Return to Eddarta Page 12

  The men around the table looked uneasily at one another. Indomel saw the exchange, and a muscle in his cheek started to twitch.

  “I make one last point, my Lords. Sarel has said that the balance between my proven mindgift and Indomel’s proven birthright is even, and he offers you the security of the known in Indomel’s favor. I offer two things to be considered in the balance.

  “First, I bring you the unknown, and with it the opportunity for change, with my promise I shall learn what is before I offer alternatives.

  “Second, the sword of the Kings has returned to light in my hand. I believe that to be both confirmation of my right to lead and an omen of renewed prosperity for the descendants of the Kings.

  “Indomel and Tarani bid to be High Lord,” she finished. “The Lords must choose who they will follow.”

  15

  “Lies!” Indomel exploded. “She speaks only the vicious lies she heard from Zefra, that dralda who claims to be her mother and … my … mother… .”

  Indomel’s voice trailed off, as he realized what he was saying.

  Beside me, Zefra smiled.

  Hollin leaned over the table and looked down it toward Indomel and Tarani. “You are a stranger to me, Tarani,” he said.

  I thought back, and realized that while a large population in Lower Eddarta had seen us coming into the city, only Indomel‘s guards had seen us inside Lord City. If you don’t count our breakneck escape from Eddarta the night Thymas killed Pylomel, that is, I thought. Everybody in Lord Hall that night was too busy panicking to get a good look at us.

  Hollin’s statement seemed to require some sort of answer. Tarani nodded.

  “Where did you gain your knowledge of Eddartan law, and how did you learn of what you claim to be your true parentage?”

  “I learned the identity of my mother,” she said, “from a single letter sent to Volitar from Eddarta, hoarded as a man cherishes a great treasure. It is from Zefra that I have learned all else that pertains to Eddarta.”

  “Zefra,” Hollin said. Tarani’s mother stepped away from me to stand beside her daughter.

  “Yes, Hollin.”

  “Am I mistaken in my belief that, until today, you have not left the home of the High Lord without escort since your return to Eddarta, twenty years ago?”

  “You are not mistaken, Hollin,” Zefra answered, tossing her head back. “I have been imprisoned, first by my husband, and then by my son. I thank you for your assistance in freeing me today.”

  Zefra said she had “contacts,” I thought. Hollin must be one of them. But Zefra, obviously, has not told him about Tarani. Good move, I’d guess. Hollin seems a fair man. If he thought Zefra had tried to pre-influence him for this decision, he would have less respect for Tarani.

  “Will you explain,” Hollin said, “how you were able to share your knowledge with your daughter?”

  “Tarani joined my imprisonment, Hollin. We were together for nearly a moon, and learned much of each other in that time.”

  “Who was High Lord during that period?” Hollin asked, with an increased tension in his voice.

  “Indomel,” Zefra said. “I dare to anticipate your next question, Hollin. Indomel had been told the same truth I spoke outside—that Tarani is Pylomel’s firstborn child.”

  Hollin fairly roared at Indomel: “Confirm or deny!”

  The boy jumped in fright, shrank back, then straightened his shoulders and regained a shred of composure.

  “Confirmed,” he said. “What my mother leaves out is that Tarani came to Lord City as a thief, intending to steal the—uh, the High Lord’s treasure. I apprehended her and, out of consideration of her possible family connection to me, chose to detain her in the comfort of Zefra’s apartments, rather than assign her to one of the mines.”

  Indomel stepped toward the center of his end of the table, crowding Zefra.

  “Be aware, fellow Lords, that theft remains her goal even now, as she presses this preposterous claim.”

  A pair of hands slapped the tile-topped table, and we all jumped at the sound. The Lord seated nearest Tarani, an old man with only a wispy fringe remaining around a nearly bald pate, scraped back his chair and stood up.

  “Forgive me, Lord Hollin,” he said in a scratchy, no-nonsense voice, “but I am too old to stand on ceremony when it is not necessary. What we have here is an insoluble matter of opinion, with no way to tell who is and who is not lying. The lady Zefra,” he said, with a bobbing bow in her direction, “while she is loved by us all, is known to have been—ah—erratic in the past and—ah—somewhat in conflict with the High Lord. I hasten to say that I personally believe Zefra, but I hesitate to base a Council decision solely on her statements.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Great Harthim,” he muttered, as if to himself, “I am getting to be as bad as everyone else.”

  He continued more loudly. “To—ah—get to the point quickly, only three things I have heard today were worth listening to. One was the reading of the Bronze.” The old man bowed to Tarani. “For that I thank you, my dear. The second was Sarel’s evaluation that, by ordinary means of judging, Indomel and Tarani are equally qualified to be High Lord. And the third, my friends, the third was Tarani’s assessment of the qualities of leadership.

  “The lady has been called a thief. Would anyone here deny that Indomel has been called worse things?”

  A few snickers, quickly muffled, sounded around the table.

  “Lord Hollin, you are the expert on the rules, but it seems to me that this situation calls for a vote. I shall claim the privilege of age and give you mine now, to spare these old bones the chore of standing up again.

  “I recommend the Council choose Tarani.”

  The old man sat down.

  One by one, the other Lords stood up and voted for Tarani. It was unanimous. Indomel watched each Lord with wild eyes, and when the sixth vote was cast, he started to shout.

  “You fools!” he yelled. “She will dominate you all. She knows how to use the—the—the—”

  His eyes bulged and he stopped trying to talk. His hands flew to his throat and he made ineffectual gasping motions with his mouth.

  Tarani scrambled around her mother to support the boy as he struggled for air, then looked sternly at Zefra and said, “Stop it.”

  Zefra’s face shone with triumph and vindication, and in her eyes burned the glow of mindpower.

  “Stop it, Mother!” Tarani ordered again.

  She was taller and looked stronger than the sallow boy who had been High Lord of Eddarta—who was on the verge of passing out. The Lord beside them had stood up in alarm, and Tarani passed the ailing boy into his hands. Zefra’s eyes followed Indomel’s movement.

  Tarani took one step toward her mother and delivered a perfect right cross. Zefra flew back into the old Lord’s lap, and Indomel started breathing—noisily. Tarani glanced at me, and I remembered how to move. Together we pulled Zefra off the flustered old man, each of us draping one of her arms over our shoulders.

  “As Zefra said, she and I had time to get to know one another during the period of my imprisonment,” Tarani said, addressing the Lords. “Her life of solitude has left her unbalanced on the side of hatred and vengeance. I will not allow her to express those feelings through abuse of her power.”

  She glanced at Indomel, who had all he could do to stay on his feet.

  “I accept the place you offer me with gratitude and great hope for the future, my Lords. Hollin, I will appreciate your seeing to whatever has to be done officially. I shall take Zefra to the Harthim residence and begin the process of making it my home. When Indomel is sufficiently recovered, please ask the guards to escort him there, as well.

  “Rikardon,” she said (and it was my ego, and not her voice, that made it seem an afterthought), “will reside with us. On the third day from now, let us meet here again, and begin my education. For now, gentlemen, good day.”

  Hollin came out of the Council chamber ahead of
us and held back an intensely curious crowd while Tarani and I dragged her mother out of Lord Hall and down the walkway leading to the Harthim family area, and the huge and rambling structure in which the High Lord traditionally lived. Hollin must have given some kind of signal, because a squad of the High Guard—until recently at the command of Indomel—followed us at a respectful distance.

  “Zefra is going to be furious when she wakes up,” I whispered.

  “And she will meet a greater fury,” Tarani said grimly. “How bitter that the first act to take place under my leadership should be attempted murder, through compulsion. I dared not even speak to her, Rikardon,” she said, “much less begin to counteract the compulsion, as I did at the city gates. My anger was too great.”

  “You handled it in the best way possible,” I assured her. And then, because I did not like Zefra very much and felt a trifle guilty about that, I said: “I suspect her anger got away from her, too, and that all she started out to do was keep Indomel from mentioning—”

  I prudently left the word unsaid, and Tarani looked at me over her mother’s head and smiled, just a little. “Thank you for saying that, Rikardon. I will make an effort to see the incident as kindly as you do.” Her gaze rested for a moment on her mother’s head, which wobbled slightly with the concussion of our steps. “It would be ironic, would it not, if I felt forced to continue Zefra’s imprisonment?”

  We had reached the entry to the Harthim area, which was an opening between two barracks buildings. The two men on guard stepped toward the center of the path to block our way, then caught sight of the honor guard behind us and separated again. They offered to help with Zefra, but we declined. She was a small burden for the two of us, and I suspected that Tarani relished the contact with her mother.

  The back entrance to the big house lay just beyond the barracks. We went inside and wound through the twisting, unpredictable corridors to Zefra’s room. I left Tarani alone with Zefra, and wandered off on my own.

  I was looking for, and wanted badly, a flask of barut.

  That wasn’t so bad, I thought. If you’re fond of tension and you enjoy confrontation.

  I snagged a servant who replied to my request for directions with a mumbled answer and a reluctance to look me in the face, then hurried off. Following his guidance, I found the sitting room close to the front of the house, in which Indomel had conducted a memorably uncomfortable interview, just before he sent me off to serve at the Lingis copper mine.

  The refreshments I sought were there, and I helped myself.

  There was also an ornamented wooden box—the same one in which I had seen Indomel place the Ra’ira on my last occasion in this room.

  Nah, I thought. It can’t be that easy.

  I had my hand on the box when someone knocked at the door, scaring me into spilling barut on the woven carpet.

  “Yes?” I called.

  The door opened and a guard stepped in, holding a droopy-looking Indomel by one elbow.

  “As the High Lord commanded,” the guard said stiffly, “Indomel has been brought to the house of Harthim. Are there further instructions?”

  You’re asking me? I thought.

  Indomel looked like a man with a broken spirit, but I had good reason to respect the boy’s capacity for deceit.

  “Take him to one of the—uh—spare rooms, and set a guard on his door. The High Lord will provide further instructions later.”

  The guard nodded and started back out the door, pulling Indomel with him. I felt relieved that he had accepted my authority to give that kind of direction, and a little chagrined at having been put in the place of Assistant High Lord.

  Indomel resisted the guard’s movement, dragging himself backward and holding on to the door sill. He looked me full in the face, and I thought: He lost, and it hurts—but he’s not down. I must remember to warn Tarani, if she doesn’t already know not to trust the kid.

  Indomel’s gaze flickered from me to the box and back again.

  “Enjoy it,” he whispered, “for all the good it may do you. It is barren and useless.”

  The guard dragged him away.

  I opened the box, and took out a palm-sized blue stone: the Ra’ira.

  16

  It was dark by the time I saw Tarani again that day. I was still in the sitting room, and doing a good imitation of Dharak. Tarani opened the door and looked in, then came through the closed door. She touched me, leaned down to kiss me lightly, then settled onto a divan and sighed heavily. We were both still wearing the clothes in which we had arrived—desert tunic and trousers.

  One lamp was burning in the room, the candle flame brightened by the facets in the glass chimney surrounding it. Tarani lay her head back and closed her eyes. After a moment or two, she roused again.

  “Did you eat something?” she asked me.

  “Yes, one of the—uh—”

  “Servants,” she said, emphasizing the word. “I have made it clear to the head of household maintenance that no slaves will be permitted in this house.” She shrugged. “A small beginning which will not threaten the other Lords, but speaks for the changes I desire to make.”

  “One day as High Lord,” I said, “and you are already thinking like a statesman. Yes, one of the servants found me in here, took pity, and brought me some dinner. What about you? Have you had time to eat?”

  She looked at me sharply.

  “This room is near the front entry, remember. I’ve heard the traffic; I know you’ve been busy. I kept expecting to be moved out of here, so you could use this room for meetings, or whatever.”

  “Things never quite reached that degree of formality,” Tarani said, rubbing a hand across her eyes. “I stayed with Zefra until she woke, and we had a moment of the fury you predicted. Then she became remorseful, and we were finally able merely to greet one another as mother and daughter.

  “I saw Indomel briefly—thank you for the arrangements you made, by the way; they exactly matched my intent—and assured him he would remain here, in a degree of confinement that corresponds to his proven trustworthiness.

  “Hollin called on me to discuss the public transfer of power—a Celebration Dance will be held in two-days’ time.

  “I have had a brief meeting with each of the other Lords. It is odd, Rikardon; I find them to be largely well-intentioned men who support the Eddartan system because it is what they know. They represent the interests of their families with care and honor. One or two—Sarel, in particular—seem to be more willing to be greedy for themselves than for their families. They are intelligent people, and open to new ideas. I see much that can be done here, Rikardon.”

  There was a fervor in her voice I had never heard before. I sipped my third small glass of barut, and let her talk until she wound down and noticed my silence.

  She laughed self-consciously.

  “Forgive me for prattling, my love. This has been an exciting day, a new beginning for me.” She got up and went to pour her own glass of barut.

  She saw the ornate box. She set down the flask and opened the box, and gasped a little as she took out the stone and held it toward the lamp. The candlelight shimmered along the stone’s intricate structure lines, casting a refracted blue glow back over Tarani’s face.

  She closed her hand around the gem, and turned to me.

  “This is the reason you have stayed in here all day, is it not? You were guarding the stone.”

  I shook my head.

  “I was thinking,” I corrected her. “About many things, some of them very personal. But I was thinking a lot about that.” I nodded toward the hand that held the Ra’ira.

  I stood up, took her arm, and guided her to stand by the window and look out into the huge garden. By the light of an oil lamp, a gardener was pouring water from a ceramic jug into an irrigation channel.

  “Try to tell me what that man is thinking,” I said.

  She stared at me.

  “Go on,” I urged. “I’d offer myself as a test, but we’ve alr
eady seen that my mind is different, and less accessible.”

  “I—all right. I will try.”

  She certainly seemed to try. Her body went tense, her eyes closed, and lines of effort appeared in her forehead. After a moment, she relaxed and inhaled deeply.

  “I feel nothing,” she said.

  “I’ve been putting things together,” I said. “Indomel has a lot of power, yet he was never able to use the stone.” She looked at me in surprise and I explained: “He told me so himself, when he arrived this afternoon. He would have no reason to lie about it.

  “You said, in Iribos, that you believed the Ra’ira would have some special feeling to it when it was used—and you’ve just now proved that your greater power can’t activate it.”

  Tarani pushed me away from the window and paced across the room. She opened her hand and stared at the blue jewel.

  “It could be a trick of learning,” she said. But her voice sounded doubtful, and I knew that her mind had admitted the same terrifying suspicion that had plagued me all afternoon.

  “Tarani, I have used the Ra’ira,” I said, startling her. “Not as myself, but while I shared the lifememory of Zanek. I was there at the moment he discovered the power. There was no trick, no combination of factors to be perfectly arranged. He held the stone, and could hear the thoughts of the people around him as clearly as he could hear their voices.

  “Think back to the lifememory of Serkajon that you and I shared in Kä. When Zanek appeared in Serkajon’s memory as a Visitor, he used the Ra’ira’s power to watch the movement of the guards while he stole the gem from Harthim’s bedroom. Do you recall that? How little effort it took to make the thing work? As soon as he was near the stone, he could use it.”

  She was nodding. “Yes, I do remember,” she said, frowning. “But Zanek’s power was born of an earlier age,” she protested. “Perhaps the modern mindgift is not strong enough—” She paused. She held up her hand to caution me against interrupting her thoughts. “Obviously, the Supervisors in Raithskar have been able to use the Ra’ira’s power on the vineh. But I see a qualitative difference between seeing an animal’s intent to violence and understanding the rational thought of a man. Perhaps the Kings had a different sort of power, and it has been lost in the years since the Kingdom fell.”