The Glass of Dyskornis Read online

  Defeated and angry, he called to his sha’um, mounted him, and rode off.

  When he was out of earshot, I said: “This isn’t your first dealing with Molik, is it?”

  The corners of her mouth lifted in a small, bitter smile. “You read people well, Captain.”

  I wish that were true, I thought. The few intuitions I have about you conflict with the visible evidence. You tried to kill me. The last thing I should do is trust you. But I can’t help it. I believe every word you’ve said.

  “Yes, I have known Molik for several years,” she admitted. “Because of me, Volitar is in danger, Dharak was injured, and you were nearly killed.”

  She came closer to me. “I have said that when we met, I sensed that you were … different. There was also something almost familiar about you. I can’t quite describe it. But I had the feeling that you wouldn’t let death surprise you. I’m glad I was right.”

  I felt that, too—a strangeness mixed with a vague feeling of recognition. It’s back, now. I feel … drawn to her.

  We were standing so close that I seemed to be leaning toward her. It would be a short reach to—

  Watch it! Watch it! I nearly panicked. If she’s not dangerous enough in herself, think about Thymas. You promised him hands off.

  As though the same reminder had crossed her mind, we each stepped back a pace, tripling the distance between us.

  “You were telling me about Molik?” I prompted.

  “Yes. I—Thank you for sending Thymas away.” She sighed. “I’ve never talked to anyone else about this. I don’t quite know where to start.”

  I gestured for her to sit down. She perched on a ground-hugging branch, and I plopped down in the soft-bladed ground cover. I felt more secure with half the clearing between us.

  “My uncle sent me to a Recorder’s school when I was a child,” Tarani said. “I was the youngest there; I remember one of the teachers saying that Volitar had been very alert, to recognize my skill so quickly. I missed my uncle while I was at school, but I enjoyed the training. I went home fairly often, so that I was reasonably content.

  “Until I turned fifteen. Then, all of a sudden, I felt … bored. I avoided classes, and went walking in the hills around the school. Nothing seemed challenging any more; I began to experiment with my skill. I found I could call wild animals to me.

  “One day, terrified and excited all at once, I tried to call one of my teachers. She came. I learned, later, that her face had gone blank in the middle of a class, and she had walked away without a word. I know that when I saw her, I—I loathed myself. And I despised the power I had discovered. It was a violation of all that Volitar had taught me.”

  She shuddered with the memory.

  “I left school that day. I wanted to go back to Volitar, to spend the rest of my life in his workshop, isolated from people. But I’d have had to give some explanation for returning in the middle of a school session. I couldn’t lie to Volitar, and I was too ashamed to tell the truth. So I just wandered around the hills for a few days, eating what I could find.

  “One night, there were four boys traveling along together. They saw me near the road. They chased me. They caught me, and held me down, and—” She took a breath, coughed, and then continued. “That is, they tried to.

  “I made them see a female vineh.”

  Having had a brief encounter with that particular illusion, I could imagine the result. Total rout. But she had been only fifteen. It must have been rough for her.

  “I wasn’t hurt,” she said, “but I was in shock for a while, I think. I came back to myself in a wild part of the hills. The first thing I saw was a bird, trapped in a thorn vine, and a dralda getting ready to attack it.”

  Markasset’s memory wasn’t much help here. He had heard of a dralda, but had never seen one. It was a small carnivore, something like a dog, from what I could tell.

  “I soothed the bird, and frightened the dralda, by sending images,” she said. “Of course, the bird was Lonna.”

  I heard the bird’s odd call from somewhere above us, and I knew it had recognized its name.

  “I lived in those hills for a while. Lonna shared her kills with me, when I needed meat; otherwise, there was wild fruit and rooted plants that I learned to eat. Lonna seemed to want to stay with me, and she was so smart, that the idea of performing with her came to me easily. I had kept track of the time, so that I know that I thought of it on the day after my sixteenth birthday.

  “I told Lonna about my plan, and she agreed. She can understand a lot of words, and she can read the images I send. She has even learned to cast them, to a small extent. I’ve never seen another creature like her.”

  “Except sha’um,” I said.

  She leaned forward eagerly, diverted from her story for the moment. “Thymas has tried to tell me what it’s like,” she said. “But I’m sure I don’t really know how a Rider feels.”

  “Let’s stick to the subject right now,” I said. “You had the idea for the show.”

  She settled back again, disappointed. “The entertainment you saw is very close to the vision I had that day,” she said. “The first version was much smaller, of course, and I didn’t have much experience on stage—but it was well-received in Chizan, and along the caravan trails.

  “But before I could assemble even that tiny group, I needed money,” she continued. “I never considered asking Volitar for it. He makes a comfortable living, but he works alone, producing small things. I knew he wouldn’t have any money to lend me, even if he approved of the idea.

  “So I went to the Refreshment House of Inid, and from there to Chizan. There was only one source of money in Chizan.”

  “You borrowed what you needed from Molik?” I guessed.

  She looked at the scratched hands in her lap. “That’s what I told Thymas, when he, too, asked me how I came to be involved with Molik,” she said. “But the truth is, I earned that money.”

  I couldn’t believe what I thought she meant. Prostitution was hardly unknown in Gandalara. It was a percentage of Worfit’s business, and I supposed a crossroads like Chizan would have a booming red light district. But there wasn’t as much demand for it, generally, as there had been in Ricardo’s world.

  This was another byproduct of the Gandalaran inner awareness. Women knew when they were vulnerable to pregnancy. At any other time, they made decisions based on their own desires. There seemed to be no venereal disease in this world, and without the threat of unwanted pregnancy, sexual activity was considered part of a normal life, even of very young people. A father would be more upset if his daughter liked an unapproved suitor than if she slept with him.

  With that atmosphere of freedom prevalent, prostitutes served the strangers in town, or the men or women with tastes so bizarre they couldn’t find willing partners. Sometimes a prostitute was especially good at something …

  Holy jumping Harthim!

  “But—” I stammered, unable to hide the shock I felt. “But a man in Molik’s position could have all the women he wanted!”

  Again, that bitter little smile. “With my skills, I could be all the women he ever wanted. I walked into his office and told him so, proved it, and agreed to stay with him for six moons, if he would finance the show at the end of that time.”

  You were sixteen years old! I was thinking. And Markasset seems to think a Recorder’s school is a pretty sedate and sheltered place. Something doesn’t jibe here …

  She shrugged her shoulders, her thoughts running parallel to mine. “It seemed strange to me that I knew just what to do. I was—I hadn’t been with a man before that time. I understood that it wasn’t the most honorable way to earn money, but it seemed the only way to raise the quantity I needed in a fairly short time.

  “Those six moons weren’t unbearable. Molik is a presentable man, and he was always lavishly grateful … until the time was up. I discovered, much too late, that illusion in certain circumstances is dangerous. Molik had begun to be … needful.” />
  Psychological addiction, I thought. Not surprising.

  Tarani had picked up a waterskin, and was tossing it lightly between her hands.

  “I will say Molik this much good—he honored our agreement,” she said. “He let me go. But he has never stopped trying to find a way to possess me again.”

  “You may be right, and he will release your uncle—this time,” I said. “But now that he’s found the right lever, what makes you think that Volitar will ever be safe from him?”

  One hand grabbed the half-empty waterskin and squeezed hard. “What makes you think he will live long, after he releases my uncle?”

  I sat quietly, considering what she had said. Finally I asked: “Why have you told me all this?”

  “To convince you to let me go. Alone. I thought, if I told you everything …”

  “Is this everything?”

  “Yes. I swear it. And now that I have told you so much, will you tell me one thing?”

  “I don’t know. You can ask.”

  “Molik gloated over the high fee he charged, to send his men into Thagorn. Why does someone hate you that much?”

  “There’s a certain roguelord in Raithskar,” I said. “He and Molik would make a good pair. I killed one of his men—it was unavoidable. I have no idea how he knew that I would be in Thagorn. You left Chizan about the same time I left Raithskar. Even if Worfit’s spies had overheard when I was going, and even if a maufa could make it to Chizan in one day—”

  “Worfit?” she interrupted my speculation. “Who is Worfit?”

  “The roguelord who wants to kill me,” I explained, with exaggerated patience.

  “But … I told you that Molik boasted in front of me. He even let slip the name of the man who paid him, and he was angry with himself for doing it. I’m sure that Worfit wasn’t the name I heard.”

  Great day in the morning! I felt thoroughly exasperated. I no more than get one thing figured out …

  “All right,” I sighed. “Who did pay Molik to threaten Volitar to force Tarani to take hired killers into the house that Jack built?”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Who hired Molik?”

  “I’ve never heard of the man. But his name was Gharlas.”

  12

  “THYMAS!”

  I yelled it at the top of my voice, scaring Tarani into a quick retreat, and sending the bird fluttering up. The girl ordered: “Lonna, bring Thymas.” The white bird circled a few turns, then took off westward.

  “If it took that loaded caravan of yours two seven-days to get to Thagorn, we should be able to ride to Chizan from here in about a third of that time …”

  I was talking to myself, mostly, as I tied together the packs I couldn’t help thinking of as “saddlebags.” A Rider held their joining rope across his thighs when he traveled, so that the heavy rope would not chafe his sha’um’s back.

  “My only chance to save Volitar is by facing Molik alone,” Tarani cried. “If you come with me, you’ll be killing Volitar!”

  I kept working, ignoring her.

  She came over to me and grabbed my arm. “If you don’t care about Volitar, what about Thymas. What do you think it will do to him, to learn the truth about Molik?”

  “Thymas claims to be an adult,” I snapped, “though he doesn’t show it much when he’s around you. If you’re so worried about shocking him, maybe you’d better tell him yourself, before Molik rubs it in his face.

  “I am going to Chizan,” I told her. “And you are going with me, because you are my key to Molik. If you want me to order Thymas to stay behind, I’ll do that. I’m sure he’ll be glad to ride back to Thagorn and leave us alone together.”

  I shrugged off her hands.

  “Sure he will,” I said. “Thymas will be behind us all the way. He’ll disobey my orders, break his promise to his father, and effectively exile himself from Thagorn. He’ll think it’s worth it, too, if he can have you at that price.

  “You can have a wonderful, wandering life together,” I continued savagely. “And that should suit you just fine. You’ll have a sha’um for the star of your show.”

  I had finished tying my packs, and Thymas’s too. Looking around, I found the backpack Tarani had used. I picked it up and tossed it to her. “Thymas will be here in a minute,” I said. “Get ready to go.”

  She caught the bag awkwardly, then threw it to the ground.

  “No!” she yelled. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes were gleaming slits of black. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth, exposing the canine tusks.

  “Put that travel bag on,” I said. I kept my voice soft, but I was in no mood to accept interference, and I tried to make that clear to her.

  “There is nothing you can do to force me,” she said. “Without me, you’ll never get close to Molik. That’s not a threat—it’s the truth.”

  Molik has her uncle, I thought. And Thymas has her affection, or trust, or maybe even love. But I don’t have any hold on her, is that it? I’ve already wasted the only thing that might have worked—the chance of telling Thymas about Molik.

  There’s always physical force, I considered briefly. But look at the way she’s standing—like she expects something like that.

  First, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of being predictable.

  Second, she’s got her strength back, and she’s mad as hell, besides. It wouldn’t be easy.

  Third, neither Ricardo nor Markasset was the sort of man to bully people. Rikardon, Captain of the Sharith, isn’t about to start.

  “You want us tromping all over Chizan, looking for Molik?” I asked. “Maybe we won’t find him. But he’ll know we’re there. He’ll have plenty of time to give orders about Volitar.”

  “You are despicable!” she hissed. “You’d throw away the life of a good man like Volitar—”

  “I don’t even know Volitar,” I said. “My interest is in finding Gharlas.”

  “And I don’t give a fleabite about this Gharlas!” she shouted.

  “What about Gharlas?” Thymas cried, as he slid off his sha’um’s back.

  I turned on him so fast that he flinched back.

  “You have a positive talent for popping up at a critical moment,” I snarled. “Now stay out of this.”

  To Tarani, I said: “Are you coming with us, or not?”

  She thought for a moment, visibly calming down. “On condition that you’ll see Volitar safe, before you chase this Gharlas,” she said. “In return, I will do all I can to help you find him. Who is Gharlas, anyway?”

  “A thief,” I said. “He has—” I caught a look of warning from Thymas. His message was clear: the Ra’ira was Sharith business. Tarani didn’t need the information, and I didn’t need to antagonize Thymas any further. I recovered as best I could. “—tried to kill either Dharak or me. I have a condition, too. A dead Molik can’t give us any answers about Gharlas.”

  “Molik will tell you what you want to know, before he dies. But Volitar’s freedom is to be our first priority. Agreed?”

  I sighed. “All right, Tarani, it’s a deal. Now get ready to go.”

  She started to strap on her pack.

  “Wait,” I interrupted her. “Can your bird take a written message to Dharak?”

  She nodded, dropped the bag again, and started digging in it. She brought out some thin strips of leather and a small glass bottle of ink wrapped in padded fabric. The cork stopper of the bottle had the three-inch handle of a brush pushed through it, and she used the brush to take down the few words I had to say to Dharak.

  “Gharlas hired assassins. Going to Chizan in pursuit.”

  I signed the message, having less trouble than I expected with the many-lined Gandalaran characters. She tied the strip to Lonna’s leg, then tossed her up into the air with one word of instruction. “Dharak.”

  He’s going to read that and say, “I told you so.” Why am I doing this? The trail will be two weeks old before we get there. It was the sudde
nness, I guess, the surprise. It’s almost as though I were meant to …

  I’m sounding like Dharak. I know why I’m doing this. Because I believe Tarani. Gharlas gave me an excuse to change my mind, and try to help her.

  I called Keeshah, and looked around the camp to see if anything had been left. That was when I noticed that Thymas had untied his pack. He was shaking out a rope net, and laying it down on the ground. As I watched, he pulled a tightly rolled pad from the open pack, and began to spread it across the net.

  The first time I had seen one of those things, Zaddorn had been rolled up in it like a rag doll. The nets were designed to carry supplies when the Riders wanted to move fast. They opened flat to a size of about six feet by four, and the short ends were tied off onto a series of bronze rings. Such nets would be loaded, the ropes at each corner threaded through the rings, then the ropes looped around a Rider’s hips and fastened in a sliding-ring catch. Two Riders hauled one net, dividing the extra weight between their sha’um.

  I remembered how Zaddorn had looked when he rolled out of that Sharith cargo net. His clothes had been worn through in places, and his skin abraded by the thick, rough rope.

  “At least you’re padding it for her,” I said sarcastically. Tarani’s worried gaze left the net to rest on me, but Thymas missed the point.

  “I knew we would have to carry her back to Thagorn,” he answered steadily, still unrolling the pad. “I planned to make her as comfortable as possible.”

  “You don’t really propose to cart her all the way to Chizan in that thing, do you?” I asked him. “If she doesn’t suffocate in the padding, she’ll be too stiff to move!”

  “She has to come with us,” he said, looking puzzled.

  “Of course, she has to come with us,” I repeated impatiently, thinking: We aren’t communicating. Either he’s missing something, or I am. “But not like that. Let her ride.”

  Very slowly, his lips formed a single, silent question. Ride?

  “No female sha’um has ever come out of the Valley,” he said, looking around behind him, as though I had suddenly seen one appear.