Authors: Carol Berg
Transformation (56 page)
“... to leave ... stubborn ...”
“... weeks, if ever ... just don’t know ...”
I ought to listen more closely. My friend Hoffyd would want to know of bees that could speak. But someone must have stuffed my left ear with silk, for it didn’t seem to work at all, and in order to free up the other one to listen more carefully, I would have to roll over. I was reluctant to try that, for my body sent a warning from one spot just below my left rib cage that I wasn’t going to like moving. So I mumbled, “Speak up,” hoping the bees might hear.
Instantly the words stopped, and I felt sorry for startling the creatures and missing the chance to find out what they said when they thought no one was listening.
“Seyonne?” A woman’s voice, far away and very worried. That was worth opening an eye for.
The sunlight was exceedingly bright, and the patterns of shadow were caused, not by bees, but by the fluttering leaves of an ash tree outside a tall window beside me. Somewhere in between me and the open window was a lovely face, smooth, red-gold skin. The woman had long black hair, and I could not bring her name to my tongue, but seeing her caused such a monstrous anxiety to rise up in me, that I thought my heart might wrench itself from my chest.
The dark-haired woman laid a finger on my lips. “She is well. She’s gone back to Dael Ezzar for her safety and ours.”
My fear soothed, I closed my eyes again and envisioned violet eyes and gold-brown hair that smelled of rainwashed grass, and I immersed myself in the image that had never left me in all the years I refused to speak her name. Ysanne. And, of course, on the heels of her name flowed the tide of waking memory ... of the battle ... and the demon....
“I got back,” I said, once the flood had subsided a bit and I opened my eyes to the present.
“You did. And a fine mess you were.” And of course Catrin heard the real question, for she moved aside and let me see the room beyond her. A large, airy, pleasant room. Tall ceilings. A whole wall of windows like the one beside the luxurious bed on which I lay. From a deep chair nearby protruded a pair of knee-high leather boots. Their owner, whose head was propped on a long arm and whose snores I had mistaken for bees, sported a long red braid. When I glimpsed a sword dangling beside the long legs, I smiled.
“He has been with you every moment possible,” said Catrin, lifting a cup of water to my lips. “If any man could will another back from the dead, I would believe him capable.”
“Never doubt it,” I croaked. “He has done exactly that.”
“Is it impossible for an Ezzarian to let a man sleep?” The body in the chair shifted. “Some of us have had other things to do besides wallow in bed for a week and constantly threaten to die and thereby frighten two of the finest-looking women I’ve encountered since I knew what to do with my parts besides piss.”
“A week ...” I looked up at Catrin, and she nodded, her brows raised in sympathetic humor.
“You lost a great deal of blood,” she said. “Do you have any idea of how long you were inside?”
“Long. A full day I’d guess.” Though I spoke with Catrin, my eyes did not stray from the lean, smiling face that appeared over her shoulder.
“Three.”
Three days beyond a portal. It was unthinkable. No wonder I couldn’t move. And Ysanne ... All the worries that had been eased cropped up again. “The Queen ...”
“The Queen was very tired, but she suffered no ill effects. Now that I can trust you for a moment not to die”—Catrin bent over and kissed me on the forehead, then nodded to Aleksander—“I have things to do.”
Three days. I worked at sitting up, a ridiculously difficult maneuver, as I was wrapped in a cocoon of bandages about my middle, my shoulder, and most of one leg. Every movement set off a barrage of fireworks inside my left ear and a pain in my side that felt as though one of the Demon Lord’s monstrous manifestations had left its claw there.
Aleksander put his arm around my shoulders, and without my having to ask it, helped me out of bed, as if he knew I couldn’t think straight wallowing in pillows. Once he’d got me into a chair, he went to stand by the hearth, propping one elbow on the mantelpiece. When his smile faded, the residue of pain and horror were etched clearly in his face.
Three days. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I made it last so long.”
He shook his head. “You owe me no apology. Quite the contrary.” He stretched out his hands toward me, staring at them in wonder. “These are my own again. Such a gift ...” He transferred his gaze to me. “I must believe that you understand the grace you have given me.”
I tried to answer him, but he waved me off and continued. “I am called a priest of Athos, yet before seven days ago I could not tell anyone of a single moment of my life that was changed by the hand of a god. But on that day I saw a god’s hand ... you, with your wings spread, sword in hand, lighting the darkness inside me like the moon and the sun together. Athos, Druya, your Verdonne or Valdis—whatever the name, male or female—one of them sent you to save me. Never had I understood the truth of good and evil, of light and darkness, of the shapes they take in the world, of the depths of horror ... or the glory that exists in beings that walk and breathe as I do. Daughters of night, Seyonne, why didn’t I know? Why don’t any of us know?”
It was very like the question Ezzarian children asked when they at last understood how different their life was to be from that of anyone else in the world. I gave the Prince the answer that had been given me. “Because someone must do the living—the eating and drinking, planting and birthing, the dancing and arguing and forgiving, all those things that are the proper business of life. They make the world strong enough, safe enough, joyous enough to be the bulwark against darkness. There are enough terrors in the world for demons to feed on without adding more. And if you remember ... the light was yours.”
A grin poked its way through his somber mood. “We did well, did we not?”
I raised the cup of water Catrin had left me. “Exceedingly well.”
He poured wine and matched my toast, but as our eyes met over our cups, the smiles fell away. We had been one soul for those terrible hours, an intimacy so profound that the finest words wrought by poet or scholar to describe the event would seem but trivial prattling beside it. I had heard the screams of his uttermost pain and madness, and drunk from the fountain of his joy. He had witnessed the terrors of my loneliness and defeat, and shared with me the ecstasy of my transformation. Our eyes fell away quickly. We knew. There was nothing more to be said.
The Prince settled himself to the thick woven carpet and leaned against a chair, heaving a sigh and trying to begin a more mundane review of events. “Someday you will explain to me exactly what went on in these past days. I remember going to the temple site, walking up the track and seeing Korelyi and Kastavan waiting for me. They asked if I was ready to be healed of my affliction. I told them I was ... and from that time I saw things, thought things, felt things ... but I was never sure what was actually happening and what was only ... imagination or dreams or visions. They played such havoc with my head, I couldn’t tell what was real.” There was a slight tremor of remembered horror at the edge of his words.
“Someday,” I said. “If you wish. Let a little time pass, and it will likely sort itself out on its own. For now you must tell me how you fare and what’s happened since. Where are the Khelid? And Rhys ... I never knew what became of him.”
Aleksander laughed, dismissing his own hurts with his most reliable weapon. “I assumed you would have heard everything we said while you slept.”
“I can do a number of things that could surprise you, but I can’t read minds or see through walls or eyelids, whether I’m sensible or insensible. And my hearing is about as acute as that of a tree stump at present.”
“Your friend Hoffyd—quite a ferocious fellow, I’ve discovered—took care of Rhys. Put something in his water pitcher, he said, that knocked the villain over before they began. The Queen arranged everything and brought you to me instead of him ... as Mistress Catrin says they planned all along. Were you as surprised as I was?”
I nodded. “You have no idea.”
“Hmm.” He waited for me to say more, but there was nothing to say. Not until I had a chance to speak to Ysanne. When Aleksander saw that I wasn’t going to elaborate, he went on. “It took so long to get the business over with, the treacherous bastard came to himself and disappeared. No one knows where he’s gone, though, one of Kiril’s men reported that he was seen riding south with Korelyi, who also managed to escape our sweep. The first I knew of anything was when I woke up in that ruin with you on the floor carved up like a roast pig, and your queen collapsed beside you. Mistress Catrin was fussing over the two of you, while her one-eyed lover was asking me if I was mad or not and deciding whether he dared untie me. I had the bloodiest awful headache any man has ever endured, and he kept trying to make me be quiet. If I hadn’t felt like I’d just had my entrails drawn through a sieve, I would have throttled him. But he finally got through to me that there were Khelid about, and that if you had won your battle, which he sincerely hoped, then they were going to be mightily angry and upset. I said I would take care of it.”
“And did you?”
“I did. I commanded them to guard the temple site or I’d have their hearts out of their bodies.” He grimaced. “I knew what words to use with them. I’ve used such threats often enough through the years. They were afraid and unsure, and they couldn’t see that I wasn’t ... as I had been. So Hoffyd and Catrin and I got the two of you and brought you here—Kiril’s house—and then I went and found my cousin exactly where I’d told him. He said you had told him that if he did-n’t hear within a day, he should leave, but being the stubborn Derzhi that he is, he waited and watched. Then we set out to root the Khelid out of their nest. ...”
He told me what he had learned from the Demon Lord, the information he had tried so hard to impart to me, hoping that I could get out and use it even if he could not. The demon-Khelid had entrenched themselves in twenty cities around the borders of the Empire, and in each one had created a magical gateway to Khelidar. Through these gateways they could pour troops, as soon as Kastavan—or Aleksander—gave the word. The portals were still a risk, as the Khelid were determined to take the Empire, and the other nineteen garrisons would have time to recover from the shock of losing their demon cohorts. But Aleksander had also learned what was necessary to seal the portals—a simple enchantment that Hoffyd had been able to work once the Derzhi routed the Khelid from the border fortress. The Khelid were not exceptionally talented sorcerers.
“... and now I have to get word of this to Lydia’s father ... and mine ... else the Khelid will continue to bring troops through the other gateways. Hoffyd says that Derzhi magicians can work these closing spells if they’re taught.” The Prince lost his animation and gave me a weak smile. “So I’m on my way to stick my head in the old lion’s mouth. I’m glad you chose to rouse yourself today. Kiril is ready to go.”
“Your cousin?” My head was still muddled, for I couldn’t see where he was leading.
“He’s taking me to my father. There’s an imperial ‘summons’ out for me, and orders to arrest anyone who hinders me from answering it—which means anyone who helps me. So to ensure Kiril’s safety ... and to make sure he is listened to even if I am not ... I’ve asked him to escort me to Zhagad under guard.”
“But if your father still thinks you mad ...”
“He’ll lock me away for the rest of my life, take a new young wife, and make sure he has another heir. My mother will be ill-humored, don’t you think? And if he agrees that I am not mad, but still believes I killed Dmitri, he will take my head and do the same. So I must convince him that I’m not mad and that I didn’t kill Dmitri.” He did not look confident. “I’ll keep the Ezzarians out of it. I’ve a number of witnesses among Kiril’s men as to what was found in the fortress here. My father knows the Khelid can do magic beyond our own practice of it, so perhaps he’ll believe they could control me in some way. About Dmitri ... I’ll just have to tell him what in the name of the gods I thought I was doing.” He shook his head. “Was ever a man so stupid as I have been?”
“I can think of a number of instances,” I said, and proceeded to demonstrate the point. “Are there perhaps some clothes around here?” I was clad in nothing but a thin singlet.
Aleksander frowned. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I’ve never seen Zhagad, and it would be well to visit it before the season gets too far toward summer. And I’m in no condition to fight bandits along the way, so I’d best go with the surest protection I can find.”
“Absolutely not. I forbid it.” He was on his feet, and I thought he might pick me up and throw me back in the bed. “Have you forgotten?” He clamped his fingers on my left arm and pulled my shoulder forward slightly. “What will you say when someone sees this mark and puts you back in chains? I can’t protect you. Not until my own business is done ... and you know as well as I how unlikely that is to come out well. And Kiril has too little influence to help you. He’s risking everything to take me in.” He let go of my arm and strode to the door. “You’ve done enough. You are free. Go home and make love to your wife.”
But I had not done enough, not until the demon’s plot was completely unraveled. “If I am a free man, my lord, then you cannot prevent my going. And in case you’ve forgotten, my home remains under the yoke of the Derzhi. And I have no wife ... not as long as Rhys is alive.”
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