“And so he went to this meeting?”
“Yes. Though he expected to be gone a slightly longer span than he usually left you, you were unlikely to wake before his return. As was usual when leaving the house, he commanded me to stay with you. There was always a risk that something would happen to him. That’s why he stored the knowledge of his purposes and methods in me, so I could help you if the worst befell. Last night he commanded me doubly”-the Dulcé closed his eyes again- “but I disobeyed, and the worst befell.”
“You followed him.”
The Dulcé nodded. “The open nature of the sculpture gardens forced me to remain at a distance, so I could not hear what was said or get a close look at the one who awaited my master at the appointed time. They talked for perhaps half an hour until the murderers attacked. When Master Dassine fell, I, like a fool, drew my sword and ran to his defense. Nowhere is there a Dulcé less likely to win swordfame than I, and I knew my duty lay here… but I could not abandon him.”
“I’ll not argue with your choice. Did he put up no defense?”
“The assassins bore swords and knives, not enchantments. Master Dassine distracted their swords and snagged their feet with confusion, but there were too many of them. I noticed only one thing as I fell. The one who had called him there remained standing.”
“Who was it?”
“I could not see a face, only that the person wore a blue Preceptor’s robe with a gold stripe down the side of it.”
“What happened next?”
“I was afraid the murderers would discover that I yet lived, so I crawled under a bench, hoping to regain some strength, but I fell out of sense. Later in the night I became aware of people with torches, hunting Master Dassine. One searcher said, ‘I’ll not believe Dassine is dead until I see his body. You must find him. I will destroy whoever is responsible for this.’ ”
“And who was it?”
“The Preceptor Madyalar. I tried to call out to her for help, but no one could hear me. Some time later, others came to search the gardens-in stealth, my lord. Quiet voices, hooded lamps. Master Exeget led this second party-I recognized his voice-and he was furious that Master Dassine was nowhere to be found. I remained hidden until they were gone. I trusted no one to help, so it took me a long time to get back to the house. Too long, it seems.”
“And did you see what Master Exeget wore?”
For a long moment Bareil did not answer. “His robe was blue, my lord, with a gold stripe down the side of it.”
Bareil’s testimony only confirmed my suspicions. From the moment Bareil had implicated a Preceptor, I had believed Exeget guilty. Madyalar must have got wind of the attack and come to aid Dassine, giving Exeget no time to make sure of his old adversary. I would give Exeget a hearing before I passed judgment, but if he was responsible, I would kill him. Dassine could not have intended me to give myself to his murderer.
So then, what of Dassine’s mystery? “Dassine told me that a boy has been taken,” I said. “Abducted by the Zhid, I presume. He said that if they took the boy to Zhev’Na, then I was to surrender myself to the Preceptorate for examination. Do you know what he was talking about?”
“Not at present, my lord. If I possess this knowledge and you wish to command me to speak it, we must perform the madris.”
“If you’re willing, it would be a great service,” I said.
The Dulcé grinned. “I’m honored that you would consider my sentiments in the matter, Your Grace, but as you have surely concluded and I know for certain, Master Dassine intended us to be joined. My guess is that if we do not, he will fly back from beyond the Verges to hound us until we do so.”
“So I’m not the only one he bullied into obedience?”
“Oh no, my lord, far from it… though I think perhaps with you he enjoyed it more… you being his prince and all.”
At that we both burst into delicious laughter laced with grief, and raising the green flask, we drank to the memory of our demanding master.
CHAPTER 11
The first time I participated in the madris, it had been a hurried business. The Dulcé Baltar and I and the seven Preceptors stood in the Chamber of the Gate next to the curtain of roaring white fire. All of twelve years old, I had feared nothing in my life until I understood that I was to step through that wall of flame into the Breach between the worlds, balanced on a thread of enchantment. My mouth had gone dry and my stomach had churned, my terror so overwhelming that I could not attend to the rite that was taking place.
The memory still confused me, for sometimes I envisioned Baltar, a solemn young Dulcé, who, though he was not a mote taller than me, had been lean and hard with powerful shoulders that emphasized my boyish stringiness. But sometimes Baltar wore another face, a rounder, older one, that burst into laughter, tears, worry, or delight with the ease and frequency of a child. I towered over him. It made me wonder if I had actually linked with a different madrissé-perhaps before my latest attempt to repair the Bridge-the one I could not yet remember. I could retrieve no name to go with the second face.
Exeget had performed my madris rite with Baltar, for I had not possessed the power required. With Bareil, of course, I was on my own. But he told me what to do, practicing the words with me until I had them right. “Give me a moment to prepare myself, my lord, and then you may begin.”
Bareil knelt on the plank floor of the tidy chamber, held his hands palms up and open in front of his breast, and fixed his gaze on something in the vicinity of the door latch. Gradually his eyes lost their focus, and the light of awareness faded from his face. When his withdrawal from conscious activity seemed complete, I placed my hands on either side of his head, as he had instructed me, and touched his mind. He had made himself completely quiescent and completely open.
“Kantalo tassaye, Bareil…”I began. Softly I touch thee.
To leave his mind so exposed was an incredible act of trust, for at that moment I could have filled him with anything: fantasies, delusions that bore the stamp of truth, sensations of pain or pleasure, desires that could induce him to murder or madness. I could revise his whole identity, his whole emotional bearing. But instead, I reached into the space he had left clear and uncluttered for me, and I carefully touched the centers of knowledge and memory, the places of instinct and reasoning, imprinting on each of them a trace of myself-a connection that would allow me to command their functioning.
Only one step of the madris did I skip, that part which would place my mark on his will, giving me the power to compel his obedience. He had not asked me to forego it, trusting that I would not command him when he wished otherwise. Perhaps he knew me better than I knew myself, for I could not say that I would never press him against his wishes. Better to leave the connection unmade, even if it left our bond incomplete.
For my part of the bonding rite, I simply gave the Dulcé a silent command to draw whatever he pleased from my own head. A sorry lot of miscellany that would be. The sensation was odd and unsettling, something like a thousand spiders scurrying across the skin with pricking bristles on their feet-only it was all inside my head. When it was done, I touched Bareil’s face to rouse him, helped him to his feet, and we clasped hands.