Storm Season- - Thieves World 04 (30 page)

At the far-far!-end of a genuinely long table of fine inlaid wood sat ... a shadow. And a man ...

Hanse tore loose his hand from the warm grasp of a god and backed a pace with a hissing whisper of soft-soled buskins.

"Cudget!" he all but shouted. "Oh no, no, Cudget-they killed you, Cudget!" And his voice broke. _

The voice that replied was not Cudget's, but was male, and warmth itself. Somehow it made Hanse feel good; all warm.

"It is in the nature of gods to be self-directed, what you call selfish. Sometimes we forget your mortal attachments, unbroken by death. I thought you would like the face of your mentor and late best friend and foster father, my beloved friend and servant Hanse. My own visage is only Light; Lambence; Candence. For I have not a thousand eyes you know, not really."

"You... cannot be ..."

"Hanse-take the crossed brown pot with you," Cudget said in Mignureal's voice, and only she and Hanse knew that she had said those words to him one night of evil. (Or did she?) And then Cudget was speaking on, in another voice that Hanse did not at first recognize. Then he did-it was his own! He remembered the words, from the night he had gone to Kurd's and nearly died-no! He had not uttered those words! He had but thought them, and only he could know them: "0 Ils, god of my people and father of Shaipo my patron? It is true that Tempus Thaies serves Vashanka Tenslayer. But help us, help us both, lord Ils, and I swear to do all I can to destroy Vashanka Sister-wrfer or drive him hence, if only You will show me the way!"

On hearing those words issue in his voice from the Being at the far end of the long table, Hanse could only stare.

"Only two could know that prayer of yours, Hanse. Only two not just in all the world, but in all the universe. You are one; the other is He who hears all words directed to him, whether they are uttered by tongue or mind only." Pale, Hanse could only gasp forth shaky words: "Lord... God."

"Yes," the warm voice spoke from that lam-bence. Hanse had elected not to genuflect on meeting a prince of Ranke. Now, upon meeting that god Who was god of gods, he was far too shaken to think of falling to his knees.

Lord Ils proved that he was no mere king or emperor or religious leader, to insist upon such displays. Neither egoism nor egotism marked gods. They had no need of either. They were gods. Cudget's face vanished and again Hanse was forced to squint. Someone still sat at table's end in that big dining hall, but there was no face at all now. There was only light.

Eyes almost closed, Hanse was forced to look away from it-and discovered that now he looked upon a goddess, all in deep warm pink bordered with silver and sashed with scarlet. With jewels flashing in the deep indigo silk of her hair; or perhaps they were stars.

The voice of warmth spoke.

"Yes," it said again. "Cheated of strength in my own lands, but not drained, Hanse Son of Shadow. The intensity of belief of one who had sneered at gods, and his loyalty that is not automatic but learned, volunteered-it is you I speak of, Hanse-these aided Me. For gods and mortals are mutually dependent, Hanse.

"My cousin Savankala's son Vashanka has waxed here by the power of belief of one variously called the Riddler, and Thales, and Tem-pus, as well as the Engineer, and Sea-born. We need not concern you with who he really is. Vashanka wished his freedom one night; wished it enough to bargain with Me. It required only the efforts of Shalpa my son to cloud the skies that night. Because the climate of your land is what it is, both Vashanka's power and Mine were required to send rain that night, when you needed water to survive the plant-that-kills. Naturally I made bargain with Vashanka ere I helped him-because I knew Vashanka would bargain to help you save Tempus!

"Having agreed, Vashanka himself made a concession: Vashanka himself struck his name from the palace of My people. Nor will Vashanka use such power displays here again. It were not wise of Me to raise my murdered temple, which Vashanka struck down; that is the business of you humans. Such edifices please you humans; gods have no need of such aggrandizement for there is no aggrandizement beyond godhead."

Hanse's brain was awhirl and he wished he were sitting down. He said, "And... and Mig-nureal?"

It was Eshi who replied to that. "We have acted through her twice now, and she remains more powerful than she knows. For none can be touched by a god without receiving some of that which is the essence of gods-a form of strength, a form of dominion over time and space. Those are after all creations of gods, and bounded about my mortals. The girl Mignureal remembers nothing of having twice acted for us. But she dreams-0 how she dreams, now!" Now that shadow-presence spoke, at table's end, and its voice was as a shadow might sound; was as a piece of good leather drawn slowly across a whetstone.

"The power of Vashanka remains at bay, and now you may make use of Vashanka's servant, who is ... lost."

"How-why?" Hanse asked, and indeed he was not sure if either question was the right one. Seismic disruptions disturbed his brain and his stomach felt both hollow and drawn together.

Because they needed him, they told him without equivocation, for what was pride to gods?

The Ilsigi his people, and Sanctuary called Thieves' World needed him, and the world needed him. It was not just that Ils and his family would wane and shrink and perish. Ranke would rule supreme over all the world, and Ranke was ruled by men other than good ("for my cousin Savankala is old and weary of the strife of his offspring") and Savankala's warlike, war-loving son ruled Ranke, through its emperor. .

"I may not do battle with Vashanka, though," Ils said, light speaking in the voice of warmth, "for son must battle son."

And with that stated He vanished, and much light left with him. Now the big chamber was draped with shadows, and the Shadow at table's end spoke, in the rustly voice of shadows, hooded and cloaked.

"You think you know me, Hanse, and you are right. I am He to Whom There is no Temple. I am the Shadowed One, Hanse who are Son of the Shadow. It is I who must combat Vashanka, for I am son of Ils as he is son of Savankala my uncle. But the presence here of Ranke, and of Vashanka and his so-powerful servant-these have robbed me of abilities. I can act only through you, Hanse, as my sister may act only through Mignureal. With the sword from him called Stepson, Hanse, who is Godson, is to combat a god."

"Vash-Vashanka?"

Hanse saw the shadowy nod that was his only reply, and again he blurted words:

"But I am not skilled with a sword!-Lord of Shadows," he added. That fortunate fact was not to be his succor as he hoped. Fight a god!

Shadowspawn? Hanse? No no, he wanted only to fly from here and lose himself in that cess-warren called the Maze, forever!

But: "There is one in Sanctuary who is more than expert with the sword and the business of killing, and he allows that he owes you. With him now are those who are skilled at teaching use of the sword, and they are his liege-men, Hanse. Hanse: use him. He will see to your instruction, and with pleasure. You shall learn prodigiously and surprise them, for I shall be there with you, Hanse who are the Chosen of Ilsig."

Now Hanse was propping himself with both hands on a high-backed chair, and at last Eshi took notice.

"We are cruel, brother! Shadowspawn-seat yourself." Shadowspan obeyed with gratitude and alacrity. He almost collapsed into the chair. He took a very deep breath, let part of it out, and was able to form words by letting them ride the breath: "But ... uh ... then what?"

"You will know, Hanse."

Then Shadowspawn twitched away at a sound beside him. He looked at the floor beside his chair, at what had only just appeared there, and could not possibly be there. Clinking, dripping, running water, were the bags off the saddle of a dead man named Bourne. Hanse's saddlebags, from the deeps of the well just outside! The ransom of the Savankh, which he had stolen for little purpose other than his own ego and pride-which had soared, then. The ransom Prince Kitty-cat had told him was his-if he could get it out of the well. It was irresistible. He bent to the bags, opened one, took forth a few wet silver coins. And he sighed. He dribbled them back in, listening to their sweet lovely clink, and he did it again-keeping a few in his fist. Then, staring thoughtfully down at those bags sending wet runnels along the floor, he sighed.

"You are god and my god, Shadowed One. This... this is safe in the well. Uh, can you put it back?"

Hanse jerked when the bags vanished, and he wondered if he were not the greatest fool in Sanctuary. How silly I am going to feel when I wake up from this dream?

"It is back in the well, Son of the Shadow, and aye, it is safe indeed! And we must go, my sister and I. Our time on this plane is necessarily limited." Hanse raised an expostulating hand, said "But-" and was alone in Eaglenest. The candles remained, burning. So now did food and wine, on the table before him. He glanced down. The puddles and dark run-stains of water remained. And so did the coins in his hand, a few pieces of silver.

Did that mean it had all indeed happened?

No, of course not. When I wake, the coins will be gone. The food he took with him, eating as he left, tasted very good in his dream, and the wine was the very best he had ever sipped. Only sipped; the sack remained heavy as he climbed the steps to his room deep in that area of Sanctuary called the Maze. (It was even more dangerous now than ever before, what with all these damned swaggering soldiers, all foreigners; that was one reason he had chosen to leave his money in the well. Even the Maze could no longer be considered safe, Hanse thought.)

He entered his room and closed the door with care, and bolted it with as much care. A window leaked in a little moonlight, and by the time he had the cloak unclasped and off and the tunic over his head, he was able to see pretty well. That was how he discovered that a woman waited in his bed. A girl, rather. The truly beautiful Lady Esaria. In his bed. She sat up, showing that all she wore was the bedspread, and held out her arms. Hanse was somehow able to avoid yelling or collapsing. He made it to the bed. She was real. She was waiting for him. It was wonderful, all of it with her. Even his wondering, Is she Eshi?, did not inhibit him or her or his enjoyment or hers. What matter whether she was the Esaria she appeared to be or the goddess; she was higher than he could have aspired, and the experience was supernal. He deduced that it really was Esaria, not Eshi (in his dream, of course, he reminded himself) because surely Eshi wouldn't have been eating so much garlic. She was gone in the morning, and he lay smiling, thinking about his dream. Lying on his back, he rolled his head.

He could see cloak, tunic, and wine-sack from here. That brought him wide awake, and sent his hand swinging down beside the pallet to check his buskins. The silver coins were still there. Hanse demonstrated the cliche of sitting bolt upright. Hurling back the spread, he inspected his bed. That required no effort. The evidence of Esaria's visit and her late virginity were vehemently present. I was not dreaming, he thought, and then he spoke aloud: "I see and I believe. I will do it, 0 Swift-footed One, 0 All-father Ils! I will do it, holiest-but-one Lady Eshi, and Venerable Lady of Ladies Shipri?"

The voice was there, inside his head: All depend on you,son. Not "all depends," Hanse realized later. "All depend." Meaning "all the gods of Ilsig and the Ilsigi!"

He took up the last of the strong drink he had used all too much since That Night, the night at Kurd's, and he poured it out onto the sheet on the floor, which already showed the scarlet of another form of sacrificial outpouring.

"A libation to the gods of Ilsig!" Hanse said firmly, and-he meant it. From the secret hiding place it had occupied for a month and more, somehow resisting alcoholic urges to sell it, he took out a packet. It was the one he had brought away the morning after That Night. It contained the shining and obviously valuable surgical instruments of Kurd the vivisectionist, whom Tempus had lately sent off to another plane of existence or inexistence. Thieving was out of the question now, and such excellent tools would bring him plenty of coin, the naked Hanse thought, and he opened the package on the rickety little table.

And he stared.

The surgical instruments were gone. The packet contained some forty feet of supple, slim, inch-wide black leather strap; a shirt of superb mail, black; a plain black helmet with nose-, temple-, and neck-guards. And a ring. It was not black. It was of gold, and it was set with a large tiger's-eye, caged in bands of gold and surrounded by small blue-white sones.

He spent a lot of time that day wrapping and tightening the leather strapping around the silver sword-sheath given him by him called Stepson. Thus its ornate value was concealed. He tried on the mailcoat and marveled at its suppleness and spent many many minutes learning to get it off. Over the head, yes, but one could not hoist it up and over as one did a tunic-not just under forty pounds of boiled leather covered with rings of black metal! The helmet fitted perfectly, of course.

The ring he would not try on. It was hers, Hers and his sign; he could not consider it his ring. It and four of his five silver coins he carefully stashed before he went down, rather late in the afternoon, for something to eat. He wore the old camel-hued tunic with the raveling hem.

He ate well, drinking only barley water.

"Saw you going out last night, Shadow-spawn," the taverner said quietly, admiring the silver coin and trying to be cool about it. "Musta been a good night, hmm?"

"Aye. A good night. Aye! Don't forget my change." It was too late to do much of anything. He wandered a bit, hoping to catch sight ofTempus. He did not, andhad to go back. pretending notto hurry, to check his new possessions.