The Law of Isolation (28 page)

Gevan swallowed. It would be easy to do what Yoran asked. What if he found the wizards really did pose a danger to Ramunna? He didn’t believe the Purifier’s tales of demons, but hadn’t Nirel and the others described the wizards as power-hungry and oppressive, abusing their powers to subjugate Tevenar’s people? That he could believe. Maybe helping the Matriarch would be their first step in a plot to conquer Ramunna and all Ravanetha. If so, it would be his duty to stop them. And if in the process he managed to preserve the University and his own career from the Purifiers, would that be so bad?

He rose. Yoran made no attempt to stop him, stepping back so they stood face to face. Gevan took a deep breath. “I’m not making any promises. But I’ll think about what you’ve said. Although I ought to report you to the Matriarch for assault.”

Yoran shrugged. “You have no proof.”

He didn’t. Heshen’s knife hadn’t even left a scratch. It might appear as if he were casting spurious accusations against a political rival. Yoran was known as a fanatic, but no rumor of illegal activity had ever tainted his reputation.

Gevan licked his lips. “If I decide to go along with your request—and I’m not saying I will—how do I let you know?”

Yoran waved his hand. “There’s no need. I’ll judge from the result of the expedition. If it returns without demon wizards aboard, that will be proof enough you delivered on our bargain.”

He might not have to do anything, Gevan realized. If for reasons beyond his control the wizards refused to come, he would reap the benefit just the same.

And if he decided the wizards would benefit Ramunna, if he became convinced their power could help Verinna conceive, what could Yoran do? Gevan would have the Matriarch’s gratitude and protection.

He had nothing to lose and a great deal to gain by feigning agreement with Yoran’s scheme. He wouldn’t have to decide whether or not to actually go along with it until he met the wizards for himself and made his own judgment of their abilities and motives.

Still, extending his hand felt like committing an obscene act. “Very well. I trust you to do what you promised if I give you what you want.”

Yoran clasped his hand warmly. “Thank you, my friend. I assure you, I always stand by my word. You will be doing Ramunna a great service.”

“That’s my hope.” Gevan angled his body to urge Yoran toward the door. The Purifier cooperatively moved in that direction. Gevan grasped the handle and swung the door open, and Yoran stepped through.

He paused halfway out, his body blocking Gevan from slamming the door. “One last thing. As a token of my gratitude, I’ll extend my protection over you and your daughter. You know how dangerous the city is. Many might seek to harm a defenseless girl. I have loyal men throughout the city, even within the palace. I’ll order them to keep watch over Kevessa. Day and night, she’ll never be beyond their reach. They’ll shield her from any who would threaten her in an attempt to control you. Or to exact revenge, if you were to go against their wishes.”

Yoran’s smile was guileless, but the blood drained from Gevan’s face and pooled around his knees. Numb, he nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Yoran nodded graciously and stepped out of the doorway. “Until we meet again, may the Mother hold you cupped in the palms of her hands.” He pulled the hood over his head and set off down the corridor toward the stairs. Heshen’s bulky form detached itself from the shadows and followed him.

Gevan shut the door, his hands trembling so badly he could barely work the key to lock it. He stumbled into his workshop and collapsed into the chair at the table. Picking up the lodestone, he pried off all the small metal objects clinging to it. One by one he held them close and released them to snap against the rough stone.

He couldn’t do what Yoran wanted. The man was a viper, hiding a venomous sting behind a pleasant smile. Gevan saw that now. But if he didn’t, how would he protect Kevessa? He was sure Yoran’s boast of his wide reach was true. The Purifier had received word of supposedly private dealings in the Matriarch’s own chamber before an hour had passed. Where in all Ramunna would Kevessa be safe from his rage, if Gevan returned from Tevenar with a wizard?

He didn’t know. But somehow he’d have to find a way to protect her. No matter what it took.

Fourteen

N
irel’s horse shifted restlessly between her knees. She squirmed in the saddle. Her legs were stiff from the unaccustomed wide straddle, and the fabric of her riding skirt chafed against her skin where it bunched between her thighs and the leather.

Kabos made an attempt to reason with the gate guard. “I was under the impression that the wall was to keep the residents inside the quarter, not to keep others out. We must pass through. My leader wishes to make sure all is going well with the… cleansing of the village the Matriarch has given us.”

Nirel translated his words. The guard shrugged. “I don’t know about that. But my orders are to keep the gate locked at night. You can go the long way around, or wait until morning.”

“Didn’t a troop of the Matriarch’s soldiers pass through earlier?”

“I’m supposed to open the gate for soldiers. But not private citizens.”

“But we’re with the soldiers…” Kabos kept trying to make his case long after Nirel realized the guard would never budge. She dutifully translated back and forth, but wasn’t surprised when it did no good.

At length Kabos gave up and wheeled his horse. He guided it down a dark side street, out of the light of the torches that pooled around the gate in the wall.

“We’ll have to go back to the palace. Maybe we can find a chance sometime during the day.”

“No, Father. We have to keep trying. He said we could go around; maybe it will be easier to get through the gate on the other side.”

“It’s guarded, too.”

Nirel was about to answer when she heard a commotion on the far side of the wall. She paused. The shouts and screams got rapidly louder. “What’s that?” She tried to nudge her horse past Kabos’s, but he set his mount crosswise across the alley, blocking her in.

“Stay here,” he hissed. He made his horse sidestep just far enough that he could lean sideways to see around the corner of the building.

Nirel tried to maneuver her horse to a spot where she could see, too, but it wouldn’t cooperate. It rolled its eyes, whinnied, and planted its feet.

“Quiet,” Kabos said, more forcefully. He shot a glare at her. Nirel dropped her gaze until he swung back around.

Suddenly all the tension went out of his shoulders. “It’s Rinon. Come.”

He kicked his horse and set off toward the gate. Nirel had to fight with her mount for a moment, but eventually got him pointed the right way. Once started, he followed Kabos’s horse docilely.

Kabos hailed the figure riding down the street toward them at the head of a large troop of uniformed horsemen. “Rinon!”

He reined to a stop. “Kabos? What are you doing here?”

“Ozor asked me to check on your progress with the village. I brought my daughter along to translate.”

Nirel could see the doubt in Rinon’s eyes as she dutifully relayed her father’s words. But he brushed aside whatever qualms he might have had and turned back to Kabos. “We’re almost done. There are a few holdouts, but the men I left behind will soon root them out. We’re taking the rest to the dungeon.”

He gestured at his troop. Nirel nearly choked on the translation. Most of the men carried bound captives before them, women and children as well as men. Many of the prisoners bore swelling bruises and shallow gashes crusty with drying blood. A few of the men were unconscious, slung sideways over the horses’ withers like sacks of flour. One little girl broke into sobs, reaching for what must have been her mother on a nearby horse. The soldier holding her cuffed the side of her head, and she subsided into muffled whimpers.

Nirel shook herself out of her horrified daze and mumbled the last of Rinon’s words to Kabos. Her father’s face was set in lines of stone. “Would you speak to the guard at the gate and tell him to let us through? We’ll ride over and take a look before we head back.”

Rinon shrugged. “There’s no need. But if you insist…”

He wheeled his horse and sent it prancing back to the gate. A few quick words had the gate guard saluting and nodding respectfully to Kabos and Nirel as they entered.

“And let them out again when they’re finished!” Rinon apparently shared Nirel’s low estimation of the guard’s intellect. He trotted back to the front of the troop, and they set off toward the palace.

Nirel swallowed, looking away from the captives as the last of the troop swept by. She set her face forward and didn’t speak until they were well away from the gate and the soldiers. Kabos turned down a dark street, apparently at random, and rode for several blocks before he stopped.

Nirel guided her horse next to his. “Should we just choose a house and knock?” The idea frightened her. All the doors looked so dark and forbidding. It was late enough that few of the buildings had any lamplight escaping the windows, and those that did had heavy draperies blocking the view of the interior.

“If we must.” Kabos looked around, scanning the rooftops. “But it would be better if we can find a shrine. There’s bound to be one around somewhere. Look for a building with a domed roof. An Elder is supposed to keep vigil through the hours of darkness.”

They rode up and down dozens of narrow, twisting streets. Nirel was thoroughly lost, but Kabos seemed to know where he was going, or at least where they hadn’t yet been. Nirel had long since given up any hope of finding what they sought when Kabos froze, then pointed. “They must not be able to build domes within the city. But look over that door.”

The building looked much the same as all the others they had passed. But warm yellow light shone through the dark curtains, just enough to illuminate the symbol painted above the doorframe. A staff held in a fist, crowned with a ring of stars.

Kabos dismounted and tied his horse’s reins to a hitching post in front of the building. Nirel followed suit. She clung tight to her father’s side as he approached the heavy wooden door. He hesitated for a long moment, then took a deep breath, raised his hand, and rapped firmly. The dull thuds rang loud in the silence of the night.

At first, nothing happened. Nirel was about to tug Kabos’s hand and urge him to go when the scrabbling sound of locks being undone and a beam sliding back came from within. The door creaked open a tiny crack. Gold light spilled out in a thin line. Bright eyes in a wizened face peered out. “What do you want?” The voice was thin with age and heavy with suspicion.

“May we enter?” Kabos hesitated, then plunged on. “We’re Faithful, a long way from home and in need of shelter.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed at the unintelligible words. They narrowed even further as Nirel repeated them in the best Ramunnan she could manage. She didn’t know the proper word for “Faithful,” and she didn’t want to use the apparently offensive “Dualist,” so she altered the pronunciation of the Tevenaran word according to the most common pattern, hoping she hadn’t mangled things too badly.

The man snorted, but didn’t open the door any wider. “Why should I believe you? You’re obviously some of the strangers the Matriarch has welcomed with open arms. She’d never extend such hospitality to those of the true Faith. This very night she’s had our people slaughtered and imprisoned so you can take possession of their homes.”

Nirel expected her father to react with anger to the man’s skepticism. She tried to soften the Elder’s harshness with her translation, but didn’t dare misrepresent his words too much. But to her surprise Kabos shrank in on himself and spoke in a voice more deferential than she’d ever heard him use to address anyone, even Ozor. “I tried to stop her, but I failed. I’ve betrayed the Lord of Justice in a thousand ways and deserve nothing but his righteous judgment. But my daughter is blameless. She seeks the enlightenment I couldn’t give her. I beg you, don’t hold my faults against her, but accept her into the community and share the truth with her.”

Nirel stumbled over the words. She choked out the last few as the man opened the door a fraction wider and regarded them with amazement. When she finished, she bowed her head in the meek way Kabos had always demanded of her, though she longed to peek up to read the man’s reaction.

After a long moment of silence, lamplight spilled over her as the man swung the door open. He beckoned them to come in. Nirel trailed behind Kabos as he entered. She lifted her head just enough to study their host. A thin fringe of white hair circled the bald dome of his head. He wore a dull grey-brown robe that wrapped him from a high neck to the floor.

The man closed the door behind them, slid the bar into place, and worked each of the many locks in turn before speaking again. “Come, my son, my daughter. I am Elder Semanel. The Lord of Justice welcomes those who seek him with a pure heart. I rejoice to hear that even far across the sea his Faith endures.” He beckoned them to follow.

Nirel looked around as she translated his words for Kabos. The Elder led them down a short hall that opened into a small room, no more than a dozen feet across. The walls were square, but heavy tapestries hung from wooden frames, creating a circular space. Semanel held aside a panel to let them inside, then let it fall behind them. Above, more thick cloth draped over an arching framework to form a dome. The tapestries were woven with bold geometric patterns in bright red and ocher and green, zigzags and diamonds and spirals that seemed to quiver and swirl until Nirel’s stomach lurched. She tried to look away, but the dazzling patterns enveloped her, on the draperies overhead and the rugs that covered the floor. Her eyes came to rest on the only spot of calm in the room, a pure white rectangle of fabric embroidered with flowing black letters. It hung on the far wall between two softly glowing lamps. The writing was different enough from what she was familiar with that she couldn’t read what it said.

Elder Semanel knelt and gestured for them to do the same. He bowed his head toward the white rectangle. Kabos dropped to his knees and hunched his back, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. Nirel awkwardly copied them, bending as much as her stiff stays allowed toward the object of their veneration.