don’t know how these things work. But believe me, this is for the best. You will see.”

“I already see. You’re right about one thing. I have been too trusting. You couldn’t have taught me that better if you’d wanted to.” The quaking inside was spreading outward. However pure Sodur’s motives might have been, an enduring chasm had opened between them, and she felt like she might shatter from the loss. “I guess this is why the
ahalad-kaaslane
aren’t supposed to get too close to anyone, not even each other,” Reisil said bitterly. “It makes it much easier to betray your friends. But what if you
are
wrong? Have you thought about that? What if you’ve only made things worse?”

She didn’t wait to hear any more, but turned and strode up the street, the bobbing weight of Saljane heavy on her shoulder. She reached out again to touch the bond between them. Despite her fury at being manipulated, deep down, Reisil couldn’t help but wonder if Sodur really was right.

~He thinks if I gain control of my magic, then everything will be fine. But it won’t bring the Lady back. It won’t make the nobles any less greedy for power. It won’t protect the
ahalad-kaaslane.

But that wasn’t really the problem. It wasn’t the source of the pain screwing through her in slow turns.

~He told them to shun me, all the time smiling and holding my hand and telling me they’d come around. He watched to be sure his plan worked, fanning the flames whenever someone might have reached out to me. It’s Kaval all over again. I was so in love with him, I couldn’t see that he was a traitor, that he’d even think of raping and torturing a woman. How can I still be so gullible? Sodur’s right: If I were a proper
ahalad-kaaslane,
I would have known better. I never would have depended on him so much. All along he’s been playing his game and I’ve been too blind to even notice it was a game.

But Saljane’s mindvoice was flat, chill and unforgiving. Her talons tightened on Reisil’s shoulder.

Saljane was silent so long that Reisil didn’t think she was going to answer. When she did, it seemed as if she’d changed the subject.

~Blessed Amiya does not require such sacrifice of the
ahalad-kaaslane.
The tradition is human.

ahalad-kaaslane
must. But it is not the Lady’s law to be alone
.

Reisil’s head reeled, and she stumbled, glancing up incredulously to meet Saljane’s carnelian eye.

~How can that be? Everyone knows it. All the
ahalad-kaaslane
believe it.

~Everyone knows many things that are not true,
was Saljane’s terse answer.
Just because it is what you do does not mean the Lady decrees it.

~You do. The human
ahalad-kaaslane.

Reisil got the sense of a mental shrug, not dismissive, but frustrated.
~I did not think it would help.

Reisil didn’t reply, her thoughts chasing one another. She didn’t have to guard herself against friendship, against taking lovers. Not that she had any prospects of either, except perhaps Juhrnus. He would have her in his bed, she knew, but the idea only made her want to giggle like an eight-year-old. But she wasn’t
prohibited
. It wasn’t the Lady’s law. And no one else knew it.

She hugged the knowledge to herself. A secret of her own. Not earth-rending. It wasn’t going to save or destroy anybody’s life. Still it made her feel independent, as if she’d taken her first step out of Sodur’s shadow.

~Sodur isn’t right,
she said slowly to Saljane, answering her own question.
This isn’t going to work. It won’t stop with being suspicious of me. The
ahalad-kaaslane
will stop trusting one another, and the court will take advantage of our weakness. Sodur wants to make it look like I’m no threat, like the
ahalad-kaaslane
are no threat, but it’s more than just show. We’re going to become what we appear to be.

And she winced as she remembered the advice from her mentor Elutark, the advice that had carried her through becoming
ahalad-kaaslane
:
You are who you pretend to be
. She thought of the way Sodur seemed to put on and remove masks in the last day. Maybe Elutark was wrong. Maybe you weren’t who you pretended to be.

She was wrenched back to Veneston as the stench wafting from the shearing sheds overwhelmed her. She coughed, pressing her hand to her lips.

No time for self-pity,
she scolded herself.
People are dying
.

She stopped outside the latched door of the main shed. Stacked beside the wall were charred logs. The side of the building was scorched. Someone had tried to burn the place with the sick inside.

“If you can’t cure them, burn them. After all, they’re only friends and family,” she said acidly. Sodur came to stand beside her, saying nothing.

Reisil reached for the latch, a twist of wire securing it from the outside. She paused, her eyes streaming at the unrelenting smell. After a moment, she motioned Sodur to follow her around behind the sheds. A row of kitchen gardens stretched the length of the row, taking advantage of the ready fertilizer and sunny southern exposure. Now, however, most of the neat patches were withered and brown.

Reisil walked along the row until she found a patch of lavender and rosemary growing in a green clump amidst the ruin of vegetables. She collected a handful of each and retreated to the cistern at the end of the garden row. She untied her scarf from her neck and dipped it in the tepid water before rubbing it thoroughly with the two herbs. The resulting odor was pungent and did much to cover the stench when she tied the scarf across her nose and mouth. Sodur followed suit.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and the doubt in his voice made Reisil’s spine snap straight, glad now that she had not admitted her failure to summon her magic when the
nokulas
attacked.

“I am a tark,” she replied, sidestepping him. She returned to the doorway, unfastening the wire and latch. An angled chute led up a ramp into the wide shearing area. The dimly lit oval stretched a hundred feet in length and was dominated by rows of shearing tables. The interior wall around the oval was lined with slatted wooden bins for the wool. Gates leading into the holding pens between the inner and outer wall interspersed the bins every ten feet. Each of these small enclosures was designed to hold a dozen sheep. No doubt the place doubled in winter as both a barn and a village gathering area for meetings and celebrations. A dusty red ribbon dangled limply from an overhead beam. No one was celebrating now.

The dead and the sick littered the tables and dirt floors. It looked as if many had collapsed in their tracks while tending others. The miasma of death, putrefaction and feces made Reisil’s eyes burn and her stomach buck despite the masking scent of lavender and rosemary. Ignoring her discomfort, she marched resolutely to the closest table.

The man was dead. He wore only a filthy loincloth around his hips. His arms and legs were black up to nearly the shoulders and hips and swollen to five times their normal size. Black scabs pocked the surface between yellow blisters. His legs and the table were thick with dried, bloody feces. His face was smeared with the blood that had trickled from his eyes, nose and mouth. His tongue protruded from between his lips. His skin, where it wasn’t black and swollen, was yellowed and covered with a purple rash. Flies crawled over him and clustered in his eyes and mouth.

Reisil moved to the next table and the next, her jaw clenching tighter and tighter with every death until she thought her teeth would crack. She paused to kneel and check those lying on the floor. In some, the blackened arms and legs had ruptured from the pressure of the escaping gases within, the putrid inner flesh crawling with maggots and flies. Reisil swallowed, her tongue dry and feeling too large for her mouth. How could she hope to defeat this devastation with crippled magic?

Reisil remembered the wizard circle, the tremendous surge of power, of knowing she could call lightning. The blistering power that had filled her then, the glorious, rich fullness when she had grown back Reimon’s arm in that little grass hut on the Vorshtar plain.
That
power could pinch out the plague like a blown candle.