The Broken Sphere (5 page)

It wouldn’t have helped him if there had been. The largest of the five men was already striding toward Teldin, with the others following behind.

With no option but confrontation, Teldin drew himself up to his full height and fixed an expression on his face that he hoped conveyed determination and confidence. He brushed his cloak back and planted his fists on his hips. For a moment he silently berated himself for leaving his sword aboard the
Fool
and trusting only to his knives, but then he pushed the thought aside as useless.

The big man stopped a pace in front of him and glared down into Teldin’s face. The other four spread out on either side of him a half pace or so farther back. For a moment there was silence as the five men looked him up and down. Then, “Well?” Teldin asked coldly.

“You be a big fancy-man, don’t you be?” the leader demanded, his voice like gravel. “Walking here in your devil’s colors, not following the Way of the Plain.”

Teldin didn’t answer at once. Then he shrugged, as though the big man’s anger meant nothing to him. “I wear what I usually wear,” he said at last, his voice reasonable. “I don’t know your ‘Way of the Plain,’ but I intend no insult.” And with that, he turned aside, ready to walk away.

But the leader grabbed his shoulder with a hand the size of a feast day ham and jerked him back. He glared down at Teldin from a handspan away, breathing his sour breath right into the Cloakmaster’s face. “The Way of the Plain be the law,” he growled. “You come here to break that law. What other laws you be here to break, then?”

The man’s grip on Teldin’s shoulder was tight enough to hurt – obviously too tight for the smaller man to pull free easily. Quickly, the Cloakmaster considered his options. For a moment he considered trying to break free, but immediately realized that would just further enrage the man.

With an effort, he schooled his expression to calm, and said quietly, “I’m not here to break any of your laws.”

“But you
be
breaking one, don’t you be?” the gray-clad man demanded harshly. “He
do
be, right, lads?” The others growled and grunted their agreement. “What do we with lawbreaker, then?” the leader asked.

Teldin looked quickly from face to face, saw the same thing written in all five expressions. They’re working themselves up, he recognized, working themselves into a state to do something. The question was, how far would they go? He let his right hand creep closer to the hilt of the small knife sheathed behind the buckle of his broad belt. “I mean you no harm,” he said as calmly as he could manage. He wasn’t really afraid for his life – he didn’t think the men looked like trained warriors, and he could probably hold his own against five street fighters – but there was always the chance one of his foes would get lucky and injure him, perhaps badly. Even if he escaped unscathed, the fight would attract entirely too much attention to the “black-clad stranger,” and could prevent him from reaching the archive.

“You harm by your presence, lawbreaker,” the man grunted. He tightened his grip on Teldin’s shoulder, then drew back his other rock-hard fist to drive it into the smaller man’s face.

Teldin brought up his left forearm to deflect the coming blow. With his right hand he snatched the knife from its concealed sheath and poised the slender blade to strike.

“Hold”
The sharp command echoed through the street.

The six men froze, forming a strange tableau. Teldin looked around wildly for the one who’d spoken.

“Hold, I say,” the voice repeated.

Now Teldin could see the speaker. He was a slender man an inch or two taller than Teldin and, judging by his face, a couple of years younger. He wore the same nondescript gray garb as the Cloakmaster’s assailants, and his hair – gossamer-thin, and so blond as to be almost white – was cut in the same straightforward style. His pale, gray-blue eyes were steady, his face expressionless.

The man holding Teldin glared at the new arrival. “You defend the lawbreaker?” he snarled.

“He breaks the law only because he doesn’t
know
the law,” the newcomer pointed out reasonably. His voice had lost its snap of command, and was now soft, almost musical. “What does the True Path say about ignorance?”

The large man hesitated. His hand loosened its grip on Teldin’s shoulder, then fell away entirely. He glanced at the comrades at his sides, doubt in his eyes.” ‘Ignorance is the greatest crime …’” he said slowly.

”’ … but a crime to be corrected, not punished,’” the newcomer concluded. “Am I right? Our friend” – he indicated Teldin – “comes to the Great Archive for knowledge, in respect and reverence as he should. He knows not our customs, it’s true, but the fault lies equally with you for not enlightening him.”

Teldin’s erstwhile foe dropped his gaze. His comrades had already taken a couple of steps back, as though they were trying to fade into the crowd around them.

The big man managed to generate one last burst of bravado. “And who be
you,”
he demanded of the newcomer, “to lecture me on the True Path?”

“I am a Child of the Path,” the new arrival said quietly. He held something out toward the man. Teldin couldn’t see details, but it looked like a silver disk a couple of inches across, carved with complex symbols.

It didn’t mean anything to Teldin, but his foe recognized it instantly. The big man’s grayish complexion paled even further, and he lowered his gaze once more. “I beg forgiveness, Worthy One,” he mumbled, jerkily touching the fingertips of his right hand to his forehead. “I —”

The newcomer cut him off. “Enough,” he said sharply. “‘Think on what I’ve said … but do it somewhere else.”

Teldin watched as his erstwhile opponent vanished into the crowds, followed by his companions … then started slightly as the newcomer spoke to him.

“You won’t be needing that, I think.”

Teldin’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as he realized he was still holding his knife, ready to strike at a foe who wasn’t there. He hastily returned the blade to its sheath. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know how best to handle that.”

“You handled it the only way you could have,” the other said with a shrug. “They were out to ‘discipline’ an unbeliever – probably after a few hours in a wineshop, building up their courage.” He smiled.

Teldin didn’t return the smile. There hadn’t been any smell of alcohol on the man’s breath, had there? What did that mean? Did it mean anything at all, or was Teldin’s paranoia acting up again?

“In any case,” the young man went on, “it’s not an uncommon problem in Compact. One of the disadvantages of living in a theocracy is that sometimes the faithful let their fervor get a little out of hand.” He shrugged again. “The True Path is supposed to be one of peace, but people sometimes forget that it extends to unbelievers as well.”

“You keep mentioning that,” Teldin pointed out. “What is the True Path?” He hesitated, then added tentatively, “If you’ve got the time to talk.”

The man flashed Teldin a disarming grin. “I’ve got the time,” he confirmed. He glanced up at the sun, which hung, bloated and red, in the sky, to judge the hour. “Have you eaten highsunfeast?” he asked.

“No,” Teldin replied, “and I’d be glad to buy you a meal. Or” – he quirked an eyebrow wryly – “would that be against the Way of the Plain?”

*****

The blond man seated himself across the small table from Teldin. The place he’d selected reminded the Cloakmaster of the wineshops he’d seen on the Rock of Bral, except that it had small tables right out on the street, where the patrons could watch the passersby. It was one of these outdoor tables that the stranger had chosen.

As his new acquaintance arranged his chair to his liking, Teldin examined him a little more closely. The first thing he realized was that he could well be as much as a decade off in his estimate of the man’s age. His face was smooth and unlined, and could belong to a man of barely thirty summers. Yet his eyes belied that impression. They seemed calmer, more perceptive – wiser – than the eyes of a thirty-year-old had any right to be.

The only individuals Teldin had ever seen with that combination of apparent youth and rare wisdom had been elves. Trying not to display his interest, he scrutinized the man’s ears. Yes, they did seem to have the points typical of the elven race – though, granted, they weren’t as pronounced as, say, Vallus Leafbower’s.

The newcomer smiled across the table at Teldin. “I have to say something before we take our meal,” he said lightly. “Call it a tradition.” Teldin’s reaction must have shown in his face, because the blond man chuckled. “No,” he reassured him, “it’s nothing like the Way of the Plain. It’s just that I never let someone buy me a meal unless I know his name.”

Teldin felt his own face relax into a smile. “Aldyn Brewer,” he said deciding to stick with the pseudonym – at least for the moment.

The blond nodded graciously. “Well met, Aldyn Brewer. My name is Djan” – he pronounced it
DYE-un.
“Djan Alantri, of Crescent.”

Teldin shot him a surprised glance. “Of Crescent?” he echoed.

Djan chuckled again. “Yes,” he confirmed, “I was born here. My father was a priest of the True Path – that makes me a Child of the Path, as I told that lout earlier, and worthy of respect.”

He shrugged. “Unfortunately, my father had the, urn, marginal judgment to fall in love with someone who wasn’t ‘of the blood’ – which makes me worthy of disrespect. It almost evens out.”

“You’re a half-elf, then,” Teldin stated. Djan nodded. “And that’s a problem here?”

Djan gestured around them. “Look at their faces,” he suggested. “Notice anything unusual?”

Teldin did as he was told. It took him a moment to realize what the half-elf was getting at. “They’re all human,” he said slowly.

Djan nodded. “Blood is very important to the followers of the True Path,” he explained. “If I weren’t a Child of the Path, my life might have ended long ago.” He smiled, as if what he’d just said didn’t worry him at all. “In any case, I followed in my father’s footsteps – I trained for the priesthood. But the ongoing prejudice got on my nerves. I quit, and I even left Crescent.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly. “You know the kind of thing: leave home, see the universe. I only arrived home a couple of weeks ago.”

Teldin nodded slowly. That made a lot of sense. Even though Djan dressed like a local, and obviously knew much about the culture, there was something about him very different from those who’d lived their lives on Crescent. “Do you still follow the True Path?”

“In my heart,” Djan replied quietly.

“And?”

The half-elf’s smile was back. “And what
is
the True Path?” he finished for Teldin. “It’s the religion of Crescent, the worship of the god Marrak, Master of All Knowledge.” He shrugged. “The faith itself is based around a reverence for knowledge and learning – an admirable tenet, if you ask me.

Unfortunately, the Church of the True Path – that’s the organized, bureaucratic religion that’s grown up around the Marrakite faith – has made some changes. According to the Church, knowledge is to be revered … and just about everything else is to be
repressed.

“That’s where the ‘Way of the Plain’ came from,” Djan went on, “and all the other repressive trappings of the religion.”

“I don’t know how I feel about organized religions,” Teldin said quietly, honestly, “but I think I’d like one that put a high priority on knowledge.” He gestured around him. “Crescent must be a dynamic place,” he remarked, “always learning something new, always —”

Djan cut him off with a snort. “Maybe that’s the way it should be,” he said dryly, “but that’s not the way it is. That’s something else the Church has changed. According to Church doctrine, the only knowledge that counts is
old
knowledge. Everything that’s important – everything that’s
real
 – has already been discovered. There’s no need to try to discover anything more. Anything you think you find out that’s beyond the ‘true knowledge’ is just lies, created by the Great Deceiver to lead us astray.” He snorted again. “Nonsense, of course, and that’s another reason I left Crescent: I
realized
it was nonsense.

“But at least there’s the Great Archive,” he went on in a less cynical tone. “At least the Church has done something right, though maybe for the wrong reasons. They think they’re protecting the purity of the Truth. What they’re actually doing is providing an incredible service to scholars from all over the universe. Such as yourself, hm?” he added, smiling at Teldin.

The Cloakmaster felt an icy chill in his stomach. “That’s the second time you’ve said – or implied – I’m going to the archive,” he pointed out, trying to keep his voice light, but doubting that he was succeeding. “How do you know?”

The half-elf smiled broadly, disarmingly. “Why
else
would you have come to Crescent, by the mind of Marrak?” he asked. “To learn from our sense of fashion, perhaps?” He placed his gray-garbed arm next to Teldin’s black-clad one, and flicked, the silver button on the cuff.

Teldin had to laugh, his suspicions dispelled by his companion’s easy manner. “Well said, Djan Alantri,” he said with a smile. “So just where is this Great Archive of yours?”

“We’re not far from it,” Djan answered. “Head up this street here. When you reach the main square, turn right. You can’t miss it.” He paused. “If you like,” he suggested, “after our meal I can take you there. Perhaps even help you find whatever it is you need. The filing system is …
interesting.”

Teldin hesitated. It was a kind offer, and a valuable one, too. He’d already been worrying about how he’d find the information he needed – considering the fact that he wasn’t the most accomplished reader – even without hearing about the “interesting” filing system. But he instinctively wanted to avoid telling anyone that he was looking for information about the
Spelljammer.

“Thanks for your offer,” he said, “but I can’t tie up that much of your time.” He hesitated again! “But,” he added impulsively, “if you’d like to meet me for a glass of wine – here – after evenfeast …”

The half-elf’s smile broadened. “I would be honored, Aldyn Brewer,” he replied politely.