Deeds of Honor (15 page)

Raki's shadow had moved back, toward the outer door. Selis turned to the platform, where two broad backs faced him; across it, he could see the other watchers, their faces intent on the shining object in the center. That light seemed to hold the fog at bay. He took a cautious step into the open, looking around for the Marshal.

The Marshal stood facing a recess in the back wall of the grange. Light from it glittered on his mail. Selis crept nearer, casting nervous glances back over his shoulder at the shadowy end of the grange. But he saw nothing moving. From this angle, he still could not tell what it was that made the shining light on the platform. None of the Girdsmen looked at him; none of them moved at all. He wondered what would happen if he spoke, but feared to try. The Marshal, too, seemed unaware of him. He took another step, and another. Now he could see what lay in the recess: a rough club of wood, with a smoothly polished handle. Light filled the recess; he could see no source.

He heard a patter of sound, and turned to see Raki standing near the platform, a dark figure slightly blurred by fog.

"They won't help you," said Raki. "They're spelled—they can't move." Selis felt his belly knot up; he shivered. "You might as well come with me, little boy," Raki went on. "The red priests will want to know where you've been."

"No—" Selis shook his head, shrinking back. He felt the Marshal's sleeve brush his bare shoulder.

"You want me to drag you?" Raki extended his hand, as if in greeting, then flipped his wrist. His little dagger lay in his palm, lightly clasped. Selis had seen him do that before. Raki had flicked the buttons off his dress tunic with that dagger, made him scramble for them in the gutter. Selis swallowed hard, aware of the Marshal's silent bulk behind him. Why didn't the Marshal do something? Was he spelled? And by whom?

"I won't come," he managed to whisper.

"Oh, you'll come," said Raki. "And your father—he won't be so proud, after this. And your mother—"

"No!" His voice startled himself; he could hardly believe it. "I won't come." Raki had stiffened at that tone. "You don't have any right. This isn't your place—"

"Little boy." Raki's voice was deadly. "All places are my Master's places, and I go where I will; you have no rights here. You're no Girdsman."

"No, but—" Selis tried to hard to think. "Anybody—he's the protector of the helpless—"

"Protector? And did he protect his paladin?"

"Yes. You didn't see it; I did."

"Selis, you're a fool; you saw what I saw, and you know it."

"No—I saw the wounds heal—"

"What!" Even in the fog he saw Raki's eyes widen.

"I did. Raki, the burns healed, I tell you—"

"I don't believe it." But Raki's voice was edged with doubt. "You were dreaming—you were wound-witless yourself—"

"No." Selis shook his head stubbornly. "It's true—that's why they drove us all out. The priests were angry, Raki, and afraid." He took a long breath. "And that's why I'm staying. She wasn't afraid, even after all they did, and then the wounds healed."

Raki cocked his head. "Well—she was a paladin—"

"You said there weren't any."

Raki shrugged. "Maybe I was wrong on that. Say she was a paladin, and the gods help paladins. But you aren't one. I'm not. For people like us, Selis, there's reason to fear. I've never had any aid from these so-called saints, nor have you—but we know what stripes the Master will deal if we don't obey. Gird won't save you, and you know it."

For a few moments Selis had forgotten to be afraid, as Raki seemed to listen, but now Raki was moving, coming toward him, and he felt the same choking fear as before. He tried to back, bumped into the Marshal, and felt that immobility as a wall.

"I can't—" he gasped. "I won't—"

"Come on, rabbit!" Raki had slipped the dagger back up his sleeve; he grabbed for Selis with both hands. Selis threw his tunic in Raki's face and lunged away. But there was no place to run. Beyond the platform was the foggy dark, cold and dangerous. Raki followed him slowly, chuckling. Selis looked wildly for somewhere to go, something to fight with. The weapons on the wall were hung too high, and he didn't know how to fight anyway. He edged around the platform, trying to keep it between them. Raki gave a contemptuous look at the Girdsmen posted at each corner, and stepped onto it.

The wood boomed like a giant drum. Before Raki could move, the Girdsmen had shifted, their heads coming up to focus on him. Selis froze. He saw the Marshal turn, saw the other swords come up, saw the flicker of movement along Raki's arm that became a dagger in his hand. Whatever had made the light let it fail, and it sank to a mere glimmer, a torchlit glint of metal on the platform. Then Raki leaped across the platform, his dagger before him, between the two Girdsmen on that side. Selis thought he had made it until he saw him stagger, saw the spatter of blood that marked the grange floor. The Girdsmen were quick; they had Raki safely bound almost before he caught his breath.

"You!" Raki glared at Selis. Two of the Girdsmen turned to look at him; he saw the Marshal already watching. "You'll pay for this, Selis," Raki went on. Selis shook his head, silent. He dared not look at the Marshal; he didn't want to watch Raki either. He stared at his feet.

"I thought I told you to stay in your room," said the Marshal. "I thought you agreed."

"I—yes, sir." Selis trembled. He saw a swirl of blue cloak; the Marshal's cloak, coming nearer.

"You brought trouble in your trail," said the Marshal. "Did you mean to?"

"No, sir." Selis felt the Marshal's hand on his head, slipping down to cup his chin and force his face up. "I—I didn't—" he faltered. "I—I was frightened, I knew they'd come for me, and I thought I would run. And then when I got to the light, Raki was waiting—"

"Hmm. Trouble is always waiting, lad; at least you had the sense to stay in the light." He turned away, and left Selis standing alone. Then he turned back. "This other boy—who is he?"

"He's—"

"Selis, you'd better be quiet." Raki sounded as dangerous as ever.

"Are you threatening our guest, thief?" asked one of the Girdsmen.

"Peace, Arñe," said the Marshal. "Let the boy answer, if he will."

"It's—Raki," said Selis. "He's—someone I know."

"I gathered that. Someone you know who is not a friend—who wants to hurt you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Does he follow Liart?"

"Yes, sir."

The Marshal walked over to Raki, and crouched beside him. "Let me see—not a bad wound. And so you think, Liart's thief, that Liart has all the power? You think Gird does not protect his own?" Raki did not answer. "Well, then—do you wish to live, or not?"

"All wish to live," said Raki. "Even that rabbit over there."

"Rabbit or rat, eh? I tell you what, Raki, I will not let a Liart's thief go free. Especially now. You entered a grange unasked, you violated the platform and the vigil, you attacked a yeoman of Gird: for any of these your life might be forfeit. Yet you are young. Would you prefer prison?"

"No!"

"Or will you forsake Liart, and swear your life to Gird's service?"

"Forsake the Master? But he will—"

"Then you, too, are as afraid as that boy?"

Raki seemed to shake a moment before answering; his voice was lower and less scornful. "No—no, but I have seen—"

"Something you're afraid of. All men are afraid, Raki. You call that child a rabbit—have you the courage to do what he has done?"

"Him? What?"

"He came here. He endured the treatment of his wounds without complaint. And he stayed in Gird's light when you tried to frighten him away." The Marshal paused; Raki said nothing that Selis could hear. Then the Marshal spoke in a different tone. "And where were you, Raki, when the paladin of Gird endured your god's torment? Were you there?"

"Well, I—yes."

"Did you taste her blood, as Selis did?" Raki nodded, unwillingly, Selis thought. "Did you do more?" After a long pause, Raki nodded again. "What?" Selis saw Raki shake his head, then his face worked. Whatever he said came to Selis only as an unintelligible gasp.

The Marshal shook his head at the end. "Well, Raki—make your choice. Choose Gird's service, and live; or Liart's, and die."

"You won't really let me go—"

"Not go, no. If you choose Gird's service, we will tend that wound and put you to bed, then find you a trade to learn—"

"As someone's slave," snarled Raki.

"No. Girdsmen hold no slaves."

"But how do you know I—"

"You would swear your oath on the Relic of this grange," said the Marshal. "I warn you that swearing falsely is a perilous thing."

"Has Selis sworn?" asked Raki.

"Selis is not your concern," said the Marshal. "It is your life we speak of now. Will you choose Gird, or death?"

"I don't want to die." Raki's voice trembled a little. Selis could not see his face for the others around him. He had never heard Raki sound frightened before.

"Well?"

"I—I'll swear."

"You will serve Gird, by the laws of our Fellowship?"

"Yes."

"Bring him." The Marshal turned back, moving around the platform to the recess; Selis flattened himself back into the corner. The Girdsmen untied Raki's arms and hauled him up. He looked shaken, unlike the confident boy Selis had always known. They urged him forward, until he stood beside the Marshal. He glanced sideways and looked at Selis. Selis looked back, seeing Raki for the first time as a boy—only a boy—older, but far from powerful. The Marshal reached into the recess and brought out the club. Selis could not see his face, as he spoke, but his voice was grim.

"Raki, I know you do not believe what I am saying, but I warn you: if you intend dishonesty, if you swear falsely on this relic of Gird, you may die. This club, we think, was Gird's own. Others have died of false swearing; you must know this. Your choice is meagre; you have lived with evil so long that we dare not trust anything but an oath like this; I wish it were otherwise. Now—take it in your hands. Yes, like that. Now—"

"It isn't fair, five against one," said Raki sullenly. Selis felt a pressure in the air, as if a listening crowd had Formed.

"Oh?" The Marshal's voice held no emotion. "Was it fair, many against one paladin?"

"No—"

"Then swear, Raki, or do not; it is time."

"I—I don't know what to say."

"Say: I swear my life to the service of Gird, according to the rules of his Fellowship." Selis could see the tension in Raki's face; it glistened with fog or fear. He saw Raki's hands clench on the club, and knew he was about to strike. But no one moved. Raki breathed fast, staring at the Marshal, then took a long breath.

"I—I swear—" he began. His eyes dropped to the club, widening. "I—swear my life—to the service of Gird—" Now the club glowed slightly; Raki's brows went up and his tongue ran around his lips. "I mean it," he breathed. "If—"

"Finish," said the Marshal.

"According to the rules of his Fellowship," said Raki quickly. The club's glow brightened, then faded.

"Do you renounce your allegiance to Liart of the horned chain?"

"Y-yes."

"Good." The Marshal took back the club, and replaced it in the recess. "Kevis, you and Arñe tend his wound; one of you stay with him when he sleeps. Raki, you are oathbound to obey them, for now. When you wake, you and I will talk. For now, I have something to say to Selis." Selis watched Raki move way between the two Girdsmen with a strange feeling of unreality. It simply could not be that Raki—daring Raki, wild Raki, dangerous Raki, the prize apprentice, the ringleader of the youngest thieves—was now sworn to the Fellowship of Gird.

"Selis." The Marshal's voice brought him back from that reverie. "Come here." He was suddenly afraid again. What if he had to swear, and the relic proved him false? He didn't know if he could be a Girdsman. But the Marshal was leading him to the platform. "Do you know what that is?" he asked, pointing at the object that lay glinting in the middle. Selis peered at it. A flat medallion on a chain, crescent-shaped.

"Yes, sir," he said. "It's a symbol of Gird."

"That's right. Pick it up." Selis looked at him, surprised, and the Marshal nodded. He stepped onto the platform gingerly, expecting that hollow booming; instead, his feet scuffed lightly on the wood. His back twinged as he bent to pick the medallion off the broad planks. He wondered if it would be respectful to touch it, and lifted the chain instead. "Hold it in your hand," directed the Marshal. Selis wrapped his hand around it, wondering. It felt like metal, chilled from the night air. The Marshal cocked his head. "Are you frightened now, Selis?"

He thought a moment before answering. "No, sir."

"Would you be frightened if I asked you to stay in the same room with Raki?"

"No—not now. Not if you were there."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"No, sir. Not now. But if you were angry—"

"Selis, I have been angry since you came. If you do not fear me now, you need not fear me at all."

"Angry—at me?"

"No. Should I be?"

"I did what they did."

"Boy, we have all done evil in our time; I pray Gird's grace that's the worst evil, and the last evil, that you do. Listen, Selis. You are younger, and I judge less tainted with evil; you should not need binding with such a strong oath as holds Raki. But in this time, with so much evil loose in the world, you need protection. Do you wish ours, or would you find another patron?"

Selis looked at him. "You mean be a Girdsman?"

"Yes. Join the Fellowship, but as a child does, not as a man. Thus if you grew to be called by another worthy patron, it would be no oathbreaking for you to become a Falkian, say, or join a forge of Sertig. It would mean putting yourself under our authority, until you were grown; the Fellowship would be your family."

"I—don't know if I can ever be a fighter," Selis said. "Raki's right, that I'm a rabbit. I—I cried, when they took me forward, even before they hit me." Somehow it seemed important to say that; he did not know why.

"Not all Girdsmen are fighters, but the Fellowship helps all learn to face what dangers they must. We will not ask you for more strength than you have, Selis. You are a child, not a man."