The Bronze of Eddarta Page 16
Thymas’s head popped up, two rows away and some thirty feet behind us. “Here,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I was asleep—”
“You woke suddenly. When you didn’t see me, you assumed that I had fallen behind, once more, isn’t that right?”
He said it with a bristling finality that dared me to contradict him. I could see him well enough in the pale moonlight to read sullenness in the shape of his mouth, resentment in the set of his shoulders.
I tried to count to ten. I got all the way to two.
“Sure, that’s right,” I agreed. “You’re our weak link, Thymas. You and Ronar. Of course I have to look out for you all the time.” I could find no trace in myself of the gentle kinship I had sensed earlier. “I was so afraid you’d just quit on us that I gave you Serkajon’s sword to bring to Eddarta. You might fail us, I reasoned, but you’d never shirk your fleabitten Sharith duty!”
“Rikardon!” Tarani shouted, pulling at my shoulders. “You will regret what you have said. Be silent now.”
Thymas looked grim. He was walking Ronar along the row of frames, coming opposite Keeshah.
“I’ve coddled this fool with my silence long enough,” I said. “Now I’ll say what he’s wanted to hear—that he’s been a stone around our necks ever since we left Thagorn. He lied to his father when he promised to obey me. His actions have sometimes been obedient, but his thoughts never have. Twice, Gharlas has used him to try to kill me. I can’t help but think there was a predisposition in that direction before Gharlas took a hand.”
Thymas was facing me, now, across the top of the barrier. He was deadly calm. “You’re right about that last, Rikardon. Let’s get out of this field, and settle it. I’ll even give you back Serkajon’s ever-precious sword.”
“I don’t want to kill you, Thymas—for Dharak’s sake. And I don’t need Rika to loosen your tusks.”
Keeshah and Ronar leaped away, running down the parallel rows to the end of the field. Tarani was beating on my shoulders, shouting something I refused to hear.
When we reached an open meadow, I slid off Keeshah’s back, knocking away Tarani’s clutching hands. Thymas landed on the ground at the same time, berries showering out from the cupped hem of his tunic.
I threw myself at him.
He ducked my swinging fist, and tripped me. I went down and rolled; his stomping foot hit the grassy stuff instead of my throat. He was on me again as I got to my feet. I let my balance shift backward, flipping him over my head as we fell. I jumped for him, landing on the ground as he rolled out from under just in time. He got to his feet and swung a kick at my ribs that connected with breath-stopping power.
I caught the leg, pulled him off balance, crawled up his body, felt the satisfaction of my fist slamming into his jaw.
Suddenly, there were three of us on the ground, wrestling. Tarani had thrust herself between us and was pushing us apart, taking some of our blows and delivering a few of her own in the process.
“Stop it!” she was yelling. “For Zanek’s sake, will you two fleasons stop it!”
It was as though I were waking from a dream. The meadow was gray and silver in the moonlight. I could sense the vine-frames looming behind me. I could see Keeshah and Ronar, facing each other across us, their thickened tails and standing neckfur clearly revealed in silhouette against the grayish sky.
I sat on the ground, looking at Tarani, and remembered the sting of her hand across my face. Thymas, too, seemed stunned by the girl’s fury.
“Fools!’ she was raging. “Both of you—fools! Will you do to yourselves what Gharlas could not?” She stood up, making a sound of contempt. “If I thought Keeshah would carry me alone, I would take the Ra’ira and go. Indomel would be delighted, I’m sure, to find you fighting each other.”
“Indomel?” Thymas echoed. “But Zefra was controlling him.”
“Believing that her power was increased by the Ra’ira,” I said. “That extra strength won’t last long. Then they will send out pursuit.”
“If I were in his place, I’d let us go quietly,” Thymas said. “He thinks he has the Ra’ira—if we were caught, we could tell others.”
“He is obligated to avenge the death of his father,” I said. “He will make a show, at least, of pursuing us. And if he finds us, you can bet we won’t have much chance to do any talking.”
Thymas stared at me for so long that I wondered if his mind had slipped away. Then Tarani said: “Of course—you did not know that the man you killed was Pylomel.”
“The High Lord?” Thymas said, still trying to understand. He surged to his feet, went to Tarani and touched her arms. “Your father, Tarani … I didn’t know, I swear by the first King.”
The girl jerked herself away from him. “Volitar was my true father,” she snapped. “The sha’um can outrun any pursuit Indomel may send,” she said. “Shall we go on?”
“Not together,” Thymas said. He pulled Rika out of his baldric, and turned to face me. The blade shone softly in the moonglow.
What little refreshment I had gained from my nap on Keeshah’s back had been drained away by our brief, explosive struggle. Where I wasn’t actually cut or bruised, I ached with weariness. The desperate strength that had kept me going through the fight with Gharlas and the riotous trip down the Tashal was utterly used up. I knew, and the boy knew, and Tarani knew, that if Thymas wanted to kill me, he could.
He grabbed the long steel blade, and offered me the hilt of Serkajon’s sword.
“I knew why you gave me this at Stomestad,” he said angrily. “Am I a cub, to be tricked and teased into doing what I promised? Take it back, and free me from this ‘team’. You have the Ra’ira. Our purpose is finished.”
Numbly, I reached out and accepted the sword. The hilt felt cool and right in my hand, and I realized how much I had missed having Rika with me. I pulled myself to my feet, drew the sword I carried, and offered it hilt-first to the boy.
“I had to surrender your sword to a Lord City guard, Thymas,” I said. “Take this one, for now. When I return to Raithskar, and our purpose is really finished, I’ll replace it with the best sword I can find. Something worthy of the next Lieutenant.”
Thymas lifted the bronze blade, and slipped it through his baldric.
“I never meant to let you think you weren’t trusted or important,” I said. “We’d have failed without you. I saw what it cost you to throw off Gharlas’s control.”
And to overcome your conditioning about water, I thought. It took guts to jump out to that raft. Only I can’t say that without explaining why I wasn’t horrified by the very concept of floating on a river.
“I can’t say it’s always been a pleasure, Thymas, but riding with you and Ronar has been an honor. I owe you a life-debt many times over. If you ever need someone to guard you …”
Hesitantly, I held out my hand.
Thymas had seen me use the handshake, before, as a parting or greeting gesture. He gripped my hand with a warmth that surprised me. It must have surprised him, too; he seemed embarrassed as he spoke.
“We share that life-debt, Rikardon,” he said. “I respect your sword, and I’ve learned to respect your leadership. I can’t yet call you a friend, as Dharak does. But I do call you Captain.”
It was the last thing I expected to hear from Thymas. I was too stunned to speak. I walked over to Ronar, and offered my left hand, palm up. He dipped his head, and the stiff/softness of whiskers and fur grazed my palm. I reached up to stroke the fur along his cheek. That was a liberty usually permitted only to a sha’um’s rider, and I was pleased that Ronar allowed it.
I discovered that my voice was working again. “It has been good, riding with you,” I told the sha’um, then turned back to Thymas.
He and Tarani were locked in a close embrace, kissing. I stared in shock, too tired to be embarrassed, in too much physical pain to feel the inner hurting. Much.
When they pulled apart, I said: “Go w
ith him if you want to, Tarani.”
“Why would you think she wants to come with me?” Thymas asked, his chin hooked over Tarani’s arm, which still rested on his shoulder.
I made an indefinite gesture to indicate their present physical arrangement. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because she loves you,” he said. “She told me so in Stomestad.”
Before I could hold it back, I stammered: “But—but I saw you, the night before we left …”
Tarani dropped her arms and stepped around Thymas. “You saw us?” she demanded.
“Accidentally,” I hurried to say. “I was walking by the room—”
“Is that why you—?” She stopped herself abruptly, with a glance at Thymas. I couldn’t tell in the dim light, but I thought she was blushing.
“No,” I said. “I told you, Thymas had nothing to do with that.”
“With what?” Thymas asked, plainly bewildered. When neither one of us answered, he shrugged. “Well, Captain, what you saw in Stomestad was a good-bye to what Tarani and I once shared. I had fewer regrets than I expected; Tarani had changed, and you and she seemed to belong together. We promised friendship, but our love isn’t forgotten. Do you begrudge me a farewell kiss?”
“It may not be farewell,” Tarani said, looking at me. “Rikardon suggested I go with you. Perhaps he wants it that way.”
A sound startled us all. Thymas was laughing. It was the first time I had heard his laugh; it was a full, hearty noise that cracked through the tension in the air. He walked to Ronar and mounted, still laughing. As the sha’um stood up, he said: “Maybe if I leave you two alone, you can start talking to each other. And that’s one conversation I’m not sorry to miss.” He took a deep breath. “I think I understand you better, now, Rikardon. You’re still the strangest man I’ve ever met—and you and Tarani are well matched. You’ll both be welcome in Thagorn at any time.”
“Thank you, Thymas,” I said, and pulled my attention away from Tarani. “Give Dharak my best regards.”
“I will,” he promised. He waved a hand to me, and then to Tarani.
Even after Ronar’s running figure had disappeared, I stood still, staring off into the distance, not the least surprised that I already missed the boy. Tarani’s hand on my shoulder drew me back to the present.
I turned and held her closely, gently.
*Go soon?* Keeshah asked.
“Keeshah is restless,” I said, still holding Tarani. “We do have some talking to do … can it wait?”
I felt her head moving against my shoulder as she nodded. Keeshah crouched, and we mounted, Tarani riding second, as usual. There was special meaning to the weight of her body against my back.
*Take us home to Raithskar,* I told Keeshah, and let myself really relax.
It’s a little-known fact of life, I thought sleepily, that, now and then, the odds have to turn in your favor.
END PROCEEDINGS:
INPUT SESSION THREE
—I shall withdraw our minds from the All-Mind … and mine from yours … Is the Record now complete?
—This portion of it is complete, yes.
—Will you wish to Record again?
—Someday the full accounting must be made to the All-Mind. But, as you promised, the Recording process is fatiguing. I must rest before I can begin the next portion. May I call upon you again, Recorder?
—At any time. I am at your service.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
VICKI ANN HEYDRON met RANDALL GARRETT in 1975. In 1978, they were married, and also began planning the Gandalara Cycle. A broad outline for the entire Cycle had been completed, and a draft of The Steel of Raithskar nearly finished, when Randall suffered serious and permanent injury. Working from their outline, Vicki has completed the Cycle. Of all seven books, Vicki feels that The River Wall is most uniquely hers. The other titles in the Cycle are The Glass of Dyskornis, The Bronze of Eddarta, The Well of Darkness, The Search for Kä, and Return to Eddarta.
ALSO BY RANDALL GARRETT
THE GANDALARA CYCLE
(with Vicki Ann Heydron)
The Steel of Rathskar
The Glass of Dyskornis
The Bronze of Eddarta
The Well of Darkness
The Search for Kä
Return to Eddarta
The River Wall
THE LORD DARCY SERIES
Murder and Magic
Too Many Magicians
Lord Darcy Investigates
all available as Jabberwocky ebooks
THANK YOU FOR READING
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