The Seven-Petaled Shield (45 page)

They were very near, searching. Searching for
her
.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the air was rent by the noise of pounding at the outside door, muffled by the intervening walls but unmistakable. Rebah let out a shriek.

The men reacted quickly. Setherod scrambled to his feet. Harellon’s hand reached for the hilt of the short sword hanging from his belt.

“Quickly! Follow me!” Marvenion cried. “This way!”

The physician snatched up the round-bellied oil lamp and darted to the back of the room. He jerked aside the tapestry that ran from a rod just below the ceiling to the floor. A narrow door lay behind it. Flinging it open, he gestured to the others.

“Rebah, you first. Take the lamp. Lead the others—just as we practiced.”

“Papa!” Rebah moved quickly to obey. She disappeared into the darkness beyond the door, with Setherod following close. Harellon paused to look back at Tsorreh.

“Go on!” she urged.

Harellon dashed after the girl and Setherod.

“You must not be taken!” Marvenion grabbed Tsorreh and shoved her bodily through the opening.

The door slammed behind her. She heard the metallic clink of a lock closing. Then Marvenion said, speaking low from the other side, “I will delay them as long as I can. With the blessing of the Holy One, they will arrest me and not look further.
Go!
”

The passageway behind the door was narrow, barely wide enough to slide through. No attempt had been made to smooth the stone. The rough edges caught Tsorreh’s dress and scraped her elbow as she fitted herself into the opening.

Ahead bobbed a sphere of light. She glimpsed Rebah’s face, starkly shadowed, before the bulk of Harellon’s body blocked it.

“Quickly!” Harellon’s voice filled the narrow space.

“No, you go on.” the girl’s reply came in an urgent whisper. For all her previous shyness, she now spoke with authority. This was her house, Tsorreh thought. Her world.

Her father.

“Take the lamp,” Rebah said. “The passage bends twice. Stay to the right. You’ll come out in the alley behind the next row of houses. And
be quiet
!”

With a great deal of shoving, Harellon pushed past Rebah.

Tsorreh reached the girl in a few steps. “What about you?”

“I can find my way in the dark well enough. Papa made me practice. But I’m staying here. It’s as safe as anyplace, and if anything happens—”

Rebah broke off at the sound of men’s voices from beyond the door. Until that moment, Tsorreh had not realized how thin the wooden barrier was and how readily sound penetrated. She held her breath, afraid that even the slightest noise might be overheard.

“Nothing—” said one man’s voice.

“Where is she?” asked another.

“As you see, I am alone.” Marvenion’s voice rose above the sounds of furniture being overturned, and other noises Tsorreh could not identify, but clearly, the room was being thoroughly searched. “What do you hope to find here? Is this rummaging about really necessary?”

“She was here…” came a slightly hollow voice, resonating eerily through Tsorreh’s skull. It seemed to fill the narrow, lightless passage. She quivered like a wild thing caught in an iron trap, waiting to be discovered.

More voices came through the door, voices raised now in argument. The hollow voice—a Qr priest?—insisted that their quarry was very near, but the strongest of the other voices sounded tight with suppressed resentment.

“We’ve wasted enough time here.” The clipped speech reminded Tsorreh of the Elite Guard at the Hall of Justice. “We have more pressing responsibilities this night.”

“No, we must not leave yet! I command you to search further!”

“Search where? Do you think this woman is hiding in the mortar between the floor stones? Or in the stuffing of one of these pillows?”

“She was here, I tell you…
is
still near…”

Tsorreh could almost hear the whispered sweep of the priest’s long robe as he glided nearer.

Another man’s voice, edged with impatience: “Captain, shall we arrest the man and be done with it?”

“On what charges?” Marvenion demanded. From his voice, he was standing on the opposite side of the room, beside the outer door.

“Harboring a treasonous witch,” the priest hissed.

“Not without evidence she was actually here,” the captain snapped. At any other time, Tsorreh thought, he would simply have taken Marvenion and anyone else within the house for questioning. But the priest had antagonized him, challenging his authority, and he was angry.

Strong, slender fingers closed around Tsorreh’s arm.
Grasping Rebah’s hand, she let the girl’s steady presence flow into her. The
te-alvar
was quiescent, and yet she knew it had not abandoned her. It was, in a way she could not understand, sheltering her, placing her beyond the priest’s powers of detection. She could feel him, standing before the wall hanging. Searching for her.

By some miracle, he moved away, still probing. Catching her scent in the chamber, perhaps, but nothing more.

What if the guard captain became suspicious? What if he lifted the tapestry to reveal the door? Should she make her escape now, while she still could? Or would an inadvertent sound, or perhaps the very sensation of motion, alert the priest? She felt sure that the petal gem could not protect her against physical discovery.

Rebah gestured with their joined hands to move down the passage. Tsorreh followed and tried not to think about even a single misstep.

The sounds from behind the door fell away. They went on, one careful step after another. Their progress was slow, too slow. At any moment, Tsorreh expected the door to be flung open and to hear the shouted command to halt.

With a creak, the door did swing open. Tsorreh glanced back, her muscles tensing for a useless sprint down the passage. A bar of light fell across the narrow space, revealing the silhouette of a man.

“It’s all right, they’ve gone,” Marvenion called out, his voice tremulous, almost quavering.

“Papa!” Rebah hurled herself into his arms.

Tsorreh followed, shaken with astonishment. The next moment, Marvenion led them both out of the passage. Tsorreh crumpled into one of the chairs. Her heart was beating so hard, she could not speak.

With a child’s unshakeable confidence, Rebah accepted the miracle of their escape. Smiling, she went in search of restoratives, and returned only a few minutes later with a tray of fresh mint-tea and almonds crusted with crystallized honey. The maid servant had fainted after being summarily shoved aside by the guards, but was recovering well.

Tsorreh cradled her cup of tea in her hands and tried to stop trembling. Marvenion kissed Rebah on the brow. “You carried yourself with the valor of our race. I am proud to call you daughter. However, should there be another time, you are not to linger. You must do as I bid you.”

Rebah lifted her chin. “I will do as I see fit. Who can know ahead of time what will be best?”

Listening, Tsorreh wanted to laugh and weep, all at once. She supposed that fathers had been cautioning their children in this manner since the beginning of time. She thought of Jaxar and what he might say of this night’s misadventure. He would rail at her for the risk she had taken. More than that, he would be hurt and disappointed that she had broken her word. She must find a way to keep it from him.

A
FTER a brief rest, Tsorreh gathered up the courage for her return. She dared not delay too long, lest someone in Jaxar’s household, perhaps Jaxar himself, realize she was gone. For all she knew, the Qr priest and his fellows, aided by the Elite Guard, were still searching for her.

Once again, she was able to lose herself in the celebration. Merrymaking continued throughout the city at an even higher pitch of frenzy than before. From the greater size of the gatherings, she concluded these people meant to carouse until dawn. By the time she reached the foot of Bathar Hill, every nerve in her body quivered with strain. Every few moments, she glanced behind her or peered into the shadows at the edge of the light cast by bonfire and torch, or searched the crowds for hooded figures. The drunken caresses of strangers held no terror for her now. By comparison to her pursuers, the revelers seemed benign, clumsy but not malicious.

Tsorreh found the compound gate as she had left it, closed and unbarred. The house was dark and quiet. She was able to slip inside and up to the laboratory without notice.

The next days passed slowly. She alternated between restlessness on one hand—craving news and sights beyond
the compound walls, and most especially, contact with her countrymen—and apprehension on the other. What was happening in the city, in the court, in Cinath’s mind? What were the Qr priests whispering in his ears? Or in the ears of his foppish son, Chion, since Thessar apparently wanted nothing to do with them? Had Thessar become their enemy because he would not be their puppet? What were Mortan and that hideous Veramar scheming?

She tried to convince herself that the Elite Guards would soon be assigned to other duties, just as the attention of the Ar-King would be diverted, perhaps to a military action or courtly intrigue. Yet in her belly, she knew that the minions of Qr would not tire in their search for her. Her only hope of safety, a fragile one at best, lay within the confines of Jaxar’s domain. Until she could be sure of a secure passage beyond the Ar-King’s reach, she dared not risk arrest.

*   *   *

During those next days and weeks, she greeted each morning with the certainty that today, the Ar-King would summon her again, and this time Jaxar would not be able to protect her. Despite Jaxar’s confidence in his own position, Tsorreh worried that he might have pushed his brother too far. The priests of Qr might create enough suspicion in the Ar-King’s mind to overcome the ties of blood and the bounds of reason. Then, not only would she be vulnerable to the growing influence of Qr upon Cinath, but Jaxar might suffer as well.

In her nightmares, she envisioned terrible fates for the men she had seen in the holding cell. Her imagination roiled with images of Qr temples becoming so tall and numerous they blotted out the bright marble palaces. Faceless priests in their hooded robes glided through twilit streets, leaving trails of condensing darkness in which disturbing shapes slowly began to take substance.

Jaxar tried to be patient with her during this time. Besides their usual work together, he arranged for musicians and poets to give performances in the privacy of his compound.
Lycian was delighted, even if Jaxar insisted that she invite no more than a handful of friends. The intimacy of the events lent them even greater glamour in Lycian’s eyes and enhanced her social standing. Although Tsorreh was not permitted to sit with the family, Jaxar directed Issios to provide her with a comfortable seat, shielded from the prying curiosity of Lycian’s friends, so that she might enjoy the music.

Danar, too, did his best to divert Tsorreh. Together they read aloud and memorized her favorite selections from the Cilician
Odes
, and explored the work of the poets who participated in the evening performances.

*   *   *

Months passed. The seasonal rainstorms turned the skies dark and turbulent gray rivers ran down the paved streets. With the return of warmer weather and sunshine came a sense that the storms had passed in more ways than one. Cinath, who had moved his court to a more pleasant location during the winter, returned to Aidon, and still had issued no further summonses.

Cinath now divided his military ventures between Isarre and Azkhantia. The situation in Meklavar had apparently settled down after a series of arrests. The prophet everyone had spoken of had apparently fled to the mountains. After the first flurry of anxieties, watching daily for new developments, life in Jaxar’s compound resumed its own rhythm of meals and rituals and daily work in the laboratory. Astreya married the young oil merchant. Danar spent more time away from home, both at court and training in various weapons and military skills expected of any young nobleman. Tsorreh missed his company, but felt relieved that his infatuation with her seemed to be maturing into friendship.

*   *   *

Three years after Tsorreh’s arrival in Aidon, the city was thrown into mourning by news of the death of Prince Thessar. Cinath had dispatched his elder son to lead the Azkhantian
expedition, and things had gone badly. Rumors abounded as to whether Thessar had made a last glorious stand against the bloodthirsty nomads, or whether one of his own officers, most likely in the pay of Isarre, had stabbed him in the back during a battle, or whether he had perished as a result of black Meklavaran sorcery.

Jaxar and his family attended the official state funeral. Afterward he said little beyond that Prince Chion had taken his brother’s place as heir to the throne. Jaxar sounded so grim that Tsorreh hesitated to question him for further details. Danar’s opinion was that Chion might very well have conspired against his own brother, a notion that Tsorreh found appallingly possible.

*   *   *

During the warm summer nights of Tsorreh’s fourth year in Aidon, she and Jaxar concentrated their efforts on nightly astronomical observations. Jaxar had long been fascinated with the study of comets, comparing historical records with current sightings. A new comet, not mentioned in any of his texts, had recently appeared. Tsorreh helped him to track its course as it moved through the heavens. Jaxar’s enthusiasm grew with the increasing brightness of the celestial object.

They had first observed the comet as a single ice-pale mote at the limit of the focusing capability of the telescope. Instead of waxing and waning, it grew steadily in size. Through Jaxar’s best lenses, Tsorreh saw its filmy tail for the first time, like a smear of chalk against the deepness of the sky. Its growth seemed to accelerate, as if it were rushing headlong toward the earth.

At last, Tsorreh could see it without the lensed apparatus, although for a time, Jaxar’s eyesight was not keen enough. Then even he could make it out. He commented that if the comet continued on its present course, it would soon be visible during the day.