The Soul Weaver

CHAPTER 24

Karon

I spent five days bathed in blood. My anger had burst all its bounds when I walked the blackened ruins of Ephah, past the poles on which children had been spitted like suckling pigs and the pits where old men and women had been set afire. When word came that Zhid marauders had been sighted near the Vale of Seraph, I would hear no caution, but led twelve hundred warriors in pursuit. They drew us into the Wastes, where three thousand smirking Zhid lay in ambush. But they would have needed twice that number to evade my wrath, and when they were all dead or run away, I wept because none were left to kill.

On the blistering evening of our bloody victory, we rode back into the encampment just as the last light faded, dropping a mantle of darkness over the dead and wounded we had packed into carts or draped over horses. After an ordinary foray, warriors would light fires and heat water for bathing their wounds and those of their fellows, for washing off the filth of battle, for preparing food. Sounds of camaraderie and consolation would give a wholesome texture to the night: men and women rattling pots and restoring weapons, singing songs or telling tales. But as this night crept around us, the camp remained dark. Warriors dropped onto the hard, bare ground and did not move. But I didn’t think they slept.

I slid from my horse and shoved the reins at a smudge eyed boy who gawked at my scorched, blood-soaked gauntlets. “Have him ready for me at first light.”

“Aye, my lord.” The boy dropped his gaze…

Two aides rode up behind me, their pale, sand-crusted faces like some primitive artwork in the deepening dusk - inhuman. I gave orders for the watch, sent news and a commendation to Men’Thor, who had led his battle-weary company all the way to Avonar to fortify the garrison, and dismissed them. A few hours’ sleep and then I would return to the business of Paulo and my son. I could not allow Gerick to live one more day, to betray us one more time.

“My lord!” Bareil held open the tent flap. The Duke’s garments were sweat-stained and bloody. While I’d led the troops into the desert after the Zhid raiders he had remained in Seraph Vale, helping with the survivors and seeing that all the information they could give us about the attack was recorded for me to review. “I was just about to ride out in search of you. I’ve sent for Master Ven’Dar, as you commanded me, but neither his aides nor Bastel have seen him for several days. They believed him to be with you. And you’ve an urgent message from Nentao. The quartermaster says it came five days ago.”

Nentao… Seri. My annoyance with Ven’Dar’s lack of communication would have to wait. I yanked off my stiff gauntlets and threw them on the ground, snatched the paper from his hand, and broke the seal. Every crack and ridge in my hand was caked with dried blood. “Five days! What incompetent bastard let it lie here five days?”

Your Grace,

It is with great distress that I must inform you of the events that have transpired since your last visit to Nentao. Preceptor Ven’Dar arrived shortly after your departure. He attempted to interview the prisoner, despite my insistence that he show me some token of your approval. Only when I forcibly prevented his violation of your orders did he relent and leave the premises. I assumed he had returned to his duties.

But on the next morning, I came upon two of my father’s guards I had set to ward your lady’s bedchamber. They were grievously wounded, sire, one dead already. But the second man claimed that Preceptor Ven’Dar himself had done this terrible deed, boasting that this man and his fellow were but the first two “Dar’Nethi Watchers” to be slain that night. I assumed this accusation to be some confusion of the man’s last agony. Yet when I heard of the death of the Vale Watch that preceded the attack on Seraph, it gave me pause.

Regretfully, I must report that your wife’s condition has taken a serious decline since that day. She grows weaker by the hour, and the Healers have despaired. I urge you to come quickly, my lord.

Your obedient servant,

Radele yn Men’Thor yn Ustele

Five days! I rode out without changing my blood-soaked garments, without cleaning the death from my hands. I recklessly conjured an early portal to Avonar, and by the time the night was spent, I was galloping up the winding road to Nentao, dread sitting in my belly like lead. When I smelled the telltale of charred timber on the dawn wind, I could not contain my fear. Bellowing like a speared boar, I spurred my horse unmercifully until I reached the smoldering ruin.

“Where is she?” I leapt from the saddle and charged through the billowing smoke toward the blackened stonework, nearly throttling the first person who chanced within my reach. “Tell me she’s dead and you’ll wish you were likewise.”

The man in the red shirt didn’t answer, only choked and gasped and fought, dragging me to the ground with his struggle.

“She isn’t here,” said the calm voice behind me, “and killing my servants won’t get her back… my lord.” Men’Thor peered down his straight nose and bowed slightly. What a portrait I presented: groveling in the dirt with a common soldier, the filth of battle dried on my clothes. “Radele says Ven’Dar has abducted both your wife and the Destroyer’s minion. And it appears as if the Preceptor is responsible for two murders a few days ago. The situation is unfathomable. The man must have gone mad.”

“Seri and Paulo abducted? By Ven’Dar?” I shoved the gasping soldier away and scrambled to my feet, fighting for composure, for clarity. “Why the devil would he do such a thing? Where did he take them?”

“Having just arrived myself, my lord, I’ve no answers for you. No sooner did I walk into the house than the man set the place alight over our heads. One of my men saw the three of them ride deeper into the Vale, but we’ve searched and found no sign of them. Ven’Dar’s surely made a portal to transport them elsewhere. They could be anywhere by now.”

Calm yourself, fool. Breathe. Think. I could not help Seri if I could not think. Heat pulsed from the rubble. I ducked under a smoldering beam and wandered through the broken walls, waving a hand at the destruction. “You’re saying Ven’Dar did this, too?”

Men’Thor folded his arms as we moved through the ruin, scuffing the ash with the toe of his knee-high boot. “The Preceptor cast as he escaped. We’re fortunate no one else lies dead. Happily Radele had dismissed the servants. The whole thing reeks of madness… of the Lords.”

Blackened piers and beams stood at rakish angles, a macabre pattern against the morning. Wind sighed across the hilltop, swirling smoke and ash in our eyes and fanning the embers. This was lunacy. I could certainly comprehend that Ven’Dar had decided he could no longer support me. But beyond the simple matter of desertion, nothing of this story held together. Two guards murdered by a man who so treasured the Way? By Ven’Dar, who understood and grieved for what I had become? Persuasion was Ven’Dar’s favored weapon, not a knife, not fire and destruction. He wielded power backed by virtue and wisdom, not hostages or blackmail.

And a mystery of less mortal consequence, yet still profound: Nentao had once belonged to Exeget, Ven’Dar’s mentor. This house and garden had held everything that remained of a brilliant, honorable, difficult man that only Ven’Dar had truly loved. What circumstance could cause him to destroy a place he so treasured? If it was the Preceptor…

I whirled on Men’Thor and gripped his arm. “Are you certain it was Ven’Dar? Did you read him?”

“These events transpired but moments after my arrival, lord.” A man of infinite patience was Men’Thor. “If you remember, I have been fighting Zhid the past five days. Besides… I would never take it on myself to read a Preceptor.” Men’Thor’s voice did not falter, though my fingers ground his flesh against his bones.

“You took it on yourself to come here unasked.”

“On the contrary, sire. You did not respond to my son’s urgent message and so, very properly, he summoned me. Radele indicated that your wife was ill beyond the continuing sad state of her mind, a disease of enchantment the Healers did not recognize. My son was concerned for her life.”

“Not enough, it seems.”

Men’Thor’s jaw tightened, bulging his cheeks; the sinews of his arm stiffened like taut rope under my fingers. Yet even now his voice remained even. “Speak as you will to me, sire, but I’ll not have my son’s abilities or loyalties questioned, even by you. Neither man, nor Zhid, nor cowardly tool of the Lords of Zhev’Na has ever prevailed against my son in combat. He has defended your kingdom since he could hold a weapon, as have my father and I. Tell me the same of your son, Your Grace.”

His words laid down a gauntlet that I could not pick up. I released his arm.

“Yes, Men’Thor. Radele is very accomplished. And a man of honor, as is his father.” That’s why I had chosen the noble bastard to watch Gerick and to guard Seri. “Where is the man who witnessed Ven’Dar’s escape?”

Men’Thor called out to one of his guardsmen that the Prince wished to see H’Kale as soon as possible. It was Radele, his mouth set in an uncharacteristically grim line, who held a youngish man firmly by the sleeve and dragged him Stumbling through the ruins a few moments later. “Here’s the fool who let them get away,” snapped Radele.

The fellow fell to his knees, stammering. “My lord, I’ve never seen the like. The spider… I’ve a horror of them… caught me up… By Vasrin Creator, I saw it as the size of a dog, and so real… I felt the pincers… felt the web sticky… ”

“Just tell me where they went - the Preceptor and the others.”

“Into the Vale, my lord. I’ll swear it. Down the track where I was caught, back behind the stable, and then up farther into the hills. They didn’t circle back as… some others say. On my mother’s bones, I’ll swear it. First the youth and the Lady, and then the Preceptor close behind just after he set the fire.”

Radele sneered at the blubbering young guardsman, gripping his hair and jerking his head back, allowing us to see the slimy evidence of terror dribbling from his nose and mouth and smeared across his cheeks. “You’re either blind or traitor, H’Kale. There’s nothing in the Vale within a day’s ride. We sent - ”

“Did you search the tower, Radele?”

“My lord?”

“Ven’Dar’s tower in the Vale. Did you examine it?”

“We searched every house and rock and glade within ten leagues of this house. We saw no tower.”

“Bring my horse,” I bellowed, kicking the young guardsman to his feet and sending him stumbling through the blackened ruin, before confronting Men’Thor and his son again. Blind, self-important fools. “Are you a complete imbecile, Radele? Every Word Winder has a retreat. He’s just cast a winding to hide it.”

“A. winding,!” Men’Thor whirled on Radele. “You didn’t look for enchantments in the Vale?”

A properly stunned Radele hurried along beside me as I hurried out of the ruin. “Ah, my lord… I wasn’t told… I didn’t know… ” Was it panic I detected in his voice? “Please, my lord, you must allow me to redeem this oversight. You and my father have fought these past days… the guesthouse is unharmed… you should rest… ”

But I had no time to let a preening fool restore his honor. “I’ll rest when my wife is secure.”

I raced down the track into the Vale, while Men’Thor and Radele were yet calling for their mounts.

Sunbeams glared in my face as I came to the barriers, enchantments so subtle you wouldn’t realize they existed unless you noticed how your eyes constantly strayed from the path. Your inclination was to veer off in any direction but straight ahead. And no sooner did you glimpse the white tower than your eyes slid off it and you forgot it existed… unless you had once been privileged to be a guest there… unless your dying wife was being held hostage by a man to whom you had bared your soul and a youth who held allegiance to your mortal enemy.

I pushed through the barrier, knowing the intrusion would warn Ven’Dar - if the man was indeed Ven’Dar and not my son destroying yet another of my friends. At the same time, I reached ahead with my thoughts, calling out the traitor. Give them up, Ven’Dar, or I’ll have your head even before I take the Destroyer’s!

When I rode into the tower clearing, a grave, unsmiling Ven’Dar stood waiting for me. His clothes were filthy, his graying hair damp and tousled. As I dismounted and approached the tower, he knelt. “Ce’na davonet, Giré D’Arnath.”

I halted twenty paces from him and drew my sword. Love radiated from his posture and his words, telling me that he was indeed the Preceptor and not some depraved hybrid of my son’s creation. But on this day I had no answer for his affection. My soul was barren, and I did not trust my hand. “I don’t want your honor, Ven’Dar. I want my wife, and I want my prisoner.”

Ven’Dar gazed up at me solemnly. “Come inside with me, my lord. We’ve precious little time.” He got to his feet and motioned to the small doorway that led into the curved white wall.

I did not move. My senses roamed the simple structure and the soft green of the surrounding glade. I could not feel her. Always I had been able to sense the exuberance of life that surrounded Seri, from the first time she hurried into the drawing room at Windham, breathless, flushed with youth and the evening wind, ready to argue and tease and steal my heart. Even in these last months when her mind was lost, I yet felt the air around her golden… pulsing… her life ready to burst forth in a ferocious embrace if I could but find the key to unlock it. But not on this day. She was not here. “By every god and demon in this universe, Ven’Dar, if you’ve harmed her… ”

“I beg you withhold judgment, sire. We must not be out here when the others arrive. Please come up.” Ven’Dar turned his back and started up the curved stair with no more concern than if I were a simple Reader come calling to examine the enchantments on his rain barrel, or a Glazier come to fill his empty windows with colored glass to shape the sunbeams.

I would kill him. Abandoning the glade, I took the steps three at a time, following him into a round, sunny room that was just as I remembered it - unoccupied by anyone save ourselves.

“You’re a dead man, Ven’Dar.” I raised my weapon. “Tell me where she is in two heartbeats, or you’ll never see another sunrise.”

“You’re correct about the urgency, my lord.” He gestured toward the window. “Men’Thor and Radele are on their way. My enchantments will slow them, but we’ve a quarter of an hour at best. Unless you can convince them, firstly, that I am dead, and secondly, that I have revealed nothing of importance, I fear that neither of us may live another day unless it be in a prison cell or a madhouse… unspeaking. They’ve gone too far. It is your throne they want.”

“You’re already mad. Ustele’s house is nothing if not loyal. You accuse them to mask your own treachery.” Sunlight glinted on my sword, now hanging on a direct line with his neck. “Where is my wife?”

“Your wife and young friend are safe for now, both from your enemies and from you. Put away your weapon, my lord. Trust me. If I can tell you nothing of interest, you will have ample opportunity to make an end of me.”

Fool that he was, he walked right under my blade, laying a hand on my shoulder as he had so many times. And for the first time since Paulo had run away from Ven’Dar’s tent, the rage drained out of me, leaving me hollow and dry and unimaginably tired. My tunic and breeches were rusty with blood. I smelled of it. It was under my fingernails, and in my pores, and I didn’t think I could ever wash it away. I lowered my weapon, sank to the floor, and leaned my back against a crude wooden chair. “You cursed idiot of a sorcerer. What have you done?”

“Better you ask Men’Thor and his son what it is they fear about your wife.”

“I’m too tired for riddles. You cannot convince me Seri’s illness is Men’Thor’s or Radele’s doing. They have nothing to fear from me. I do exactly as they want - not because they say it, but because I have no choice.”

“They are not convinced of your choice in the matter of your son, and to such men uncertainty is more dangerous than the evils they fight. It can lead them to violate the very law they profess to defend, to aid an enemy they would die to defeat.”

“There is no uncertainty. I know what I have to do about Gerick. It is not what I want. And it’s not because of what he did to Seri - only that what he did to Seri is proof of what he is. He is not my son, not since he stepped into the oculus in the halls of Zhev’Na. It doesn’t matter that I won’t remember that fact when I kill him, and it doesn’t matter what will happen to me as a result. He has to die. There is no other answer.”

Ven’Dar lifted a worn leather bag from a hook on the wall. Then he crouched beside a deep wooden chest and selected a few of his tools - a wooden mallet, a small steel-headed hammer, an adze, a drawknife - wrapping them in rags from a pile on the floor and packing them into the bottom of the bag, talking as he worked. “I cannot give you the answer you desire, my lord. But I can tell you this: Men’Thor and Radele have stolen your wife’s mind and conspired to steal her life because they fear she can make you waver in your duty. As things stood one day ago, I would have judged them foolish to doubt your resolve; I believed you would indeed kill the boy. But today I can provide another view of your dilemma, one which may charge your heart to discover an alternative. If not, then we are no worse off than before. But before I present my case, I must know you will listen to Paulo’s tale and my own with all of yourself - your true self.”

“You know I can’t control who I am. Not any more. The balance is lost. D’Natheil has won.”

“But you, my good friend Karon, are still with us. I hear your voice even now.” Retrieving a few books and scrolls from a small writing table, he slipped them carefully into the bag atop the tools.

I jumped to my feet again. “Then tell me why I had to leave Nentao six days ago because I was ready to torture Paulo until he told me what I have to know. Tell me why my hands, even now, demand to set this blade at your throat until you tell me what you’ve done with Seri. It’s too far, Ven’Dar. All I can think of is death. I can’t find my way back.”

“Perhaps I can lead you back.”

My fingers traced the vines engraved on my sword hilt. I could not allow myself to look at the man who had been my closest friend in this broken world until I was sure I could get through the next moment without taking his head off. My chest felt as if bands of molten steel constricted it, and my jaw like a locked cage, so that my voice came harsh and rasping. “I would pay handsomely for such a boon. But while you continue your fruitless speculation about what we have already determined to be irrevocable, tell me where are my wife and my prisoner!”

Ven’Dar remained unflustered. “As I said, they are out of harm’s way for the moment. You cannot find them on your own. I sent them through a portal, destroying it behind them lest you be too hasty in your anger or Men’Thor too hasty in his ambition. Now, fair warning: I will speak no more of your wife or the boy until you can convince me you’ll give fair hearing to young Paulo. And your word alone will not be enough.”

“How dare you bargain with me?”

He tapped a finger on the pens that lay on the writing table and then made a small gesture of dismissal. Setting his bag on a windowsill, he began buckling the straps that would hold it closed. “How dare I? Because of who you are. I trust you, my lord, and all I ask in return is your trust.”

“You ask the impossible.”

He turned to me then, his face radiant, as if he were himself a winding, an enchantment of faith and hope set here in this tower to sap my strength and resolve. “But you see, my good friend, only this very morning have I discovered new evidence that the impossible is possible. Do not doubt. This is the chance you craved when you sat by Paulo’s sickbed six days ago - yes, I saw it in you. Trust me. That’s the first step. Then the rest will come as may be…”

“I cannot allow my heart to get involved in this. I have responsibilities.”

“… I need you for three days… ”

“Impossible.”

“… only a small delay in this pernicious war. You tell yourself you’ve committed so many sins; allow yourself this one more. One that might make a difference.”

“The war - ”

“ - can proceed without you for three days. So… first, we’ll need a little blood…”

I raged and threatened, but he sighed and promised I would never see Seri again if I did not follow his direction. I spat and cursed, and he smiled and said mad fury was exactly what I needed. And he told me what I had to do…

Trust him. When he would tell me nothing of importance. I was truly a madman.

“Burn this damnable place!” I yelled. “I want fire to break the stones, to scorch this patch of earth until it looks like the Wastes. Fail to do my will and you add your blood to that already on my hands.”

I did not believe Ven’Dar about Men’Thor and Radele, but I left nothing to chance. As I emerged from the tower stair, I held my bloody sword and dripping dagger where they would shield the most vital parts of my anatomy. Yet, even if Men’Thor or his son meant me harm, I guessed that the agonized cries still lingering in the glade might distract them.

“My lord Prince, what’s happened? Those screams… ” Men’Thor stood at the bottom of the stair, complexion gray, eyes flicking from me to the tower and back again, weapons drawn but aimed in no particular direction. Radele moved in on my left quarter.

“Do not question me!” I spun around just enough to keep both men in front of me.

Mindless rage was all too easy. No contrivance made my hands grip the hilts of my weapons so firmly the mark of their engraving was etched into my flesh. “Burn this tower. I don’t care how much power it requires. Everything of the traitor is to be destroyed along with him. It will be her pyre… ah, gods, if I could but kill him again! Every day remaining in this blighted life I would slay him again for my pleasure.”

“My lord, tell us what’s come about… the Preceptor… your wife… When we heard the shouts, we tried to come to your aid, but the villain had set impossible barriers on the stair.” Radele was exceptionally pale, his speech halting… uncertain. It is no small thing to lose your sovereign’s wife whom you were set to guard with your life, and to have your undefeatable prowess so easily dismissed by a quiet, gentle man older than your father. And I didn’t know what else was making the young man so anxious, but I was going to find out.

“The Preceptor - Ven’Dar the traitor, the murderer - is dead. He tried to tell me some tale of enchantments and how he’d tried to bring Seri back to me by playing with words. He danced and dallied and promised to reveal secrets and betrayers. But when I forced him to still his prattling and give me my wife, he could show me only her corpse. Ah, cursed be his name forever! The traitorous servant of the Zhid has killed her.”

I shoved my bloody hands in Men’Thor’s face, and he stepped back, his mouth hanging open, his eyes aghast. “I opened his belly for it… slowly, a finger’s breadth at a time, so he would feel it. Now I want him to burn.”

“Perhaps I should go up… to stand witness for you, confirm his death and that of your lady… ”

“You will not touch Seri. No one will lay eyes on her. If you have no wish to burn with her, then let my will be done this instant.” I dropped to my knees, wrapped my blood-soaked arms about my belly, and groaned. “Help me, Men’Thor. I cannot grieve. I cannot follow the Way until it’s done.” My weapons remained securely in my grip.

Men’Thor’s worried glance focused on the tower. A faint trace of enchantment slithered through the noonday - he would find no life remaining in P’Clor’s Tower - and then he nodded to Radele. The young man touched his finger to every stone that formed the base of Ven’Dar’s tower and to the laurel and blueberry shrubs that crowded close. Was the bastard an Effector like his misbegotten sire? I realized I didn’t even know.

The heat grew quickly as Men’Thor hovered at my shoulder. He crouched in front of me and laid a hand on my arm. “My lord, this is grievous news. We have differed on many things, but never would I wish - Please, allow me to aid you in whatever wise possible, grieve with you until the Way leads you past this sorrow. But time and danger press… and I didn’t understand about the prisoner. Is he dead, too, then, or must I send someone in pursuit?”

I spat. “The prisoner is a nobody, a stable boy, a messenger. Ven’Dar sent him back to his master - but I extracted his message from Ven’Dar before he died.”

If I’d not been waiting for it, I might not have felt Men’Thor hold his breath. “Then you know the location of the Destroyer.”

“Paulo was to arrange a meeting between my wife and my son three days from this. Ven’Dar, in his arrogance of power, promised Seri would be there. But I’ll take her place. The Destroyer’s neck will meet my sword, and his black heart will do no more murder.”

With that, Men’Thor was satisfied. He offered again to stand vigil and grieve with me as was our custom. His hand was relaxed and kind as he lifted me to my feet and led me to a grassy hummock, making me sit down. He offered me water to clean my face and wine to soothe my thirst. In his vibrant baritone, he sang a chant of memory and acceptance, words so deep and heartfelt I could almost feel them myself.

But I pushed his hand away, and his cloth and his flask and his song. “Not yet, Men’Thor. I cannot. Not yet.”

Ven’Dar had sworn to me that Seri yet breathed. I could not judge his truth, and, as I had witnessed for four months, breathing had little to do with life. To share a death chant might help me let go of her, but I could not accept her physical death yet, not even in sham.

We watched Ven’Dar’s tower burn until nothing but a blackened ring of charred stones remained in the middle of the forest. The sun hung bloated and bloody on the western horizon as we rode down the Vale, past the smoldering rubble of Nentao, and on toward Avonar. I carried the image with me - the charred ugliness of something that had once existed in harmony with the world - and I believed it a reflection of myself. Ven’Dar had told me that I could rebuild what had been, that he would show me the way, but I could imagine no revelation that could change anything. I would go to the mysterious rendezvous he planned, but I would not listen to the voice of the Destroyer. Instead, I would kill my son, and I would be D’Natheil forever.