I spoke half in jest, but Paulo did not. “I’ll do it,” he said, quiet and fierce. “Be sure of it. I’m watching your back.”
On the fourth day of my stay with Gar’Dena, Aiessa burst into our workroom with the terrible news that a Zhid raiding party had attacked three outlying settlements, killing or capturing all who lived there.
Gar’Dena practically pounced on the girl. “The names, child. What are the names of the settlements?”
“Vilkamas, Sen Ystar, and Nithe.”
At the names, the sorcerer clasped his huge hands, pressed them to his brow, and closed his eyes. “Have your sisters light the war flame, my Aiessa. Remind them to take into their hearts those who have fallen and more especially those souls who find themselves this night under the yoke of the Lords. May their courage and honor light our Way.” The girl nodded and hurried away, and Gar’Dena turned back to my lesson. “You must be ready to go at any moment.”
We drilled for two more hours, Gar’Dena trying to trip me up with questions about the squalid work camp where Eda the sewing woman had spent her whole life, and how she had come to be in service at the fortress of Zhev’Na. “… And when was your mate killed?”
“The people of our work camp were honored to serve the Lords in a battle exercise a twelvemonth since. My mate did not return.”
“And why were you not returned to your work camp?”
“Only I and three others survived the battle exercise. It was not in the best service of the Lords to send so few back to the work camp.”
“And how did you come to Zhev’Na?”
“I’ve worked for these past months in the war camp of the Worships, but I was not suited to tent making. The keeper said I should perhaps be killed because I was useless, but then he heard that there was a lack of sewing women at Zhev’Na. I am greatly honored to be allowed to serve the Lords here, and I work diligently to improve myself.”
“And what is your present service?”
“I sew, Your Honor, linens and tunics for the Worships, for such is simple work suited to my poor skills. I repair what needs it and change the linens in the rooms where I might be assigned. On occasion I am called on to stitch tunics for slaves, though only for the glory of the Lords of Zhev’Na would I perform any service that might benefit vermin slaves.”
On and on we went, until Gar’Dena’s head jerked up. A streak of blue light creased the air-a message had arrived. The Dar’Nethi would drop an enchanted stone into a flame to alert a distant correspondent that he wished to speak in the other’s mind. “It is done,” he said, almost reverently, after a moment’s quiet as the sender communicated the message. “The first move is made. You go tonight. You may wish to sleep for a while now, my lady, as it will be many days until you can rest in safety. I will assist you to sleep if need be.”
“I couldn’t rest well anyway,” I said. “Tonight is my husband’s funeral procession. As I cannot attend”- Gar’Dena had declared it too dangerous-“I intend at least to watch what I can of it.”
The people of Avonar had at last been told of the death of the Prince D’Natheil. The Preceptors’ examination had revealed that his mind was too damaged by his summer’s battle on the Bridge to allow him to assume his duties, so they told the shocked populace. Cast into despondence, he had taken the sorrowful step that was the final proof of his illness-taking his own life. The Preceptorate would deliberate on the succession, but, of course, nothing could be done until the Prince’s son came of age.
And so in the last hours before I was to go to Zhev’Na, I stood on Gar’Dena’s balcony with the Preceptor and his daughters and watched the funeral procession of the Heir of D’Arnath. Karon’s funeral. As the sun slipped behind the peaks of Eidolon, the Dar’Nethi spilled out of houses and shops. Dressed in white, each carrying a glowing white sphere, they converted every lane into a river of light.
As the procession passed slowly through the grand commard, they began to sing, first the men, then the women, and then the children. They sang the story of Vasrin Creator and the dawn of time, and of Vasrin Shaper who set men and women free to walk their own paths through the world. And then they sang of D’Arnath and his Bridge and his oath to sustain it, and of the sad young Prince who had lost his father and brothers and been thrust onto the Bridge too early in the desperation of his people. They sang of the unknown Exile who had opened the Gate, and of the Prince’s mysterious journey to the other world that had resulted in the renewal of life in the Vales of Eidolon.
The rite was heart-wrenching and exhilarating. Only when they carried the white-silk-draped bier past the window did I falter. But I closed my eyes and prayed that the songs of the Dar’Nethi would echo far from Avonar. “Wherever you are, my dear one, listen well,” I whispered. “Let the beauty of this night give you comfort.” I would not grieve. I would not.
Even after the procession wound out of sight, the singing rang through the frosty air, echoing off the mountain peaks well into the night. But time for my departure had come, and I could no longer permit my thoughts to linger on either beauty or sorrow. I donned the shapeless garb of black and brown and allowed Gar’Dena to tie a red kerchief over my eyes.
“Please forgive this,” he said. “Each piece of our mosaic must remain separate lest we reveal the whole picture too soon.” He led me through his warm house, scented with spices and flowers and baking bread. And then we stepped through a magical portal, so the chilly prickle of my skin told me, into an echoing room with no scent but cold stone.
“Now, my dear lady”-Gar’Dena spoke loudly into my ear, as if my blindfold might be hampering my hearing- “our honor and blessings go with you. In fourteen days you will be contacted, and shortly after, as the Way leads us, we shall be together again, rejoicing at our success, your son safely in our care. Until then…” He grasped my hand in his meaty one and kissed it. “Now, take three steps forward, turn immediately to your left, and then left again.”
Three steps forward. A tremulous disturbance of the air. Another chilly ring surrounding me. As I turned left and then left again, a grim voice spoke in my head. Do not be afraid. You are not alone…
One more step and the air and space around me changed dramatically. Hot. Dry. The scent of smoke and ash and seared stone. Air, stale and close. I believed I could reach out and touch walls on every side. Cool, damp hands grasped my own, and a man whispered in my ear, close enough that I could feel his warm breath. “Quickly, step forward. One moment…” I stood in the hot, airless darkness for a moment and felt the quivering boundary of the portal vanish. “You may remove your eye covering. You’ll not see me again after this day.”
I yanked off the kerchief. The tiny, windowless room was lit by one candle. My companion pressed his ear to a wooden door and then faced me. Wearing a well-tailored coat with a high collar, trimmed with a great deal of gold, and knee breeches and hose of light tan, he was almost as large a man as Gar’Dena, but a much harder man, who crowded the little room with his muscular presence. Yet, despite his robust frame, his complexion was gray and unhealthy-looking, and the hollows of his eyes were dark and sagging. My stomach tightened considerably when I saw that he wore the plain gold earring of the Zhid and that his eyes were cold and empty as only those of a Zhid can be. He bowed. “Welcome to Ce Uroth. This is quite a risk you take.”