Sun Sword - The Riven Shield Part 11

Perhaps it was Marakas himself who needed to know this. Because without safety, the depleting, exhausting, revealing work of this day meant nothing. Less than nothing. What was hope, after all, but another way of torturing a man? Had he not, with hope, returned through villages made funereal by the pa.s.sage of disease, looking for his wife, his son?

He found strength. He walked quickly. And stopped when he reached the village center.

For Fredero kai el'Sol had drawn his sword. Balagar burned as if steel could be the heart and essence of fire. There were almost no villagers in sight; few were willing to bear witness to the unfolding of events when those events involved the naked blade, and men of rank and power. Marakas understood their absence well; he did not even consider it cowardice, although among the high clans it would have been dismissed as such. Marakas was not born to the high clans, just the free ones; he was an indifferent swordsman-at best-and he had abjured use of blade where the simple expedient of hiding in safety would do.

And all of these things, all of them, were part of an old life, a different life. The crest upon his chest had never felt so alive as it did this day, and it demanded its due.

The Radann had drawn swords as well. They caught sunlight, reflecting it, scattering it.

In their midst, the young girl stood, straight and tall, her left eye bruising now, her lips thick with the weight of ungentle hands. But her eyes were clear, her shoulders straight, her back unbowed; she was achingly, piercingly beautiful, and he would have given his life, in a frenzied instant, if it would have saved her any sorrow, any misery.

Ah, Darran, he thought. For he stood, husband to her, and proud of it, terrified of it, hallowed by it, at her side, his clothing wet and sticky with unstaunched blood, his face pale, his lips set. His arm was across her shoulders, and he drew strength from the contact. Enough, in Marakas' certain opinion, to be able to remain standing.

The man who had claimed to be the kai of the Tor'agnate di'Manelo had drawn his blade as well; so had his men. They were not, in Marakas' opinion, Toran-or if they were, they did not deserve their rank. They had an easy confidence about them that spoke of youth and familiarity with the privileges of power-but not with the responsibilities. There were some lessons which one did not survive the learning, or the teaching, of.

He witnessed them now.

"This man," the kai el'Sol said evenly, "is not dead, as you can see. This woman is therefore claimed, and protected, by a family."

"An oversight," the kai di'Manelo said quietly. He had not taken a step forward; he was younger than Fredero, but not so young that he overestimated the effects of age upon the kai el'Sol's sword.

"Attempted murder is seldom considered oversight."

"Murder?" The kai di'Manelo's eyes narrowed. "There must be some misunderstanding, Radann kai el'Sol." He bowed, but he did not lessen his grip upon the haft of his curved blade. "We came upon him in this condition, and his wife, believing she had been widowed, was grieving. She was distraught; she mistook our concern for something less seemly. There must have been a bandit attack."

"The bandits are thin at this time of year; the harvest has not yet proved so poor that men must kill for food."

"Then perhaps it was the Voyani. They come at will, and they take what they can, like the carrion creatures they are. Ask him what occurred," the young man added. "I am certain that he will explain the misunderstanding."

The kai el'Sol turned. "The Lord is witness here," he said. "I call upon him to be judge as well. What was done was done beneath the open sky; the Lord sees all. Understand, Ser Darran kai di'Sambali, before you reply, that I am the first of the Lord's servants. What he witnesses, I witness.

"What happened in the south fields?"

"Think carefully," the kai di'Manelo said.

"Indeed," the kai el'Sol said, nodding gravely.

In his youth, Marakas would have known a horror at being trapped, like a p.a.w.n, in the game of two powerful men. But Darran knew no fear this day, and Marakas, a giddy elation. Not hope, but something more substantial.

"The kai di'Manelo demanded the right to my wife. I refused him. She had no desire to accept his offer, and had she-"

She tensed beneath the curve of his arm and his eyes involuntarily traced the side of her face. His hand tightened, his expression, for a moment, was youth defined.

"I said no."

"And?"

"He ordered his men to kill me. He said a widow with no family had no business tending farm without escort; that she was simply inviting her own . . ." His wife reached up and caught the hand that trembled against her shoulder. She said nothing; now that her husband was at her side, it was not her place to speak. But Marakas knew that the gesture was an offer of strength, comfort, and pride, and that Darran would draw from it all of these things.

He felt Amelia's absence more viscerally than he had for two years.

"Enough," the kai el'Sol said, but not unkindly.

"Will you take the word of this . . . this village worker . . . over the kai of the Tor' agnate?"

"He is not seraf," the kai el'Sol replied, "and his words have the advantage of containing truth."

"He lies."

"Does he?"

"Beneath the open sky, I swear it. He lies."

"Then you will have the opportunity to prove your claim," Fredero told him quietly. "By right of combat; by test of sword."

The smile on the young man's face was thin, sharp, and dangerous.

It vanished when Fredero continued. "But as it is I who am judge, and I who have accused you, however mildly, of lying, it is I who you will face." He did not turn, but the Radann Paolo now sheathed his sword and joined the kai el'Sol. "Tell the villagers to gather. Tell them to gather and bear witness."

Paolo bowed.

"Kai di'Manelo, we will convene again in the village center, when the Lord has pa.s.sed the height. Choose your Toran; choose the man who will guard and second you. Marakas," Fredero added, "will you be my Sol'dan?"

26th of Misteral, 427 AA Sea of Sorrows The Radann Marakas par el'Sol now paused in his solitary voyage. The dawn had come; dusk slipped past as the minutes changed the color and the texture of the light that filled the sky. The Lord, he thought, had come, and the Lord would soon reign.

He had not yet eaten. Water had pa.s.sed his lips, wetting his throat, but he felt no desire for food. He therefore chose to continue the reverie of his journey, step by step, a balm against the day's growing heat.

Sol'dan.

"What does it mean, Jevri?"

Jevri el'Sol brought water, food, and shade to the younger Radann. "It means many things," he said, as he unrolled the bamboo mats upon ground he had carefully flattened with the b.a.l.l.s of his feet.

"Do not . . . serve me." Marakas spoke carefully. He had come to respect this man, and the fact that he had once been owned disquieted him. In the Radann, there was freedom. That, at least, proved true.

"I serve merely myself," the old Radann replied, voice serene, eyes cast toward the food that he was arranging so artfully. He frowned, shifted the b.a.l.l.s of rice perhaps an inch or two, and nodded. "If you choose to join me, I will be honored, but I do not require company."

"But this-"

"This?"

"This service . . . it is . . ."

"Unseemly?"

Marakas shook his head. "It seems so much more than the Lord demands. Only a seraf . . ."

"Yes." Jevri el'Sol gave no sign of offense. "Only one raised as a seraf in the High Courts. You must have lived on the plains," he added, "among the free clansmen. The Courts would consider such work as this beneath notice, beneath contempt."

"You are free of the . . . duties . . . of the High Court."

"Indeed. And of that contempt."

"Then why bother at all?"

"I find comfort in it. It gives me something to do with my hands-other than wring them, or fight." He met Marakas' gaze, and to Marakas' surprise, a smile tugged at the corner of lips and eyes; humor. He had not expected to find it, not here.

"We all find comfort in the rituals of our childhood, and food, our manner of taking sustenance, is among the earliest of our learned rituals, our pleasures and our hungers. I do not like to eat as if I were a wild creature, or worse, a boorish cerdan.

"I was raised to serve. It was not clear, not immediately, what form that service would take, and I was watched carefully and tested for many things. I was not a large boy; I did not grow into my size; I was therefore not considered suitable for the kai Lamberto. But I had an eye for arrangement-flowers, food, fabric-that led me, in the end, to the service of the Serra. In the harem, all life starts, all paths begin.

"I watched Fredero as a child. I watch him now. And he does not deny me the simple pleasures of a life lived with order, with decorum, with simplicity. He does, however, deny me the right to impose that life on any of the Radann save himself." Jevri el'Sol smiled again. "But I am stubborn. I educate those who are able to learn.

"And that, of course, is not what you asked me."

Marakas was bewildered.

"You wear your heart upon your face," Jevri said, with mild disapproval. "It is a habit you would do best to lose. Masks are your only freedom, Radann el'Sol; learn to wear them with grace and subtlety. The Lady will offer you what privacy you choose to take; the Lady's Festival will offer you more. Use these wisely.

"Very well. You have asked what Sol'dan is, and I should not be surprised. You have been with the Radann for a very brief time."

"I have been with the Radann for the better part of a year. And I have learned how to wield a sword, that is all."

"Be grateful. When I joined, I was taught how to better wield a broom; the Lord suffers no slaves to serve him, but the cleaning must still be done. I digress.

"A year is a short time, the better part of a year, even shorter. When you have lived this life for a decade, when you have lived it for two, come to me and tell me how long you've been at it."

"You have not been here for nearly that long."

"I see that Fredero has chosen to trust you. No, I have not. But experience is an able teacher. If it were not, you would sit at some other man's knees and offer him your questions.

"There are no Tyran among the Radann. No Toran. No cerdan, no serafs. There is the Hand of G.o.d, and among the men who comprise that Hand, only one is kai. The four who remain are par. We are men, after all; we have need of our brothers."

Marakas met the older man's eyes and held them, thinking them darker than he remembered, and brighter. The Lady was in them; he had learned the signs among his travels in service to the Voyani.

And this man knew, as Marakas did, that kinship counted for nothing among serafs. Not in the Lord's eyes.

He said, stiffly, a rebuke to the fates that were absent from this conversation, "It is said we are equal in the eyes of G.o.d."

"It is said. But it is not believed, even among the men who serve that Lord. We make our allies, we make our enemies, we fight our battles. We choose-on rare occasions-to trust, to take the risk of trusting. There is no blood to bind us, no blood to tie us or hinder us. We are men."

"And yet you serve."

"Yes." He was silent for a moment. "But it was my choice, if any man can be said to have choice in this life, beneath the gaze of this Lord. All choices of import, in the end, have been out of my hands.

"But perhaps they are of import because of the lack of choice, the struggle; those things that are easily within our grasp are not things we prize." He shrugged; his shoulders dipped and lifted, as if he were sloughing weight.

"What is a Sol'dan?"

"Sol'dan. It is an honor, but it is not a rank. It is not a t.i.tle. You cannot claim it as a symbol of power, and if I judge correctly, there is a risk of death or injury if you choose to accept. But it is tangible."

"Is it service?"

"It is, in a fashion. But it is different. Is 'brother' a form of service? No. But to be one brings the responsibilities and duties all families know.

"Agree to stand as his Sol'dan, and you agree to serve as only Tyran serve their Tyrs; you agree to defend his cause as if he were your brother. He has chosen challenge beneath the open sky; you must accept that, and abide by the rules of the governance of men. But should the man so challenged seek to gain by treachery what he cannot gain by the grace of the Lord, you are given leave to intervene."

"That is . . . that is all?"

Jevri el'Sol stopped speaking. His hands fell into his lap as he straightened his shoulders. "Yes," he said quietly. "But you are young, Radann. If you can ask that, you are young."

CHAPTER FOUR.

27th of Misteral, 427 AA Sea of Sorrows AT THE height of day, Marakas par el'Sol once again built his shelter. He laid Verragar by his side and removed the mask that protected his face from the winds that swept out of the desert, carrying with it sand, heat, the story of a thousand deaths. The desert was fierce this day.

An omen.

He could see where horses had pa.s.sed before him; their tracks were not shadowed by the heavy ridges of wheels in the dry ground. Alesso di'Marente's men, and in number. He wondered when they had pa.s.sed; how long it would be before they pa.s.sed this way again. The patrol was overlarge to be perfunctory, and that was disquieting; of all places that one watched for danger, the Sea was not one.

Or perhaps it was not a danger that armies could be threatened by, had they the sense to remain beyond its grasp. Marakas had taken precautions when traversing the sh.o.r.es of the Sea of Sorrows, but they had been perfunctory; had there been battle, or death, within miles, he would have known it by the movement of carrion birds. The sky was bereft of their shadows. Even they chose to shelter when the sun was high.

And the sun was at its height, its glory a radiant death that disturbed the air, distorted the vision, transformed what was left of unwary sight. The Lord's dominion was undisputed; if men served him, they served with the full knowledge of his ascendance.

Men did not make oaths of note to women; the oaths that were offered women were private. No wooden medallions bore the marks of raised and lowered sword; no blood was shed. Even in marriage, the oaths a man made were made to his wife's fathers and brothers.

So Marakas had been brought to the desert by an oath that he had not made.

Evallen of Arkosa had died a terrible death, and the wind's voice was her voice; he could not escape it. For he alone had known her as the Matriarch of her kin, the mother of her people, and it grieved him to deprive a whole people of the woman whose guidance was crucial at a time of such darkness.

Thus, the power of the Matriarch.

Thus, the power of Fredero kai el'Sol.

Marakas was not a young man. He had not been young when the Radann had accepted his service. But he had been a different man. The winds had etched lines in his face, and in the fires of his enemy, he had been reborn, come new into the world with a sword, hairless as an infant.

He had seen only one enemy. It was a blessing unlooked for, to possess such perfect clarity of vision; to be free of the conflicts and the conscience of any imperative other than that war.

But the weeks had curbed and clouded that vision; as each day pa.s.sed, he felt the weight of humanity, with its inc.u.mbent frailty, return. He accepted it.

With it came memory.

The kai di'Manelo and his men met Fredero kai el'Sol at the heart of the village. The villagers had been instructed to bear witness, and the command of such men as these could never safely be ignored, but although they were present, they were ill at ease. Words had been offered, between one kai and another; words had been sent on the back of the swiftest horse present.