The Glass of Dyskornis (16 page)

*
Stay downwind, Keeshah,
* I said. *
Did Tarani ride well?
*

*
Yes,
* he answered. He sounded almost as tired as Tarani had looked.

*
There will be fresh meat soon,
* I told him. *
I
hadn’t realized how much of this trip would be uphill. Will you be able to carry us both over the mountains?
*

*
Try. Let woman ride behind.
*

That made sense, putting the lighter person where the rider’s weight had to be less evenly distributed, right over Keeshah’s hips. I voted for it, too, because I had been very uncomfortable all day. Keeshah’s movement had been bad enough while I was sitting nearly upright. But the inevitable movement of Tarani’s body under mine had created a different kind of discomfort, and the continual need to think of other things.

Mostly, I had thought about Gharlas. Why had he hired those assassins? To kill Dharak? His power might have let him learn that Dharak didn’t fulfill his agreement to kill everyone on that caravan. Revenge is always a good motive.

But what if I were the target? How had he known that I would be in Thagorn? More use of that power? He had hired Molik sometime after I had
decided
to go to Thagorn. Could he have known about that decision?

But why kill me? Because I had been the one to track down Hural and prove to Zaddorn that Gharlas has the Ra’ira?

What if he tried to read my mind, and couldn’t do it?
I wondered, as I waited for the boys to bring out meat for Keeshah.
Another motive enters the picture. Fear of the unpredictable, maybe the uncontrollable. But then he couldn’t have known where I would be. Maybe he had Molik send assassins to Raithskar, too. Expensive insurance. Would peace of mind be worth it to him?

The boys came back, lugging a haunch of glith and a large waterskin. They wouldn’t let me take the things, but insisted on carrying them outside the gate for me. There were water troughs along the wall like the ones in the center of the yard—large semi-circular tiles, braced by a frame of salt blocks. The boy with the waterskin poured the smallest trough half full.

Keeshah came around a corner when I called him, and the boy next to me—I thought he was the younger of the two—staggered backward under his load of meat when he saw the cat. I grabbed hold of the glith to steady the boy.

*
Here’s dinner, Keeshah,
* I said. *
Try not to scare the kid to death.
*

The boy hung on, wide-eyed and fascinated, as the big cat approached, and sank his teeth into the fresh meat. Tiny rivers of blood oozed out around Keeshah’s tusks as he lifted the weight from the boy’s hands. The blood dripped on the ground, as the sha’um carried his dinner to one of the empty troughs and set it down.

*
Thirsty,
* he told me. *
Drink first.
*

He came over to the water trough. I lifted a palmful of water for him to lap up. This was part of the tradition of Serkajon’s house, that a sha’um would not feed or drink among men, unless his rider offered him his first taste.

The other boy was watching us. Looking at the boys closely, I was sure they were brothers.

What’s fair for one …

*
Will you drink from the boy’s hand, Keeshah?
*

*
Why?
* The thought was complaining; he wanted a drink, not a sip.

*
It would please me. And the boy would like it.
*

*
Yes.
*

“Your turn,” I said to the boy, and waved him into my place by the trough. He turned pale and started to stammer, but I grabbed his shoulder and nudged him forward. “Go ahead. He won’t hurt you.”

He let the waterskin fall to the ground, and scooped up a double handful of water from the trough. He held it up to Keeshah’s muzzle. I saw him shiver when the raspy tongue flicked across his hands. Then he stepped away, and Keeshah lowered his head to the trough.

“Keeshah thanks you for your service,” I told the boys. “If you’ll leave the water with me, I’ll return what he doesn’t drink.”

I could see they wanted to stay, but they knew a dismissal when they heard one. They backed through the gate without a word, then ran across the yard again, chattering excitedly. As I turned to watch them, I saw Lussim waiting beside the gate.

“That was generous of you, Rikardon,” he said. “You have given them a precious memory. The Sharith patrols stop by here now and then, so that the boys have seen sha’um before. But not so closely. The Sharith are not … thoughtful, as you are.”

The Sharith encourage everybody to see their cats as dangerous creatures. To them, a sha’um is also a weapon.

That’s true. But I like it better, my way.

“I should tell you, Respected Elder—”

“My name, please,” he requested.

“Since I was last at Yafnaar, Lussim, I have become part of the Sharith. Another Rider will be arriving soon.”

“Tarani has told me that Thymas would join you.”

“You know Thymas?”

“Slightly,” he said, noncommittally. “Um … it was my intention to ask you to dine with us this evening.’

You’re wondering what the situation is among the three of us, aren’t you? It’s plain that you like Tarani, but if Thymas has to be included, you’d rather not offer the invitation.

“I am not required by courtesy to dine with Tarani and Thymas,” I said, to get him off the hook. “In fact, I think they would prefer to take their meal alone. I would be very pleased to dine in the inner court.”

“Oh.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Well … Tarani … We’re very crowded, as you can see. Tarani assured me that one room for the three of you …”

“It will be sufficient,” I assured him. He gave me the dinner hour, identified our room, then went into the family buildings.

Keeshah had taken the glith haunch off somewhere. I poured out another portion of water and took the skin inside. Behind me, two different boys hauled up the cloth barrier.

The room we had been assigned was about fifteen feet square, with man-sized blocks along three walls. Plain pallets and folded blankets rested on each of the three beds. One corner was screened off by wood-framed tapestries to provide a private dressing area.

Tarani was sitting on one of the beds, letting her head rest against the wall, when I came in. She sat up straight when she saw me.

“Thymas is probably no more than an hour behind us,” I said.

“I wanted the chance to talk to you, before he arrives.”

“Oh?” I said. I unrolled the pallet of the bed opposite hers, bunched up the blanket for a pillow, and stretched out. “What about?”

“
About
Thymas. The scene you described this morning—Thymas traveling with me, Ronar performing—you said that would make me happy. Do you really believe that?”

“It shouldn’t matter to you what I believe.”

“Thymas is Sharith,” she said stiffly. “You are the leader of the Sharith. Your opinion matters to us, naturally.”

Thymas probably loves latrine detail a lot more than he cares about my opinion
, I thought.
You’re just worried that what I think will influence what he thinks. See previous thought, and quit worrying.

But, for the record …

“I was impatient and angry when I said that,” I told her. “I can’t have watched you mount Keeshah and think that you would ever demean a sha’um in that way.”

“Thank you,” she said. The long, fine fingers of her hands were interlacing and pulling apart, twisting together and separating. She noticed them, closed her hands into fists, and dropped them into her lap.

“I am to marry Thymas,” she announced suddenly.

I felt as though I had swallowed an iceberg.

“Does Dharak know this?” I asked.

“Not yet. Thymas brought his betrothal gift to my dressing room, just before the performance.”

“Just before he found out you were involved in a plot to murder his father,” I corrected. She winced.

“I offered to return the sword to Thymas today, while you were gone—” she began heatedly.

“Thymas gave you a
sword
for a betrothal gift?” I demanded.

“Yes, why not?” she flared back. “He has taught me sword work. I go through Chizan so often—he believes I need the protection.”

Like a porcupine needs a shotgun
, I thought.
Thymas knew she had that sword, and that she could use it. If she hadn’t been so tired this morning …

And he didn’t say a word about it. Some cooperation.

“I see you still have the sword,” I said drily. “After you told Thymas about
borrowing
money from Molik.” I knew it was cruel, but there was a queer pain blocking my kindness channel. “You needn’t worry about how he’ll feel after he learns the truth. There are a lot of things Thymas lacks, but a sense of honor isn’t one of them. He will keep his promise to marry you.”

Her eyes blazed. “Will that be his only reason for the marriage, because it was promised?”

“Of course not,” I answered. “By now, he probably needs you very much.”

She sat up as though I had slapped her.

“Do let me know if Thymas wants a dose tonight,” I went on, cringing away from my own nastiness. “I’ll sleep in the yard.”

She was on her feet, her fists clenched.

“If that is all you think Thymas wants of me, rest easy,” she said, her low voice trembling. “I have sworn not to use my power in Relenor. I, too, keep my promises.”

She left the room.

Should I go after her? She needs sleep more than I do.

She knows what she needs, I told myself gruffly.
And it’s a little late for gallantry now.

I turned to my left side, facing the wall, and tried to sleep. An hour later, I gave it up, and went into the yard to wash my face and hands before dinner. Water was too precious for bathing. At least, for the travelers. The Fa’aldu themselves lived a life of considerable comfort.

It had become dark, and lamps had been lit along the walls of the courtyard. Sitting on the ground under one of those lamps were Thymas and Tarani. I walked over there quietly; Tarani was sound asleep, with her head on the boy’s shoulder. I had another unsettling glimpse of the girl within the powerful, hardened woman.

“Have you eaten?” I asked Thymas. He nodded, tightening his arm around Tarani’s shoulders. “Do you know where our room is?” Another nod. “I will be with the Fa’aldu until late,” I said. “Then I think it would be best for all of us if I slept outside. Do you need help to carry her in?”

“I need no help from you,” he said shortly, keeping his voice low. Unspoken, the word “ever” hung between us for a moment. “Tarani told me about Molik. But she refused to tell me why she wouldn’t go in the room while you were there. She didn’t say it, but I’m sure she knew I would kill you, if I knew the reason.”

The lamplight from above him gleamed off his forehead, but left his eyes invisible in the shadow of his brow ridge. I didn’t need to see his eyes. My skin was sizzling under his gaze.

“For Dharak’s sake,” he said softly, “don’t ever let me find out what you said—or did—to Tarani tonight.”

Dinner was served for the twenty-odd Fa’aldu—and their only guest—after all of Relenor’s visitors had been given their meals. The inner court was lit by the glow of two cookfires, and by several of the glass-and-candle lamps. All the food was put on the table, and everyone seated in order of age, except for me. Lussim and I sat side by side at one end of the wide, long table.

After dinner, I found myself the center of attention, and I started talking. The Fa’aldu never asked questions, but they were rapt listeners. I knew Balgokh had already told them about me, but I repeated the story I had given at Yafnaar, omitting any mention of Ricardo.

I continued the story from there, describing Thagorn and the lifestyle of the Sharith. The two boys who had served Keeshah were seated at the far end of the table. When I spoke of the ceremony that had made me Captain, I saw them straining forward to hear better.

Then I started lying.

“Tarani happened to mention to Thymas that she saw Gharlas in Chizan,” I said. “When she found out we were looking for him, she offered to come with us. She has friends in Chizan who may help us trace him.”

“Gharlas,” Lussim said, shaking his head. “You know, of course, that our oath of neutrality forbids our helping you to find Gharlas.”

I nodded. Balgokh, too, had told me this.

“The Refreshment Houses owe their existence to the Kings,” Lussim went on. “But Gharlas is a fool to think he can re-unite Gandalara. The desert has claimed too much land. The cities have moved to the Wall to get enough water to survive. If he offered to share Eddarta’s water, he might have a chance. But from all I know of him, he will wish to conquer, not befriend, his neighbors.”

“That’s my guess, too,” I said. “If I’m not being rude, may I ask about the history of the Refreshment Houses? You said they were established during the Kingdom …”

“During the time of Harralen, the third King. Until then, merchants had carried water to posts along the caravan routes, and sold it for extortionate prices. Travelers appealed to Harralen, and he sent an unarmed envoy into the desert beyond Chizan, to the place of the Fa’aldu. It was a daring risk for the man who came to us, but his courage impressed us. We were … barbarians.”

Lussim picked up a fragment of tile, broken away from the table-top, and rolled the angular chunk between his fingers.

“We could bring the water, even then,” he said, watching the movement of his hand. “But we didn’t have much else. We guarded our water ferociously, and terrorized passing caravans, stealing whatever was left unguarded, sometimes attacking them.”

No wonder you hesitated to ask Thymas to your table
, I thought.
The tribute demanded by the Sharith reminds you of your own beginnings.

“The envoy—a man named Stester—brought us Harralen’s proposition. If we would settle along the caravan trails, and agree to trade water for goods at a reasonable rate, he would make such trade our exclusive monopoly. We would be asked to trade only what we did not need for ourselves, and never to turn away anyone truly in need.