Servants of the Sands, page 78
Another knock sounded, considerably more firm than the servant’s. Moir rose to his feet and went to answer. A tall man with coal-black skin and pale blue eyes stepped into the room after a perfunctory greeting. Alyea had the sense the man didn’t care for the northern priest overly much.
“Lord Peysimun,” Seg said with a deep bow. “Ha’inn Idisio. The Fortress is—honored by your presence.”
Tension around his eyes and mouth belied that statement, not to mention the searingly false undertone to the words. Idisio rose to his feet, scowling. Alyea stood as well, no less displeased.
“I take it Lord Scratha is indisposed to come greet us himself?” she said before Idisio could speak.
The s’e-kath’s voice and stance remained taut. “Lord Scratha will not be able to greet you properly for some time yet. I’m afraid you come to us at an extremely inconvenient moment, ha’inn, Lord Peysimun. I must breach all propriety and ask you, very bluntly, to leave Scratha Fortress immediately. It is not safe for either of you to be here.”
The priest’s eyes went wide with startlement. “S’e-kath Segnilious, are you quite sure—”
“Yes,” Seg interrupted. “I’m entirely certain. Please, ha’inn, whichever way you used to enter these premises without passing the gate guards... I beg you to use it once more and leave. I will gladly submit to a penalty of your choosing in the future if you will do that without asking any questions—”
Idisio’s head lowered, a mulish expression appearing on his face. “I can’t do that.”
Alyea staggered as disorientation swept up her spine. “I—s’e-kath, could we go to a—more—protected room, please?” she blurted, not even sure what she was asking for. “I—I need to be—to be somewhere more—shielded. Quickly.”
Seg’s face drew into a ferociously unhappy expression. He swore under his breath, then yanked the door to the hallway open and waved them out. “Run,” he snapped. “You too, s’iope. That way—”
Several turns later, Idisio half-carrying Alyea most of the way, they stepped into a larger version of the room they’d just left. The walls here were primarily a familiar yellow stone, interspersed with lighter blocks. Disorientation faded. Alyea sprawled on a reclining couch, breathing hard. “Better,” she said. “Much.”
Idisio groaned as he slumped into a chair. “Damnit. The tray—the food—”
“The servants will bring it here instead. At least one witnessed our passing by. They will know what to do. They are well-trained.” Seg shut the door and leaned his back against it, arms folded, studying them with a dark frown. “So you will soon have your food, ha’inn. But now that you are in the safest possible place—not a safe place, mind you, so do remain cautious if you please—I’ll ask you to explain why you can’t do the sane thing and get out of here as I asked.”
“Deiq sent us here.” Alyea enjoyed the nearly green wash of shock that crossed the man’s features.
“To do what, exactly?”
“... I have no idea.”
Seg put a hand over his eyes and began mouthing silent curses at the ceiling.
Chapter 99
Idisio’s vision couldn’t quite focus, as though he were seeing everything from the corner of his eye. It must be the aenstone. He’d never been surrounded by this much before. No—wait—yes, while imprisoned by the teyanain. He bared his teeth at the ceiling, remembering that with a fresh anger born of new understanding. It was amazing that Deiq hadn’t simply ripped them apart on release and the hells with any promises made—
Someone cleared his throat nearby. “Ha’inn Idisio,” Seg said. “May I suggest you drink this?” He held out a small cup half-filled with a greenish liquid.
Idisio glared at the man, deeply tempted to smack the cup from his hand. More drugs, more ways to control us, it’s all about controlling us....
“Idisio,” Alyea snapped. “Remember yourself!”
He jerked his gaze to hers, scowling. She returned as fierce a stare. “I don’t like this place,” he said roughly. “It feels wrong.” He turned in place, took a step, another, and turned again, feeling like an asp-jacau on a ridiculously short tether. “This room. It’s—it’s smothering me!”
“It’s safe,” Alyea retorted. “Drink the tincture Seg’s offering. He isn’t going to hurt you.”
Idisio shook his head, stubborn. “I just need to get out of this room,” he said, turning for the door. Seg stepped into his path, gaze politely averted.
“Ha’inn, I strongly advise remaining here—”
“Calm down before you upset Scratha ha’rethe,” Alyea cut in, voice sharp. “Do you really want to face that anger when we’re right on top of it? It flattened us from miles out!”
Idisio stood still, head lowered, breathing hard. After a moment, he put his hand out, took the cup from Seg, tossed it back, then pushed the cup into Seg’s hand and sat down in the corner furthest from everyone in the room.
“Thank you,” Alyea said softly, nearly subvocalizing the words.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of the promised food tray. Idisio stayed in the corner, closed off, not quite in trance, until the servant withdrew. Then he stood, slowly, eyes nearly shut to avoid another episode of blurred disorientation, and made his way to a seat near the serving table. He could feel their wary glances like scratchy feathers against his skin, and sense them stepping cautiously wide of him.
“Ha’inn,” Seg murmured. “May I bring you food?”
Idisio realized that he didn’t want to move again, not even to pick up a piece of bread from the serving table. “Yes,” he said, shutting his eyes completely, allowing himself to relax into the red-purple swirl of almost-patterns flaring behind his eyelids.
“Ha’inn,” Seg repeated a few moments later. “Your food, ha’inn.”
Idisio opened his eyes enough to accept the bundled napkin Seg was holding out, noticing that the man kept his gaze carefully aside. You’ll know when they see you as dangerous, Deiq had said, long ago. That would be now, Idisio thought with a surge of dark amusement. And rightfully so. I could kill them all before they even—
He shut his eyes again, swallowing hard in a dry throat, then made himself start picking through the food. Thin slices of crisp bread, thick chunks of northern apples, hard Arason cheese—it was a very northern light meal, and somehow that eased his unsteady temper more than anything else at the moment.
After Idisio forced down several bites, Seg spoke, his voice low and carefully neutral. “Lord Peysimun, ha’inn: you can’t stay in this room for long. You’re both aware at this point that it’s shielded against Scratha ha’rethe’s attentions. It isn’t safe for powerful people to be in this room for long. Quite bluntly, from a ha’rethe’s perception, it looks as though we’re hiding a weapon. They tend to get extremely agitated and not ask questions first when they feel threatened. I’d very much like to resolve the purpose of your visit and send you on your way before a crisis arises.”
“Before I leave,” Idisio said abruptly, setting down the piece of bread he’d been nibbling on, “I’d want to see Riss, in any case. Could you send for—” He stopped, catching the faint wince that crossed Seg’s face. “What? Did something happen? Did she—is she—” He rose to his feet, hardly aware of the motion, alarm rushing into a staccato beat in his ears.
Seg grimaced and made a patting motion in the air with both hands. “Ha’inn,” he said, “Please, calm yourself—allow the tincture to—”
“What happened to Riss?” Idisio demanded, not raising his voice but projecting the imperative to answer. Seg’s hand went to his throat. He gagged, eyes rolling back in his head, and went to his knees.
Alyea stepped in front of Idisio a moment later. Her hand cracked sharply across his cheek. “Calm down,” she said with a matching intensity to the tone he’d just used. He staggered back a step, overbalanced, and went down, sprawling roughly across the floor. He twisted to his feet a heartbeat later, turning to lock glares with her.
“You dare,” he spat.
“I’ve dared worse,” she retorted. “Calm. Down. Trust me, Idisio. Trust me. Take a breath and calm yourself. You won’t get any answers at all if you choke the sense out of Seg!”
Seg sucked in a noisy breath, another, then grabbed hold of a nearby chair and hauled himself up into it, his face grey-green and his body trembling noticeably. “You’ve come into far more of your power than I expected to happen this quickly,” he rasped, one hand on his stomach as though feeling nauseous. “Ha’inn, I will answer, I swear it. But Lord Peysimun is right. You must calm yourself. I can offer whatever you might desire by way of distraction—aesa, esthit, myself—”
Idisio choked, staring in astounded disbelief. “I’m sorry, did you just—?”
“I can only draw on what I know to be in this room at the moment.” Seg’s mouth drew aside into a rueful smile. “I doubt I would be sufficient for your needs, ha’inn, but I would do my best if that is what you—”
“No,” Idisio said emphatically. “Gods! You people are insane—Alyea, what are you laughing at?”
“It would take too long to explain,” she said, still grinning. “Another time. Right now, let’s all sit back down and finish this excellent tea, please. It’s far too lovely to water the plants with.”
He stayed on his feet, stubborn, head lowered like a sulky gerho. “Tell me what’s happened to Riss,” he said. “I’m as calm as I’m going to get, so just fucking tell me.”
Seg rubbed a hand across his face, glancing down at the floor as though listening to something far below. Finally he said, “Scratha ha’rethe called her. The ceremony was a few days ago.”
“Called?” Idisio said, bewildered. “What does that even mean?” He glanced at Alyea. She shut her eyes, a pained expression on her face. “Are you saying she’s dead?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Seg began.
“Yes,” Alyea interrupted. “In northern terms, yes. You’ll never see her again.” She winced, blinking rapidly. “Oh. Maybe you will. Oh, damnit.” She waved both hands at the men to stop them from speaking, then put her face in her hands. “I know what we’re here to do now,” she said, her voice muffled. “Seg, I’m afraid you’re really, really not going to like this.”
The northern priest, sitting quietly near the door, rose to his feet. “I think it best if s’e-kath Segnilious and I withdraw at this point,” he murmured.
Seg hesitated, then stood as well. “You’re right, s’iope Moir. Some things, even I can’t afford to know. If you’ll excuse me, Lord Peysimun, ha’inn.” He bowed and followed the northern priest from the room, shutting the door gently behind them.
“What’s so serious, then?” Idisio said waspishly. He’d been starting to feel comfortable with Seg’s presence. The man’s abrupt withdrawal was jarring. “What, are we supposed to kill someone?”
“Yes,” Alyea said, keeping her gaze averted. “Cafad Scratha.”
Chapter 100
Drums brought Allonin back to consciousness, a steady, rolling beat that served as a path to awareness. As he rubbed haze from his eyes and rose to his feet, details cleared: The heavy scent of ceremonial incense, underlaid with dank moisture and sulfur; the smoldering braziers set in a shallow arc between him and a ridiculously enormous lake; the fluted, twisted, opalescent outcroppings that rose from the water and hung from the cavern roof.
He stared, unable to comprehend the vision for a long moment. He’d never seen anything remotely like this before. Light glimmered across the surface of the lake as though on wet rock, doing absolutely nothing to penetrate the black water. Lanterns hung on sturdy frames a hand span taller than himself, placed in another, equally shallow arc to his other side, leaving him halfway between the smoking braziers and the lanterns.
The cavern went on well beyond the reach of the light, at a guess. The heavy blackness could have been an illusion or a trick of perspective, but the booming echo of the drums suggested otherwise. Allonin turned in place, blinking against the stinging smoke, shaking his head in bemused admiration.
“This is majestic,” he said aloud, half-expecting an answer in spite of his evident solitude, but heard only the drums, endlessly rolling out an evenly paced rhythm.
He turned around again, studying his surroundings with more care, listening to the echoes, gauging the reflections of the lantern-light and the swirls of incense smoke. He peered up at the ceiling, nodding at the sight of darker patches among the shadows.
“Tunnels,” he said under his breath. “Sound tunnels. There’s nobody else in this room but me.”
He turned and faced the lake, his heartbeat skittering for a moment at the implications of his isolation. Nobody would be able to help him if something went wrong—and nobody else could get hurt if something went wrong. It served as confirmation of his worst fears: This was a genuine blood trial, the same as proper desert lord supplicants endured—and, sometimes, survived.
I’m about to face a ha’rethe. The one creature I was told I mustn’t ever get close to. Holy gods and murders, I’ve entirely lost my mind. I’m about to die horribly.
But his sister had done it, against far higher odds and in worse straits. He couldn’t fail where Azni succeeded. Allonin suspected he would stalk the world as a crazed shiabanse if he died in this trial, driven by the sheer embarrassment of being weaker than his sister.
Petty thoughts, but they drove back the stark terror and allowed him to catch his breath, steadying his spine and stance alike.
The drums changed rhythm from smooth symmetry to jagged chaos, as though each drummer had chosen to pursue their own beat. Allonin winced, squinting at the ceiling, and hoped they’d choose cooperation again soon. The tunnels that amplified the rolling beat now shook the discordance into ear-shattering echoes.
The light flickering across the surface of the lake slowly turned golden, sparkling into a fine mist that rose to hang just above the motionless water. Allonin stared in astounded wonder, once more caught by the surreal beauty of the moment. It took him a few moments to realize that the drums had stopped.
Silence hung heavy in the cavern. Then the mist swirled up into a sinuous figure, overlapping dark and pale spots appearing where eyes would be on a human.
You are here, a voice said. This is good. I was afraid you would refuse, and I would be trapped here forever.
Allonin blinked, staring; opened his mouth, found no words, and covered his confusion by kneeling, head bowed.
Do not speak to me out loud, the voice said. They are listening. You may wish to offer whatever the current ceremonial greeting is, to appease them.
Allonin’s mouth moved, shaping silent bewilderment. At last he raised his head and said, “Honor to your grace.” The words came out far too shaky and weak for his liking. He tried again: “I am honored by your presence this day.” Silently, tentatively, he added, I don’t understand, ha’inn.
I am not ha’inn, the voice said. The figure turned as though dancing, as though laughing. I am not proper ha’rethe, either. I have very little time in which to speak. They are watching for trouble. Will you help me? I will give you what you seek and impose no bond upon you in return, if you will help me.
What do you want? Allonin asked.
I wish you to kill Lord Evkit. He has enslaved me for a very long time. I wish to be free.
Allonin sat back on his heels, staring at the lithe form. His thoughts stuttered from astonishment into a growing suspicion. At length, he said, I recall hearing that there are rather a lot of lies involved in blood trials. Forgive me the discourtesy, but what you say makes no sense to me.
It makes no sense to wish for my freedom? The figure turned, turned again, shimmering colors rippling in indignation or amusement; Allonin couldn’t tell.
It makes no sense for you to ask that of me. I have already agreed to serve Lord Evkit in order to protect another. You must know that. This feels like a test of my honor, ha’inn.
The figure stilled, colors dimming to a solid, pale blue shade. It stayed quiet for some heartbeats, then said, Come to me, supplicant. You are worthy of my attention. It reached out a hand, beckoning imperiously. We will begin now.
Allonin let out a long, shaky breath, rising to his feet, surprised to find his hands trembling. So it had been a test, and a nasty one. He could well imagine what happened to anyone jumping at that offer. What a brutally effective way to separate out the rebellious before they gained the power to be dangerous.
Expecting to feel cold water rising along his legs, he glanced down to find himself standing as securely atop the lake as though on solid rock.
Come to me, the figure repeated, beckoning again. Closer, supplicant.
Allonin swallowed back a surge of terror and made himself move forward. He paused just out of arm’s reach, then took the final steps to stand beside the once more iridescently glowing form.
The rock beneath his feet dissolved without warning, dropping him into lukewarm water. A startled inhale flooded his lungs, and he choked, coughing, thrashing in uncontrollable panic.
I do not lie, supplicant, the ha’rethe said. I want my freedom.
Oh, fuck—the words crossed Allonin’s mind with crystal clarity, as red began to lace his vision, his eyes rolling back in his head, limbs thrashing, desperately straining to reach the surface. I’m going to die, fuck, fuck, fuck—
He felt something wrap around his legs and draw him further down, the pressure and heat of the water around him increasing rapidly. He managed one last, despairing, silent apology to Azni for failing her yet again, then surrendered to the black of unconsciousness.
Chapter 101
“You are fucking kidding me,” Idisio said, his face losing all color, his eyes hazing to a uniform dark grey. “Please tell me that’s a joke!”
Alyea looked away. “I wish I could.” Images roiled through her mind, unmistakable memories flush with fire and agony. “Aqeyva, Idisio. Keep it shielded.”
