VirtualHeaven (19 page)

“He greatly admires Leoh.”

Kered nodded, knowing well the difficulties and treacheries
of politics. Other thoughts intruded once more on those of chieftains and
loyalties. He bent to touch Maggie’s brow. “Stay with Anna, my friend, and see
that no one crosses my threshold, or you will answer to me.”

“Do you intend to bar Einalem? A word or two from me may
soften the possible insult to her healing abilities.”

Kered cast one last look at the sleeping figure on his bed.
“Perhaps that would be best. It sits ill with me that Einalem may be…delaying
Maggie’s recovery. You will know the words to use.” With that, he left the
chamber, closing the door on Vad and his inner turmoil.

Kered marched with confidence through the maze of corridors
that formed the palace. His own chambers were but one of many suites of rooms
that honeycombed the building. If he had been alone upon his return to the
capital, he would have gone to the barracks with Vad and bunked with his men.

Maggie had changed all that.

He nodded briefly to two sentries who knew him well. They
gave him admittance to a long corridor crowded with men. The scent of many, the
washed and the unwashed, met his nostrils. Gasps accompanied his progress
through the throng waiting for the council session to end. They clamored to
present their personal matters to one councilor or another, and when the huge
double doors at the end of the corridor opened, the petitioners would swamp the
councilors. Silence fell after the gasps, for many had noticed the sacred sword
strapped at Kered’s side.

At the massive double doors, he stated his name and waited
patiently for admission. When the sentries opened the doors, he stepped in with
confidence. It would not do to display any sign of the anxiety that knotted his
stomach or the fatigue that shook his resolve.

Leoh rose from his place at the inlaid table that seated the
twenty-four councilors. Their status was marked by their chairs. Leoh’s throne,
as befit the leader of the council, dominated the group. The other high
councilors sat on ornately carved chairs, gilded and fitted with plush pillows.
The remaining councilors, two for each high councilor, sat on less opulent
seats.

Leoh’s mane of hair was snow white—in sharp contrast to his
deep ochre skin. Kered knew the yellow was a sign of disease—fatal disease. He
swallowed down grief at the changes illness had wrought over the past few
months in this man he called father. Where once had stood a stalwart warrior,
now stood a gaunt old man, racked with tremors, his face etched with pain.

“Come, Esteemed Warrior,” Leoh called in welcome.

Kered masked his emotions and concern and walked boldly
forward to stand before his father. He went down on one knee. Leoh extended a
shaking hand and touched Kered’s bowed head. The ritual presentation of an esteemed
warrior followed, Kered kneeling before each councilor, each man touching him
briefly on the head. He felt the ripple of sensation as each man noted the
sword at his side.

When he had circled the table, completing the ceremony, he
stood again before Leoh. “I bring to you an offering.” Kered opened his pack
and lifted out the cup.

Vad had personally polished it, and it shone with the light
of a thousand silver stars in the glow of dozens of tapers. Kered placed it
reverently into Leoh’s hands.

“The cup of Liarg.” The old man’s voice trembled as he
beheld the sacred object. “How?”

“I sought the wisdom of the ancients and made the quest.”

“‘Tis a lie.” Samoht leapt to his feet and snatched the cup
from Leoh.

Tol, on Samoht’s right, grasped Samoht’s arm. “Hold. Kered
is an Esteemed Warrior. Your words challenge him.”

Samoht shrugged off the older man, relinquishing the cup to
Leoh with ill grace, then straightened his own ivory and red tunic. “Forgive
me. I spoke in haste,” he said, although his facial expression belied his
words.

“Forgiven,” Kered said immediately to soothe the moment. “I
have trekked the Scorched Plain, called the sword from its watery grave, and
visited the Forbidden Isle. I offer the cup in the cause of peace and bear the
arms to enforce it.”

The stunned silence following Kered’s words was finally
broken by the deep voice of Leoh. “What is your wish? Why have you endangered
your life on this quest? ‘Twas thought the sword was but a legend and the cup
too well guarded to be retrieved.”

“Perhaps Kered had these forged in some Selaw armory.”
Samoht sneered.

“Your words ill fit your station,” Leoh said into the
shocked babble that met Samoht’s words.

Kered looked about the table, judging the moment, hesitation
would gain him naught. “I wish to sit on the council. There is no doubt what I
have accomplished. ‘Tis said in legend that he who bears the sword shall rule.”

“No!” Samoht cried. “No. To sit here, one of us must step
down. What manner of man are you to make such a demand?’’

A cacophony of sound burst around Kered. Men shouted to one
another across the table. Samoht pounded his fist. Tol slapped his palm down in
response. Kered’s insides heaved. Words flew about him like leaves in a wind.
He could not grasp them, sense their portent, good or ill.

“Hold.” Leoh spoke softly, but the effect was as if he had
shouted. “We will put it to the vote.” Slowly, he advanced to where Kered
stood. “As I have raised you as my own beloved son, I may not have a say. I had
hoped and prayed for this day to come before I went to my grave.” He placed a
hand on Kered’s shoulder and then turned and resumed his seat.

Each man settled in his chair, on edge, agitated. Kered
stood aloof and calm throughout, knowing he must appear utterly devoid of
nerves. Each man lifted a small book from the side of his chair, wrote upon a
page, tore it out, and folded it. A uniformed sentry collected them and gave
them to Leoh. He unfolded and read them one by one.

At the last vote, his hands trembling, Leoh rose and placed
both hands on Kered’s shoulders. “One of us must relinquish his seat. Hail,
Councilor.”

He fell in a heap at Kered’s feet.

Pandemonium swept the chamber. Men tripped over each other
to attend to their leader. Kered shoved them aside, lifting his father in his arms,
tears running unashamedly down his cheeks.

Maggie’s legs wobbled. She used the furniture for support as
she edged around the room to do her chores. Kered’s continued absence and a
lingering weakness made her grumpy. No one could see her, so she kicked Kered’s
boot.

She listened carefully. A whisper of cloth was the only
harbinger of Einalem’s bedeviling presence. When least expected, Einalem might
appear to add more chores to Maggie’s list.

“Maggie?” Anna called.

Maggie relaxed and kicked over Kered’s other boot. “What is
it, Anna?”

When would she see him again?

“Kered’s eight-night death vigil ended this sun-rising. He
will be here any moment. We must be ready.” Anna swept up the boots and dashed
across the room with them. Maggie sank onto a bench. When Anna returned, Maggie
didn’t even pretend to the energy she’d been feigning for the past two days.

In the secret recesses of her mind, she associated Einalem’s
perfume with knotting pain and spasms of nausea. If it didn’t sound absurd, she
would have thought Einalem was trying to poison her. Since leaving her bed,
she’d eaten with Anna and felt considerably the better for it.

“We must tend Councilor Kered’s clothing and boots,” Anna
said. “They will hold his ring ceremony in three days, and we must be ready.
The whole city will attend. Everyone will bring gifts and offerings to him. The
celebration would have lasted for days if Councilor Leoh had not died.”

“I wish I’d met Kered’s father,” Maggie said, then Anna’s
words penetrated the fog in her mind. “Tend his clothing? Each day you polish
every pair of his boots, press his tunics, shine his swords. How could they
possibly need tending?” Just watching Anna scurry about exhausted her.

“Everything must be perfect. We have no idea what he will
wish to wear. His blades must shine, should he wish to draw them.”

Maggie muttered a few curses and pushed herself up. Wearily,
she shuffled after Anna to a cupboard. Anna loaded Maggie’s arms with
immaculately tended garments. “Don’t you ever question your work here? This is
silly. I know Kered. He probably doesn’t care what he wears. I’ll bet he wears
the same boots every day.”

“Do as you are told,’’ Einalem ordered from the doorway. “A
slave does not question her tasks.”

“Maggie is just tired.” Anna came swiftly to Maggie’s
defense.

“Then perhaps if she can be of no use here, she should
retire to the men’s quarters and take her ease there, on her back, performing a
task more suited to her energies.” Einalem’s soft voice and honeyed tone did not
mask the steel in her words, or the promise of punishment for recalcitrant
slaves.

“Maggie may rest here.” Kered stepped into the room.

Maggie’s heart thudded uncomfortably in her chest.
Her
last conscious memory of Kered had been of such intensity, she felt the blood
rush to her head. The room spun for a moment, then righted itself. She searched
his face, but the man standing before her was cold and controlled. No emotions
furrowed his brow. There was no sign of the passion she’d felt in his arms.
This was a military leader, from his stiff back to his impassive features.

“I have been instructing this one in her duties,” Einalem
offered.

“Thank you for your concern. I will see to her instruction
now. Your brother wishes to see you concerning the ring ceremony.” He stepped
aside as Einalem swept away in a cloud of perfume and a swish of silks. “Go to
the kitchens, Anna.”

Anna took the pile of clothing from Maggie and melted away.
Left alone with Kered, Maggie could think of little to say but banalities. “I’m
sorry for your father’s death.”

He shrugged and flung open cupboards, scanning their
shelves. “It was not unexpected. Has Einalem had you lending this lot?” he
asked.

“Yes. There isn’t a speck of lint or dab of mud on anything.
You could use your dagger blade as a mirror.” She thought she detected a twitch
of amusement at the corner of his mouth. He closed the cupboard doors and faced
her. When he spoke, her heart iced over.

“I registered you as my slave while you were senseless. You
are mine now.”

She clutched at the edge of the cupboard. “I don’t
understand.”

An uncomfortable silence fell, but he met her eyes squarely.

“You must understand, Maggie. There was trouble. The
attendants wanted to know who you were, as did Einalem. You have no arm rings,
and there were those who would be quick to challenge me for you. I had no
choice.”

“So now I have papers, like some pedigreed dog?”

“I do not know pedigreed.” He came to her side and placed a
gentle hand on her head. She shook him off. “You are now my responsibility. No
man or woman may command you, except me. You have my protection. If this
offends you, then rant and rave.”

Maggie could barely swallow. The idea that he had made her
officially a slave when she had been unable to defend herself was too much for
her to grasp. It hurt in a place deep inside.

“Please, go away.” She turned to the cupboard, fighting down
her bitterness. “I have boots to polish,” she said, her back to him.

“I have other duties in mind for you,” he said. “Follow me.”

The shop was dark and warm. A hearth glowed in the back. The
old man at the counter bickered with a small woman about the price of a ring.
Eventually gold coin slipped from one hand to another and the woman left the
shop. Maggie held the cloak Kered had given her closed at her throat. With a
lift of his brow and jerk of his head, Kered urged her forward.

“Ah, Councilor Kered, my condolences for your loss…and
congratulations on your ascendancy to the council,” the shopkeeper said, eyeing
Maggie with open curiosity.

“Thank you,” Kered said, inclining his head.

“How may I serve you?” The old man perched on a tall stool
and polished his scarred counter with a dirty rag.

“I have brought you a helper.”

Maggie and the old man gasped at the same time. Kered
continued as if they had stood mute. “This is Maggie. Maggie, this is Mada,
Tolemac’s finest silversmith. Maggie is a willing worker and according to her,
an able smith. If she lacks talent, train her.”

Maggie grasped Kered’s arm. “Why are you doing this?”

He drew her aside. “You were not meant to tend clothing.
However, should you wish, you may resume those duties at any time.”

“Not a chance,” Maggie said, turning to the hearth. She had
never worked at an open fire. Her heat had always been controlled, directed by
a blowtorch. But she recognized the tools lying on a bench, chisels, hammers,
files, dies for stamping patterns in metal. And ingots of silver. Her hands
itched to work. She turned to thank him, but Kered was gone.

The old man smiled at her and held out his hands. They trembled.
“Kered knows I am not what I used to be, but to bring me a woman… There will be
trouble, I dare say.” Then he slapped his knees and cackled with obvious glee.

Maggie smiled and drifted around the workshop. The windows
were dark with soot. A branched silver candelabrum shed the only light on a
table of silver buckles, brooches, and rings for sale. She lifted a chased hand
mirror and frowned at her image. An idea came to her. She turned to Mada. “May
I begin today? There is something I wish to make.”

Mada spat into the hearth. “I make only to order. Nothing on
speculation.”

Maggie slapped the mirror in her palm. “I would like to make
a gift for Councilor Kered to celebrate his ring ceremony.”

“You would like to make a gift?” he asked, amused.

“I know this sounds strange—”

“No more strange than the tales of a woman with black hair.
Perhaps there is something here you see that would suit Councilor Kered? A
dagger?”

“Councilor Kered has many daggers. No. I want to make this
gift myself.”

The old man studied her. “How would you pay for the silver?
A slave has naught but what her master gives her.”

“I have this.” Maggie draped the silver chain from her
necklace across the counter, pocketing the pendant in the soft purse suspended
from her belt. The chain’s interlocking links gleamed in the candle’s glow, and
the old man’s hands reached out and stroked it.

“I have never seen the like,” he whispered. “Who made it?”

“I did. With Councilor Kered’s permission, of course,” she
hastened to add. “It is valuable and will amply compensate you for the small
amount of silver I will need. If you don’t believe I made it, you will soon
discover I am telling the truth when you see me work.”

“My dear, if you would teach me to make links this fine and
solders this invisible, I would give you the silver for naught!”

“Then we have a bargain?”

“Aye.” They shook hands, as generations have done, sealing
the deal.

Maggie set to work immediately. Mada gave her free rein the
moment he saw her heft the hammer. They became quick friends, joined in their
common love of their craft.

“We need more borax,” she said, wiping the sweat from her
brow. The small furnace licked her face with heat. “And I’m ready for the
glass.”

Mada laid a cloth on the counter and unwrapped several
roundels of glass. “I wish you would tell me what you are making. I hope the
priests do not miss this glass.” He turned away from the heat and watched
Maggie clean the delicate strip of silver. She applied a fine stone powder to
polish it.

Her quick, deft motions as she bent the metal and made
nearly invisible piercings were practiced.

“You have done this often,” he said. “I am sorry I doubted
you.”

Maggie grinned. “The men of Tolemac do not often give
credence to a woman’s talent. Did you steal that glass?”

“Hm, borrowed, my dear,” the old man murmured, leaning
closer as she warmed beeswax and fused it onto the base of a strip of metal to
aid her sawing.

Satisfied, she sat back. “Let me see the glass,” she said.
He watched her hold the clear roundels to the light, then lay them on her
drawings, dragging them back and forth over the lines, raising and lowering
them. Finally, she selected one. “This will do nicely. I hope there is enough
of the flux.”

She worked quickly, setting the roundel in the channels
she’d bent in the silver and adding details with painstaking care. At last she
sat back and smiled up at the old man. “What do you think?”

Mada lifted the clear glass that formed the body of an
animal. Its legs and head were intricately stamped with designs of curves
within curves. “By the gods! Every­thing is bigger!” Mada said excitedly,
raising and lowering the gift to inspect the gouges in his counter. “What
manner of animal is this?”

“I call it a turtle. This turtle will crawl across Councilor
Kered’s maps and help him read the small print. I hope to ease the problem he
has when reading so many documents.”

The old man picked up a chamois cloth and began to give the
turtle a final polish. He cleared his throat. “I would not let others know of
his weakness, Maggie. Some might use it to say he is unfit.”

“How stupid.”

“Stupid, aye. But an unfortunate truth.” He offer her the
silver and glass turtle. “It has been an honor watch you work.”

Maggie busied herself cleaning up the work area, not meeting
his eyes. Kered would soon take her to Nilrem’s mountain. She would miss these
daily visits with Mada.

“I cannot keep the chain,” he said.

“It was to pay for all this silver and…borrowed glass.”

“Yet ‘tis a masterpiece of work. You should keep it forever.
I now believe that you are the artisan who made it.”

“I want to use it to pay my expenses. I can make another.”

He brightened. “You could? I may truly keep it?”

Maggie looked about the shop and noted the man’s worn robes.
He needed every coin he earned. “I want you to have it.”

“Bless you,” Mada said, kissing her on the cheek. He wrapped
Kered’s gift in a soft cloth, and she tucked it into her belt purse.

Anna dragged Maggie out early, just as the sun was rising,
to avoid the multitude who would gather for Kered’s ring ceremony. They found
places near the aisle of the Sacred Temple and sat on the floor to wait.

Maggie fidgeted as the morning wore on, impatient to see
him. The temple became hot and stuffy as crowds gathered. She nodded off now
and then. At last, horns heralded the procession, and she turned an eager eye
to the temple doors. With such a tall populace, she could not see and had to
jump up and down.

“Here, Maggie, here,” called a small boy who carried water
buckets for Anna. He beckoned her to a stool he’d dragged along. “I will sit
upon your shoulders and we both may see.”

Maggie grinned and let the child climb to sit with his legs
about her neck. When she mounted the low stool, her view was perfect.

The tall doors opened and the priests entered, swinging
incense pomanders. Maggie now knew their purpose, for the stink of the crowd
was enormous. Flowery perfumes vied with perspiration, surely offensive to the
High Priest’s nose. The High Priest in fantastic gold robes came next.

“Look, ‘tis Einalem,” Anna cried, pointing.

Einalem, garbed in an ivory gown encrusted with silver
beads, walked regally down the aisle as if she were a bride. “Why is she in the
procession?” Maggie hissed.

“‘Twas decided a woman should carry the cup to the altar.
Councilor Samoht chose her.”

Maggie suppressed a bitter jealousy, turning back to stare
daggers at Einalem’s figure. As if it were a bouquet, Einalem held the cup
reverently before her. The long train of her ivory gown swept the ground as she
passed by the spot where Maggie and Anna stood. Her hair fell in a loose silver
cascade down her back, below her hips. Maggie’s hand crept to her own hair,
concealed beneath a kerchief of wool. There had been nothing she could do about
her black brows, but she’d hidden her hair to forestall staring and comments.