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Enjoy the rest of The Gramary:
Introduction |
The fortress crouched silent and brooding on a hill bare of trees. The massive stones, worn smooth with the passing of years, smelled of power, and the night forest held its tongue in respect. I had found my way to the home of the Brothers of God with the help of a man in the familiar brown hood and studded belt, who appeared on the road in front of me between one glance and the next. Once I knew it was there, it took little time to find the narrow, overgrown path. Fifty feet from the road, the wilderness reigned. There was no sign that a town like Landro was so close by, or that a great city might lie within a couple days' walk. Even the memory of the road itself was little more than a fading scar. The going was slow, but the distance not great. It didn't have to be. Two miles deep in the wilderness was as good as ten. And the fortress appeared on the hill before me as suddenly as the Brother had appeared on the road. Lyneen was here. The certainty of that struck me still and blind among the twisted vines and vaulted boughs of that awed and watchful forest. Lyneen was here; the amulet was here -- no longer speculation and hope, but cold, incontrovertible fact. Beyond that, I was lost. I couldn't just knock on the gate and ask them kindly to let Lyneen out. I couldn't storm the place and lay waste the walls -- not alone, and not before morning. I sat and watched the stern fortress, with the creatures of the night and in the company of the wind. There had to be a way through the gate, some way to penetrate the walls and enter the world of the Brothers of God. I studied the fortress, its lines, its cracks, its age. It seemed to grow from the rugged breast of the earth itself. Ivy clung to the worn blocks, swarming along mortar pathways to establish dominion over more distant blocks. In time the ivy would consume it, yet the fortress had a confidence that refuted the right of the forest to prevail. The fortress was there, had always been there, would always be there. I settled against a comfortable tree to continue my contemplation. The cool breeze soothed me, the stillness of the night lulled me, and soon I drifted to sleep. Lyneen's room. The sword grew as I stared up at it -- long and cold and sharp -- and soon there was nothing else. I stared up at it -- and then I was staring down at myself; six feet off the floor, with Lyneen's cool fingers grasping my feet. I was the sword, seeing as the sword would see, feeling as the sword would feel ... I started awake. That was the beginning of power, it must be. I -- my mind, my soul -- had left my body; I had seen things from a distance, seen myself, experienced the senses of another thing. The sword wasn't alive, didn't truly have senses, but I had been the sword, and for that time I had given the sword sight. But could I do it again? Could I do it at will? The home of the Brothers of God loomed before me. I focused on the squat bastions at the corners, the discolored streaks of crumbling mortar, the insistent vines. I lost sight of the trees and the stars and the path to the gate. I closed my eyes. The fortress was there, as distinct as before: the same stones and clinging ivy, the same look of power and age, the same mastery over the rock from which it sprang. I noticed vines I had not seen before, snaking up the trellised gate; I saw orange-grey patches of lichen, and white-grey streaks of bird droppings. I opened my eyes, and they were there. The fortress in my mind was more detailed and exact than the fortress in my eyes -- I knew the fortress as I had known the sword. I cleared my mind. With the sword I had seen and felt -- now I would try to hear. The breeze whispered through the dry foliage. Small forest creatures rustled furtively in the brush. Far off a young stream splashed onto smoothly polished stones. I dismissed these sounds and turned my ears fully to the fortress. At first there was nothing. Then it came: the clearing of a throat. I concentrated on the sound, drawing closer. I heard breathing, and an occasional grunt as the man shifted. The sounds of the man were right beside me now, and I opened my eyes. There he was, a lone sentry, bored and tired, longing for the comforts of the guardroom, thinking of ale and coarse jokes. His hood was thrown back, his hair disheveled. The brown tunic was wrinkled and stained, and he scratched himself absently, more from habit than need. His broken nose was red and veined; a scar on his neck puckered when he turned to spit. His thick arms were folded over his paunch as he leaned against the battlements above the gate, looking more often to the passageway to his right than out into the night, more alert for his relief than for approaching strangers. "Drifting off again, Blad?" I jumped. The words boomed loud in my ear, and I almost lost contact. Blad jumped, too. He stood to attention and tried to straighten his tunic. "No, sir," he mumbled. "Just wondering where that slime is as was supposed to relieve me a half hour ago." The newcomer stepped forward into the moonlight. He was tall, with blond mustaches framing his mouth and a jeweled star around his neck. His stern, angled face twisted into a sneer, or a smile that could serve as one. "You may as well go down and get drunk," he said. "You'll be of no use here. Nothing's likely to happen before the burning, anyway." Blad needed only a moment to consider abandoning his post. The newcomer leaned against the battlements, at the exact spot Blad had vacated, and stared into the darkness, toward the hill where I sat. He whistled a strange tune to himself. I became aware of another presence at the same time he did. He cut the tune short and turned. "Ah, Brother Frelic. I've been expecting you." A man stepped forward and bowed. "They said I might find you here, my lord Abbot." "And so you did. What news have you sent to the Prelate?" Brother Frelic cleared his throat. "Simply what happened. I recommended no action, my lord." "It seems you disapprove, Brother." "It is not my place to say, my lord Abbot. Until the Prelate speaks, you may proceed as you see fit." The Abbot laughed. "Here there are no ears but mine. Speak your mind and think no more of it." Frelic hesitated. "As you say, my lord. I only wonder if we might not be doing wrong by burning this fellow." "How could we be doing wrong? We are commanded to burn wizards. They are evil." "But how do we know this one is a wizard?" "Come now, Brother. You have seen the amulet, haven't you? By that you may know them. Of course he's a wizard." "But he's done nothing, said nothing." The Abbot shook his head. "They never do." "The amulet -- might it not belong to the other one?" "Which other one is that, Brother?" "The other one the landlord said was in the room, the one your men passed on the stairs. Might not he be the wizard, rather than this one?" "Peace, Brother! Speak no more foolishness. If there is another, he shall also burn. This one -- he smells like a wizard. Go down and see for yourself." "Yes, I suppose." They fell silent, but Brother Frelic did not leave. "Was there something else, Brother?" The Abbot was annoyed. "No, my lord. I was just wondering if the new text had arrived." "Oh? What text is that?" "The text for condemning demons and their minions. The Prelate was finishing the new version when I left. It should have arrived by now." "A new text, is it? He wants us to try it out, see if it works any better than the old one?" The Abbot snorted. "No, it hasn't arrived. I'll let you know when it does. Now go away and leave me in peace." Brother Frelic cleared his throat as if to speak further, but changed his mind and left. They knew about me; they thought I was a wizard. I almost laughed, but remembered the flames. Lyneen was right: they would kill me, since he had not. The smart thing was to run. I could disappear without a trace in any city on the continent. It would solve nothing. A year from now, maybe two, they would find me. I would dice to make a living, and through dicing they would find me. I'd know they were coming, but would be no more able to defend myself against them than I had been yesterday -- yesterday, when I had not feared them and they were not aware of me. But with the amulet -- with the secrets of the amulet -- I might be able to face them. I had been a sneak all my life; a sneak, a cheat, a thief, always running, always hiding. Lyneen had forced me to see a different world -- I hadn't wanted to see it, but he left me no choice -- a world where I didn't have to hide, where I had some measure of control. And where the Brothers of God wanted to kill me. I was in that world now, regardless of my wishes; in that world powerless, and the only choice I had was to help Lyneen so he could help me. The moon was down when the Prelate's runner appeared. I caught him just off the road, well out of sight of the fortress. He was a tall man, and his clothes fit me badly; I bunched and gathered and tucked, so the overall effect was bulky, but passable. I identified myself to the warder as a runner from the Prelate; he said nothing, and opened the gate. I tried to chat as we waited for the Abbot, but he kept his silence and soon I gave it up. In any case, the Abbot wasn't long in coming. "From the Prelate, are you?" He was smaller than I had thought, though still a foot taller than I. His eyes were more stern, his mouth more cruel than they had seemed on the battlements. "Yes, my lord." I bowed. "Have you a name, runner?" A name? I cast about, and Lyneen's words were the first I found. "Vran," I said. It sounded strange to me. "Brother Vran." I bowed again. He looked at me sharply. "Vran? That's a strange name. What does it mean?" I shrugged and looked confused. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess. It's a name." The Abbot smiled, nothing like a sneer this time, more like a viper before a sparrow. "Well, no matter, Brother Vran. I hear you have something for me." "Yes, my lord." I fumbled the dispatch case from my belt, dropped it, picked it up, and handed it to him, smiling shyly into his scowl. He took a heavy sealed parchment from the case, glanced at it, and slipped it into his sleeve. "Go to the kitchens, Brother Vran. You have served the Prelate well." He turned to leave. "Oh, my lord ..." He did not turn around. "Yes? What now?" "The Prelate expects me back immediately. I must leave soon." "All the more reason to eat and rest, then. Good night, Brother Vran." I watched him disappear into the fortress, and turned to the warder for directions. He looked at me oddly; perhaps it was something I should already know. His directions were terse and precise, and I found the kitchen with little trouble. A yawning scullion did his best to serve me, and at length I pushed back from the table and belched. I was in the fortress; my belly was full; now to find Lyneen. "Big doings tomorrow, eh, my friend?" I said. The scullion started awake in the corner. "Beg pardon?" "The burning." I winked at him. "Must be something to watch. Ever see one?" "No, Brother." His disappointment was obvious. "There's not been one in all my years. You should know that; you're older than me." "Yes." I turned in my seat, glancing around the room. I leaned toward him, trying to make my eyes twinkle. "Have you seen the wizard?" I whispered. "I've never seen one. Is he as horrible as they say?" The scullion shrugged and glanced around for himself. "Not so bad," he said guardedly. "Looks like a man, and pretty scrawny at that." "Do you think ..." I lowered my voice even more, so he had to lean forward to hear. "Do you think I could see for myself? Before tomorrow, I mean. Just a peek; I've never seen one before." He looked around again before answering. "They don't like it, you know." Now I had to strain to hear him. "Had to sneak down there myself." "I can sneak," I said eagerly. "Can you show me?" His eyes shifted aimlessly as he thought. "All right," he said at last. "But I can't be gone long. Someone might come." He led me down a short hallway at the back of the kitchen, through a heavy banded door, and down three flights of uneven stone stairs. We came out in a long, dark corridor. Torches guttered at intervals along the walls, casting a feeble yellow light that could not drive back the gloom. The walls were rough stone, crudely mortared and spotted with lichen and cobwebs. Barred doors lined the corridor, and a guard stood at the end. He was large and well-muscled, with a long knife and a bunch of keys on his belt. His eyes were closed. Even from this distance I could hear the rumble of his snores. "That's Kark," my guide whispered. "He's a friend of mine." I gulped and nodded. The scullion pointed at each door as we passed, muttering under his breath. "Seventeen," he whispered, stopping. "This is it." The door was solid, banded with iron, stoutly barred and locked, the same as all the others. The scullion stepped up and slid open a peephole. He waved me forward. "There he is. Quick, before Kark wakes up." "I thought he was your friend." "He's nobody's friend when he's just woke up." I nodded and stepped up to the peephole. It was small, but afforded a good view of the cell: three paces to a side, dark-stained stone walls heavy with mildew and shiny with moisture. The flagstoned floor was strewn with straw, and on a pile in the corner lay a man. He wore only a breechcloth and lay with his back to the door. His back and shoulders were raw with red weals, some weeping. Out of reach above his head was another of the smoky torches; the light played across his back, sometimes adding to the wounds, but never taking away. The man's face was in shadow, so I could not be sure it was Lyneen. "Is that him?" I whispered. "Course it is. Who else?" The man looked asleep, but he must have heard our voices. He rolled over and looked directly at the peephole. His face was still in shadow, but I could see his eyes. They challenged me as they had in the tavern the night before, so long ago. They held a new light, though, of desperation, or resignation. But not of surrender. He knew he was going to die, but he would not yield; he would grant them nothing but his life. I thought of Maline, who cursed the Brothers from the flames. A noise came from behind me, a small squeak, but I didn't turn; Lyneen's eyes still held me. A hand fell on my shoulder and spun me around. I slammed against the wall and found myself staring into Kark's bloodshot eyes. His long knife pricked my throat. "Still curious, Weasel?" he growled. He was talking to the scullion, but his eyes never left mine. I heard a whimper from the floor. "And now you're bringing your friends. Hope he paid you, Weasel. Half of it's mine." This last was for me. He snarled and pressed the knife hard against my throat. Blood trickled warm and wet into my collar. I grinned at him. His eyes widened in surprise; this was not a reaction he was used to. "Don't worry, Brother Kark," I said. "You'll get whatever he gets. More, I promise you." He paused, then grunted and stepped back. "Right," he said. "If you're done looking, get on out of here. And you, Weasel. Get back down here quick with my breakfast. Didn't bring anything with you this time; thought I'd sleep right through it. And don't forget: half." He swaggered back to his place at the end of the corridor and watched us, fingering his knife. I helped Weasel to his feet. He had a large bruise developing on his throat, and was eager to leave. I followed him back to the kitchen. I left him there, sulking in a corner, and went to explore the fortress. I knew where Lyneen was; now I had to know exactly what lay between the cell and the front gate. I would fetch him later -- and deal with Kark at the same time. My shoulder ached, and blood still seeped from my throat; Kark owed me. The place was larger than it looked from outside. Built in a hollow square, it had two floors above ground and three below. The top floor held the quarters of the Abbot and other officials, as well as the chapel. The ground floor contained, besides the kitchen, the dining hall and quarters for the ordinary Brothers. Various craft shops, some storerooms, and the armory occupied the first underground floor. The two lowest floors were the dungeons, corridors lined with dank cells like Lyneen's, presided over by Kark and his fellows. Nobody paid any attention to me until the prior found me outside the chapel. He took me by the arm on a guided tour. He didn't breathe once, but managed to tell me the schedule for the coming day, as well as next month, the month after that, and the previous two years. The burning would come early. The sunrise devotional would be followed by a last ritual questioning of the accursed, the Abbot would read the new condemnation, and then the flames would start. My time was short. In two hours there would not be a single Brother still asleep. Many of them were harmless, like the prior, but some were like Kark or Blad, or the men who took Lyneen. The fewer of them I had to get past on the way out, the better I would feel. With such thoughts spinning through my head, I ran down the stairs toward the kitchen, straight into the Abbot's arms. "Brother Vran," he said. "I've been looking for you." My heart stopped. He had found me out. "Yes, my lord," I said, edging away from him. "I've a letter for the Prelate. Will you be with us for the consecration?" It took me a moment to realize he meant the burning. "I fear not, my lord. My lord the Prelate wants me back as soon as possible. I must leave by sunrise." He nodded. "A shame. The new condemnation is splendid." He sighed, truly sorry I would miss the spectacle. Then he winked. "But don't worry. There will be others. Come, I'll write that letter for you now." He took my elbow and led me down the hall. His office was just big enough for the desk and one chair it contained. There were no windows, and the walls were bare. The lamp on the desk burned bright and steady, casting no shadows. Beside the lamp sat a pile of papers, the top one creased and sticking up, as if trying to return to the shape it had known in the courier's pouch on my belt. Beside the papers was a small leather bag -- Lyneen's bag; Lyneen's amulet. "You've been wandering the abbey, Brother Vran," he said as he wrote. "Have you spoken with many of the Brothers?" "A few, here and there, my lord." "Tell me. Have you heard anything about this wizard having a companion? Are they talking of a second wizard?" I was startled, but managed to say I had heard no such thing. "There was another person there, you know. I don't know if the second was a wizard as well, but if he is, he'll burn, too." Why was he telling me this? If he suspected me, I was caught. The Abbot's voice was loud, and there were at least five armed men between me and the door. And Lyneen was still three floors underground. "Yes, we will catch him and burn him." The Abbot's eyes bored into mine; his voice shook with ruthless passion. The pen broke in his clenched fist, spattering ink over the letter. "Damn!" He blotted the letter with the edge of his sleeve, signed it with a new pen, and sealed it. "You will assure the Prelate that no wizards will pass here unharmed." He stood, holding the sealed letter out to me. I saw now that his words about the second wizard were meant for the Prelate, a denial of slipshod work. He was shrewd, and wove a spell with his words and the power of his voice. I could not help but feel sympathy for him, and knew that the Prelate would forgive him any indiscretion. But he still had the amulet. I stepped forward to take the letter, and tripped. I grabbed the letter as I fell, but sent the other papers flying. The inkwell skittered off the desk and shattered on the stone floor. The lamp teetered on the edge, but the Abbot caught it in time. "You idiot!" he roared, his face purple. "Oh, my lord, I am sorry." I fell to my hands and knees, scurrying about the floor, picking up papers, getting in his way as much as possible. "Please forgive my clumsiness," I whispered, arranging the papers in an artful mess on the desk. He pushed me away and straightened the pile a bit. "Just get out of here, you oaf! Get out, and don't let me see you again before you leave." "It was an accident, my lord, I swear it." "Out!" "Yes, my lord Abbot." I stowed the letter and the bag in the dispatch case and bowed myself through the door. The stairs farthest from the kitchen would take me directly behind Kark's post. I ran down them. The sound of someone coming up made me slow to walk. A Brother passed, and we nodded without speaking. When he was out of earshot, I ran again, slowing only at the end. I drew my dagger and crept noiselessly down the last few steps. A snore rumbled up to meet me. I was in luck. I peeked around the last corner and saw Kark, slumped to the floor, head lolling to one side, well and truly asleep. A rap on the head with the hilt of my dagger ensured his continued slumber. I took his keys, ran to the far end of the corridor, and counted seventeen doors back. The third key opened the lock, but I could not budge the bar. It needed two men -- or perhaps one Kark. I glanced wildly about, but there was no help in the corridor. I was lost. When they came to get Lyneen they would find me heaving at the bar, Kark unconscious at my feet, a wizard's amulet in my pouch. A wine jug, shattered on the floor. Dice, with Wizard's Teeth. A sword, stopped on downward stroke ... I could move it -- I had to. It was far heavier than dice, or a sword, or a wine jug, but I could do it. It needed two men, fine. I was one, this power would be the other. Only dice! the voice screamed. The jug lay shattered on the floor ... But with the sword -- I hadn't even thought about it then. It just happened. It was that or die. Much the same as here. I had to do it. But what if I couldn't? Dice were easy; I hadn't thought about the sword; this was as different as sticks and stones. If I failed I would die. If not today, then tomorrow, next month, next year. The Brothers would find me and I would burn. "Only dice!" A child crying in an old man's arms. Pain and blood and a wine jug, shattered on the floor. Unbidden, my hand slipped into the dispatch case and found the soft leather bag. "Stop it," I said to the voice in my head. "I have to do it, that's all." I took out the amulet and held it in the palm of my hand. Red, intricately carved, powerful; it seemed to glow in my hand, to grow warmer. I could do it -- I had to or the amulet and all its secrets would be lost to me forever. I returned it to the dispatch case and faced the bar. I had to learn it, every twist of the grain, every splinter on the corners; I had to know it, to become it. I thought I heard a groan behind me, but didn't turn. I was ready. I closed my eyes and placed my hands on the bar, feeling it cool and rough on my skin. Slowly, the coolness enveloped me. The roughness was all around me. I was in the bar, I was of the bar. The hard floor no longer pressed against my knees; the door pressed close behind me, iron brackets held me to the wall. I strained upward. The ceiling called to me; I had to reach it, I would reach it -- and I moved. The bar moved. Just a little, but upward. I flowed back along the bar, filling every bit of it with my desire to reach the ceiling. UP! I must go UP! Something snapped. Some last bit of resistance parted, and I was UP, I was flying to the ceiling, I was free -- A growl behind me, and something heavy hit my back. I snapped into my body in time to see Kark's giant fist swinging at my face. I looked toward the ceiling, longing to reach it -- it twisted in and out of focus, faded into red, then black. A child crying, pain in my head, a hand hitting. The voice: "Dice! Only dice!" The hand hit ... again, and again ... "Vran! Vran, wake up. Someone's coming." I opened my eyes. Lyneen slapped my face again. I swallowed hard and looked around. I lay in the corridor next to the open cell. Kark sprawled beside me, but he no longer growled. The bar lay across his head, above a spreading pool of blood. Lyneen shook his head at the scene and smiled. "Never thought I'd get the chance to say this, but it's good to see you, my friend." I tried to smile back, but stopped with a wince. "Never thought I'd hear it." The sound of heavy footsteps came from the stairs. "Don't you think we should go?" He grinned and helped me to my feet. I snatched up Kark's knife, and we were off down the corridor, away from the approaching footsteps. Lyneen collapsed at the stairs to the kitchen. I was winded, still weak from my bout with the bar, but I had eaten recently, and had not been flogged. "Lyneen, can you make it? Not far, just three flights." He nodded and struggled to his feet. I tried to help, but he pushed my hand away. He had to do it himself, to show that he could make it. A shout came from behind us. They had found the body and the empty cell. The footsteps pounded toward us. "Time to go," muttered Lyneen, and stumbled up the stairs. I was close behind, pressing him, ready to catch him when he slipped. We made it to the upper dungeon level before he fell again. "Go on, Vran. You can make it alone." "I didn't come here for the food," I said. "Now, get up. They're right behind us." I dragged him to his feet and pushed him ahead of me up the next flight of stairs. The shouts were close now, and gaining. We would never make it to ground level. At the next floor, I pulled Lyneen aside and ran down the hall, yanking at door handles. The fourth one gave, and I darted into the room, Lyneen right behind. A Brother looked up from his potting wheel and smiled. I had passed him earlier on the stairs. "Good morning, Brother," he said, and then he saw Lyneen. The smile vanished. "Oh, no," he said, rising. "You mustn't." I sprang at him as he started for a side door. He raised a hand to protect himself, but too late. Kark's knife struck. He lay dead at my feet, eyes still wide in recognition and terror. "You look like an escaped prisoner," I said to Lyneen. "Take his clothes and try to look pious." I checked the other room while he changed. It was the armory. Good; this we would need. The long knife and my dagger were fine against an unarmed potter, but there were swords -- many of them -- between us and the gate. I tested a few and chose a pair, short sturdy blades for close fighting. I turned to find Lyneen, now in the potter's brown tunic, inspecting a rack of swords. "No time for that. Take one of these and let's go." He shook his head and went on examining the weapons. "Mine should be here somewhere," he said. "Yours! What does it matter? Just grab one and let's get out of here." He glared at me and sighed. "Would you take the first mule when you knew there was a fine charger in the next stall?" I gaped, but could find no answer. He went back to the racks. "I value that blade above all things but one, and I will not leave it here." It was senseless to argue. "All right, but be quick about it." I thought I heard running in the hall, and returned to the potter's shop. "Check the rooms!" The shout came from right outside. I dragged the dead man behind a rack of pots and took his place at the wheel. Two Brothers burst through the door, red-faced and wild-eyed, swords at the ready. "Good morning, Brothers," I said, fighting to calm my voice. "Can I help you with something? A new wine cup, perhaps?" "The prisoner! He's escaped!" "What? Who's escaped?" I cupped my hand behind my ear and cocked my head forward. "The wizard, you fool! He's out. Have you seen him?" I gasped and looked around the room. "Wizard? There aren't wizards here, I hope." They glanced at each other and shrugged. "He's daft," said one. They glared at me and left. "I found it!" Lyneen shouted from the armory. "Well keep it quiet," I hissed. "They're right outside." He appeared in the doorway with sword in hand. "Let them come," he said. "I'm ready." I looked at the sword I knew so well and nodded. "You may be, but I'm not. Put that thing away and get over by the door." He did as I said, but looked puzzled. "What are you going to do?" "Just follow my lead." When he was ready, I jerked the door open. The hall was alive with armed Brothers, running back and forth, yelling all at once. "In here!" I shouted, hoping that the two who had just been in were gone. "He's killed the potter!" Several Brothers sprang to the door and crowded in. I pointed wildly toward the corner with the body, and they ran to it. I motioned Lyneen through the door and followed before they could turn and ask anything. No one thought to challenge two more Brothers in the hall, and we ran unmolested to the end and up the stairs. I grinned and shouted, my voice lost in the general outcry. We were in the safest place we could be: in the middle of the hunt. We elbowed through the press of Brothers on the ground floor. Most were half-dressed, blinking sleep from their eyes and struggling with their boots. "Downstairs," I told them. "The potter's been killed." Many stared after me before pelting down to further clog the lower floor and block the stairway. Lyneen stumbled and almost fell in the crowd, but I kept a hand firmly on his arm and steered him toward the gate. As we got closer the crowd thinned out, and there it was: the gate, open, between us and freedom. Lyneen shook off my hand, determined to walk through unaided. "Brother Vran!" a call came from behind. I whirled, and found myself facing the Abbot. He glanced at my ready sword and smiled, more like a sneer than ever. "I see you've heard of our troubles, Brother Vran. Wizards can be dangerous; it is good you are armed." "Yes, my lord. I hear your men have the prisoner trapped on a lower floor." His eyes shifted to Lyneen. "I also see you have an escort. The roads, too, can be quite dangerous. Look at me, escort, that I may bid you good journey." I felt Lyneen tense, but he did not turn. The Abbot's eyes flashed and he stepped forward. "Brother Vran, your escort cannot hear. That will not do." He was beside me now, ignoring me, reaching for Lyneen's arm. "Come, Brother, I wish to bid you farewell." He pulled Lyneen toward him. Lyneen came fast, blade flashing. The Abbot's eyes widened and he fell, the sword deep in his shoulder. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. He was silent even when Lyneen wrenched his sword free. "And farewell to you, my lord Abbot," said Lyneen, his voice low, almost tender. The Abbot's eyes closed. Lyneen dragged me through the gate, into the growing light of morning. "Why did you come for me?" Lyneen asked that evening. "I tried to kill you." We were in a small cave overlooking the sea, far from the Brothers of God. A fire burned between us. Beside it lay a gamecock, once fat and dumb, now disconnected bones. "You tried," I smiled. "But I failed, I know. When you stopped my sword -- well, I knew I was wrong about you then. You're good, you know. I hoped you might come, but I really didn't think you would." I shrugged. "Had to. You have something I want." He nodded. "My amulet." "No, not exactly." I fumbled open the dispatch case and tossed the bag to him. "I had some time to think. I don't want your amulet; I want what it means. This power -- two days ago I used it to win at dice. Today I killed a man with it. I want to know what it is, what it means; I want to control it." I paused and looked him in the eyes. "You can teach me." He looped the chain around his neck. "I knew you had it. I felt it; it calls to me, you know." He poked at the fire, sending a shower of sparks up between us. "I heard you talking to someone outside my cell, just before you threw off the bar. Who was it?" A wine jug, shattered on the floor ... "An old man I once knew. He taught me to roll dice." "An old man. Did he have a name?" I shrugged. "He's been dead a long time. Everyone called him Alessa." Lyneen was silent for a time. "Alessa," he said, quietly, to the fire. Then he shook his head sharply, as if to drive away unwanted thoughts. "Alessa," he said aloud. "Do you know who he was, Vran?" "An old man, like I said. A drunk. He beat me bloody once, when I ... moved something. Only dice, he said, and he beat me." Lyneen shook his head slowly, sadly. "A drunk when you knew him, perhaps, but once ... he was a student of the Master Declesa, and almost as great. I was told he simply disappeared." He looked at me and sighed. "I cannot teach you, Vran." I looked up sharply. "But you must! That's why I saved you." He regarded me solemnly. "No," he said. "Alessa was your master, and no other will do." He chuckled softly. "I can help you to teach yourself, perhaps, but I can never be your master." I sat stunned for a moment, thinking of his 'No.' Then I laughed, thinking of what he said after. Yes, I would teach myself. But what? |
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