Into A Dark Realm, page 25
Kaspar had helped General Bertrand negotiate the terms of the surrender, and the defeated invaders were now camped a half-mile up the road under guard. They would begin the long march home, without weapons or anything else the victorious soldiers could liberate from them, and their officers would be held for ransom to defray the cost of defending Aranor.
Roldem's newest province had long historical ties to Roldem, the principality having been part of the Kingdom before in ages past, but the speed of response had taken the invaders by surprise. Kaspar knew Bertrand, for he had served under the current Knight-Marshall in Opardum, Quentin Havrevulen, a man Kaspar had hand-picked to run the army when he had ruled Olasko.
Kaspar came out of the General's tent and walked over to sit down on a log next to Servan. 'Quite the little feast you've got going here,' he observed.
Jommy laughed, obviously intoxicated. 'The provisioner brought along enough food for a month, Kaspar. He didn't want to lug it all back to Opardum, I guess, so he's cooking everything.'
'Just as well,' said the former duke. 'Much of this would be simply thrown out back—' he was about to say 'home', as the capital of Olasko had been his home all his life, but it hadn't been for nearly three years, so instead he said, '—there.'
Kaspar looked at the six boys from university. 'You lads did well, today,' he said. 'Those bastards that hit you were a bunch of strays in a bad mood and looking to punish someone before they got run back across the border. You killed six of them, wounded another half-dozen and took the fight out of them.' He smiled at Servan. 'And the best part is you didn't lose a man. You've got two more with light wounds than you did before, but otherwise, it was a capital job.'
Jommy said, 'That was Servan. He organized everything, on the spot, like he'd been doing it all his life, Kaspar.'
Servan said, 'Everyone did their part. They jumped right to it and stood firm.'
'Well, it's good, because we're going to have need of field commanders and soon.'
'Why?' asked Godfrey. 'Is Roldem going to war with Bardac's?'
Kaspar shook his head. 'No, my young friend.' He looked out into the darkness and there was a sadness in his eyes. 'Soon everyone will be going to war.'
Godfrey looked as if he was going to ask another question, but a warning look from Jommy made him fall silent. Kaspar said, 'When I was a boy, my father brought me here to hunt. I've been back several times.'
'It must be strange to return,' said Tad. 'I mean, with you not being Duke any more.'
Kaspar smiled. 'Life has a habit of making changes without consulting you, Tad.' He looked from face to face. 'We make plans, but fate doesn't always listen to what we want.' He stood up, and looked at the beaming face of the young prince. 'And you, young sir, are going to have a very rough morning tomorrow if you don't stop drinking ale. May I suggest you drink some water before retiring?' Without waiting to hear the Prince's answer, Kaspar returned to the General's tent.
Jommy yawned and said, 'Well, we should probably bed down, as we'll be up early and on the march.'
Godfrey watched Kaspar disappear into the General's tent. 'I wonder what he meant, "everyone will be going to war"?'
Zane looked at Tad, who in turn look at Jommy. Jommy shrugged, and suddenly it was silent, with Grandy sitting with a grin, looking up at companions suddenly gone quiet with concern. His grin faded, and finally Jommy looked down, put his hand on the Prince's shoulder and said, 'Let's get some water in you, youngster. Kaspar's right. You're going to be a sick puppy come morning if we don't.'
Without any further conversation, the other boys bedded down as best they could around the campfire while Jommy led Grandy off in search of a large bucket of drinking water.
* * *
Valko stood at the head of the table while the Riders of the Sadharin pounded their gloved fists on the ancient wood, shouting their approval. The new Lord of the Camareen had invited the other leaders of his society to a feast commemorating his rise to power.
Narueen had been very precise in instructing her son on the proper order of things once his father's body had been placed in the vault of his ancestors. A formal message was sent to the Karana in Kosridi City announcing his ascension to the mantle of the Camareen and begging acknowledgement, which she assured him was a formality only. Then messages had to go to every blood relative listed in the Hall of Ancestors, again a formality, and then the invitation to the Sadharin, which she made clear was far more than a formality. For the brotherhood of the Sadharin was more than mere family: it was a battle society that could influence imperial policy, even shift the balance of power between factions, topple clans, and destroy families. Narueen had already named four riders who had daughters who would make favourable matches. This very night Valko had to choose one to bear him his first child. Narueen had whispered in the darkness, before the morning sun arose, and the plans were now in motion. The Bloodwitch Sisterhood had arts unlike any other, and she would determine if there were sons or daughters born to the young Camareen lord. Two sons, she had told them, within a month would be conceived, then two daughters.
Their Hiding would be unlike any known in the history of the Dasati, for special arrangements had been made to include sympathetic Attenders, Bloodwitch sisters and a few trusted warriors, which would ensure that the location of this Hiding was never discovered, never purged. Within twenty years, a dozen strong sons and daughters would present themselves at Castle Camareen, and Valko's ascendancy would begin.
Valko rose and shouted, 'Long live the Sadharin!'
The fifty lords of the Sadharin pounded the table even harder, hooting their war chant. Lord Andarin of the Kabeskoo shouted, 'Long live Lord Valko!'
Valko picked up his flagon of wine and drained it. His mother had made sure it was heavily watered, for while every other lord of the Sadharin was falling drunk, she wanted her son to keep his wits about him.
At the tables below the massive wooden board that served the lords of the Sadharin, the wives and daughters sat observing their men with amused interest. More than one daughter tried to catch the eye of the young lord.
But Valko had eyes only for his mother, as she moved gracefully among her guests, ensuring that each was well cared for. She paused behind Lord Makara's daughter, and let her hand fall to the girl's shoulder. Valko betrayed nothing, but he knew that this was his mother's clear instruction as to who he would bed tonight. He considered the girl. She was comely and regarded him with blatant hunger; he knew that she would rejoice should he allow her to declare. Her father would welcome becoming more closely allied with the rising young lord, for he would think of Valko as his client, though soon enough he would realize that the reverse was the case.
Valko looked around the room and smiled. The diners were becoming more raucous by the minute. He drank in their approbation and rejoined in his own youthful strength. Much of what his mother had taught him began to fade as his Dasati nature asserted itself, and he took a long drink from his flagon. He wanted wine!
As he turned to order another pitcher brought to the table, a gentle hand on his wrist restrained him. Somehow his mother had read his mood and anticipated his lost focus. 'It's time for the entertainment, my son,' she said in tones soft enough that none but he could hear.
Valko gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. 'My lords!' he shouted. 'For your amusement!'
The doors to the hall were opened and a dozen servants hurried in, bearing a huge earthenware pot. A struggling youth was carried in, bound hand and foot. Valko grinned as he announced, 'This youth sought to reach his father's castle, to challenge for a place within his household, and was caught last night in a vadoon snare!'
This announcement brought gales of laughter, for the stupid herbivore was easily caught - its primary value was as a source for fur, and its destruction of fruit trees was a nuisance for orchard-owners. The youth would have to have been very inattentive or very stupid to blunder into such a snare.
'Let me go!' he shouted as he was placed within the pot. He was ready to fight with his bare hands and feet if given the chance, but servants forced him downward, so that his knees were folded up under his chin. As hard as he might struggle, it was a position impossible to change without help, help no one was going to offer.
Valko shouted. 'You are an animal! Too stupid even to fight for your place among men. You will die like an animal!'
The youth began shouting, a series of enraged snarls and inarticulate screams. The guests at the feast laughed, for his frustration and rage was comical in its impotence. Valko signalled, and servants began pouring buckets of water over the youth's head. He spat and bellowed, and the laughter in the room mounted.
'In olden times,' said Valko, 'it was considered amusing to place a weakling in cold water, then slowly bring it to a boil.
'Now we need no fire, for there are agents that will do the same without heat.' He motioned and two servants emptied the content of the two bags into the water and stepped back.
The reagents began to react and the water began to bubble. The defiant youth's shouts quickly turned from rage to agony.
Some of the mixture splashed on to a servant standing too close, and he clawed at his eyes in pain.
The guests began to laugh uncontrollably. The louder the prisoner screamed, the more the guests became lost in paroxysms of hilarity. The lad splashed liquid up on his own shoulders, neck and face and blisters and reddish-orange wounds began to form.
The screaming lasted nearly a quarter of an hour, and when the prisoner neared death, Valko could see the guests rising from their seats, staring with avid hunger. The women were ready, Valko could see, many of them running hands up and down their own bodies, and many of the men were showing obvious signs of lust.
His mother had been right. A single death, arranged at the proper moment, was more effective than the random slaughters usually orchestrated for these events. Watching half a dozen Lessers trampled by animals or eaten by starving zarkis caused too much distraction, but one death, artfully done, brought intense focus.
Valko signalled to a servant. 'Ask Lord Makara's daughter if she would join me.' The servant ran over to the indicated girl and whispered to her. Her head came around and her eyes were alight with hunger as her hands clutched at the fabric of her dress. Valko knew that if he wished, she would let him take her right now in front of the assembled company.
Several of the lords of the Sadharin had left the head table and were standing close to females they would bed tonight. Valko considered a great number of declarations would occur and in years to come, many sons would arrive at castles as a result of tonight's mating. Only Valko, his mother and a handful of the Riders of the Sadharin knew that every match was orchestrated by the Bloodwitches, and that every child born of tonight's mating who survived their Hidings would become servants of the White.
Thoughts of the White were difficult to entertain while caught up in the blood and lust of the moment. Valko smiled as the youth's last breath left his body and declared, 'Weakling.'
His mother whispered, 'He did not seek to cross Camareen lands, my son. He sought to come to this castle. He was Aruke's son. He was your brother.'
Valko felt an odd chill rise up within and his head snapped around. He locked eyes with his mother and at that moment his feelings were so confused he didn't know if he could keep from striking her. Yet her soft touch made him focus. 'Had you done anything other than what you did, you would have appeared fatally weak to your guests: you would have shown everyone that you are not worthy to rule the Camareen. Just know the price of what you do. You have just begun the struggle, my son, and the pain you now feel will return, many times in the years to come.' She caressed his cheek as she had when he was a baby. 'Go now,' she whispered. 'Put aside all thoughts of pain and suffering, blood and death. Go, make a powerful son this night.'
Valko forced his confusion aside, left the table and found the girl waiting for him at the door leading from the hall to his quarters. He put his arm around her waist and embraced her, violently, hungrily, and without tenderness. Then he took her hand and led her to his bedchamber.
* * *
The dinner was strange. Pug sat at the head of the table, Martuch across from him. Ipiliacs dressed in odd clothing moved silently around him, placing dishes and removing them, filling flagons and cups without a word.
Martuch insisted they dine this way every night for a week before leaving, for it was, he said, the best way in which they might become more attuned to all things Dasati.
'This food is not exactly what you will eat on Kosridi, but it is close. Enough so that if you're served a common dish you will not react to it in an unexpected fashion.
'Those serving you are acting in the fashion of Lessers, so watch them. You will almost certainly never find yourself at a table such as this, for this is how the warriors dine. The only time men and women dine at the same table is if they are alone, perhaps after coupling.'
Pug nodded. Martuch had been an exemplary teacher, his mind a repository of a million details of Dasati life. Pug could not imagine anyone better suited to prepare them for this expedition.
For weeks they had been practising the language, and a convincing story - that they were three Attenders, serving Martuch; and the young warrior Bek was the son of a distant noble in a minor society who was making a pilgrimage to the TeKarana's city of Omadrabar, which was not unheard of, especially if the young warrior was inclined towards becoming a Deathpriest. For in Omadrabar was the great temple of the Dark One, where Martuch claimed the living god resided, and from where all power emanated.
Pug worried about Bek, though Nakor said the young warrior would be kept under control. He seemed a different being here on Delecordia, and Pug wondered what change arriving on the second level of reality would bring about. He was becoming Dasati in many ways. He had to only be told once what was expected of him, and he complied, flawlessly.
Nakor had indicated from the first that he suspected that something alien, dangerous, maybe even something linked to the Nameless One, resided in Bek. But perhaps that darkness came from the Dark God of the Dasati. Pug hated that there were so many unknowns, yet he trusted that at least he must survive, or how would he otherwise have sent back the messages?
His big concern was for Magnus and Nakor, for he knew in his heart that Lims-Kragma's bargain with him, when he lay near death in her hall, was not an idle threat. He would watch everyone he loved die before him, including his children. But every day he prayed that this day would not be the day on which that pain began. Now, he wondered, was he fated to lose his son and Nakor on this mad mission?
Pug put aside his misgivings, knowing the worry over something he could not control was a waste of energy, both mental and emotional. Every member of the Conclave knowingly agreed to go in harm's way, risking their lives for a greater good. Even so, being aware of that didn't lessen Pug's concern.
Martuch would play the young Bek's mentor, a warrior pledged in alliance to Bek's mythical father. Dasati alliances were so complex, so multi-level in nature, that no one other than a Facilitator who worked at the Hall of Ancestors could possibly recognize every named lord, family, clan or battle society.
On that subject, Pug said, 'Martuch, you said you will be a Rider of the Sadharin. Is this a true position for you or a pose?'
The old warrior nodded. 'I am of that society. You will find that among Dasati warriors, it is well respected and has a long and glorious history. It also numbers amongst its members many who are sympathetic to our cause.' He reached for a pomba fruit, tore it open with his thumbs, and bit deep into the pungent flesh. 'The agents of the Dark One would like nothing better than to know this, Pug. To reveal that any of the Sadharin are sympathetic to the White would guarantee its utter destruction.
'The TeKarana, in distant Omadrabar, might order the destruction of an entire region on Kosridi just to ensure that the "infection" was completely obliterated. Thousands would die.'
'The White?' asked Pug. 'Who or what is the White?'
Martuch said, 'It is a long story, or rather a series of long stories. But this you should know: in lost antiquity, there were two forces that ruled our universe, the Dark and the White.'
'Ah,' said Nakor. 'Evil and good.'
'So you call them.' Martuch shrugged. 'I still wrestle with the concepts, though I have accepted them as true. All our lives we hear of "the White" as if it is a thing to be feared, a disease within the body of Dasati society, and more than once my mother scolded me as a child in the Hiding with warnings that if I was disobedient I would go to the White.'
He laughed as he remembered. 'What would she think now?' He put down his knife and said, 'The White is an organization, but it is also a belief, a fervent hope, that there is more to existence than mindless slaughter and the Purgings. We have little of what you would think of as civilized ways - music, art, literature - things the Ipiliac take for granted, and I suspect you humans do as well. When I first encountered a book that wasn't religious doctrine or a cautionary fable of the Dark One's power I could scarcely believe my eyes. What madness would possess someone to sit and put meaningless words on paper for the entertainment of others? And music that is not battle songs or temple hymns. The Lessers have their work chants, but music that is there to be listened to for pleasure alone? Strange.
'I was sent here to learn these things, Pug, and as the Dasati best able to communicate with you, I was given the task of being your escort.'
Again, Pug had a tantalizing suspicion that there was more to it than Vordam merely finding a guide for them. 'Who sent you?'
Pug had asked that question before, and again got the same answer. 'Many things will be made known to you, but not that, not now.' Martuch's tone left no doubt the subject was not going to be discussed.
'Understood,' said Pug. Nothing about the Dasati were half-measured, he had concluded. They were the most dangerous mortal beings he had ever encountered. Not only were they faster than humans, more vicious than hunting trolls, and as courageous as the bravest Tsurani warrior; they possessed a mind set that could only be called murderous. Death was their answer to most social problems, and Pug wondered how such a society could come into being, or survive.
