The Three Lands Omnibus Part 45

"That hardly rea.s.sures me," said Lord Carle, and then paused momentarily to swat a small b.u.t.terfly that had taken his green and gold tunic to be a flower. Probably, I thought, struggling to remain just toward Lord Carle, he had mistaken the b.u.t.terfly for one of the Koretian blood-flies that had been feasting upon us since we crossed the black border mountains.

"The bloodthirstiness of this land's G.o.ds is a model that I imagine the Koretians strive to imitate," continued Lord Carle. "Take this man, the Jackal. He first appeared during that blood feud to end all blood feuds, the Koretian civil war. I don't suppose that he could have chosen a more fitting moment to make his entrance, considering all the times since then that he has slaked his thirst on the blood of men. He has certainly fas.h.i.+oned himself after your G.o.d."

I pulled my horse's reins tight a I think that it was only a reflex action, but once I had done so, I discovered that my horse was standing still, and both Lord Carle and Peter were watching me. The Chara was unconsciously stroking his horse's mane, rea.s.suring it as to our sudden delay, and at sight of Peter's characteristically gentle and affectionate action, I felt my resentment flame within me at Lord Carle's typical harshness. "They are not my G.o.ds, Lord Carle," I said. "I wish that you would remember that."

"Yes," said Peter, looking toward the council lord in a pointed manner. "I too wish that you would remember that, Lord Carle. Whatever point you have been trying to make during this trip, I think you can a.s.sume that you have long since made it. I am growing weary of hearing you sing the same stale tune."

Lord Carle kept his gaze fixed on me rather than Peter, but he said with that overcourteous formality which I knew drove Peter mad, "I will endeavor to serve you better in the future, Cha- Lord Peter. Is it the Cha- Is it your wish that we stay in the governor's palace tonight?"

I could see Peter biting away a smile at Lord Carle's fumbled speech. If there was one form of loyalty that Lord Carle had never managed to achieve toward his master, it was in following Peter's frequently expressed desire that his council lords not treat him with strict formality during his leisure hours. I suspected that Lord Carle's unusually bad temper during this trip came, not only from his hatred of Koretia and of me, but also from his frustration at Peter's command that Lord Carle address him at all times by his childhood t.i.tle.

"Why do you ask, Lord Carle?" replied Peter.

"Because we may have to return to our old speed if we are to reach the city by nightfall," said Lord Carle. "This road meanders quite a bit before it reaches the western gates."

This was, I thought, one of Lord Carle's milder statements during the trip. Koretia being the smallest of the Three Lands, it took travellers merely two weeks to journey between the Emorian capital and the Koretian capital at the southern tip of this land. Or rather, it would have taken two weeks if the Koretians had built straight, paved roads the way the Emorians did. As it was, only the Chara's lightning-swift messenger journeyed between the capitals in that amount of time. Ordinary travellers took a month or more, held back by mud and muck, deep cart-ruts that threatened to trip their horses and mules, bridges that were inevitably broken, roads that zig-zagged back and forth for obscure religious reasons or simply because it suited the fancy of the road-builder, and, of course, the Koretians' unique method of collecting tolls.

To prevent Lord Carle on offering further comment on this, I said, "You appear to know a great deal about Koretia."

Lord Carle's gaze drifted over my way once more and remained fixed on me as he said blandly, "It is always wise to know one's enemy."

I was saved from making a reply by the appearance of Lord Dean, who, seeing us halted in the road, had ridden ahead of Curtis and Francis. Peter, glancing his way, started his horse forward again, but the imperturbable High Lord took this as a sign of encouragement and continued toward us. I quickly pulled back behind the others in order to allow Lord Dean his place beside the Chara.

"I hate to admit it, Lord Carle," Peter was saying, "but I have reached the conclusion that you are right about this land, at least as far as the weather is concerned. After two weeks' worth of hot and dusty travel, I am ready to hand my office over to any man who can give me a few days' worth of Emorian coolness."

"Well, it has allowed for a quick journey," said Lord Dean cheerfully. "At least we haven't had to endure any rain."

Lord Carle glanced over his shoulder to where I was riding, a few paces behind Lord Dean. Our eyes met, and I knew that, for once, our thoughts were in sympathy.

Peter, who always caught small gestures in a conversation, asked, "Is the lack of rain a problem?"

"Only because this is a land whose weapon of war is fire," replied Lord Carle.

"Why, we all know that," said Lord Dean. "That's what allowed us to win the Border Wars; the Chara Nicholas was able to turn the Koretians' weapon against them."

Lord Carle said, "Even the Koretians, High Lord, would hesitate to use their favorite weapon during a summer like this."

"Why is that?" asked Peter quietly. I could tell from his tone that he had already guessed Lord Carle's warning, but as always, he preferred to hear other men explain matters in which they had expertise rather than offer comment himself.

Lord Carle looked back at me again. "Perhaps Andrew could give you part of the answer by explaining why all of the towns we have visited have moats surrounding them."

"I had a.s.sumed that they were there to protect against invaders," said Peter, looking at me inquiringly.

I shook my head. "Until the civil war, it had been several centuries since any large-scale warfare took place in Koretia. Koretians usually fight through blood feuds, which involves one-on-one combat, rather than through the large battles favored by Emorians. That was why they were so ill-prepared to fight the Emorians. Though the Koretians had an army, they were inexperienced in ma.s.s slaughter."

"They seem to have successfully overcome their inexperience and gentleness in the case of the borderland villagers," Lord Carle commented dryly.

"So why do the towns have moats?" asked Peter, cutting off Lord Carle's further words on the subject.

I said, "It is only in the towns and the city that large fights sometimes break out a riots that are sparked when anything causes the inhabitants to quarrel especially hard. In the old days, it was blood feuds that caused the riots, but these days I imagine it is the Emorian rule. You know how the Koretians use fire in these riots, lighting them when there is no wind in order to burn a particular section of the city. But sometimes the wind springs up suddenly, and when that happens, the fires spread out of control, and the entire town may go up in flames. The moats are there to keep the surrounding countryside from catching on fire. There was one particularly bad fire five centuries ago, before the moats were built. It was a windy day, and the summer was dry like this one. The fire ended up burning half of Koretia before it was finally contained by a thunderstorm."

"Well, but now that Koretia has moats-" Peter stopped himself in mid-sentence.

"That is exactly the point," said Lord Carle grimly. "The Koretian capital does not have a moat a not since Lord Alan decided to turn the old moat into a flower garden to impress visiting n.o.blemen."

This time it was Lord Dean who cut off Lord Carle's comments. He said smoothly, "I will save you, Lord Peter, from hearing the remaining text of Lord Carle's elegant and vitriolic speech about how the moat ought to have been retained to protect against future treachery by the Koretians. I and the other members of the council heard half a dozen versions of the speech when we debated the matter ten years ago. The rest of us, however, believed that the city wall was protection enough, should war break out again."

"I wish that you had consulted me on the matter," said Peter. "It touches upon matters of war, which are my province."

"You may recall, Lord Peter, that, with your permission, we consulted with Subcommander Rudolph," said Lord Dean. "He was not in the city at the time of the invasion, of course, since he was leading the northern campaign, but you yourself had been sent back to Daxis by your father. I do not know of any high-ranking Emorian official, other than the Chara Nicholas, who was in the city during the fire."

There was the pause of a heartbeat; then the three n.o.blemen simultaneously looked back at me. "Well?" said Peter.

I shook my head. "I'm afraid that Lord Carle is right. The capital has an inner ditch, but the flames were leaping beyond that and the wall when I was taken from the city. If the moat hadn't been there, the fire would have spread to the countryside."

"Let this moment be recorded for future generations," said Lord Carle. "Andrew has actually admitted that I am right. I never thought that the day would come."

"I suppose," said Peter, "that we can be glad that there has been no wind recently. If this remains true- Hold a minute. Which path do we take?"

We halted our horses again, and this time Curtis and Francis were close enough behind us that they soon reached the branching of the path as well. The six of us stared at where the tree-arched forest path forked, with no sign as to which was the main stream of the road and which was the tributary.

"I don't recall this on our maps," said Peter. "Andrew, which way do we go from here?"

A small black carving, nearly invisible against the dark trunk of the tree to which it was attached, had caught my eye. I slid out of my saddle and went over to the side of the road to touch it with my fingers. At the moment that I did so, I felt memories cut into me like the slice of a blade.

It took me a moment to catch my breath and answer the question that Peter had asked in the meantime. "Yes, it's a carving of a G.o.d-mask. This path leads up Capital Mountain to the priests' house."

"Which G.o.d is it?" asked Lord Dean pleasantly. He had been doing his best during the trip to catch up with Lord Carle in his knowledge of Koretia.

I remained where I was, touching the side of the small wooden mask, whose face was stained entirely black. "It isn't one of the seven G.o.ds. It's the mask of the Unknowable G.o.d, who symbolizes any G.o.d who is not yet known to the wors.h.i.+pper. Some priests think that all of the G.o.ds are just different faces of the Unknowable G.o.d."

"He is not a G.o.d who is directly wors.h.i.+pped by the Koretians," added Lord Carle. "We may thank the wisdom of the Charas that we do not have eight dagger-wielding Koretian G.o.ds to contend with."

I said nothing more, but my gaze drifted toward the side path, where the mountain began climbing steeply above the main road. Somewhere up there was a building I had once known very well, though it was no longer inhabited by the one person in this land whom I would have liked to have seen during this lonely homecoming. I wondered whether, in his new home, John had finally learned who his G.o.d was.

I did not realize that Peter had slipped down from his horse until I heard him murmur in my ear, "Shall we go there?"

I looked over at him, and though I spoke no reply, he must have read the thought in my eyes, for he swung around and said to the others, "Well, we're here to uncover information about the Jackal, are we not? What better place to start at than with the priests? From what Andrew has told me in the past, they take guests overnight. I suggest that we stay there tonight rather than risk still being on this road after nightfall."

Lord Dean looked uneasily at the main path ahead of us. Only twice before had we been caught on the road after dark, and on both occasions we had met bandits who wished to exact "toll" from us. Though Lord Carle had grumbled that this was the sort of encounter we might have expected in a land watched over by a thief G.o.d, he and the other armed free-men appeared to enjoy the opportunity to use their blades in defense. Lord Carle, it had transpired to no one's surprise, was the most skilled and ruthless bladesman of the five, yet Peter had shown himself surprisingly dexterous, despite the fact that he had received little training in blade-play.

I had stood to the side and watched, secure from harm by the thieves since I bore no weapon.

"I would rather that we were safely inside the governor's palace tonight," Lord Dean said, "but you may be right, Lord Peter. What do you think, Carle?"

"I think that it is the Cha- It is Lord Peter's decision to make," said Lord Carle. Then he added, to my surprise, "I can imagine that after ten years of imprisonment in his palace, he might wish another night free before he enters the imprisonment of the governor's palace."

Peter smiled easily at Lord Carle as he pulled himself back onto his horse. "Then we're decided. One more night of play before we all set about doing difficult and possibly dangerous work."

"Dangerous?" Lord Dean gave a short laugh as we started forward. "I doubt that we need worry about the Jackal showing up at the governor's palace. No, the worst that we have to fear is that we will all die of heat-stroke... ."

I did not hear the rest of what he said; I had allowed my horse to fall back until I was halfway between the n.o.blemen and the servants. I did not try to join Curtis and Francis, whom I could hear discussing a free-woman that they had both taken a fancy to. I had long since resigned myself to the fact that I would never be fully accepted by the n.o.blemen or by the slaves or even by the lesser free-men whose rank I officially shared. My leaps downward and upward through the ranks had left me dizzy with uncertainty. Only when I was alone with Peter did I lose all interest in whether I was slave or free-man, Emorian or Koretian, for Peter had always treated me as his loyal friend, no matter which ident.i.ty I took on.

In this respect, of course, Peter could not have differed more greatly from my previous master. When I was sure that he was not looking my way, I stole a look at Lord Carle's proud, harsh face. In the twelve years since Peter had taken me out of the council lord's care, Lord Carle had never ceased to torment me. Time after time, he had questioned my loyalty, reminded me of what he had made me into when he first bought me. Worst of all, he had repeatedly attempted to persuade Peter to break his friends.h.i.+p with me.

The last action was so futile that I wondered that he even tried it. It was true that Peter was forced to see a great deal of Lord Carle: my former master was one of the leading senior council lords and moreover had been Peter's tutor during the months preceding Peter's enthronement. Biased as I was, even I knew that Lord Carle had great learning in the law and was a valuable member of the Great Council. But this could not balance for me the evidence I had encountered over the years of Peter's suffering in Lord Carle's hands: Peter showing forced cheerfulness after Lord Carle's frequent and lengthy visits to the Chara's quarters. (Peter, mindful of my feelings, always sent me away during these sessions.) Peter growing silent whenever I referred to Lord Carle, though he had told me at length what he thought of the other council lords. And on a couple of terrible occasions during his time as Lord Carle's student, Peter breaking down into sobs after Lord Carle had disciplined him.

It was this, as much as my own experience under Lord Carle's care, that had caused me to try to kill the council lord. Only later had I realized that I had brought further trouble to Peter by my actions. Since the trial, I had tried, without much success, to contain my bloodthirst toward Lord Carle, but my anger rose whenever I saw how oblivious Lord Carle was to his true nature. He was widely known as the cruelest master in the palace, yet he spoke with pride about his training of his servants. Though my only release from his torments could have been to escape his presence, he continued to hold me captive in conversation with such regularity that it was clear that he thought I welcomed the attention. And though it must have been obvious to him how little Peter cared for him, he always appeared at the Chara's door casually and unbidden, as though sure of his welcome.

I could be certain that Peter had done his best to rid himself of Lord Carle. Several times I had overheard Peter coolly addressing the council lord by his name alone, as though to remind him that his t.i.tle had been given to him as an honor by the Chara. Lord Carle had a mind more keen and cunning than even Lord Dean's, yet he appeared to have no awareness that other people in the world might think less of him than he did of himself.

Now, as we made our way up the steep mountain path toward the building I was beginning to glimpse through the trees, Lord Carle fell back alongside me, and I realized with horror that he was about to give me one of his lectures. He inflicted these on me from time to time, always using the same gentle voice he used toward Peter, in an attempt to lull me into thinking that he was no longer my enemy. He appeared to have a talent for knowing the exact moment at which I was beginning to lower my guard, and to use that moment in which to attack me. If I had been Peter, I would have long since removed this malevolent lord from his council chair a but of course Lord Carle, like all of the other council lords, was awarded his office until death or until he was charged with a crime. There were times when I almost wished that Lord Carle would murder me, just so that he could be summoned for the deed, and Peter would have a way to rid himself of the lord.

"Tell me, Andrew," said Lord Carle in his deceptively mild voice, "do you have any blood kin in this land?"

"No," I said shortly. I cast my gaze toward Peter, who was looking back anxiously toward us, but Lord Dean had him well trapped in conversation.

"None at all? n.o.body who might remember a blood vow that you once made?"

"No." I kept my voice low, trying to determine where the conversation was headed. If Lord Carle had been less skilled at inflicting wounds, I would have a.s.sumed that he thought I might be swayed by the sight of my blood kin to keep my vow, but Lord Carle's mind was too subtle for him to make the obvious accusation.

"You are fortunate, then."

I looked over at Lord Carle, startled, then saw him looking levelly at me and understood. He would not attack me directly, not after what Peter had said. Instead, he would attack the Koretians and wait for me to fly to their defense.

It was likely that he would succeed. I would have defended even the High Lord if I had witnessed him being attacked by Lord Carle.

"Lord Carle," I said, "you seem to have devoted the past fifteen years to discovering the most unpleasant aspects of Koretian life."

"Don't flatter yourself," replied Lord Carle curtly. "It has been a good many years since I first had the unhappy experience of learning what the Koretians' penalty was for breaking a blood vow to murder." He steered his horse around a tiny sapling that had taken root in the dirt path, and then, with one vicious yank, pulled the tree from the ground and flung it into the undergrowth. He continued calmly, as though the violent abortion had not taken place, "Because of Emorian law, the blood feuds are now outlawed in this land, and because of the Emorian courts, there is no need for the feuds. Therefore, you have the Chara to thank that you will not enter the city tomorrow with your life forfeit."

I wrapped my hands around the reins of my horse in order to resist an impulse to strangle Lord Carle. "You know a great deal about Koretian life, Lord Carle, but your knowledge has certain gaps. I made my vow as part of a vow of friends.h.i.+p, and that vow of loyalty supersedes any other vows I made as well. Even if my blood brother were alive today, even if he hated me for breaking my vow, he would still be sworn to prevent harm from falling upon me."

"Koretian blood vows do have certain subtle loopholes," admitted Lord Carle. "In the last case I knew of this kind, the oath-breaker in question was hunted down and murdered by his own kin. I am relieved to hear that I do not have to worry about the same fate overtaking you."

I stared at the coa.r.s.e hair of my horse's mane, hating Lord Carle for his ability to take words that appeared kind on the surface and twist them into weapons of torture. Still following his unspoken and evil pleasure, I defended my native land by saying, "He was probably killed because his kin thought him G.o.d-cursed for breaking his vow. But there have always been Koretians who understood that men break vows for good reasons as well as bad ones, and that it is possible to break a vow and still remain loyal to the G.o.ds. If the G.o.ds exist-"

I hesitated. We had reached the top of the path and before us spread the stony face of the priests' house. I said rapidly, "If there are such beings as the Koretian G.o.ds, I think that they understand why I broke my old vow and made my new one. Loyalty is something which I was taught that the G.o.ds understand."

"Oh, yes, I am sure that you were taught about loyalty," said Lord Carle, his gaze now on Peter, who was about to reach the main door to the priests' house. "The Koretian concept of loyalty is a peculiar one, though. The murderers of that oath-breaker no doubt thought that they were being loyal to the G.o.ds in doing what they did. They had no law to tell them otherwise a nothing unchanging and concrete, which stays the same from century to century. There is no question of what it means to be loyal to the Chara; if you have any doubts on the matter, you may consult the law book that describes the crime of disobedience to the Chara. But here we are in a land with no native law of its own, whose people have always depended on the whims of pa.s.sion to decide their loyalties ... or else have followed the commands of enigmatic and irrational G.o.ds. I hope that you do not allow this visit to confuse your carefully acquired Emorian sensibilities as to the proper definition of loyalty."

I did not reply to Lord Carle's abrasive advice. I had slid from my horse and was looking down the mountainside toward a bit of slope that led to a cave. Fifteen summers ago, I had stood at the mouth of that cave, torn between going toward Peter or fleeing with John. Now there was no question of where my loyalties lay, and none of Lord Carle's dark insults would change that. All they could do, and did, was bring back the pain I had felt in making my choice.

"Are you coming?" It was Peter, standing quietly beside me. I saw that the others were now waiting for us beside the door.

Our eyes linked together in their old manner, and I was suddenly glad that I had come on this trip. No doubt I would encounter further pain from my memories here, but I would have felt greater pain in being parted from Peter during these weeks.

"Gladly," I said, and led my horse up to the wooden doors of the priests' house. This time, I placed myself firmly behind Peter and beside the servants whose rank I was a.s.suming. Curtis and Francis moved over to make room for me, but otherwise made no gesture of welcome.

Lord Carle, who was energetic in all tasks he undertook, raised his fist to give the door a knock that would undoubtedly have reverberated through every corner of the building. At that moment, however, the door opened and a priest emerged.

He was wearing the woollen brown robe of his office, and his hood was flung over his head a this, plus the pack over his shoulder, told me that he was on his way out to minister to the sick or the dying. I could not see his face from where I was, but from the way he came to a halt suddenly, it was clear that he was not expecting to meet six Emorian travellers at his doorstep.

He recovered himself quickly, though, and said softly, "I beg that you impart to me your names."

In his best Koretian a which had improved considerably from practice during our trip a the Chara said, "I am Peter, Lord, through the Chara's honor. These men are Lord Carle and Lord Dean of the Great Council of Emor. We and our free-servants were wondering whether you might have room to allow us to stay the night. We would be glad, of course, to give an offering to your G.o.ds for this favor."

The priest swung his head around, perhaps trying to a.s.sess from our appearances how great an offering he could hope from us. As he did so, his hooded face came into my view. He was dark in complexion a after several weeks back in Koretia, I still had not accustomed myself to being surrounded by dark-skinned people a and his brows were straight and serious, as befitted a man who had dedicated himself to serving the G.o.ds. He had a man's short hair and a man's beard, but he was young, about Peter's age. A white scar upon the left side of his face suggested that his entire life had not been dedicated to acts of wors.h.i.+p. His eyes were the color of the midnight sky.

I took a step forward, and as he turned to look at me, the hood fell back. I was by the Chara's side now, but barely aware that Peter was also looking at me. I felt fifteen years falling away from me until there was nothing left but a single word that welled up inside me and then slipped out of my mouth in a whisper.

"John."

In the silence that followed, John looked back at me without expression. I had a sudden vision of what I must look like to him: a beardless man in an Emorian tunic, travelling with Emorian n.o.blemen and speaking in an accent which sounded very Koretian to the Emorians but which, I had learned during this trip, sounded equally Emorian to the Koretians. I was dark-skinned, certainly, but so were many Emorians who lived near the border, just as there were light-skinned Koretians. There was nothing about me to show I had ever lived anywhere but Emor.

John had been right as a boy, I saw. We had met again, and one of us did not recognize the other.

At that moment, another priest came out and gestured toward John. John looked back at him, but did not speak. Instead, he re-entered the house.

I stood motionless as Peter introduced his party once more to the new priest. The priest, with a minimum of words, welcomed us to the refuge of the G.o.ds and asked us to pray for this house's peace during our stay. Then, as other priests came forward to take our horses, he escorted us into the building.

The priests' house was just as I remembered it: windowless, hot, and silent. Hanging on the walls were lighted torches that sent smoke puffing up to linger in the corridor. Amidst the torches hung the painted masks of the G.o.ds: the Moon, the Sun, the Raven, the Owl, the Cat, the Jackal, and the Fish. Each mask was the shape of an inverted triangle with convex sides a I remembered my delight when John had revealed after a geography lesson from Lovell that Koretia was the same shape as a G.o.d's mask. Each mask contained the eyeholes that had once revealed the eyes of the priests who wore the masks. The eyeholes were empty now.

We were led to an area of the house I had never seen before, and Peter and I were shown into a small priests' cell containing little more than some lighted candles and two thin reed pallets on the floor. Peter placed his bag near the door and went over to look at the mask hanging on the wall. The stiff cloth was painted black but for the features of the face, which stood out starkly: slanted golden eyes surrounding the eyeholes, golden whiskers as thin and sleek as knife blades on edge, and a silver and jagged-toothed mouth that was turned up in something between a grin and a snarl.

"The Jackal," I said. "Not the best start to our visit here, that the priest would place us under that G.o.d's protection."

Peter reached out to touch the mask gently. "So he is alive," he said.

I did not bother to ask who he meant. "Yes."

"Did he recognize you?"

"I don't think so."

Peter held his fingers to the mask a moment more, as though communicating with it. Then he turned and said, "Go find him. I'll invite Lord Carle to come and bore me with his opinion of the Koretians. Perhaps that will put him in a pleasant mood."

I smiled faintly, but said nothing more as I left the room.

The narrow corridors were filled with torch-smoke and masks. I could see no priests. None of the wooden doors were labelled or open, and I knew that I would no longer be able to find John where he had once lived, in the orphan boys' dormitory. Finally I sighted a door that was ajar; a chorus of voices and some fragrant smoke whispered through the doorway. Hesitantly, I slipped through the door.

I found myself in the priests' sanctuary, a large, square hall that was filled with brown-robed men. They took no notice of my entrance. Their attention was focused on the central dais, where one of their members stood next to a stone altar; with curved dagger in hand, he was poised to strike a goat that lay bleating and bound in preparation for the sacrifice.

I froze, not daring to move during this sacred moment. The area above the altar was open to the sky in order to let out the fire from the sacrificial flame that would soon be lit. One thin rod lay over the opening, and from this branch dangled a mask, but the sunlight above was so bright that I could not see which G.o.d was being prayed to.

Already, I knew, I had missed most of the rite. In the Invocation of the G.o.d, the G.o.d had been called down. In the Plea to the G.o.d, the G.o.d's a.s.sistance had been sought. In the G.o.d's Announcement, the priest, speaking for the G.o.d, told what he wished as his sacrifice, and the goat had been lured into the sanctuary a only willing victims could be sacrificed to the G.o.d. In the Offering to the G.o.d, two priests had given their witness as to why the goat should or shouldn't be sacrificed as a symbol of those present. Now all that remained was the G.o.d's Decision.