Traitor's Moon

10 THE HEART OF THE JEWEL

Lady Amali seems to have taken quite a liking to Klia," Alec observed, watching the two women laughing over some shared exchange as they set out again the next morning.

"I've noticed that," Seregil replied quietly. He glanced around quickly, no doubt making certain that Nyal was safely out of earshot. "They're of an age to be friends. She's much younger than her husband. She's his third wife, according to our Ra'basi friend."

"So you find him useful after all?"

"I find everyone useful," Seregil said with a sly grin. "That doesn't mean I trust them. I haven't seen him sneak off with her again, though. Have you?"

"No, and I've been watching. She's civil to him, but they seldom speak."

"We'll have to keep an eye on them in Sarikali, see if they seek each other out. The young wife of an aging husband, and Nyal such a handsome, entertaining fellow—it could be interesting."

Reaching a broad, swift river, they followed it south through ever deepening forest for the rest of the day. Villages grew scarcer, and game more plentiful—and at times peculiar.

Herds of black deer no bigger than dogs were common in marshy bends of the river, where they grazed on mallow shoots and water lilies torn from the mud.

There were bears as well, the first Alec had seen since leaving his mountain homeland. But these were brown rather than black, and bore the white crescent of Aura across their breasts. Strangest and most pleasing of all, however, were the little grey tree-dwellers called pories. The first of them appeared just after midday, but soon they seemed to be everywhere, common as squirrels.

About the size of a newborn child, the pories had flat, catlike faces large, mobile ears, and long, black-ringed tails that gyrated wildly behind them as they leapt among the branches with clever, grasping paws.

A few miles later, the pories disappeared as abruptly as they'd come. Midafternoon shadows were weaving themselves beneath the trees when the travelers reached a wide fork in the river. As if sundered by the parting of the waters, the forest opened up to either side, affording a clear view across a broad, rolling valley beyond.

"Welcome to Sarikali," Seregil said, and something in his voice made Alec turn to look at him.

A blend of fierce pride and reverence seemed to transform the man for an instant, making the Skalan coat he wore look as ill suited as mummer's garb.

Alec saw the same expression mirrored in other Aurenfaie faces, as if their very souls shone in their eyes. Exile or not, Seregil was among his own. Ever the wanderer, Alec envied him a little.

"Welcome, my friends!" cried Riagil. "Welcome to Sarikali!"

"I thought there was a city," Beka said, shading her eyes.

Alec did the same, wondering if some magic like that guarding the high passes in the mountains was at work. There were no signs of habitation that he could see within the embrace of the two rivers.

Seregil grinned. "What's the matter, don't you see it?"

A broad stone bridge arched across the narrower of the two branches, allowing riders to cross four abreast.

The steel helmets of Urgazhi Turma shone like chased silver in the slanting afternoon light, and steel and chain mail glinted beneath their embroidered tabards. Riding at their head, Klia was resplendent in wine-dark velvet and heavy jeweled ornaments. Polished rubies glowed in the large golden brooches that pinned her riding

mantle at the shoulders and in the golden girdle of her gown. She also wore all the Aurenfaie gift jewelry she'd received, even the humble warding charms. Though she'd put aside armor for the occasion, her sword hung at her side in a burnished scabbard worked with gold.

Once across the river, Riagil led them toward a dark, rambling hillock several miles off. There was something odd about the shape of it, thought Alec. As they drew nearer, it looked stranger still.

"That's Sarikali, isn't it?" he said, pointing ahead. "But it's a ruins."

"Not exactly," said Seregil.

The city's dark tiered buildings and thick towers appeared to draw themselves out of the ground. Masses of ivy and creepers growing thickly up the stonework reinforced the illusion that the place had not been built by hands but erupted from the earth. Like a great stone in the river of time, Sarakali stood steadfast and immutable.

The closer Seregil came to Sarikali, the more the long years in Skala seemed to fade away. The one dark memory he had of the city, ugly as it was, could not efface the joy he'd always associated with this place.

Most of his visits had been in festival times, when the clans gathered to populate its streets and chambers. Banners and strings of kites festooned the streets of every tupa, the section of the city each clan traditionally used when visiting. In the open-air marketplaces one could find goods from every corner of Aurenen and beyond. Outside the city, colorful pavilions would sprinkle the level ground like great summer flowers; bright flags and painted poles marked out racetracks and archery lists. The air would be filled with magic and music and the smells of exotic foods to be tracked down and sampled.

Today the only signs of habitation were a few flocks of sheep and cattle grazing on the plain.

"You'd think the Iia'sidra would come out to meet the princess," Thero remarked disapprovingly in Skalan.

"I was just thinking the same." Alec eyed the place dubiously.

"That would give status," said Seregil. "They retain it by having her come to them. It's all part of the game."

Their Aurenfaie escort dropped back when they reached the city's edge, and Urgazhi Turma formed up into two mounted ranks, flanking Klia.

Turning to Riagil and Amali, Klia bowed in the saddle. "Thank you both for your hospitality and guidance."

Amali nudged her mount forward and clasped hands with Klia. "I wish you success. The blessings of Aura be with you!"

She and Riagil rode off, disappearing from sight with their respective riders among the dark buildings.

"Well, then," Klia said, squaring her shoulders. "It's up to us to make an entrance, my friends. Let's show them the queen's best. Seregil, you're my guide from here."

No curtain walls shielded the city; it had no gates, no guards. Instead, open ways paved with springy turf cut into the jumbled mass of the place like rambling fissures weathered through a mountain by a thousand years of rain. Its street were empty, the arched windows of it towers blank as dead eyes.

"I didn't expect it to be so empty," Alec whispered as they continued along a broad, winding concourse.

"It's different when the clans gather for the festivals," Seregil told him. "By the Light, I'd forgotten how beautiful it is!"

Beautiful? Alec thought. Eerie was more like it, and a little oppressive.

Evidently he was not the only one to feel it. Behind him, he could hear the Urgazhi plying Nyal with questions, and the steady murmur of the interpreter's replies.

Smooth walls of dark green stone etched with bands of complex designs rose on all sides. There were no recognizable figures; no carved animals, gods, or people. Instead, the intricate patterns seemed to fold and knot themselves into greater interconnected patterns that drew the eye to a single central point or away along lines of rhythmically repeated shapes and symbols.

The turf gave beneath their horses' hooves, sending up the scent of crushed herbs and deadening the sound of their passing. The deeper they rode into the city, the more muted sounds became, underscoring the strangeness of the place. The wind brought the occasional distant crowing of a cock or the sound of voices, but just as quickly whipped them away.

Alec gradually became aware of an unsettling sensation creeping

over him, a sort of tingling on his skin and the hint of a headache between his eyes.

"I've come over all strange," said Beka, feeling it, too.

"It's magic," Thero said in an awed voice. "It feels like it's seeping from the very ground!"

"Don't worry; you'll get used to it soon," Seregil assured them.

As they rounded a corner, Alec saw a lone robed figure watching them gravely from the lower window of a tower. Beneath the red-and-black sen'gai and facial tattoos that marked him as a Khatme, the man's expression was aloof and unwelcoming. Alec uneasily recalled a favorite saying his father had had: How you come into a place is how you go out.

Seregil's initial joy at seeing Sarikali did not entirely cloud his perception. Clearly the isolationists still held the upper hand. Nonetheless, his pulse quickened as he felt the quicksilver play of exotic energies across his skin. Childhood habit made him peer into the shadows, hoping for a fleeting glimpse of the fabled Bash'wai.

Rounding a familiar corner, they came into the open again, at the center of the city, and the breath caught in Seregil's throat.

Here lay the Vhaddsoori, a clear pool several hundred yards wide and so deep that its waters remained black at high noon. The magic was said to radiate from this spot, the most sacred ground in Aurenen. Here, at the heart of the Heart, oaths were given, alliances forged, wizardry powers tested. A pledge sealed with a cup of the pool's clear water was inviolable.

The pool was ringed by one hundred and twenty-one weathered stone statues that stood a hundred yards or so back from the water's edge. Neither the reddish-brown stone nor the carving style was to be found anywhere else in the city, or in Aurenen beyond. Thirty feet tall, and vaguely man-shaped, the statues were said to be a relic of some people older than the Bash'wai. They towered and tilted now above the crowd gathered outside the circle. Expectant faces and sen'gai of every description formed a colorful mosaic against the muted backdrop of dark stone.

"That's him," he heard someone whisper loudly, and guessed they were talking of him.

The crowd parted quietly as he led Klia and the others to the edge of the stone circle. Inside, he saw the eleven white-clad members of the Iia'sidra waiting for them at the water's edge, flanking the Cup of Aura on its low stone pedestal. Its long, crescent-shaped bowl,

carved from milky alabaster and set on a tall silver base, glowed softly in the late-afternoon sunlight.

With a sudden sharp pang, he recalled his father bringing him here as a small child; it was one of the few positive memories he had of the man. Legends differed as to the Cup's origins, Korit had explained. Some said it was the gift of Aura's dragon to the first Eleven; others claimed that the first wandering band of 'faie to discover the city had found the Cup on its pillar already. Whatever the case, it had been here time out of mind, unmarred by centuries of use and weather, a symbol of Aura's connection to the 'faie, and of their connection to one another.

A connection I was cut away from like a diseased branch from a tree, Seregil thought bitterly, focusing at last on the faces of the Iia'sidra. Nine of this Eleven had spared his life, but they had also sealed his humiliation.

His father had been khirnari then, and ready enough to see atui served by his only son's execution. Adzriel stood in his place now, though Seregil could not meet her eye yet. The other new member of the council was the khirnari of Golinil, Elos i Orian. Ulan i Sathil stood nearby, dignified and staid, his lined, angular face betraying nothing.

Beside Adzriel stood Rhaish i Arlisandin of Akhendi. His long hair was whiter than Seregil recalled, his face more deeply lined. Here was one dependable ally, at least, if not a powerful one.

With an effort, Seregil forced himself to look back at his sister, who stood closest to the Cup. She saw him but looked quickly away. — know that it is circumstance that prevents me, not coldness on my part. As he stood here, outside the circle, the assurance she'd sent him could not fill the void in his chest. Fighting down the choking sensation that suddenly gripped him, he hastily looked away.

At Klia's signal, Seregil and the others dismounted. Unbuckling her sword belt, Klia passed it to Beka and strode into the stone circle with the assurance of a general. Seregil followed a few paces behind with Thero and Torsin.

The magic of Sarikali was strongest here. Beside him, Seregil saw Thero's pale eyes widen slightly as palpable waves of it enfolded them. Klia must have felt it as well, but did not hesitate or break her stride. Halting before the Iia'sidra, she spread her hands, palms up, and said in perfectly accented Aurenfaie, "I come to you in the name of great Aura the Lightbearer, revealed to us as Illior, and on behalf of my mother, Idrilain the Second of Skala."

Ancient Brythir i Nien of Silmai stepped forward, thin and dry as

a dead willow branch. As the eldest member of the Iia'sidra, he spoke for all.

"Be welcome, Klia a Idrilain Elesthera Corruthesthera Rhiminee, Princess of Skala and descendent of Corruth i Glamien of Bokthersa," he replied, lifting a heavy necklace of gold and turquoise from his own neck and placing it around hers. "May the wisdom of the Lightbearer guide us in our endeavors."

Klia returned the gesture, giving him her girdle of golden plaques enameled with the Dragon of Illior. "May the Light shine in us."

Adzriel took up the Cup of Aura and filled it at the water's edge. Graceful in her white tunic and jewels, she raised it toward the sky, then presented it first to Klia, then Lord Torsin, Thero, and finally, to Seregil.

Seregil's fingers brushed his sister's as he accepted the Cup and raised it to his lips. The water was as cold and sweet on his tongue as he'd remembered. As he drank, however, his eyes met those of Nazien i Hari of Haman, grandfather of the man he'd killed. There was no welcome for him here.

Alec sat on his horse and listened as Nyal quietly named the various khirnari; all eleven wore white clothing and sen'gai for the ceremony, making it impossible to distinguish one clan from another.

There was one face Alec knew without being told, however. He'd met Adzriel once, just before the war, and watched with a thrill of excitement as she offered her brother the moon-shaped cup. What must they be feeling, he wondered, being so close at last, yet having to maintain such reserve?

Others were not so careful to guard their expressions. Several people exchanged dark glances as Seregil drank; a few others smiled. Among the latter was the first truly ancient Aurenfaie Alec had seen. The old man was thin to the point of gauntness, his eyes deeply sunk beneath sagging lids, and he moved with the caution born of frailty.

"That's Brythir i Nien of Silmai," Nyal told him. "He is four hundred and seventy if he's a day, an uncommon age even for us."

Still wrestling with the ramifications of his own heritage, Alec found the prospect of such a life span vaguely alarming.

Turning his attention to the nearest bystanders, he noted the sen'gai of several principal clans, as well as a scattering of minor ones. Though many wore tunics, others wore robes and long, flowing coats. The sen'gai were also diverse in style. Some were simple

strips of loose-woven cloth; others were fashioned of silk and edged with small tassels or metal ornaments. Each clan had its own manner of wrapping them, as well, some simple and close to the head, others piled into elaborate shapes.

He was most pleased to discover a small group wearing the modest dark green of Bokthersa. One of them, a young man with an incongruous streak of white in his hair, suddenly looked his way, as if he'd sensed Alec's gaze. He regarded Alec with friendly interest for a moment, then turned to whisper to an older couple. The man had a long, homely face. The woman was dark-eyed, with a thin, severe mouth that tilted into a warm smile as she looked Alec's way. She had facial tattoos, as well, though nothing as elaborate as those of the Khatme; just two horizontal lines beneath each eye. She nodded a greeting. Alec returned it, then looked away, suddenly self-conscious. It seemed they'd already guessed who he was.

"That woman who just greeted you is Seregil's third sister," Nyal murmured.

"Mydri a Illia?" asked Alec, surprised. This woman bore little resemblance to Adzriel or Seregil. "What do those marks on her face mean?"

"She has the healer's gift."

"What about the other people. So you know them?"

"I don't recognize the younger man, but I believe the elder is Adzriel's new husband, Saaban i Irais."

"Husband?" Alec looked at the Bokthersans again, then back at Nyal.

Nyal arched an eyebrow at him in surprise. "You did not know of this?"

"I don't think Seregil knows," said Alec. He hesitated a moment, then asked, "Are there any Chyptaulos here?"

"Oh, no. Because of liar's escape, theth'sag has never been settled between them and the Bokthersans; the bad blood between the two clans is still very bitter. For the Chyptaulos to come here would also be seen as insulting Klia's lineage."

"Lord Torsin said Seregil's presence may have the same effect."

"Perhaps," replied Nyal, "but Seregil has the more powerful allies."

When the ceremony of greeting was over, the khirnari dispersed, disappearing with their kin down one of the many streets that fanned out into the city.

Adzriel accompanied Klia from the circle. As soon as they were outside the stones, however, she and Mydri embraced Seregil, clutching the back of his coat with both hands as if fearing he'd be

spirited away. Seregil returned the embrace, his face hidden for a moment in their dark hair. The other Bokthersans joined them, and for a moment he was lost from sight in the happy, chattering group. Saaban was introduced, and Alec watched as a look of amazement came over his friend's face, followed at once by a grin of delight. It appeared that Seregil approved of the match.

Klia caught Alec's eye and grinned. Beka and Thero were trying not to be too obvious as they strained for their first glimpse of Seregil's family.

"To see you here again!" said Adzriel, holding her brother at arm's length. "And you, too, Alec tali." Extending a hand, she drew him close and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. "Welcome to Aurenen at last!

"But I'm forgetting my duty," she exclaimed, hastily wiping at her eyes. "Princess Klia, allow me to present the rest of the Bokthersan delegation. My sister, Mydri a Illia. My husband, Saaban i Irais. And this is Kheeta i Branin, a great friend of Seregil's youth who has kindly offered to serve as your equerry in Sarikali."

This last was the young man who had stared so openly at Alec during the ceremony. A great friend, indeed, it seemed. Seregil grabbed the younger man in a rough hug, grinning like a fool.

"Kheeta i Branin, is it?" he laughed. "I seem to remember getting into trouble with you a time or two."

"Two? You were the cause of half the beatings I ever received," Kheeta chuckled, hugging Seregil again.

Was this fellow one of the "youthful flirtations" Seregil had spoken of? Alec wondered.

"You'd better close your mouth before something flies into it," Beka whispered, poking him in the ribs.

Ducking his head self-consciously, Alec prayed that his thoughts hadn't been quite so obvious to anyone else.

Releasing Seregil, Kheeta gave Klia a respectful bow. "Honored kinswoman, quarters have been prepared for you in Bokthersa tupa. Whatever you need there, just ask me."

"Your house stands next to my own," Adzriel told her. "Will you dine with us tonight?"

"I'd like nothing better," replied Klia. "I can't tell you what a comfort it is to know that there is at least one khirnari of the Iia'sidra in whom I can place my complete trust."

"And here's another!" Mydri said as Amali a Yassara joined them, walking arm in arm with a white-garbed khirnari.

By the Four! thought Alec. He'd known that Amali's husband was older than she, but this man could have been her grandfather. His face was deeply lined around the eyes and mouth, and the scant hair showing beneath his white sen'gai was the color of iron. If his wife's proud smile and glowing eyes were anything to go by, however, age was no barrier to affection.

"Klia i Idrilain, this is my husband, Rhaish i Arlisandin, khirnari of Akhendi clan," Amali said, positively beaming.

Yet another round of introductions ensued, and Alec soon found himself clasping hands with the man.

"Ah, the young Hazadrielfaie himself!" Rhaish exclaimed. "Surely it is a sign from the Lightbearer that your princess comes to us with such a companion!" Without releasing Alec's hand, he raised his other to touch the dragon bite on Alec's ear. "Yes, Aura has marked you for all to see."

"You're embarrassing poor Alec, my love!" Amali said, patting her husband's arm as if he were her grandfather after all.

"I'm grateful to be here, whatever the reason," Alec replied.

The conversation mercifully turned to other things and Alec retreated back among the Urgazhi. Nyal was there, too, but had not come forward to greet the Akhendi. Instead, he watched from a distance, his face somber as he followed Amali with his eyes.

"My wife speaks most affectionately of you, dear lady," Rhaish was saying to Klia. "It is a great event, having Skalans on Aurenfaie soil after so long an absence. Pray Aura we may see more of your people here in the future."

"You and your family must feast with us tonight, Khirnari," Adzriel offered. "Both in thanks for your kind escort of my kinswoman and her people, and because Klia can have no better ally than you."

"The hospitality of Bokthersa is always an honor, my dear," Rhaish replied. "We will leave you now to settle your guests in. Until tonight, my friends."

Leaving Seregil to his family, Alec rode beside Beka.

"What do you think of it all so far?" he asked in Skalan.

She shook her head. "I can still hardly believe we're really here. I expect any minute for one of those dark-skinned ghosts of Seregil's to pop into sight."

Rounding a corner, Alec glanced up and saw someone watching

them, but it wasn't Bash'wai spirits. Several white-clad khirnari stood on a balcony high above the street. He couldn't see faces clearly at this angle, but he had the uneasy feeling that they were not smiling.

"The Skalan queen sends a child led by children!" Ruen i Uri of Datsia declared as he stood with Ulan i Sathil and Nazien i Hari, watching the Skalans ride past.

Ulan i Sathil allowed himself the hint of a smile. Ruen had supported this parley with Skala; the introduction of a little doubt suited his purposes nicely.

"You must not be deceived by their apparent youth," he warned. "The celadon fly hatches, mates, and dies in a day, but in the narrow space of that same day, it breeds hundreds of its kind, and its sting can kill a horse. So it is with the short-lived Tir."

"Look at him!" Nazien i Hari muttered, glaring down at the hated Exile riding freely through the streets. "Queen's kin or not, it's an affront to bring my grandson's murderer here. Can the Tir be such fools?"

"It's an affront to all Aurenen," Ulan agreed, never letting on that he had voted in favor of Seregil's temporary return.

Rhaish i Arlisandin slipped an arm about his young wife's waist and kissed her as they walked slowly toward Akhendi tupa.

"Your journey has agreed with you, talia. Tell me your impressions of Klia and her people."

Amali toyed with the amber amulet lying against his chest. "The Skalan princess is intelligent, forthright, and honest. Torsin i Xandus you know. As for the others?" She sighed. "As you saw, poor Alec is a child playing at being a man. Ya'shel or not, he is so innocent, so open, that I fear for him. Thank Aura he is of no real importance. But the wizard—he's a strange, deep fellow. We must not underestimate him, in spite of his youth. He will not show his true powers."

"And the Exile?"

Amali frowned. "He's not what I expected. Under that respectful manner lies a proud, angry heart. He's grown too wise for his years among the Tir, and from what my men picked up among the Skalans, there's more to him than meets the eye. It's fortunate that his goals are the same as our own, but I don't trust him. What does

the Iia'sidra say of him? Will his presence here present an obstacle?"

"It's too soon to say." Rhaish walked on a moment in silence, then asked blandly, "And what of young Nyal i Nhekai? Such a long ride must have given you opportunity to renew your acquaintance."

Amali colored. "We spoke, of course. It seems he's quite taken with Klia's red-haired captain."

"Is that jealousy, talia?" he teased..

"How can you ask such a thing?"

"Forgive me." He pulled her closer. "Besotted with a Tirfaie, you say? How extraordinary! That could prove useful."

"Perhaps. I think our hope is well placed in Klia, if she can impress the Iia'sidra as she has me. She must!" Amali sighed, pressing a hand to the slight swell of her belly where their first child was growing. "By Aura, so much depends on her success. May the Lightbearer's favor lie with us."

"Indeed," he murmured, smiling sadly at the strong faith of youth. Too often it was the god's will that men make their own favor in the world.