The Redemption of Althalus (25 page)

“You’re lying!”

“Go ask him.”

“I wouldn’t talk to him if my life depended on it.”

“Someday it might, Andine, so don’t lock yourself in stone on this issue.”

Let it lie, Althalus,
Emmy’s voice told him.
She isn’t ready for this yet.
Keep those two apart for now. Turn her over to Bheid for a while. I’ll stay with
her and try to get her past this.

Should I buy her a horse?

Let’s get her settled down a little first.

You think she might try to run away?

The Knife won’t let her do that, pet, but she doesn’t want to face the truth
about what Eliar really is, so she might try to override the compulsion, and that
could cause her a great deal of pain. Let Bheid know what’s going on and have
him help her along. You stay with Eliar and keep him away from Andine. Let’s
sort of tiptoe around the children until they settle down.

———

They rode north through the drought-ravaged fields of Perquaine, and Althalus and Bheid rather carefully kept some distance between Eliar and Andine. Althalus soon realized that the auburn-haired young priest was very intelligent, and once he’d been cured of the notion that astrology really had any significance, he was able to apply his intellect more usefully. “Is it my imagination, Althalus,” he asked one evening when they were alone, “or is there something brewing between the children? They never look each other in the face, but their eyes are always sort of straying back to each other, for some reason.”

“They’re at that age, Bheid,” Althalus replied.

“I don’t quite follow.”

“
That age.
They’re both adolescents—with all that’s implied in the word ‘adolescent.’ This is a very trying time for them—and even more trying for you and me, I’m afraid.”

“Yes,” Bheid agreed. “I sort of noticed that myself.”

“They’re both having urges right now. The simplest way to deal with that would be for you to perform a wedding ceremony. We could give them a week or so to explore the differences between boys and girls, and then we could get back to business.”

Bheid laughed. “We might have a little difficulty persuading Andine to go along with that notion. She’s like a little teapot, isn’t she? Always right on the verge of blowing off her lid.”

“Nicely put, Bheid,” Althalus noted. “Eliar’s an uncomplicated little boy and Andine’s just the opposite. I rather imagine that Emmy has plans for them, though.”

“Has she said anything to you about that?”

“She doesn’t really have to. Emmy and I have been together for long enough for me to get occasional hints about her intentions. It’s part of her nature to bring boys and girls together. You might want to keep that in mind, Bheid. She’s probably already shopping around to see if she can find a wife for you.”

“I’m a priest, Althalus. The men in my order don’t marry. It’s one of the vows we take.”

“You might want to give some thought to joining another order, then. If Emmy decides to marry you off, she
will
marry you off, whether you like the idea or not.”

———

It was when they were approaching Maghu that Emmy spoke quite sharply to Althalus, her silent voice echoing in his mind.
Up ahead!
she said urgently.

What is it?

That man standing off to the left side of the road. It’s Koman, Althalus.
Put your guard up. He’ll try to get inside your mind.

Another of Ghend’s underlings?

Yes—and probably the most dangerous one of all. Get between him and
Eliar. The boy’s not equipped to deal with him.

And I am? What do I do?

Put yourself between him and the others. Look him in the face and count
trees.

Again with the counting trees, Em?

Not quite. Skip numbers.

You missed me there, Em.

Jump from six to eight. Then go back to three. Scramble the numbers the
way you’d scramble eggs.

What’s that supposed to do?

It’ll distract his mind from what he’s attempting. He’ll try to creep inside
your mind. If you’re throwing out-of-sequence numbers at him, he won’t be
able to concentrate—on you or on any of the others. He’ll be looking for infor
mation, and we don’t want him to get any. Block him out, Althalus.

I hope you know what you’re doing, Em. And
please
don’t tell me to trust
you again.

The man at the side of the road had a harsh-looking face and a short white beard. His eyes, Althalus noticed, burned in almost the same way Ghend’s eyes had that night in Nabjor’s camp. Althalus reined his horse in slightly and looked directly at the harsh-faced man.

Althalus began to count silently.
One, two, three, four, nine hundred
and forty-two, eight, nine, twelve.

The man at the side of the road blinked. Then he shook his head as if trying to clear it.

Nineteen, eighty-four, two, four, six, fifty-two.

The man Emmy had identified as Koman glared at Althalus with smoldering hatred.

“Are we having fun yet?” Althalus asked drily, then continued.
Eleven million and a quarter, thirteen, ninety-seven and six-eighths, forty
-
three—

The man called Koman stalked away muttering to himself.

“Always nice talking with you, friend,” Althalus called after him. “We’ll have to do this again sometime—real soon.”

The fractions were a stroke of absolute genius, pet.
Emmy’s thought actually purred.

I thought you might like them,
Althalus said.

Where in the world did you come up with the notion?

He shrugged.
I just made it up,
he said.
I thought that if whole numbers
bother him, bits and pieces of numbers should drive him wild.

They stopped by a farm on the outskirts of Maghu, and Althalus bought a rather sedate mare for Andine. The Arya wasn’t particularly impressed by her mount, but despite Emmy’s assurances that the volcanic girl with her dramatic voice was resigned to her situation, Althalus had prudently decided to mount her on a horse that wasn’t likely to run very fast.

Then they left the lands of the Perquaines and rode up into the foothills of Arum. Bheid and Andine rode side by side along the way, and the auburn-haired priest spent days trying to explain just exactly why the snow on the mountaintops of Arum didn’t melt in the summer sun. Andine’s teachers had evidently been great believers in logic, so despite the evidence of those white-tipped mountains, she continued to argue that since the peaks were closer to the sun, it
had
to be warmer up there.

After three days of that, Bheid gave up.

They reached the valley where Chief Albron’s fort stood shortly after noon on a glorious summer day, and Althalus had a brief word with Eliar. “Keep your visit with your mother sort of brief, Eliar,” he advised. “You know that place a few miles on ahead where there’s a waterfall in the river?”

“Quite well. We used to go swimming in the pool at the foot of the falls,” Eliar replied.

“We’ll make camp there. Try to catch up with us before dark.”

“I’ll be there,” Eliar promised. Then he turned aside and rode down into the valley.

“Well,” Andine said sardonically, “I’m sure that’s the last we’ll see of
him.
”

“Why do you say that?” Althalus asked her.

“Because he’ll run off and hide.”

“I rather doubt that.”

“The only reason he’s stayed with us is because you have some kind of hold on him. He’s a murderer, and murderers can’t be trusted.
And
you let him keep that precious knife you need so much. You can kiss that good-bye, too, Master Althalus.”

“You’re wrong on all counts, Andine. Eliar’s a soldier, and he always follows orders. He’ll rejoin us before nightfall, and
he’s
the one who’s supposed to carry the Knife. He just wants to visit his mother, that’s all.”

“I’m getting very tired of hearing about his mother,” she flared.

“They’re very close, Andine,” Bheid told her. “I’ve talked often with Eliar since we met. His father was killed in a war several years ago, and Eliar became his mother’s only support. He was a little young to go off to war, even for an Arum, but his mother needed his soldier’s pay to keep eating. In a peculiar sort of way, Eliar went off to war as a way to show his love for his father—and his mother. Your father was unlucky enough to get in his way while he was showing his veneration for his parents. Isn’t that sort of what you were doing when you were planning to kill him before Althalus came along?”

“It’s not the same thing at all, Bheid,” she flared. “My father was the Aryo of Osthos. Eliar’s father was just a common soldier.”

“And do you believe that Eliar loved his father less than you loved yours? We all love and revere our parents, Andine, and the peasant or common soldier loves—and grieves—as deeply as the aristocrat. You might want to think about that just a bit before you launch yourself into your next tirade.”

They set up camp in a grove of fir trees near the waterfall, and Andine spent the afternoon by herself sitting on a log and watching the tumbling water.

“I think you might have touched a nerve there, Bheid,” Althalus said. “Our little Arya seems to be reconsidering some of her preconceptions.”

“Class distinctions are an impediment to understanding, Althalus,” Bheid told him, “and anything that interferes with understanding should be discarded.”

“You might want to give some thought to keeping that particular opinion tucked up under your arm, Bheid,” Althalus advised. “It won’t make you very popular in certain quarters.”

As Althalus had predicted, Eliar rejoined them just as the sun was going down. The boy was in high spirits. Arya Andine seemed on the verge of several spiteful remarks, but evidently Bheid’s little sermon had taken some of the wind out of her sails, and she finally announced that she had a splitting headache and was going to bed.

Summer was winding down to its dusty conclusion when they came down out of the northern foothills of Arum and rode into the vast forest of Hule. In spite of all that had happened, Althalus felt good to be back. He’d once told Emmy that the House at the End of the World had been the closest thing he’d ever had to a permanent home, but he now realized that his declaration hadn’t been entirely true. No matter how far he traveled, he always felt very good when he returned to Hule, and he finally came to realize that more than anyplace else, Hule was his home.

They rode some distance back into the forest of gigantic trees, and Althalus was pleased and almost surprised that he still knew his way around in the woods. For some reason, he
wasn’t
surprised when he discovered that a place he remembered very well was still there and that the more recent settlers in Hule had yet to contaminate it with rude huts, muddy streets, and the stumps of trees. “We’ll stop here,” he announced to his companions.

“We still have a fair amount of daylight, Althalus,” Bheid pointed out.

“We’ll have time to get settled in, then. This is the place.”

“I didn’t quite follow that,” Bheid confessed.

“The Knife told us to go to Hule, Bheid. This
is
Hule.”

“Wasn’t it Hule ten miles back? And won’t it still be Hule ten miles up ahead?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll see what Emmy has to say about it, but I’m sure this is the place. This is where it all started, my friend. This is the place where Ghend hired me to go to the House at the End of the World to steal the Book of Deiwos for him. This is where Nabjor’s camp used to be. Emmy and I used to have long talks about coincidence back in the House. We never did settle the matter, but I’ve got a very strong feeling that
some
things that seem to be pure chance or coincidence aren’t that at all. They’re things that were intended to happen. When Emmy read the Knife and told me that it said ‘Hule,’ this was the first place I thought of, and I rather imagine that I was supposed to. It’s one of those significant places, Bheid, so let’s stay here for a bit and find out if significant events need significant places to happen in.”

I think you’re starting to get the hang of this, pet,
Emmy silently congratulated him.

After they’d set up their camp, Althalus poked around a bit to see if the centuries had left any traces of Nabjor’s establishment. He eventually came to the narrow crevice between two large standing boulders where Nabjor had brewed his mead. There was a mound of stones near the back of the crevice, and lying on top of the mound were the much-pitted remnants of a large bronze battle-ax. Even in its present condition, Althalus recognized it. He sighed. “At least somebody cared enough about you to give you a decent burial, old friend,” he said to the grave. Then he smiled. “I’d tell you quite a story if you were still here, Nabjor. You always liked a good story, didn’t you? I
do
wish you were still here. A few cups of your mead would go rather well right now. Maybe when this is all over, we’ll be able to sit on a cloud somewhere drinking your mead, and I’ll tell you all about the House at the End of the World.”

He sighed again. “Sleep well, old friend,” he said.

It was just past midnight, and their fire had burned low. Althalus wasn’t even particularly surprised when his seemingly dormant instincts warned him that someone was creeping up on their camp. He silently rolled out from under his blankets and slipped into the darker shadows away from the fire.

“You heard it, too?” Eliar’s whisper came out of the shadow of a gigantic tree.

Even
that
didn’t surprise Althalus. “I think it’s the one we’ve been waiting for,” he whispered back. “He might try to run. Stop him, but don’t hurt him.”

“All right.”

They waited, scarcely breathing. Then Althalus heard a very faint scuffing sound back in the forest. “He’s not very good,” he whispered to Eliar.