The Bronze of Eddarta (19 page)

“Do not take us for fools, Indomel,” Tarani said. “We have not come this far to give up now.”

“I am not often generous, sister, as you should have learned by now, if only from Zefra’s teaching. Why don’t you consult with your friends? I can’t imagine two healthy young men sharing the company of such a delightful creature without becoming totally devoted to her. How do they feel about your being the first to die?”

Tarani jerked convulsively, then doubled over, moaning in pain, and Indomel sighed. “You may have a strong gift, Tarani, but it is limited by your kindness. I have no such restraint on mine.” He waved his hand, as if in dismissal. “I have nothing to fear from you.”

“Then let her go!” I shouted, running around the table to put my arms around the girl. Thymas was right behind me.

“Stop hurting her,” he growled, “or I will cut your hands off and feed them to you.”

Indomel, self-assured as he had seemed until then, took a step backward before Thymas’s ferocity. Then he straightened his shoulders and spoke with some bravado: “I will stop when I have the Ra’ira.”

Tarani gasped: “No!”

I stared at Indomel, projecting my hatred. I hoped that, if his power could penetrate my “double-mindedness”, the strong emotion would mask my plans.

“It isn’t worth Tarani’s life, Thymas,” I said. I opened the pouch at my belt and pulled out the duplicate we had brought from Volitar’s workshop, that Gharlas had wanted so desperately to possess.

Indomel’s long, thin fingers took the glass piece from my hand. He turned it over once, looking at it carefully; then Tarani stood up, free of pain. She kept one hand clenched around the real Ra’ira; the other hand reached for mine and pressed it tightly.

“The Ra’ira,” Indomel breathed, looking through the blue “stone” toward the light. He was trying to seem only politely interested, but his breathing had quickened. He was beginning to see the implications of what he
thought
he had.

“There have always been legends, of course, that this beautiful bauble had some power of its own. How I shall enjoy learning the truth of it.

“How did it come to be in Eddarta?” he asked.

“Gharlas stole it from Raithskar,” I answered shortly. “You said you would let us go.”

“Oh, yes, certainly. Go on. I’m sure my dear sister can provide you concealment as you move through the celebration. You may wish to pause a moment, and have a dance or two. What are you waiting for? Go on.” His eyes never left the blue stone as he waved us past him.

We moved down the room toward the entry door. Tarani turned back to her mother. “Zefra?” she said uncertainly. “Please …”

“I will stay,” Zefra said. “I—regret striking you, Tarani. I heard Volitar’s words in your voice, and they shamed me. But I cannot change now, daughter. Go carefully … and be safe.”

Tarani waved her hand slightly, then pulled herself around to face the chamber door. Music and laughter greeted us as we opened it. A short corridor lay before us. Beyond the open entryway we could see the food-serving area of the party, a chaotic collection of tables and servants.

Without bodies blocking sight of our actions from the Council Chamber I took the Ra’ira from Tarani’s unresisting hand, and put it in my pouch. We sheathed our swords and joined hands.

“Ready?” Tarani asked.

Thymas and I nodded, and the three of us stepped out into the Celebration Dance.

The door moved behind us, and we heard the muffled sounds of a struggle. We jumped back into the concealment of the hallway and whirled around.

Indomel was pressing back against the stone wall, fury and amazement plain in his face. His mouth opened and closed, but made no sound.

Zefra stood near him, not touching him. She was glowing with triumph. “He planned to betray you to the Guard,” she said, then smiled grimly. “But I have power that not even my dear son suspects. I can control him—for a time. With your help, Tarani,
we
could control him—always. Perhaps he is right, and you could not be acclaimed High Lord. But we could use
Indomel
himself, Tarani, to bring about the changes we know are right. I ask you again: stay.”

Tarani hesitated.

I thought, again, how much the two women resembled one another. Height, facial structure, bearing—it was uncanny. Could I blame Tarani for feeling the call of a common heritage that was so plainly visible to all of us?

What will I do if she wants to stay?
I wondered.
It’s her choice. Please, Tarani …

She said, softly and sadly: “No.”

Zefra sighed, and I started to breathe again.

“Then go quickly, daughter,” Zefra said, and opened her hands to show us what she held. “I will keep the Ra’ira.” She watched us warily, prepared for some argument.

“Keep it, then,” Tarani said. “But don’t rely upon it, Mother—remember that the Kingdom fell, without it.

“Thymas. Rikardon.”

The commanding tone of her voice hid the grief I knew Tarani must be feeling. Deceiving Zefra was
necessary.
Using her power to help us get away was
necessary.
Leaving her was
necessary.

But the only thing that made it
possible
for Tarani was the glimpse she had been granted of her mother’s desire for actual power. There was no stronger argument for securing the true Ra’ira than the way Zefra, who knew the corruptive influence of power better than most, coveted that harmless piece of blue glass.

So we turned away and started once more across the dance floor. I felt Tarani’s hand trembling, and I knew she was close to collapse. Possibly for that reason, she had assumed the familiar semblance of Rassa, and given me the look of Yoman. Thymas she had not changed physically, but she had given him, as well as us, clothing appropriate to the occasion.

We moved around the tables slowly, only pretending to be surveying the selection of refreshments. Ahead of us was the door which led to the main avenue of the city—and to the entry gate. To our left and right, the ballroom flowed around the Council Chamber that was the core of Lord Hall. People milled and danced, laughed and talked. And one particularly large group had planted itself directly in front of the door we were heading for.

Is it possible to die of impatience?
I wondered, as Tarani shifted our path into an arc which would swing around the knot of people.
I’m going to jump right out of my skin, any minute now.

The group of people was in a constant state of change, with individuals leaving, joining, or working their way through. Just as our arc began to swing back toward the doorway—it was barely twenty paces away, now—someone broke away and stepped right in front of us.

It was Pylomel.

“Doubtless you have forgotten our appointment for later this evening,” he said softly. “Lovely Rassa. I look forward to it now, more than ever.” He reached up to stroke the golden hair he thought he saw—and Tarani wasn’t up to coping with a tactile illusion. As his hand touched her hair, the entire illusion vanished.

I reached for my sword, but Pylomel didn’t raise the alarm. His mouth sagged open, his eyes grew large, and he sank to his knees, holding onto Tarani for support. She pushed him away, shuddering.

People looked around, just as Pylomel fell over. When they saw the hilt of Thymas’s dagger protruding from the High Lord’s chest, just under his rib cage, somebody screamed.

We drew our swords and headed for the door, three deadly points on our triangle. Nobody near us was going to be a problem—there was a lot of yelling, and a general and uniform scramble to get out of the way. I was surprised at the contempt I felt as I thought:
They’re so used to having everything done for them—including their fighting.

Trouble is
, I thought in the next second,
they’ve got people to do it.

There were four guards in the doorway, waiting for us to get clear of the crowd.

Thymas and I attacked, leaving Tarani to keep the mob at bay. Apparently Gharlas had appropriated the best fighters for his own plans, because these four were rookies. In seconds, they were all dead or badly damaged, and the three of us ran out into the avenue.

Lamps had been placed on platforms along the main avenue. We had a clear view to the city entrance. The river, with a line of rafts tied up by its bank, was barely visible, though we could hear its rushing murmur clearly above the clamor coming from Lord Hall.

We ran like hell along that lighted pathway, then skidded to a halt, not a hundred yards from the gate. Where I had expected two guards, maybe four, there were twenty. And they had heard the ruckus. They were ready for us.

Tarani groaned, and Thymas swore: “By the Nine! Is there no escape from this fleabitten place? Not even the sha’um could fight these odds!”

Damn Eddarta and its blasted Celebration Dance
, I thought.
And its blasted hired muscle. These guys know it’ll be their skins if we get away. Thymas is right, we’re trapped. Unless—

This was a Gandalaran situation, and suddenly I was thinking like Ricardo, who saw
two
gateways into—and out of—the city. “Come on,” I said, and dragged Tarani toward the line of tied rafts. Thymas followed. The guards set up a yell and started running down the avenue.

I let go of Tarani’s hand and jumped from the bank onto one of the rafts. It wobbled in the water; I dropped to my knees to steady it for Tarani’s arrival.

But Tarani and Thymas were standing on the bank, staring at me in confusion.

“What are you doing?” Thymas demanded. “There aren’t any vleks, and anyway they would be too slow—what are you
doing?
”

“Shut up and get out here!” I ordered.

Tarani dropped to all fours and crawled out to me with teeth-gritting slowness. I put my arms around her and could almost feel her terror through her skin.

She knows what’s going on
, I thought.
But she came anyway.

Thymas was still on the bank, and he had figured it out, too. “That’s crazy!” he said. “You’ll kill us all!”

Two lines held the raft against the shore. I slashed one, and the raft swung out toward the current, Tarani and I balancing precariously on our knees. “You want
them
to kill you?” I asked. He looked over his shoulder at the oncoming guards, fifteen yards and closing. Then he turned back and took a deep breath.

“No, don’t jump!” I warned, too late. He landed on the tied corner of the raft. “Grab him!” I told Tarani, and sliced through the last line.

By some miracle, Thymas didn’t send us all into the river. “On your stomachs,” I yelled. “Spread your weight on the surface of the raft.” Daggers and swords flew overhead as the raft drifted away from shore. A couple of the guards, either braver or more desperate, ventured out into the water after us, but retreated when it got too deep to walk.

I didn’t have any trouble getting Thymas and Tarani to hang on to the ropes that lashed the reeds into logs, and tied the logs together. They were terrified, and probably seasick, as the rudderless raft spun slowly toward the arch that marked the edge of Lord City.

The guards were running along the bank, arguing about what to do. Some of them were laughing at us; others were just plainly amazed. There seemed to be no question at all in their minds that we were totally, thoroughly crazy.

Things
floated in Gandalara. Pontoon bridges. Rafts steadied by vlek power.
People
drank water, bathed in it, used it to irrigate crops. They did
not
float on it. It simply wasn’t part of the Gandalaran lifestyle.

No wonder Tarani and Thymas were scared to death. I felt some of their fear, myself—but Ricardo’s logic put a hammerlock on Markasset’s traditionalism.

“Listen,” I warned the others, “when we hit the rapids, we’re going to get wet.
Don’t let go!
Even if the raft breaks up, pieces of it will float.”

The raft was through the archway, moving more or less straight and faster, now, toward the brink of the cataract. Tarani looked up, whimpered, and pressed her face back into the reeds. Thymas looked up, too, and watched grimly as the blackness of the empty Gandalaran sky seemed to rush toward us. A roar of falling water drifted up from the hidden slope of the hill.

“HANG ON!”
I screamed, as the raft tipped sickeningly forward.

The raft plunged down the hillside, crashing against rocks, dipping and bucking like a thing alive and trying its best to get rid of us. It didn’t matter that it was too dark to see; all our senses were concentrated on breathing, when we had the opportunity, and clinging to that bundle of reeds.

The raft took one deep dive, and when it bobbed to the surface, it took us a few seconds to realize that we were level again. I looked up to see lights and the straight lines of the edges of buildings ahead of us.

I lifted myself cautiously to my hands and knees, to make sure. We were at the inner edge of Eddarta. “Tarani, Thymas,” I urged, “take a look. We made it.”

Just then, the raft hit a hidden crosscurrent and spun wildly. My knees slipped, and I wound up half in, half out of the water, my weight canting the surface of the raft at a crazy angle.

“Rikardon!” Tarani cried, and started to come after me.

“Stay there!” I ordered.

We had drifted into the city itself, now, and there was a crowd of people, carrying torches, on the riverbank. I wasn’t sure how they knew we were here, or what they thought of us, but the immediate problem didn’t relate to them at all. As far as I could see, we were spinning slowly, and not making much speed downstream.

All right, smart guy
, I thought to myself.
How the hell are you going to get this thing back to ground? Didn’t think about that, did you?

My hands were stiff and chafed, and I was beginning to swear at the weight of the gold around my waist—but when I thought of it, the solution occurred to me.

“Thymas!” I called. “When I move, you move along the opposite edge, to keep us balanced. Tarani, you stay put. Understand?”

They both nodded, and Thymas released each hand in turn, working out the stiffness in preparation of moving around.