The Shattered Chain (2 page)

Deference and annoyance mingled in the Free Amazon’s voice as she said, “I have no leisure now to explain to you all the customs and rules of our Guild, Lady Rohana. For now, it is enough—” She broke off at another outbreak of guffaws from the bystanders. Devra and another of the Free Amazons were leading their saddle horses toward the common well at the center of the marketplace. One of them paid the watering fee in the copper rings that passed as currency anywhere east of Carthon, while the other led the animals to the trough. As she returned to help Devra with the watering, one of the idlers in the crowd laid hands on her waist, pulling her roughly against him.

“Hey, pretty, why don’t you leave these bitches and come along with me? I’ve got plenty to show you, and I’ll bet you never—
eeyah!”
His words broke off in a howl of rage and pain; the woman had whipped a dagger from its sheath, slashing swiftly upward, laying open his filthy and tattered clothing to expose bare, unhealthy flesh, a line of red creeping upward along the quarter-inch-deep slash from lower belly to collarbone. He stumbled back, staggering, falling into the dust; the woman gave him a contemptuous kick with one sandaled foot, saying in a low, fierce voice, “Take yourself off,
bre’sui!
Or next time I’ll spill your guts, and your
cuyones
with ‘em! Now get the hell out of here, you filthy bastards, or you won’t be fit for anything but selling for he-whores in the Ardcarran bordellos!”

The man’s friends dragged him away, still moaning more with shock than pain. Kindra strode toward the woman, who was wiping her knife. She raised her eyes, grinning with innocent pride at how well she had defended herself. Kindra slapped the knife out of her hand.

“Damn you, Gwennis! Now you’ve made us all conspicuous! Your pride in knife-play could cost us our mission! When I asked for volunteers on this trip, I wanted
women,
not spoiled children!”

Gwennis’ eyes filled with tears. She was no more than a girl, fifteen or sixteen. She said, her voice shaking, “I am sorry, Kindra. What should I have done? Should I have let the filthy
gre’zu
paw me?”

“Do you really think you were in danger, here in daylight and before so many? You could have freed yourself without bloodshed and made him look ridiculous, without ever drawing your knife. Your skills were taught you to guard against real danger of rape or wounding, Gwennis, not to protect your pride. It is only men who must play games of
kihar,
my daughter; it is beneath the dignity of a Free Amazon.” She picked up the knife where it had fallen in the dust, wiping the remnant of blood from the blade. “If I return it to you, can you keep it where it belongs until it is needed?”

Gwennis lowered her head and muttered, “I swear it.”

Kindra handed it to her, saying gently, “It will be needed soon enough,
breda.”
She laid an arm around the girl’s shoulders for an instant, adding, “I know it is difficult, Gwennis. But remember that our mission is more important than these stupid annoyances.”

She left the women to finish the watering, noticing with a grim smile that the crowd of idle watchers had evaporated as if by magic.
Gwennis deserved every harsh word I gave her. But I am still glad she rid us of those creatures!

The sun sank behind the low hills, and the small moons began to climb the sky. The square was deserted for a while, then some of the Dry-Town women, wrapped in their cumbersome skirts and veils, began to drift into the marketplace to buy water from the common well, moving, each of them, with the small metallic clash of chains. By Dry-Town custom, each woman’s hands were fettered with a metal bracelet on each wrist; the bracelets were connected with a long chain, passed through a metal loop on her belt, so that if the woman moved either hand, the other was drawn up tight against the loop at her waist.

The Free Amazon camp was filled with a smell of cooking from their small fires; some of the Dry-Town women came close and stared at the strange women with curiosity and contempt: their cropped hair, their rough mannish garb, their unbound hands, breeches and low sandals. The Amazons, conscious of their stares, returned the gaze with equal curiosity, not unmingled with pity. The woman called Rohana finally could bear no more; leaving her almost-untouched plate, she got to her feet and went into the tent she shared with Kindra. After a moment the Amazon leader followed her inside, saying in surprise, “But you have eaten nothing, my Lady. May I serve you, then?”

“I am not hungry,” said Rohana, stifled. She put back her hood, revealing, in the dim light, hair of the flame-red color that marked her a member of the telepath caste of the Comyn: the caste that had ruled the Seven Domains from time unknown and unknowable. It had been cropped short, indeed, but nothing could conceal its color, and Kindra frowned as the Comyn woman went on:

“The sight of those women has destroyed my appetite; I feel too sick to swallow. How can you endure to watch it, Kindra, you who make so much of freedom for women?”

Kindra said with a slight shrug, “I feel no very great sympathy for them. Any single one of them could be free if she chose. If they wish to suffer chains rather than lose the attentions of their men, or be different from their mothers and sisters, I shall not waste my pity on them, far less lose sleep or appetite. They endure their captivity as you of the Domains, Lady, endure yours; and, truth to tell I see no very great difference between you. They are, perhaps, more honest, for they admit to their chains and make no pretense of freedom; while yours are invisible—but they are as great a weight upon you.”

Rohana’s pale face flushed with anger. She said, “Then I wonder you ever agreed to this mission! Was it only to earn your pay?”

“There was that, of course,” Kindra said, unruffled. “I am a mercenary soldier; within reason, I go where I am hired to go, and do what I am best paid to do. But there is more,” she added in a gentler tone. “The Lady Melora, your kinswoman, did not connive at her own captivity, nor choose her form of servitude. As I understand what you told me, Jalak of Shainsa—may his manhood wither!—fell upon her escort, slew her guards, and carried her away by force; wishing, for revenge or sheer lust of cruelty, to keep a
leronis
of the Comyn enslaved and captive as his wife—or his concubine, I am not certain.”

“In the Dry Towns there seems no great difference,” said the Lady Rohana bitterly, and Kindra nodded. “I see no very great difference anywhere,
vai domna,
but I do not expect you to agree with me. Be that as it may, Lady Melora was carried away into a slavery she had not chosen, and her surviving kinsmen could not, or did not, choose to avenge her.”

“There were those who tried,” Rohana said, her voice shaking. Her face was almost invisible in the darkened tent, but there were tears in her roughened voice. “They vanished without trace, until the third; he was my father’s youngest son, my half-brother; and had been Melora’s foster-brother, reared as her playmate.”

“That
tale I have heard; Jalak sent back the ring he wore still on his fingers,” Kindra said, “and boasted he would do so, and more, to any other who came to avenge her. But that was ten years ago, Lady, and if I were in the Lady Melora’s slippers, I would not have lived to endanger any more of my kinfolk. If she has dwelled for twelve years in Jalak’s household, surely she cannot be in any great need, by now, of rescue. By this time, one would imagine she must be resigned to her fate.”

Rohana’s pale face stained with color. “So in truth we believed,” she said. “Cassilda pity me, I, too, reproached her in thought, wishing her dead rather than living on in Jalak’s house as a shame to us all.”

“Yet you are here now,” Kindra said, and although it was not a question, Lady Rohana answered. “You know what I am:
leronis,
Tower-trained; a telepath.

Melora and I dwelt together, as young girls, in the Dalereuth Tower. Neither of us chose to remain life-long, but before I left the Tower to marry, our minds were joined; we learned to reach one another’s thoughts. Then came her tragedy. In the years between, I had indeed all but forgotten; learned to think of Melora as dead, or at least gone far beyond my reach, far, far beyond my touch or my thoughts. Then—it was not more than forty days ago—Melora came to me across the distances; came to me in thought, as we had learned to do when we were little maidens in the Tower at Dalereuth. …”

Her voice was distant, strange; Kindra knew that the red-haired woman was no longer speaking to her, but to a memory; a commitment. “I hardly knew her,” Rohana said,” she had changed so greatly. Resigned to her place as Jalak’s consort and captive? No; simply unwilling to cause”—Rohana’s voice faltered—”more death and torment; I learned then that my brother, her foster-brother, had been tortured to death before her eyes, as a warning lest she seek rescue. … ”

Kindra grimaced with horror and revulsion. Rohana went on, steadying her voice with a fearful effort. “Melora told me that at last, after so many years, she bore a son to Jalak; that she would die before giving him an heir of Comyn blood. She did not ask rescue for herself, even then. I think—I think she wants to die. But she will not leave her other child in Jalak’s hands.”

“Another child?”

“A daughter,” Rohana said quietly, “born a few months after she was taken. Twelve years old. Old enough”—her voice shook—”old enough to be chained.” She sobbed, turning her face away. “For herself she asked nothing. Only she begged me to get her daughter away; away, out of Jalak’s hands. Only so—only so could she die in peace.”

Kindra’s face was grim.
Before I bore a daughter to live in the Dry Towns, captive, chained,
she thought,
I would lay hands on myself and the life within me, or strangle the babe as she came forth from my womb! But the women of the Domains are soft, cowards all!
None of this showed in her voice, however, as she laid a hand on Rohana’s shoulder, saying quietly, “I thank you for telling me this, Lady. I did not understand. So our mission is not so much to rescue your kinswoman as to free her daughter; that is what she asked. Although, if Melora can be freed…”

“Well, my band and I are pledged to do all we can,” Kindra said, “and I think any of us would risk our lives to save a young girl from living chained. But for now, Lady, you will soon need all your strength, and there is neither courage nor wisdom in an empty belly; it is not fitting that I should lay commands on a
Comynara,
but will you not join my women now and finish your meal?”

Rohana’s smile wavered a little.
Why, beyond her harsh words, she’s kind!
She said aloud, “Before I joined you,
mestra,
I pledged myself to conduct myself in all ways as one of your band, and so I am bound to obey you.”

She went out of the tent, and Kindra, standing in the doorway, watched her take a place by the fire, and accept a plateful of the stewed meat and beans.

Kindra did not follow at once, but stood thinking of what lay ahead. If it came to Jalak’s ears that anyone of the Domains was in his city, he might be already on guard. Or would he so despise the Free Amazons that he would not trouble to guard against them? She should have insisted that the Lady Rohana dye her hair. If any spy of Jalak’s should see a redheaded Comyn woman … I
never thought she would be witting to cut it.

Maybe courage is relative; for her, maybe it took as much courage to cut her hair as for me to draw knife on a foeman …

It is worth risk, to take a young maiden from Jalak’s hands, from chains to freedom.

… Or such freedom as any woman can have in the Domains.

Kindra raised her hand, in an automatic gesture, to her cropped, graying hair. She had not been born into the Guild of Free Amazons; she had come to it through a choice so painful that the memory still had power to make her lips tighten and her eyes grow grim and faraway. She looked at Rohana, sitting in the ring of Amazons around the fire, eating, and listening to the women talk.
I was once very like her: soft, submissive to the only life I knew. I chose to free myself. Rohana chose otherwise. I do not pity her, either.

But Melora was given no choice…Nor her daughter.

She thought, dispassionately, that it was probably too late for Melora. There could not, after ten years in the Dry Towns, be much left for her. But there was evidently enough left, of what she had been, to spur her to an enormous effort to get freedom for her daughter. Kindra knew only a little of the telepathic powers of the Comyn; but she knew that for Melora to reach Lady Rohana, over such distance, after so long a separation, must have taken enormous and agonizing effort. For the first time, Kindra felt a moment of genuine sympathy for Melora. She had accepted captivity for herself rather than allow any more of her kinsmen to risk death by torture. But she would risk anything, to give her daughter a choice; so that her daughter would not live and die knowing nothing but the chained world, the slave world, of the Dry-Town women.