Return to Eddarta (19 page)

The boy had his own art gallery on display in here,
I thought sadly.
Until the “boy”
—
Gharlas’s uncle
—
passed on, and left his treasure and his secret to his greedy nephew. Gharlas probably just shoved these aside, to start piling up his stolen treasure.

I couldn’t resist looking at the sketches I held. These, from the top shelf, seemed to be the boy’s early work and, except for the vlek drawing, they were portraits, some full-body, some faces only. They were remarkably good, never mind that the artist was only ten years old at the time.

The portraits had the subjects’ names written on them. Considering the general attitude toward the arts in Lord City, they had to have been drawn from memory, or after long and clandestine study. The boy’s father was there, showing a fond sternness that I was sure the boy had softened some.

The last two portraits interested me most, considering the last event I had shared with the artistic boy. Both were full-body studies, with a believable background of garden pathway. One was Horinad, who had the extreme height that had marked his son, Pylomel, and was softened slightly in his granddaughter. The face showed a striking resemblance to Indomel’s, except that it was fuller, and there was a trace of humor around the mouth.

The boy must have done these before the fiasco at the testing
, I thought.
Horinad looks about fifteen here; that fits.
I reset Horinad‘s portrait to the bottom of the stack I held.
Now, let’s have a look at the mysterious Tinis.

“I found it,” Tarani said, and stood up. She held a thick sheaf of paper, held together with a strip of leather threaded in and out of small punctures. “Did you hear me, Rickardon? I have the evidence we are seeking—or at least part of it.” She touched an edge of the first sheet carefully. “It is fragile, and much too long to read here,” she said. “Shall we close the door, and take the book back to our rooms?”

When I didn’t reply, she transferred the book into one hand and tugged at my tunic sleeve with the other.

“Rickardon? Were you not eager to find this book?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” I said. My voice sounded distant to me.

“What? But you wanted evidence—”

“I’ve found it,” I said. “Enough to convince
me.”
I handed her the final drawing.

She put the book down and accepted the paper, but she searched my face for a moment before she looked at it, puzzled. “It is Tinis.” She shook her head. “Rikardon, I don’t understand.”

I rubbed my face with my hand, trying to clear my head of the shock I felt.

“Gharlas’s uncle was a good artist,” I explained. “See, this portrait of Horinad, how much he looks like Pylomel? That tells me that the boy had a gift for accuracy.”

“So this portrait of Tinis probably
looks
like Tinis, is that what you are trying to say?”

She was still groping, and I was recovering, so I put it as clearly as possible.

“Tinis is alive,” I said. “He lives in Raithskar, under the name of Ferrathyn.”

I tapped the sketch.

“I think we found a motive for a Supervisor to want the Ra’ira for himself, don’t you?”

Tarani was furiously busy for the next two days. We returned from Gharlas’s house barely before noon, and she rushed off to Lord Hall for the “educational” meeting with the Lords. That lasted until nearly midnight, and the next day was an endless round of conferences—with each of the Lords, with some of the Harthim landservants. Each family owned all their resources in common, and the distribution of wealth was handled by the Lord. Tarani took an intense course in Lord City politics and economics on the second day.

The morning of the third day was spent in preparation for the ceremony that would install Tarani in her new position and give everybody an excuse for a roaring party. Tarani wished out loud that she had brought the black outfit from Raithskar, but then she found some out-of-style gowns in a closet somewhere. She called me into our suite to help select one for her, and while I was there, the seamstress arrived.

Tarani tried things on, and the seamstress and I offered opinions. Tarani more often sided with the seamstress, but I didn’t mind. I was glad enough to be able to spend some time in Tarani’s company, regardless of what I was doing. Finally the choice was made—a deep red gown with a full hem and openwork sleeves.

It needed alteration, of course. The seamstress was an older woman with a competent look about her. It was hard for me not to laugh at the look on her face when Tarani sat beside her, picked up a needle and thread, and started work on one side of the hem.

“I do not doubt your skill, Rena,” Tarani said. “But I know how little time there is. I can do only simple things, but if my hands can free yours for the more delicate work, I am willing to use them.”

“I—uh—thank you, my Lady—uh—Lord—uh—High Lord—”

Tarani dropped her work and stared at the woman. “Rena, you remind me of a problem. Being addressed by my title—which I do not have officially yet, by the way—feels rather awkward to me, especially when two women are sewing on the same dress. It is a problem that may occur often. Would you be comfortable calling me by my given name?”

“You mean—uh—no, ma’am, it would not be proper.”

“A title is necessary?” Tarani asked, musing, and only slightly poking fun at the competent old lady. “Then, will ‘Lord Tarani’ do?”

A smile lit the lined old face. “Yes, that sounds right, ma’am. Lord Tarani.” She tried it out.

“You don’t need me any more, do you?” I asked.

Tarani looked up at me and smiled. “Always, my love, but not for this particular task.”

I headed for the door, stopping to press my hand against the back of her neck. She arched her back, returning the pressure.

I spent the rest of the morning walking around the Harthim enclosure, becoming familiar with its layout. I wandered into the barracks area, where I was greeted with a mixture of surprise, welcome, and suspicion. One of the welcomes came from a man I regarded as an old friend—Naddam, the man who had been in charge of the Lingis mine before I had been “impressed” as his replacement.

Naddam was drinking faen when I walked into the common room at one end of the barracks, and he choked and sputtered when he saw me. I clapped him on the back, laughing.

“May the fleas bite Harthim where it hurts!” he swore. “You can’t be the new High Lord’s ‘companion,’ can you?” He did not wait for me to answer; he had already put two and two together. “Well,” he said. “Well, that must be some kind of a record, friend—Lakad?”

“Rikardon,” I said.

“Rikardon, then,” he repeated laughing. “From the copper mines to Lord Hall in less than four moons. A record, I’d bet on it.”

The other guards watched us warily, and I invited Naddam to walk with me a while. I told him what had happened after he left the Lingis mine. He was not happy to learn about the slave escape system that had been run from his mining camp, without his knowledge. He was glad to learn about Tarani’s plans for reform in the mines, to reduce the work level to provide punishment, but not exhaustion.

He had heard about our arrival on sha’um, and who I really was, and he was curious why Keeshah had not been around at the mine. I told him about the sha’um and the Sharith, the mating cycle that had deprived me of Keeshah’s company, and the special bonding that had brought his mate out of the Valley. He was intrigued, and touched, I thought, by the story.

“I have a favor to ask, Naddam,” I said.

“Ask it,” he said.

“No one else in Eddarta knows this yet, but Tarani and I are going to have to leave Eddarta again.”

“Soon?”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “Tarani is making her own preparations, leaving instructions, coordinating projects, that sort of thing. I expect she is setting up some kind of method of communication.

“But all those are
her
preparations. I have faith in her judgment; I would trust anyone she chooses to trust. But I’ll feel better if there is one person
I
, personally, can rely on to keep us informed of what’s going on here, while we’re in Raithskar.”

“So—what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to find a maufel who has been to Raithskar,” I said. The bird-handlers could not guide or direct a message bird to a place they had never seen. “There has to be one. And I’ll find one in Raithskar who knows Eddarta. All of this is just in case,’ you understand. I’ll be more comfortable knowing that if some emergency does occur, I’ll have a fast, direct way to find out about it.”

He squinted at me. “But you’re not expecting an emergency?”

I laughed. “No, not at all.
Really
,” I added, fending off the skepticism that was so evident in his stance.

“Well, whether you are or you aren’t,” he said, “of course I’ll do it.”

“Thanks,” I said.

All the fuss over the gown had been in aid of finding something to wear to the
party
. For the ceremony, which the Lords called a “naming,” Tarani was well prepared. The white tunic with its embroidered emblem—a little more ornate than the embroidery on the tunics of the other Lords—had been fitted to her on our first day in Eddarta.

All the Lord families gathered on one side of the doughnut-shaped hall, crowding together to get a clear view of the portable platform which had been set up across the entryway to the Council Chamber. All the Lords stood on the platform, with Tarani standing regally tall at the center of the row.

Hollin stepped foward and gave a speech about the duties of the High Lord, and each of the other Lords spoke a ritual testimony of respect and group spirit. Their litany did not, I noticed, include a promise of obedience. In theory at least, Lord City itself was an autocracy, run by a specific group of people.

Tarani had a set piece to say, and she delivered it with solemn sincerity. She gave a short speech—mostly gratitude for acceptance of a stranger, and a wish for tolerance of her learning period. She did not mention our plans to leave the next day.

The ceremony was short and the Lords were replaced on the platform by the musicians. The party started.

The next morning—not too early—Tarani dressed in desert tunic and trousers, and it felt like I could release a breath I had been holding for three days. Our travel packs were in our suite, and Tarani packed some extra clothes into hers.

She picked up the drawing of Tinis and studied it for a moment.

“I know I have never seen this man,” she said. “I mean, of course, an adult version of this boy.”

“You haven’t,” I said. “I saw him while you were in Raithskar, but always while you weren’t available to meet him.”

“Let us assume that Tinis—or Ferrathyn, I should say—has the true Ra’ira, and sole access to its power. Why would he terrorize Raithskar with uncontrolled vineh?”

“That may be just a side issue,” I said. “After all, he is only one man, and has to rest sometimes. It’s just not possible for one man to control … all … those …”

I had been reclining on the pallet. I propped myself on my elbow.

“What are you thinking?” Tarani asked me.

“I’m thinking about vineh,” I said grimly. “About animals that suddenly acquired a talent for complex strategy.” I slammed my open hand on the floor beside the pallet. “I saw it, but I didn’t!” I growled. “Remember the vineh that went after the cubs, in the fight? They killed one cub, but they weren’t hurting the other two—
because Ferrathyn told them not to.

“That talk of vineh acquiring some Gandalaran characteristics through long contact with more intelligent minds works logically, up to a point. I can believe that vineh could plan an ambush, or that they could analyze an opponent and attack at the weakest point. But what they did with the cubs was
not
possible for animals. They might have attacked and killed the cubs, because they were weak enemies—comparatively, that is.

“The vineh
used
those cubs to destroy the effectiveness of the other enemies, and that requires an intuitive jump: ‘I care for my young, and if they are endangered, it is a distraction from everything else; therefore, threatening the young sha’um will disturb the adult sha’um.’
That
is not learned behavior, it is rational thought, and I cannot believe a vineh’s mind could have come up with the idea—on its own.

“To answer your question, I believe Ferrathyn has simply let the vineh run free—except when he has a job for them. Even then, he may control only a select few, the natural leaders.”

Tarani had listened in silence.

“Then it is Ferrathyn we owe for the death of the lost one,” she said quietly. She folded the portrait of Tinis and placed it in her travel bag.

A knock sounded at the door, and Tarani straightened up and crossed the bedroom. At the parlor door, she turned back to me.

“I sent for some people,” she said. “This is how I choose to prepare Eddarta for my absence. Please do not interfere.”

She crossed the parlor to the hallway door, and I came out from the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

“We are here, as you requested, High Lord,” said Hollin when Tarani had opened the door. She stepped back and Hollin, Zefra, and Indomel came into the room.

It’s a good thing she warned me to stay out of this,
I thought, settling into a chair in a corner.
I wouldn’t have Zefra and Indomel in the same room, ever again.

Each of the people registered surprise when they saw the way Tarani was dressed. She had taken care to stand out of the sight of anyone else in the hall, and now she closed the door.

Hollin I would describe as “solid.” He had size, and weight, and middle-aged good looks, and slow mannerisms that gave him an air of steadiness. The few times I had been within earshot of him, he had been giving clear directions or well-considered opinions, and he impressed me as already being committed to support of Tarani.

He looked uncomfortable in the presence of Indomel.

“Thank you for coming,” Tarani said. “You have guessed that I depart today on a journey. You three are the only ones who are to know where I have gone, and why. Hollin, I know this will put you in a difficult position among the Lords, but I require your consent to secrecy.”