Path of Honor (51 page)

“What is that you said?” she asked boldly as she stepped past him and into the passage.

“That’s not for you to know,” he admonished. Reisil nodded. She wasn’t so stupid as to think he’d give away the key to the door, though she
had
hoped.

“That’s not what I meant. It wasn’t in any language I know. In fact all that”—she waved her hand in the direction of the prison room—“all that is sheer nonsense as far as I can tell.”

“It’s an ancient language of the gods, one that is entirely devoted to magic. Called
rinda
. It will be the next thing for you to learn so that you can construct your own spells.”

Reisil rubbed her aching eyes and groaned. “Why can’t I just think of what I want to do and do it? The way I made the filigree in the iron or caught all those things you threw at me in the test?”

“You can. It’s exhausting to maintain, however, and severely compromises what you can do. With careful spells you can maximize the impact of limited exertions of power. You can set a cascading network of spells so that you can trigger the spell from afar or at another time. You can overlap and reinforce them so that they work together to increase what strength you bring to them. There is a reason, Reisil, that the work of the journeyman lasts years, why full mages continue to experiment and refine their designs, why difficult spells take so very long to develop and perfect. And no matter how you plan, the spell sometimes goes awry. Take Mysane Kosk. We still don’t know what went wrong there. We have been fortunate that we can make use of the results anyway.

“Now go, clean up and eat. Don’t return until you have conquered spellsight.”

It was just dusk and instead of returning to her rooms, Reisil wandered along the edge of the valley. The grass was damp from the earlier rain, and the wind made a soughing sound in the trees. She drew a deep breath of the pungent air, calling Saljane and settling the goshawk on her shoulder. She reached up and stroked Saljane’s gray feathers as she walked, turning to follow the chuckling brook toward the village.

Saljane dipped her head and nibbled Reisil’s fingers. Reisil cupped her fingers around Saljane’s head and scratched her neck.

~What do you suppose is happening outside? In Koduteel?
She had avoided thinking about it. Had the Regent attacked the
ahalad-kaaslane
? Had the plague decimated the city?

Reisil halted with a jerk, twisting her head to stare up at Saljane.
~What do you mean?

A hard knot bobbed in Reisil’s thoat. Saljane had a rap-tor’s sense of reality and truth. Things were or were not. You acted or did not act. You ate or you starved. You killed or you were killed. You hid from the truth or you faced it.

 

All the next day Reisil tried to
see
the spells around her. She began in bed, then in her bathtub, then at breakfast, then walking the length of the valley. To no avail. The rain returned, a gray drizzle, and Reisil retreated back to the main building in the middle of the afternoon. Saljane shook herself like a dog, sending droplets running down Reisil’s neck.

“Stop it! You’re a menace,” Reisil admonished. “Besides, you needed a bath.”

Saljane snapped her beak and glided to a perch on the back of a chair, proceeding to preen herself and thoroughly ignore Reisil, who pulled off her dripping cloak and turned it over to the servant hovering nearby. She took a towel from the stack on the entry table and did her best to soak up the dampness from her hair and feet.

“Are you ready?”

Saljane flipped her tail and raised her head regally as if waiting, and Reisil lifted her onto her shoulder.

“You’re getting fat.”

~I hunt well,
was Saljane’s haughty reply.

Reisil poked at Saljane’s breast, the gesture turning into a caress as she scratched. Saljane lifted herself up, stretching, so that Reisil could reach under her soft stomach.

“You have no pride,” she told the blissful goshawk. “And neither do I. I think I’m ready to go have a soak and then bask by the fire with a bucket of wine and a whole roast pig. Perhaps I’ll see spells then.”

~Perhaps you need someone to scratch your feathers,
Saljane suggested.

A few hours later found Reisil lying on a quilt on the floor wrapped in a soft flannel robe, eyes closed, her head propped on a stack of feather pillows. Beside her on a table was a half-finished glass of mulled wine. Saljane drowsed on her perch by the bed. The fire crackled and popped, providing the only light in the room. Suddenly Reisil sat bolt upright, her robe gaping open.

“I did it! I can see them! I can see the patterns of the spells!”

Saljane blinked groggily.
~Good.

Reisil leaped to her feet. “They are beautiful, like tapestries woven of light. Come, look with me.”

She snared Saljane’s muzzy mind and together they surveyed the room. The spells glowed softly in jewel colors. Some were written in tiny flowing script, others bold and sharp edged. Some were layered over each other, white on amethyst, on emerald, on sunstone. Reisil wandered through the entire suite, intrigued. She recognized some of the symbols from the parchments in Kvepi Debess’s cage room, but mostly they were beautiful but incomprehensible pictures.

Peering outside she saw trails of scrolling symbols flowing around the valley walls and up the mountain. They glowed brightly in the village, here and there flaring with brilliant light as they were activated. Reisil turned back to her room, activating the lights, the tub, the water, everything she could think of in turn. Various parts of each pattern flamed in response, and she began to understand how the layers worked, though she could not have repeated any of them.

At last she stopped, a headache growing in the back of her head. “Tomorrow I’ll start to learn the language,” she told herself. “I’m going to be the fastest learner Kvepi Debess has ever seen.”

With that, she pulled on her nightshift and slid into bed, falling into a heavy sleep, Saljane a contented presence in her mind. She was roused only a few hours later by clamoring bells, shouting voices and a long, haunting cry of fury. It coiled around her, scraping over her skin like teeth.

“Baku!”

She scrambled out of bed, tripping and falling heavily to her hands and knees. She jumped up and ran to the window, shoving the casements wide. There was nothing. Her window faced the southern side of the valley, and several of the smaller buildings where most of the Kvepis made their homes. She leaned out, trying futilely to see around the edges of the building. The cry came again. Fear dug sharp talons into Reisil and she yanked on her clothes.

There was no response. More than that. There was emptiness. Her mouth tightened, remembering the
ilgas
used on Saljane to restrain her. What had they done to Baku? And why?

But the answer struck her almost as soon as the question.

“By the Lady,” she whispered. “He’s like the
nokulas
. He’s a creature of magic. That’s who they sent Tapit to hunt.”

She dragged on her boots and gauntlet, not bothering to fasten her robe as she lifted her fist to catch Saljane and settle her on her shoulder. The goshawk clamped her talons tight. They plunged out of the room, the bells still ringing a tocsin over the valley. Reisil pelted down the halls and out onto the gravel path, where a stream of others collected and flowed toward the workshops in answer to the bells. Reisil jumped off the path and raced across the tall grass, her breath whistling between her lips.

She topped a low rise and jerked to a halt.

“Oh, Lady, no.”

Baku was tangled head to foot in an enormous
ilgas
woven thick with spells. Reisil squinted against their brilliance. They dragged him along the ground with a team of draft horses. Every now and then he struggled, and when he did, the net flared brighter and again came that long, bellowing howl. A sound of red pain and black fury. And desperation. Reisil dropped to her knees, the thick grass stalks tickling her cheeks.

“Where’s Yohuac?” she whispered.

But she soon caught sight of another horse. It was Tapit’s. A body was slung over the saddle. It too was wrapped in an
ilgas
, though this one was much dimmer, as though the spells weren’t active. Reisil pressed her hand to her mouth, her lips trembling.
~Do we leave them too?

Saljane’s response was immediate and scorching.
~No.

~Good. Because I may have to let my friends fight their own battles, but I’m sure as the Demonlord’s horn
not
going to leave them to be tortured.

A
heavy gale rattled the windows, rain falling in thick, battering sheets. Kebonsat settled a pile of papers in the cold fireplace and touched a candle to them. Things would be lax, as lax as they ever got under the new Regent’s strict regime. A perfect day to make their escape. They’d been waiting for just such an opportunity.

He added more papers to the fire, watching the stiff pieces of parchment blacken and curl. All was as ready as could be except for these last bits of housekeeping. His household was packed, though he’d told them nothing of the plan. The fewer people who knew, the better, though Dumen and Ledus resented his silence. But the less anyone knew, the safer for everyone, should anybody get caught.

He waited until the fire died, leaving only the candle to light the room. He stared at the flickering flame, considering his plan again. Finally he shook his head. He wasn’t leaving without at least making the attempt. And he’d better get to it. He had only a couple of hours left.

Kebonsat exited his office. There was a crease of light beneath Dumen’s door. Kebonsat knocked gently. The door swung open almost immediately. Dumen scowled at him, his lantern jaw twitching.

“Get Ledus, and come to my office.”

The two men came swiftly and silently. They were both dressed akin to Kebonsat in nondescript travel leathers. They halted just inside the closed door, arms crossed and legs wide. Ledus shared Dumen’s scowl, his fleshy lips pulled back to reveal square, yellow-stained teeth within a thick black beard.

“Is it time to tell us what’s going on?” asked Dumen, the twitch in his jaw growing more pronounced.

Kebonsat ignored the question. “I’ve got some business to tend to. I may not be back in time. If not, I want you to go on without me.”

“Go where? How?” Ledus demanded.

“Someone is going to come get you and show you the way.”

“Who?”

Kebonsat shook his head. “I can’t say. But they’ll have a password.
Copicatl.
”

“Copicatl?”
The two men exchanged confused looks and then glared again at Kebonsat.

“Whoever gives you that word, I want you to follow their orders exactly and without question. Do you understand?” His voice hardened, and they nodded unwillingly. “Good. With any luck, we’ll be far from Koduteel by nightfall. And now I must take care of one thing more.” He reached out his hand and grasped each man’s forearm in turn. “Remember what I said. If I don’t get back in time, you’re not to wait. Bright Light shine on your journey.”

With that, he lit a second candle and opened the panel in the wall. Ledus and Dumen swore as he eased inside the tunnel.

“Keep in mind that our hides won’t be worth much if your father finds out we let you wander off to get killed,” growled Dumen.

“If you survive to see him again, you can tell him I risked my own fool neck.”

“All the same, watch yourself,” said Ledus gruffly.

“Don’t wait,” Kebonsat reminded them again, smiling grimly as he pushed the panel closed and trotted away down the tunnel, hand cupped around the candle.

 

Emelovi lay in bed, rigid and shaking. She’d sent her officious ladies’ maids away hours ago, but she couldn’t so easily banish the feel of Prensik’s hands on her, his moist lips and his probing tongue on her neck, in her mouth. Aare had loosened his leash. She shuddered, wanting another bath. It was punishment. Aare really wasn’t ready to turn her over to Prensik. Unless she refused what he asked.

Her hand crept to her shoulder where Prensik had bitten her in his eager lovemaking. She’d fought him, only increasing his lust. He’d held her breast and bit her and ordered her to open her mouth or he’d tear her dress and show everyone whom she’d belonged to. Aare had been just beyond the curtains, flirting with the sorceress. He wouldn’t have forgiven her calling for help. She could hardly imagine a punishment worse than Prensik.

She turned over, clutching a pillow over her face and screaming into it.

She didn’t have to imagine what Aare wanted her to do with Waiyhu-Waris. The sorcerer had for weeks been officious in his attentions, growing more and more bold as Aare turned a blind eye. When they danced, his hands strayed too low. In corners, he had begun to whisper of his want and need, describing the pleasure he could give her in bed.