Rhapsody tried one last time. “At least tarry a little while,” she said, her voice coming out in a choked whisper. “Please, Llauron; demand a delay. Do this when you are fresh and rested, with your powers at their height.”
Llauron laughed. He reached out a wrinkled hand and caressed her soft cheek. “You are so lovely, my dear,” he said as the tears began to fall.
“Please; please, Llauron.” The pain in her eyes coupled with the tears made Llauron think of looking up into the forest canopy during a rainshower. He smiled at her again.
“My son is a lucky man,” he said gently. His tone had the ring of sincerity to it.
Her face twisted in agony. “I’m not seeing your son anymore, Llauron,” she said sadly. “I’ve done as you asked; we’ve parted company.”
Llauron looked surprised. “What a shame,” he said, as if to himself. “And after I specifically gave him my blessing. A shame; I am sorry, my dear.”
Rhapsody felt her stomach turn to ice. Llauron’s words, however well intentioned, had caused a new wound in her soul. If he had removed his objections, then it meant that Ashe himself had been the one to decide her unworthy. She choked back the bile that rose to her throat, and drew her sword.
“Please change your mind,” she asked again. “I fear I am about to witness your death, and I have sworn to prevent that with my life. I will be responsible.”
“I absolve you of any duty,” Llauron said solemnly. “I ask only one thing of you, Rhapsody.” She nodded. “If I should die here, I would like you to immediately commit my body to the stars and the fire. Make me a pyre here; it serves no purpose to return me to the Tree. Use Daystar Clarion to free my soul with a strike of fire from the stars. Oh, and if you would favor me with the Song of Passage, I will smile on you from wherever I go.” He ran his hand down the lock of golden hair that had fallen free of the black ribbon.
Rhapsody dissolved into tears. “Please don’t do this.”
“Rhapsody, that’s enough; now buck up, lass.” Llauron shifted his weight on the white oaken staff, and the golden oak leaf flashed in the sun. “Kneel and present your weapon.”
She swallowed her tears, dread rising with her gorge, and dropped to one knee, her sword point-down before her.
“Now, I want you to swear on all that you hold holy, on your life, and on your sword, that you will abide by my order not to intervene,” he said. His eyes glittered faintly in the light that passed overhead as the wind brushed aside the tallest of the tree branches. He waited for her answer.
After a moment she spoke. “I swear it.”
A victorious smile crept over his face, but Rhapsody, eyes on the earth below her, did not see it. “Good, good. And you will light the pyre with the sword?”
She lifted her eyes. “You don’t have any expectation of winning, do you, Llauron?” The sadness in her voice made his eyes sting.
“On the contrary, my dear,” he said in his most reassuring tone, “it is the only thing I expect to do.”
In the distance Ashe watched, his mouth growing drier, his hands shaking in fury. It was all he could do to refrain from rushing in, sword swinging, and dispatching the whole lot of them. He could feel the pain his wife experienced even this far away, and it made him want to vomit. He reached deep within himself to where he could feel that part of his soul which was bound to hers, and he tried with all his focus to reassure her, but he knew he did not reach her.
The dragon in his blood muttered; it had been doing so since he had arrived. Its words whispered in his brain, making the place behind his eyes burn with a smoldering rage. She hurts, it whispered angrily. Our treasure is in pain; it cries. When his anger ignited he might not be able to contain it.
Ashe willed himself to stop thinking about it, but he couldn’t. Then, as his wrath was beginning to catch fire, he felt a new dread, a new panic, rumble through him. He ran to the edge of the forest clearing, and horror choked him.
In the distance he could see a column of white smoke ascending from the top of the forest canopy toward an irate sky, a sky that churned, black with protest.
The Tree was under siege.
Now his seething anger combusted into an inferno of hideous rage; he knew unquestionably that this diversion was meant to draw him, to prevent him from interceding for Llauron. The stupidity of the assumption only served to fan the flames of his fury; it didn’t matter that the attempt was ill conceived and foolish.
Knowing that if he gave vent to the vocal aspects of his frenzy the gathering in the forest glade would instantly be aware of him, he swallowed his roar, but the earth heard it anyway, and transmitted it, by means of a violent tremor, through the woods. He knew Rhapsody could feel it, and in the back of his mind he regretted adding in any way to her distress.
He ran, slashing through the underbrush, like an avalanche, like the wind, pulling power from the air and earth around him, gathering it to him, growing stronger, ran with the speed of a hurricane-force gale but the unrelenting power of a tidal wave. When he crashed on the shore of the diversion conflict, there would be Perdition to pay. Khaddyr’s coconspirators would never receive whatever reward he had promised for their assistance.
Llauron gave Rhapsody a moment to compose herself, and then they returned to the clearing where Khaddyr waited. She eyed him with an ill-disguised contempt, but had come to the understanding that, no matter what happened, she would have to present a stoic face.
“All right, Khaddyr, Rhapsody has agreed to stay out of it.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. I have no quarrel with you, Rhapsody.”
“Not today,” she answered, her voice calm but seething with dangerous undertones. “Our day will come.”
“Do you wish to take this time to say your preparation rites?” Khaddyr asked Llauron. “I performed mine while you kept me waiting.”
“Yes,” Llauron answered without a trace of enmity. “If you will excuse me, I will return presently.”
As the elderly cleric walked away from the clearing, Khaddyr’s eyes looked Rhapsody up and down; then, satisfied her wrath was under control, he came to her. As he approached he saw her avert her eyes; the gesture charmed him. It was a sign of deference, and after this day, he expected he would see it from her on a regular basis.
The flash of the blade was the only warning he had to stop; the point of her sword pierced the ground within a hairsbreadth of his toes. Khaddyr stood in shock; waves of nauseating cold vibrated through him, beginning at the back of his neck, and radiating through the rest of him. As he waited for his body to recover he realized he had not seen even the slightest motion that put it there.
Rhapsody’s eyes remained focused at the ground. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Khaddyr swallowed. He struggled to maintain a calm voice; it would not do to have a future subordinate hear him choke.
“Such hostility,” he said, trying for a mild, reprimanding tone. “Why are you so rancorous, my dear? This quarrel has nothing to do with you; it is an ancient rite of passage. Surely Llauron must have explained that to you. It really is not even a sign of enmity between Llauron and me. It is how our sect selects new leadership, new blood.”
“How ironic,” she replied, still looking at the ground. “What rite would you perform if you were trying to prove your loyalty to him, Khaddyr—a ceremonial burning of his house while he slept?”
The look in Khaddyr’s eyes turned cold. “That’s an insulting comparison.”
Finally Rhapsody’s eyes lifted to meet his, and Khaddyr took an involuntary step backward. They were burning, green like the new shoots of spring but with a fire that was hot and white.
“That was complimentary, compared to what I would really like to say to you, but I refuse to dishonor Llauron any further than you already have. And you are a fine one to complain of insult. You belittle my intelligence with your smarmy lies about rites of passage. Do you think I don’t know what the standard rites of passage are? Llauron was elected Invoker
by the rites of Tanistry, as you yourself were named his Tanist. There is none within your sect with an ounce of self-respect that would believe a challenge issued to an elderly man at the end of a long journey constitutes an appropriate means of succession. I thought the Filids valued wisdom and honor over physical superiority. How disgusting.”
Khaddyr swallowed his anger. “I am sorry you feel that way, Rhapsody. I believe in our brief acquaintance I have given you no reason to be so hostile. I took you in when you were in a subhuman state; I taught you lessons of medicine. What have I ever done to you that could possibly have engendered such a vicious attitude?”
Her gleaming eyes narrowed. “What about deserting me in Sorbold? You left me to die in the snow. Had you forgotten that? It wasn’t all that long ago.”
Khaddyr’s face went slack, the anger draining away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rhapsody listened to the rhythms and tones in his voice; it was clear that he was speaking the truth, or what he believed to be such. The fury in her gaze abated as she saw Llauron approaching. She looked at Khaddyr again.
“Don’t do this,” she said quickly. “Please.”
Khaddyr stared at her as if transfixed. She could sense arousal rising in him as his eyes roamed over her body. Perhaps he would suggest a carnal compromise; Rhapsody hoped he would, as it would give her ample excuse to kill him where he stood. But as if snapped back by an invisible chain his eyes suddenly cleared and his face hardened. He turned to the Invoker as he reentered the clearing.
“Are you ready, Your Grace?”
Llauron leaned on his staff; the gold oak leaf at the top cast a glimmering afternoon light on the snow.
“Yes, Khaddyr, I am ready.”
51
“Kneel.”
The five Filidic priests who had accompanied Khaddyr knelt before him. Llauron, who stood beside Khaddyr, nodded at Rhapsody, and she knelt as well, averting her eyes to avoid burning holes through Llauron’s opponent with her stare. Khaddyr looked to Llauron; the Invoker began to chant the Second’s Pledge softly.
The beauty in the well-modulated voice caused Rhapsody’s throat to tighten, but she had determined that her last tear had already been shed. The vow with which Llauron bound them required her to guarantee no harm to anyone within the Filidic circle there present before the rising of the next sun. Lark swore first, followed by each of the priests. Finally Rhapsody gave her word as well, wishing she had taken Llauron directly to Stephen Navarne. It was all she could do to keep the horror she felt from taking her over completely.
The two sides retreated to the opposite edges of the clearing. As Khaddyr walked by her he gave her a final smile; Rhapsody took the opportunity to scan his body for signs of weakness. She closed her eyes and sensed the slight imbalance in his step; he favored the left knee somewhat. In addition, his breath intensified when he was agitated, and she could see his heart was not as strong as it might have been. She passed the information on to Llauron as he handed her his outer vestments, stripping down to the plain undyed woolen robe that Khaddyr wore as well.
“Try to aim for the front of his left knee,” she advised her mentor, attempting to look confident.
“Thank you,” said Llauron. His voice was serious, but his eyes twinkled. “Don’t worry, my dear; everything will work out just fine. If anything unfortunate does happen, though, don’t forget your promise to light the pyre.”
Rhapsody nodded. She could feel Khaddyr and the others moving into position behind her. “Good luck, Llauron,” she said, squeezing his hand. “If you kill him quickly enough we may still make it to Lord Stephen’s in time for supper.”
Llauron laughed aloud; Rhapsody saw the startled looks on the faces of Khaddyr and his followers and took a secret delight in them. The Invoker kissed her cheek.
“Buck up, now; don’t show them you’re worried.” Rhapsody watched as he took his place opposite Khaddyr, the white oaken staff in his hands. He had said nothing about Ashe.
Lark handed Khaddyr a staff as well. Unlike the smooth, finely honed wood of the staff Llauron carried, the gift of Elynsynos to a predecessor long ago, Khaddyr’s weapon was a thin, shaggy-barked branch from a tree Rhapsody didn’t recognize. There was an unsettling familiarity about it, however, something that nagged at the back of her mind.
Having delivered her leader’s weapon, Lark returned to the edge of the glade where the seconds had taken their positions of watchfulness. Rhapsody was accorded the space in front; as a Namer she was expected to deliver the unvarnished account to the members of the church and head of state, in this case Stephen Navarne. She felt uneasy as Khaddyr’s followers spaced themselves in a semicircle around her, but decided that if anything untoward happened she could take all of them easily, even surrounded as she was.
At Llauron’s spoken signal the two Filidic priests commenced their battle. Despite Llauron’s advanced age he was spry, and moved with as much seeming ease as Khaddyr. The rival Filid himself was not a young man, and Rhapsody could see that each move cost him almost as dearly as Llauron’s actions did. They circled around each other, their staves ready, looking for openings. Rhapsody saw many that they did not take, and decided that they were each conserving their strength for a large attack or an obvious opportunity.
A moment later, Khaddyr proved her wrong. With an impressive triple strike he assaulted Llauron’s weapon, alternating the sides of his staff, then aimed the third blow at the Invoker’s chest. Llauron caught the blow full force and staggered back as Rhapsody gasped. The Filids about her closed ranks, moving nearer to her in the obvious belief she would break her oath. She glared at Lark, and the Filid second stepped back involuntarily.
Llauron’s hand went to his chest and he took several shuddering breaths, followed by a hacking cough. As Khaddyr moved in, Llauron’s hand returned to the white staff, and with surprising speed he parried the would-be usurper’s second attack. He drove Khaddyr back and swung the staff like a sword, knocking his opponent’s feet out from beneath him. Khaddyr fell heavily on his back to the frozen ground. A thin stream of blood broke forth from his lip, spattering the cowl of Llauron’s robe and staining it red.
It was now the Filids’ opportunity to gasp on behalf of their mentor. The sound caused an unexpected thrill to shoot through Rhapsody, who was watching the battle intently. Her heart jumped into her throat as Llauron landed a solid strike to the same place on Khaddyr. The younger man rolled to one side, clutching his staff, and planted it upright in the ground beside him. Llauron moved in for the kill.
Suddenly a hideous stench filled the glade. It was an odor Rhapsody had experienced before, once in Sepulvarta, once in the cavern of the Sleeping Child, and once, not long ago, on a frost-whitened Orlandan plain. The malodor was unmistakable, and it caused the Singer’s eyes, burning with its acid, to open in panic.
The staff Khaddyr had planted began to writhe. Thin and scraggly before, it now began to flex with muscular strength and uncoil, extending tendrils rapidly in Llauron’s direction. Snakelike vines shot out from the shaggy branch and seized the Invoker, wrapping around him with astonishing speed. They spun about his neck like whipcords and tightened immediately, drawing a deep, ugly gasp from the elderly man in their death grip. Thorns sprang from the vines and began to strike, slashing his face and arms.
“No!” Rhapsody screamed, lunging forward. The Filids caught her immediately. They had been ready for this moment and were waiting for her to move. They wrestled her to the ground, dragging her back from the clearing as she clawed her way toward Llauron in vain.
Her fire lore roared to the surface, her skin burning the hands of her captors. Lark and the men pulled back, wringing their hands in pain. Their hesitation gave Rhapsody the chance to scramble to her feet again. Her hand came to rest on Daystar Clarion, but when she touched it a violent shock shot through her. The sword had been pledged not to participate, and it was keeping her word for her.
All the horror of her first fight with the ser
vant-vine of the F’dor flooded back, Jo’s sightless eyes swimming in her memory. Rhapsody’s eyes met Llauron’s as the Filids grasped her again, dragging her to her knees. His face was purple, his features contorted into a look of deathly surprise. The old man’s mouth opened as if to protest, then closed abruptly. He loosed one final sigh and went limp in the clutches of the demon-vine.
“No,” Rhapsody choked, her voice a raw whisper.
The Filids released her roughly and she fell forward on the frozen ground, her hands buried up to the wrists in the snow. She struggled to her feet and ran to the center of the clearing where Llauron lay, staring blindly up at the apex of the clear winter sky. The vine had grown misty, and now began to dissipate on the fresh breeze that blew through the glade with an icy sting.
Rhapsody sank to the ground and drew the Invoker into her arms. Her trembling hand slipped beneath the woolen robe to his chest, then to his neck, but she could find no heartbeat. His pupils were dilated, and deep within them she could see a vertical slit, the same as his son’s, only dormant and distant. She had never noticed it before. Gently she closed the sightless eyes and bent her head over his body in grief.
Nothing but the whistle of the wind was audible in the glade, the winter breeze billowing her hair around her. No bright soul came forth to ascend to the light; Rhapsody’s throat closed in horror. He’s damned, she thought ruefully, the realization twisting her stomach. The vine took his soul as it would have taken Jo’s. She looked back to see Khaddyr standing behind her, his face emotionless, stanching his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. Finally he spoke.
“I’m sorry, Rhapsody.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Get away from him.”
Khaddyr’s expression grew cold. “It is my right as victor to examine the body, and to take the staff of his office.”
“You will not touch him.” The words spewed forth from her mouth with a venom that made Khaddyr cringe. She lifted one of Llauron’s arms and dropped it; it fell limply in her lap. “What additional examination do you need?”