The Soul Weaver

CHAPTER 28

The city bristled with gossip about Men’Thor and Ven’Dar and what was to happen that night. Among the other opinions and speculations, tossed through the streets from person to person like a child’s ball, was certainty that the mysterious boy, the Prince’s son, who had not been seen since he was acknowledged before the Preceptorate, was to be disinherited. Perhaps the youth was dead, the rumors speculated, a victim of the same villains who had murdered the Preceptor Jayereth and the Circle. Perhaps he was truly corrupted by the Lords, as rumor had had it four years ago. That must be why he had never been brought to Avonar. No one even knew the boy’s name. The Prince had claimed that the secrecy was for his son’s protection, but now…

Unease pricked at me like thorns in my clothes as we hurried through the crowded streets.

The Precept House of the Dar’Nethi stood behind tall gray walls. Though I had seen it only once before, I could not mistake the formidable house where the child D’Natheil had been tested by the demanding Exeget and found wanting in all but the skills of war. In this same house Karon had finally recovered the full memory of his lost life and terrible death. And in the vast meeting chamber on its lower level, Gerick had been brought from Zhev’Na and acknowledged as Karon’s son and successor before the Preceptorate and Darzid/Ziddari, the Third Lord of Zhev’Na.

The blocky edifice was altogether ordinary in appearance for a house that had seen events of such extraordinary strangeness and significance: three stories of rough blue-gray stonework and many tall glass windows as were common throughout Avonar, but none of the graceful galleries or fountains, wide porches, or romantic, cloistered gardens the Dar’Nethi loved. Perhaps its severity was intended to be a reminder of its more serious purpose, as a meeting place for the Preceptorate and the residence of its head.

We slipped through the stable, a discreet entry at the back of the gardens that Paulo had discovered years ago. Bareil led us quickly across the manicured grounds, over a low, ivy-covered wall, and across a grassy nook to a side door. Our luck held. The door was unlocked, left so quite often, so Bareil said, for Preceptors who needed to take a breath of air during an extended debate.

The Dulcé led us through a tangle of dim passages to the marble-floored foyer, where a broad staircase led downward to the council chamber. We planned to slip around the corner and up the narrower steps that led to the third floor. There, at the back of the house, Bareil had said I would find Ven’Dar’s old rooms. While I sought out the Preceptor, Bareil would keep Roxanne safely out of sight.

Just as we were ready to step from the passage, someone came up the stairs from the council chamber. “… called in every commander for new orders,” said a male voice. “It’s going to be all or nothing, I think. Ce’Aret is about crazy with it. I heard her tell Preceptor Mem’Tara that” - the voice dropped to a whisper as the speaker stepped into the echoing foyer - “he’s gone off his head since his lady died. He can’t grieve for her. He can’t follow the Way.”

“It’s as Men’Thor says,” said a much older man, wheezing slightly. “It’s no good when we get mixed up with mundanes. They’re not like us.”

We held back in the dim passageway. The unseen speakers could be no more than twenty paces from us.

“When the Prince first came back from Zhev’Na, all of us in Terrison could see how he followed the Way. So much hardship… so much pain and grief… but it had made him stronger… kinder… and such power… Just to watch him work a healing filled my heart with peace. It’s what made me come to serve him here, so maybe I could learn how it was done.”

“It ate away at him, though,” said the second man, “the other world… the woman… the boy that was snatched by the Lords and rescued. I’ve heard he keeps traveling across the Bridge to that place. The Bridge wasn’t meant to be crossed. Who knows what harm might come from such doings?”

“But - ”

“Hsst! Someone comes.”

A tall, large-boned woman with a long dark braid strode past not five paces from me, emerging from the very stair that was my goal. “F’Lyr! Kry’Star!”

“Yes, Preceptor?” Two men in light blue robes stepped into view at the top of the Chamber steps.

So the woman was Mem’Tara, the Alchemist Karon had named the newest Preceptor. I could see only her back. She wore a dark green robe of the formal style that the Dar’Nethi Preceptors wore on solemn occasions, draped gracefully about her large frame and belted with a silken cord.

“Please send word to Men’Thor that his steward may inspect the residence on the day after tomorrow. The Prince wants everything in Master Exeget’s library moved to the storage room nearest his apartments in the palace. Bareil will know where to put it all. Beyond that, my lord says that everything in Exeget’s workroom and apartments can be burned for all he cares.”

“Yes, ma’am. As you say. Is the Prince coming down to speak with Ce’Aret? She awaits him in the council chamber.”

“The Prince has already returned to the palace. He said” - the tall woman hesitated - “to inform Ce’Aret he has nothing to say to her at present. The Preceptorate convenes at sixth hour, and she may voice her opinions then.” Shaking her head, she added, “Offer my apologies to Preceptor Ce’Aret.”

The two men bowed again, and the older one followed Mem’Tara out of my sight in the direction of the front door. The younger man adjusted his robes and hurried down the wide marble steps.

I peeked carefully from my hiding place, whispering over my shoulder to Bareil. “No one there.” Only the mask of the god Vasrin that hung high over the downward stair, the two perfect faces serenely unaware of the apprehension choking the city.

We hurried around the corner and up the stairs. Though the first and second floors of the Precept House were quiet at the moment, they looked well used. Open doors gave glimpses of furnishings and rugs. Closed doors were well polished and marked with symbols I didn’t know. Books were stacked on narrow tables that lined the passages, alongside carafes and teapots, rolled maps and pens and inkwells. These rooms would be the studies and workrooms of the Preceptors and those who worked for them overseeing the training and practice of sorcery throughout Gondai.

At the second landing, Bareil pressed my arm, pointed to the first door in the passage, and then motioned me to continue upward. The Dulcé guided Roxanne through the door and closed it behind her. He snatched a book from one of the tables and leaned casually against the door, ready to watch the stair behind me.

I tiptoed around the corner, up the last stair, and down the passage. The wood floor of the third-level passage was thick with dust, unmarked by footprints. The dim sunlight from a grimy round window at the far end of the passage revealed no furnishings but a scuffed leather trunk shoved to one side, its brass fittings tarnished to the color of iron, and two broken chairs, shoved into one corner. Open doors revealed a series of small, unfurnished rooms. Closed doors were plain and unmarked. Storage rooms and student rooms, Bareil had said.

The last door on the right appeared to have been attacked by an army of small boys. Dents, gouges, and scorch marks marred its plain surface. A closer look revealed the traces of a large, flamboyant V that had been boldly incised into the door panel and then painstakingly scraped away.

Carefully I pressed the latch and swung the door inward. Unlike the other rooms I had glimpsed off this passage, this chamber was large and bright. Its furnishings were simple - little more than bed, table, two chairs, well stocked bookshelf, and a patterned rug of green and yellow. But its grace was a ceiling-high window that overlooked a sparkling lake surrounded by green hills, a living landscape that, as it happened, existed nowhere near this particular room… this sorcerer’s room. Ven’Dar stood gazing out of the magical window, his hand stroking his short beard. The afternoon light bathed him in a golden glow, restoring his graying hair to its youthful coloring. He did not move when I stepped into the room.

“Master Ven’Dar,” I said.

He jerked and spun about. “Lady Seriana! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“A friend’s surmise.”

“Bareil… He shouldn’t have. You ought to be at the palace.”

I closed the door behind me and walked as far as the patterned rug. “Why should I? Explain it to me.”

He turned to the window again. “You haven’t spoken with him?”

“Not since he told me to run from Calle Rein and hide. I don’t even know from what or whom I was hiding.”

“The Prince had informed Men’Thor and Radele that he would meet with his son on the third day from my ‘death.’ The two of them came to the caves, hoping to meet with him as soon as the rite was completed. To ensure his resolve had not wavered, of course. The Prince managed to evade them when he set out after you, but he commanded Bareil to leave the caves at the expected time and reveal his destination. He could not give the Preceptorate reason to doubt either his loyalty or his intent. Not until he knew more. He just didn’t expect them to catch up with him so quickly.”

“What have they done with Gerick? What’s Karon’s plan?”

“My lady, I - ” Ven’Dar had been so much at peace, so sure of himself in his tower and in the Caves of Laennara, but now his quiet was the uneasy stillness of a summer afternoon with thunderheads looming black on the horizon. He tugged at his beard, and his gaze flicked from me to the window and back again. “Your son is in the palace. Many years ago a cell was built there for Dar’Nethi who must be held… powerless.”

“He is imprisoned, then.”

With a slight movement of shoulder and hand, Ven’Dar acknowledged it.

“What’s to happen to him? I know Karon was here not an hour past. What did he say?”

Ven’Dar grimaced. “I can tell you nothing more.”

“You cannot or will not?”

He shook his head and pointed to a chair. “Sit down with me. We’ll have a glass of wine and talk for a while. Perhaps I can help you understand.”

I remained standing. “Gerick is my son. I have a right to know what’s going to happen to him.”

“My lady,” he said, “please do not ask me questions I cannot answer.”

Karon believed Ven’Dar to be a man who prized keeping faith with the Way of the Dar’Nethi above safety, above comfort, above everything else he valued. A man supremely honest. Even in our short acquaintance, I had seen enough to confirm that opinion. No amount of sarcasm or fury, wheedling or tears, was going to get me anywhere Ven’Dar wasn’t prepared to take me. “Then tell me this, Preceptor. Who swore you to this oath? Was it Karon or was it D’Natheil?”

He flinched as if I’d slapped him. Then, sighing heavily, he looked me full in the eye. “I don’t know. I hope. I’ve gambled… heavily… on the answer. But I don’t know.”

I walked over to his window and glared at the pastoral landscape. Ven’Dar wisely kept his peace until I spoke again. Only one other person might know what was happening. In only one place might I be able to do something. “I must see Gerick,” I said at last.

Ven’Dar rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing and nodding. “I agree. You should.”

I was so prepared for a refusal or some further claim of ignorance or oath-swearing that I was left stammering. “But - Well, then. Will you take me?”

“The Prince will have my head for it, if I’m not careful. And we’d best go now. The sooner the better, I think. But I beg of you, my lady… afterward… do as the Prince asks you. Our only hope is in his wisdom and in the work we’ve done to bring him to this point with his true heart. You must stay hidden until he is ready to reveal his purpose. His enemies must believe you are dead.”

“I’ll think about it after I’ve seen Gerick.”

I didn’t see Bareil as we crept down the stairs, and I dared not delay to search for him lest Ven’Dar change his mind. The Dulcé would figure out what had happened.

We left the Precept House grounds by way of a tree-shaded path and a small gate, hidden in a tangle of overgrown ivy that seemed to grow back thicker than before as soon as we tore our way through it. Ven’Dar led me through the city, pausing at each turning of the way to move his hand as if brushing sand from the path in front of us. No gaze settled on us all the way to the palace.

Soon Ven’Dar was leading me down a long sloping passageway through the heart of the fortress of the Princes of Avonar. Lamps mounted along the polished gray walls of the passage flared into life as we approached and faded again when we were well past, a small wonder in a city of wonders. In another life I would have asked Ven’Dar how such things fit with the science and nature I knew. In another life, I could imagine Ven’Dar joining the stimulating company at Windham, jousting with my cousin Martin over the proper uses of magic and the comparative delights of conversation and mind-speaking. That would not have been the life where my son was the prisoner of my husband.

When we came to a metal-banded door at the end of the passage, the Preceptor pressed a finger to his lips. Then he closed into himself for a moment, so clearly removing himself from the existence I shared that I half expected him to vanish. But, instead, he spread his upturned hands slightly apart as if strewing a handful of seeds for a flock of birds. When his eyes blinked open, he pressed a finger to his lips yet again and cautiously pulled the huge door open.

Across an empty, windowless room of massive stone, four guards, two with pikes, two with drawn swords, barred access to an iron gate. But as Ven’Dar took my hand and led me across the chamber, their eyes did not move in the slightest. We slipped around behind them and through the gate without challenge. Yet, in the instant we latched the iron gate behind us, one of the four hurried across the room and slammed his open palm against the outer door, peering into the outer passage and yelling, “Who’s there?”

Ven’Dar shoved me into the deepest shadow behind the gate. One of the jutting stone columns that supported the gate protruded from the passage wall just enough to hide us. There, like rabbits caught in the open meadow, we held motionless, our backs flattened against the stone wall.

“I’d swear to my own mother I heard steps out there,” said the guard, scratching his head and retaking his position beside his three comrades. “Guess I was wrong.”

“We’re all skittish,” said one of the guards - a woman. “What if the Three come to free their Fourth? And what would our people say if they knew he was here? We don’t know if the cell can even hold the power of a Lord.”

“Not sure I believe one of the cursed ones is here. Not after so long. He doesn’t have the look I expected of a Lord. I’d heard they’ve metal faces with jewels for their eyes.”

Signaling me to remain still, Ven’Dar slipped farther down the passage that would take us deeper into the bowels of the palace. The guards’ backs formed a solid wall on the other side of the gate.

“They can change their appearance at will,” said the woman. “Take anyone’s body they want and use it till it’s dead. It’s why you’re not to look on him. Not ever.”

“He ought to be dead,” spoke up the largest of the four, a barrel-chested man who was closest to me. His thick jaw was pulsing, and he flexed thick fingers on the pike-shaped weapon that glowed blue in the dim light. “After finding my two brothers spitted like suckling pigs two years ago… still warm they were, with those collars grown into their flesh… Eyes of darkness! It makes me want to slit this prisoner’s throat. I never felt that way before - wanting somebody to die by my own hand. I can’t see why the Prince would keep a Lord alive.”

The man standing next to the speaker laid a hairy hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “He won’t be much longer…”

A hand touched my own sleeve. I jumped, grazing an elbow on the column. Ven’Dar led me down another sloping passage, past another quartet of paralyzed guards, and into a dimly lit chamber, bare of any furnishing save a wooden bench pushed against one wall and a narrow, raised stone platform or table in the center. Eyebolts had been seated in the corners of the stone table. The only break in the gray stone walls was a rectangular gate of narrowly spaced bars that shone silver in the light of a single small lamp. The air was thick with enchantment, heavy, dreadful, weighing on my spirit like a mountain of lead. I shuddered.

“We’ve only a few moments,” whispered the Preceptor, as he closed the heavy door softly behind us. “A Dar’Nethi Watcher has already detected my winding and will be here very quickly to investigate. Not a subtle enchantment, but the only way to get us in.”

Ven’Dar motioned me to the bars, standing close behind me as I peered through. The cell was dark. The weak gleam of the guardroom lamp reached through the bars only far enough to illuminate the wooden bowl, filled with meat and bread, and the full mug that sat just inside the enclosure.

A light flared at my shoulder, casting a sharp, barred shadow deep into the cell. The prisoner was sitting on the floor in the corner, and when he held up his hands to ward off the new brightness, silver bands about his wrists glinted in the light. More of the shining metal bound his ankles and linked him to ring bolts on the wall. The bands and chains and the silver strips embedded in the walls and ceiling would hold the enchantments that kept him powerless, if such was possible. Two blankets lay crumpled on the floor beside him.

“If you’ve come to gloat, get it over and go away. I prefer the dark and would as soon not look on you.”

“Gerick, dear one, are you all right?”

“Mother!” Squinting into the brightness, he jumped up and moved toward the bars the few steps his restraints would allow. “What are you - Mother, you must get away from here!”

“I can’t believe this. I thought he’d at least - ”

“How did you get here? He would never have brought you into so much danger.” Gerick wasn’t even listening to me.

“I brought her,” said my companion. “Ven’Dar is the name. We’ve already met, I believe. You remember - the list.”

“You’re a fool, sir. Take her away from here.” Frost edged his words. “Mother, please go. Hide yourself away where you can’t be found. There’s nothing to be done here.”

“I won’t let him hurt you.”

“He’ll do what he has to do. But you mustn’t be anywhere near me. Things could happen… You don’t understand how much they hate you - the Three.”

Ven’Dar clamped a hand on my shoulder. “Time for a discreet exit, my lady. I’m sorry.”

Though I, too, heard the shouts and running footsteps from the passageway, I had no intention of leaving. But Ven’Dar closed his eyes and spread his hands again and was soon tugging insistently on my arm. “We must trust the Prince. And that means you must do as I tell you.”

“Gerick, you are not what you think,” I said, as Ven’Dar gently, but insistently, pried my hands from the bars and dragged me across the room. “Remember everything I’ve told you. The Lords do not create. They only destroy, and they care for no one but themselves. You are not one of them. I still believe it. I’ll always believe it.”

The enchanted light illuminated the face of my beautiful son, who smiled at me with a sweet, sad radiance. “I am what I am. I’m sorry.”

Sorry… as if sixteen years of horror inflicted on an innocent child were his fault. I wanted to scream out the injustice.

“Absolute silence, madam,” whispered Ven’Dar, his powerful arm crushing my back against the gray stone beside the door to the passageway. “You are a wall. Act like it.”

The guardroom door burst open, and eight armed men hurried into the chamber, followed by Karon, Men’Thor, and a stooped man in gray. Radele trailed behind, remaining in the open doorway, watching the others as if he were only an observer, not one of their party. Not the slimmest shadow remained in the room once they’d brought their torches inside, but to my mystification, no one remarked Ven’Dar and me. Deciding to take Ven’Dar’s odd suggestion as legitimate, I emptied my mind, and tried to think like a wall: flat, silent, so ordinary as to be unnoticeable.

“What foolishness is this, Ben’Shar?” Karon snapped. His hard gaze whipped about the room, passing over Ven’Dar and me without a moment’s pause. “I see no intruder. These ‘rumblings’ you noted must have come from your own belly. Was I dragged from a Preceptorate meeting because you failed to digest your lunch?”

“But, my lord, it was a powerful enchantment - a winding, I’m sure of it,” said the stooped man, scratching his chest as his eyes darted about the room. “This prison block is a snarl of windings. I’m never wrong about these things.”

“Perhaps the prisoner himself has a rumbling belly,” said Men’Thor, peering through the bars. “Clearly he hungers, and there’s not enough pain and fear in Avonar on which to gorge himself. Perhaps he summons his dark brethren to feed him.”

“Their need is their weakness,” said Radele, softly. No one could have heard him save Ven’Dar and me, who were but a hand’s-breadth from his back.

“You have no idea of what my ‘dark brethren’ are capable,” said the voice from behind the bars - a voice so cold, so alien to the sweet vision that still hung in my memory, that I wondered if I’d missed seeing some other prisoner locked in with my son. “These pitiful bands you use to detain me are but sand to the hurricane of their power. They’ll devour you, and you can’t even see it coming. Touch my mind. Open the door you find there, and you’ll see what your Prince has seen. You’ll understand how they appreciate mind-stealing murderers like you and your son.”

“Silence!” roared Karon, slamming his hands into the bars. “You will not speak, Dieste… Destroyer. For four years you’ve twisted words, twisted lives, befouled the world with your deceptions. No more. Tomorrow you will show what you really are. Let your putrid brethren come when you cry out to them, and I’ll put an end to them, too.” Karon raised his fist toward the cell, and the bars began to glow, first silvery blue, and then yellow. And when they flared a brilliant white that seared my eyes, from behind them came a scream of such mortal agony that the Dar’Nethi warriors shrank from it, and the old man Ben’Shar covered his ears. Ven’Dar pressed his hand to my mouth, but he could stop neither my tears nor his own.

Once the interminable cry had died away, a stone-faced Karon pushed past his companions and the guards and vanished into the outer passage. The shaken soldiers stood aside to let a somber Men’Thor and the stooped Watcher pass, but Radele did not accompany them.

After the last guards had left the chamber, Radele stepped up to the wall of fading fire and peered into the dark silence beyond it. “He’ll speak no vileness for a while,” he said to no one, as he stroked the bars with his fingertips. “A taste of the Heir’s power looks to be quite effective. It would finish the devils forever if wielded properly.”

His face fierce and determined, Radele spun on his heel and followed the others into the passage.

When all was quiet and dim once again, Ven’Dar, still pressing me tightly to the wall, spoke in a quiet voice that I thought might bore a hole in my skull. “Your son lives. There is nothing to be done for him, except what he and his father ask of you. Hide yourself away until the time is right. Hold him in your heart… and the Prince also.”

When the Preceptor released me I hurried to the cell and fell to my knees, gripping the still-warm bars. Gerick sprawled facedown on the stone floor. Unmoving. On his arms were long, angry scratches as if he’d tried to claw the manacles away. I had no talent to tell me he lived, and saw no other sign of it, so I had to take Ven’Dar’s word. “This is not over, dear one,” I said to him, as the Preceptor drew me away.

Like shadows we passed through the guard posts once again, and into a maze of deserted back stairs, dusty storage rooms, and passageways long unused. Dusk lingered in a weed-grown courtyard. I followed Ven’Dar without question. It was as well Gerick had lain unhearing, for my brave words had no more substance than a single raindrop in the desert. It mattered not in the least what I did. I put no faith in Ven’Dar’s hopeful intimation that there was some underlying purpose in what I had just witnessed.

Up three flights of stairs. At the end of a long, unlit passage hung with cobwebs and faded tapestries - a passage that looked as if D’Arnath himself had been the last Dar’Nethi to walk it - the Preceptor pulled open a wide, plain door and ushered me into a beautifully appointed room, a softly lit haven of comfortable couches, deep carpets, and shelves of finely bound books. A fire popped and crackled in a brick fireplace, and on a small table next to it, ivory and jade chessmen stood ready on an onyx chessboard. Everywhere were small things - a watercolor of a lighthouse, an ivory horse, a needlework cushion - unmatched in the grace and loveliness of their working.

Yet the place might as well have been my hovel at Dunfarrie. Numb, heartsick, I sank into a fat, cushioned chair and laid my useless hands in my lap.

Ven’Dar pulled a footstool close to my chair and sat on it. His gray-blue eyes were troubled. “I cannot stay, my lady. Only a little while longer and my own hiding must end. I understand your grief, but I did not take you there to hasten it, magnify it, or resign you to it. I took you there to remind you of your power. Do not forget what you saw. Who you saw. Do not forget what you’ve given him all these years. Hold fast. The Lords of Zhev’Na hate you as they have hated no one since D’Arnath himself. Here at the culmination of their thousand-year war, you, a seemingly powerless woman, have denied them their prize twice over. You must not falter in this third challenge.”

He enfolded my cold hands in his warm ones. “Tonight, at one hour past moonrise, the Prince will speak to the people of Avonar from the balcony you can see from that window over there. Even now his messengers summon the Dar’Nethi from the Vales, from the borderlands, from the Wastes, from the city - at least one person from every family. Whatever may be the result of my lord’s words, know that you bear my deepest regard, and that in any way that may be possible, I will be forever at your service.”

He lifted my limp hand and kissed it, and then he rose and left me there alone.