The Bronze of Eddarta Read online

  “But surely that’s enough about me. I was asking, too, where you and Rikardon met, Tarani.”

  “In Thagorn,” Tarani said. “My troupe was performing—”

  “Thagorn?” Zefra demanded, startling Tarani into missing a stitch. “Isn’t that the city where those traitors, the Sharith, live?”

  “Traitors?” Tarani repeated.

  “Yes, traitors! It was because of them that Harthim had to leave the golden halls of Kä and bring the Seven Families here to Eddarta!”

  To say that Tarani and I were surprised by Zefra’s challenge would be to understate our reaction—then, or in the next moment, when Zefra laughed, showing some embarrassment.

  “But how foolish of me to judge them today by what they did generations ago! One has trouble seeing any kinship between Harthim’s enlightened leadership and Pylomel’s self-serving, greedy manipulation of the Seven Families. Why should one expect the Sharith to remain the enemies of the Kingdom, or ask them to bear that ancient blame?”

  “Enlightened leadership”? I thought, incredulously. I guess it does depend on your viewpoint. But I wonder if that was Volitar’s opinion, too, of the last King.

  “So,” Zefra continued, “you were saying that you met this young man while your troupe was performing in Thagorn?”

  I answered her: “I was visiting a friend in Thagorn when Tarani’s show was to be given. My friend invited me to attend, and introduced us after the dance was over. As I was ready, by then, to continue my journey to Dyskornis, Tarani invited me to travel with her caravan, for reasons of safety. We were friends by the time we reached Dyskornis, and I went with her to meet Volitar. We found him being tortured by Gharlas—the rest you know.”

  “This thing which Gharlas has—what is it?” Zefra asked.

  Tarani looked at me, and I happened to move my hand across my home-made leather belt. I grabbed the belt and the idea at the same time.

  “Volitar still had all the gold coins,” I told Zefra. “Gharlas stole them. Even if they were only ordinary coins, Tarani would be entitled to recover them. Now that we know what they mean, however …”

  “Yes,” Zefra agreed. “Yes, you must get them back. I will do all I can to help you.”

  14

  Tarani stayed with Zefra nearly every moment on that day. I was occasionally exiled to an inner room, as meals were delivered, or as Zefra received or sent messages. Thono, the young girl who had let us into the apartment the day before, came and went a few times in the morning, and arrived again in the afternoon with the news we wanted to hear: Gharlas was in Eddarta.

  I didn’t have a chance to speak to Tarani alone until that night. Zefra had wished us goodnight, and we were in the room which Tarani’s mother had given us to share—without asking our approval of the arrangement. The night before, we had been too exhausted by tension to be bothered by the awkwardness of the situation; we had merely pulled the side-by-side pallets a little way apart, and slept.

  Tonight I was thinking: We spent night after night in the desert, alone, and never felt this tension. What is it about being in a room together that gives a situation sexual overtones?

  Quit fooling yourself, I told myself then. In the desert, our feelings for one another were hidden. Now they’re out in the open—so obvious, in fact, that Zefra read them easily. How was she to know that Tarani and I haven’t yet expressed those feelings in the traditional way? The tension won’t dissipate until we do.

  It was Tarani who broke the uncomfortable silence. “Thank you, Rikardon, for—” She laughed a little. “—for lying to my mother.”

  “What you want her to know is your own affair, Tarani,” I said. “I have the feeling she isn’t telling you everything, either.”

  Tarani looked hurt, and worried. “Yes, I have had the same thought. Rikardon, I do not understand why it should be this way. I thought I had come to terms with the memory of Molik, yet I found I could not tell Zefra about him. Why not?”

  Maybe Antonia wouldn’t let you, I thought. I think she was right.

  “For the same reason you didn’t tell Zefra about the Ra’ira, Tarani. You don’t know her that well, yet. You may be as closely related as two people can get, but that doesn’t mean that both of you will automatically accept each other without judgment. I saw how shocked you were when Zefra reacted against the Sharith.”

  She began to pace slowly around the room. “I have asked her more than once to come with us when we leave, but she has never given me a definite answer. She always turns the discussion to another topic.” She faced me, held her arms out in question. “Do you think she wants to come with us?”

  “I can’t answer for her, Tarani. But if she wants to come, we’ll do everything we can to take her with us.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and the tension intensified. She seemed to be waiting for something. For me.

  I wanted her with an aching need, but the question was still there: Which woman did I want? The sensitive young girl who was, even now, undergoing the emotional upheaval of the first meeting with her mother? Or the worldly woman, not much older in years, but rich in experience and knowledge of people?

  I opened my arms, and she came into them. I held the body that belonged to two different women, and gave a silent prayer for patience and wisdom.

  After a moment, Tarani barely whispered: “It isn’t time yet, is it?”

  I pressed the slim, supple body even closer to me, then released her … them. I hoped she heard my regret as I said: “Goodnight, Tarani.”

  I blew out the candle in the lamp, and we settled in to sleep. I simply lay down in my clothes, but I heard movement and rustling that told me Tarani was taking off the dress she had borrowed from Rassa’s wardrobe. The sound soothed me, rather than excited me. It was such a natural thing to do, and so completely a sign of trust, that it brought back the feeling of uninvolved companionship we had shared in the desert. The ache abated, and I was able to sleep.

  My rest was fitful, and in the many wakeful moments of the night, I blamed the inactivity of the previous day. After our routine of hard physical activity, the enforced idleness had all my muscles complaining of disuse.

  But Tarani’s day had been more strenuous—hurrying to finish the gown, talking to Zefra, switching Rassa’s illusion on and off—and the rhythm of her breathing spoke of a deep, restful sleep.

  So it was I, and not Tarani, who heard the tapping and scratching in the early hours of the morning. I got up, followed the sound, and opened the latticed windows that faced the garden. A heavy object struck me in the chest, and I staggered backward, trying to support the weight so that it wouldn’t fall.

  It flapped and hooted and butted at my chest. “Lonna!” I whispered. “Yes, I’m glad to see you, too. Now hush, or you’ll wake Tarani.”

  Finally I held the large bird cradled in my arm, and stroked her back and the tips of her long wings. She twisted her neck until the downward hook at the end of her beak dug affectionately into my shoulder, then just enjoyed the attention.

  She didn’t have a message tied to her anywhere. The bird had a surprisingly large vocabulary of words she could understand, but I didn’t feel like playing “twenty questions” at that time of the morning—especially since Tarani’s limited psychic link with Lonna could retrieve any message easily, once she woke up.

  Tarani did awaken at first light, and nearly scared me to death by sitting straight up in bed and calling out: “Lonna!” I had been sitting with my back against the wall, half-dozing with the bird resting in my lap. The bird jumped away from me, wings flapping, with such force that I was sent sprawling to one side. When I righted myself, I saw Tarani, naked from the waist up, trying to hug Lonna while laughing at the bird’s happy antics.

  I turned my face away, filled with a need that had nothing to do with Tarani. I wanted to be with Keeshah, so badly that I could feel his fur in the palms of my hands. I reached out to him mentally, and thrilled to feel his joy at the contact.

 
; *When together?* he asked me.

  *Tonight, with any luck,* I told him. *Wait until after dark, then come as close to the city as you can. When we leave, we’ll be in a hurry.*

  Keeshah must have sensed what I wasn’t saying: If we get out of here alive.

  *I will help!* came his determined thought.

  *There is nothing you can do, Keeshah,* I told him. *Strength won’t win this round. It will all be easier for me, if I know you’re waiting.*

  *I will wait,* he agreed reluctantly, then amended it: *For a time.*

  *I want a promise from you, Keeshah—one that will not be easy to keep.*

  *What?* he asked, the feeling of suspicion clear in his thought.

  *If I am killed, I want you to take Tarani to safety. Let that be your first duty, even above avenging my death. Do you agree?*

  There was a short silence, just the quiet awareness of our link. Then, with little warning, Keeshah’s mind swept into mine, forming the close, intensely personal contact we had shared before. He withdrew nearly as quickly, leaving me a little breathless, but in that moment of contact, he had learned what he wanted to know—that my request wasn’t just a whim, or a mere favor to Tarani, but that her life was infinitely precious to me.

  *I will do it,* he promised. *But don’t die.*

  I laughed out loud. *Thank you, Keeshah. I’ll try my best.*

  I broke the contact to find Tarani dressed, holding Lonna, and smiling at me. “Keeshah?” she asked.

  I nodded. “He’ll be waiting outside the city for us tonight.”

  “So will Ronar,” she said. “Thymas sent Lonna to tell us that he’s in Eddarta.”

  It was comforting to know that Thymas was here. Tarani and I discussed procedure, and decided that it was important for us to remain hidden until time to act; we didn’t dare risk a meeting with Thymas. So we sent a message with Lonna:

  We are in the Inner City, will move quietly against G tonight. Wait near city gate, be ready to distract guard. May be late, T will tell you when. R.

  While Tarani worked furiously on the gown, Zefra and I conferred about the layout of the Harthim section, and the best way to get to Gharlas’s house unseen. She sketched as much of the house’s floorplan as she could remember. When we had discussed everything she or I thought might be helpful to us tonight, I sat back from the table we were using and said: “Tarani wants you to come with us, Zefra, but you won’t say yes or no. Don’t you think she deserves an answer?”

  Tarani, who was seated on the window ledge, working by the window, let the pale yellow dress settle into her lap.

  “There will be so many people at the dance, Mother,” she said. “It will be easy for you to slip away. I’ll let you know when.”

  A light compulsion, I thought. That’s what she’ll use on Thymas, too. It’s not as efficient as a walkie-talkie, but it makes a pretty useful signal device.

  Zefra sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment. “Tarani, I cannot say how much it has meant to me, seeing you grown, hearing that Volitar loved me to the last, and respected my wishes for you.” She got up and walked over to the window, sat beside Tarani, and took her hands. “It would be wonderful if we could be together for the rest of our lives, daughter. But why must I go with you? Couldn’t you stay here with me?”

  “But Mother, you’ve said that it would enrage Pylomel if he ever learned you have deceived him all these years! It would be dangerous for both of us, if I stayed.”

  “No one need know you are here,” Zefra said quietly.

  Tarani stared at her mother. “You mean that I should stay in these rooms with you, and hide whenever someone comes in? I couldn’t live like that, Mother, not like a hunted animal …”

  Her voice died as Zefra’s point hit home.

  “I did live like that once,” Zefra said. “It takes a special kind of strength, Tarani, and I have used all I had. I am comfortable here, and I have more influence in Lord City than it seems I do. Just by being here, I am proof that Pylomel has his limits. The Lords sometimes ask my advice on important issues, and I give them what guidance I can on how best to deal with the High Lord.”

  She stood up and came over to me. “Take the coins back from Gharlas,” she told me. “Take Tarani and the gold far from here, and—mind this, now—have the gold melted and recast. If any one of those coins turns up outside Eddarta, it will be noticed.

  “Even deducting the cost of the metallurgy service,” she said, “you will have a small fortune. I hope and trust that you—” Her voice broke; she had to clear her throat before she could go on. “—that you and Tarani will have a happy, peaceful life together.”

  Tarani let the dress fall to the floor as she rushed over and threw her arms around her mother. They clung to one another, talking at the same time, sharing the misery of the parting that seemed so close now. It was another of those times when I was merely a spectator, and again I withdrew from them as a purely automatic reaction. Before I knew it, I was alone, standing at our bedroom window, looking out over the garden.

  Tarani came in a few minutes later and said: “She asked me to call her away from the dance tonight, anyway, so that we can say good-bye one more time. I said I would do it—I hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is, Tarani. Let’s take a few seconds and go over what she told me about the house where Gharlas will be staying …”

  15

  The room we had first entered was merely a wide hallway with chairs. It led into a large, private sitting room which connected with several other rooms, including a tiled balcony where meals were served. We were in the private sitting room now, and Tarani was adjusting a fold of the gown while Zefra admired herself in a polished-brass mirror.

  “It’s lovely,” Zefra said, “truly lovely. Rassa herself could have done no better.”

  A knock sounded on the outer door, and before any of us could react, we heard it open. I made a dash for the bedroom door and pushed it nearly shut after me, just as the inner door opened and I heard a booted step strike the tile which floored the private sitting room.

  “Obilin!” Zefra said. “How dare you enter my apartment without permission?”

  “I have a higher permission, lady,” said the small man’s voice, heavy and insolent. “I am to escort your dressmaker to her new apartment.”

  “My bargain with the High Lord specified that Rassa would be available to him after the Celebration Dance,” Zefra argued.

  “And his bargain—as he explained it to me, lady—was that you would keep the dressmaker until your gown was completed. Which it is. And quite lovely, too, if I may say it.

  “The High Lord sent me to assure Rassa’s safe arrival in her new quarters.”

  Zefra put on a good show of fuming and fussing. “Does he think I would go back on my word? You may return to him, Obilin, and assure him that Rassa will be awaiting him after the dance. I will see to it, as I promised.”

  “Sorry,” Obilin said, and I could almost hear him grinning. “There is a complication—an intruder.”

  “What?”

  “A man named Lakad hired on as a guardsman two days ago, and then disappeared. We have no idea where he is, but he may still be in the area. The Guard has been alerted to watch for him, but the High Lord thinks it wise that all … ladies … should be …”

  His voice trailed off like the noise in a toy as its batteries finally give up. The short fur on the back of my neck lifted as I heard Zefra speak. Her voice was like a whip of ice.

  She said: “Obilin, you have done as the High Lord commanded. Rassa is in the apartment prepared for her, awaiting Pylomel. What’s more, you, yourself, located the intruder, and killed him. You will call off the watch. Do you understand all that?”

  “Yes.” A murmur.

  “Then return to Pylomel. When you see him, you will act and think normally. You will remember what I have told you as if it truly happened, and you will not remember that I spoke to you at all. You came here, collected Rassa with n
o trouble, and delivered her as ordered. Go now.”

  I came out of the bedroom as Obilin reached the outer door of the entrance room; he had gone through the inner door without bothering to close it after himself. He was moving slowly, just as you’d imagine someone would move, under the control of anther mind. I went through the formal sitting room to close the outside door, then returned, closing the inner door as I came through it.

  I couldn’t read Tarani’s face, but Zefra’s was openly triumphant. “Now you see what I have hidden from Pylomel all these years. My mind-gift is as strong as his—even stronger, in some ways. Tonight, when he goes to Rassa drunk and lustful, and finds an empty apartment, I will send him into unconsciousness and give him a memory of all he wanted to experience. And he will never guess the truth.”

  “It’s time for us to go,” I said, taking Tarani’s hand and pulling her toward the doorway. “We need to be in position to see Gharlas leave the house.”

  Zefra moved to Tarani and hugged her. “Be careful, darling. And remember to call me—I must see you one more time before you leave.”

  “I won’t forget, Mother,” Tarani said.

  As we had planned, Zefra called the two guards inside, on the pretext of moving a heavy piece of furniture. Tarani and I, cloaked by her illusion, stepped out into the main house and left the apartment which had been our home for the past two and a half days.

  We moved cautiously through the twisting hallways. Twice, it was necessary for Tarani to conceal us through illusion, as guards or servants walked by. Though it seemed a long trip, it was no more than five minutes before we stepped out into the fragrant garden. Only then could we talk about what we had seen.

  “She enjoyed setting that compulsion, Rikardon,” Tarani whispered, shuddering. “What would Volitar have thought, seeing her like that? How could this have happened to the woman who ran away from exactly that kind of power?”