Night Angel Complete Trilogy Part 106

"Forgive me, Night Angel," Garuwas.h.i.+ said, "but you're not left-handed, and you move like the loss of your sword hand was recent. If you so desire death that you would challenge me, I will not deny you. But why would you?"

Because I made a deal with the Wolf. Mere hours afterward, Kylar had Mere hours afterward, Kylar had found Durzo's note that ended, "MAKE NO DEALS WITH THE WOLF." Maybe this was why. found Durzo's note that ended, "MAKE NO DEALS WITH THE WOLF." Maybe this was why. I can't win. I can't win.

~Not unless I give you a hand,~ the ka'kari said in Kylar's mind. The black metal ball that lived within Kylar spoke rarely, and it wasn't always helpful when it did. the ka'kari said in Kylar's mind. The black metal ball that lived within Kylar spoke rarely, and it wasn't always helpful when it did. You're hilarious, You're hilarious, Kylar thought back at it. Kylar thought back at it.

Garuwas.h.i.+'s eyes flicked down to Kylar's wrist. Feir was agog.

Kylar glanced down and saw jet black metal writhing from his stump. It resolved itself slowly into a hand. He tried to make a fist, and it did. Are you joking? Are you joking?

~I'm not that cruel. By the way, Jorsin Alkestes didn't like the idea of his enemies coming back to life. If that sword kills you, you're really dead.~ Funny, the Wolf failed to mention that. Kylar wiggled the black fingers. He even had some sensation in them. At the same time, the hand was too light. It was hollow, the skin thinner than parchment. Kylar wiggled the black fingers. He even had some sensation in them. At the same time, the hand was too light. It was hollow, the skin thinner than parchment. Hey, while you're doing miracles... Hey, while you're doing miracles...

~No.~ You didn't even listen!

~Go ahead.~ It felt like the ka'kari was rolling its eyes. How did it do that? It didn't even have eyes. It felt like the ka'kari was rolling its eyes. How did it do that? It didn't even have eyes.

Can you fix its weight?

~No.~ Why not?

The ka'kari sighed. ~I stay one size. I'm already covering all your skin and making a hand for you. Invisibility, blue flames, and an extra hand not enough for you?~ ~I stay one size. I'm already covering all your skin and making a hand for you. Invisibility, blue flames, and an extra hand not enough for you?~ So making a dagger of you and throwing it would be a bad idea?

The ka'kari went silent in a huff, and Kylar grinned. Then he realized he was grinning at Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+, who had sixty-three deaths tied to his hair, and eighty-two in his eyes.

"You need a minute?" Garuwas.h.i.+ asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Uh, I'm ready now," Kylar said. He drew his sword.

"Kylar," Feir said. "What are you going to do with the sword?"

"I'm going to put it somewhere safe."

Feir's eyes widened. "You're taking it into the Wood?"

"I was thinking I'd throw it in."

"Good idea," Feir said.

"Perhaps a nice idea. But not a good one," Garuwas.h.i.+ said. He closed the distance between them in an instant. The swords rang together in the staccato melody that would climax in death. Kylar decided to feign a tendency to overextend on his ripostes. With a swordsman as talented as Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+, he should only have to show the weakness twice and spring the trap the third time. Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+, he should only have to show the weakness twice and spring the trap the third time.

Except that the first time he overextended, Garuwas.h.i.+'s sword was into the gap, raking Kylar's ribs. He could have killed Kylar with that thrust, but he held back, wary of a trap.

Kylar staggered back, and Garuwas.h.i.+ let him regroup, his eyes showing disappointment. They'd barely crossed swords for five seconds. The man was too fast. Ridiculously fast. Kylar brought the ka'kari to his eyes and was even more stunned.

"You're not even Talented," Kylar said.

"Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ needs no magic."

~Kylar Stern surely does!~ Kylar felt an old familiar s.h.i.+ver, an echo from his past. It was the fear of dying. With Alitaeran broadswords, Kylar could have crushed Garuwas.h.i.+ with the brute strength of his Talent. Against the elegant Ceuran sword, Kylar's Talent did almost nothing for him. "Let's get on with it," Kylar said.

They began again, Garuwas.h.i.+ feeling Kylar out, even giving ground, seeing what Kylar could do. But there was no holding back. Kylar had seen that. Soon Kylar would tire and try something desperate. Garuwas.h.i.+ would be waiting for it-how many desperate men had he seen in sixty-three duels? Surely every man who had survived the first clash of blades had the same sick feeling in his stomach that Kylar had now. There was no room for self-delusion once the blades began singing.

Something changed on Garuwas.h.i.+'s face. It wasn't enough to tell Kylar what he was going to do; but it was enough to tell him that Garuwas.h.i.+ thought he knew Kylar's strengths. Now he would end it.

There was a beat. Kylar waited for Garuwas.h.i.+ to advance, those d.a.m.n long arms of his unbelievably quick, the stance fluid and sure.

"You feel it, don't you?" Garuwas.h.i.+ asked, withholding his attack. "The rhythm."

"Sometimes," Kylar grunted, his eyes not leaving Garuwas.h.i.+'s center, where he would see any movement begin. "Once, I heard it as music in truth."

"Many died that day?" Garuwas.h.i.+ asked.

Kylar shrugged.

"Thirty highlanders, four wytches, and a Khalidoran prince," Feir said.

Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ smiled, not surprised at Feir's knowledge. "Yet today you fight woodenly. You are stiff, slower than usual. Do you know why? That day you faced death no less than you do today."

Wrong, but I didn't know that then.

"Today," Garuwas.h.i.+ continued, "you are afraid. It narrows your vision, tenses your muscles, makes you slow. It will make you dead. Fight to win, Kylar Stern, not to not lose." It was disconcerting to hear good advice from the man who was about to kill him.

"Here," Garuwas.h.i.+ said. He lifted Ceur'caelestos and Kylar saw the edges go blunt. "I'll know when you're ready."

Feir leaned up against a tree and whistled quietly.

Garuwas.h.i.+ attacked again and within seconds, the dull sword sc.r.a.ped Kylar's ribs. A few more seconds pa.s.sed in furious ringing and the dull blade grazed his forearm, then jabbed his shoulder. But even as the blows rained down on him, Kylar began to remember his master Durzo's merciless sparring. His fear receded. This was the same, except now Kylar had more endurance, more strength, more speed, and more experience than a year ago. And he'd beaten Durzo. Once. Kylar's vision cleared and his pulse slowed from its frenzied hammering.

"That's it!" Garuwas.h.i.+ said. Ceur'caelestos went sharp once more and they began.

Kylar was aware of Feir. The second-echelon Blade Master was seated cross-legged on the ground now, jaw slack. The man was muttering to himself, "Gabel's Game to Many Waters to Three Mountain Castles-good, good-to Heron's Hunt to-was that Praavel's Defense? Goramond's Dive to-what the h.e.l.l? I've never-Yrmi's Bout, good G.o.ds, some variation on Two Tigers? Harani Bulls to..."

The fight accelerated, but Kylar felt a calm. He was, he realized, smiling. smiling. Madness! Yet it was so, and Garuwas.h.i.+'s thin lips were drawn up in a little smirk of their own. There was beauty here, something precious and rare. Every man wished he could fight. Few could, and only one in a hundred years fought this well. Kylar had never thought to see another master on a par with Durzo Blint, but Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ might even be better than Durzo, a little faster, his reach a little longer. Madness! Yet it was so, and Garuwas.h.i.+'s thin lips were drawn up in a little smirk of their own. There was beauty here, something precious and rare. Every man wished he could fight. Few could, and only one in a hundred years fought this well. Kylar had never thought to see another master on a par with Durzo Blint, but Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ might even be better than Durzo, a little faster, his reach a little longer.

Kylar dove behind a sapling a second before Garuwas.h.i.+ sheared it in two. As Garuwas.h.i.+ pushed aside the falling tree, Kylar thought. He only had one thing Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ didn't. Well, aside from invisibility.

~Oh, don't use that! It wouldn't be fair fair!~ What Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+ didn't have was years of fighting against someone better than he was. Kylar was studying Garuwas.h.i.+'s style in a way Garuwas.h.i.+ had never needed to study anyone's. It was straightforward. Garuwas.h.i.+ basically depended on his superior speed, strength, reach, technique, and flexibility to win. And-there!

Kylar went through half of Lord Umber's Glut and then modified it, twisting the last parry so Ceur'caelestos missed his cheek by a breath. His own sword gashed Garuwas.h.i.+'s shoulder-but Garuwas.h.i.+'s counter was already coming. Kylar threw up an arm and instinctively brought the ka'kari up along the ridge. twisting the last parry so Ceur'caelestos missed his cheek by a breath. His own sword gashed Garuwas.h.i.+'s shoulder-but Garuwas.h.i.+'s counter was already coming. Kylar threw up an arm and instinctively brought the ka'kari up along the ridge.

White light blazed and threw thousands of sparks, as if Kylar's arm were an enormous flint and Ceur'caelestos steel. Kylar's arm burned.

The warriors staggered back and Kylar knew that if Garuwas.h.i.+ had put any more force into that counter, it would have destroyed the ka'kari.

~Please... please don't ever do that again.~ "Who taught you that?" Garuwas.h.i.+ demanded, his face bright red.

"I..." Kylar stopped, confused. His left arm was throbbing, bleeding where Ceur'caelestos had sc.r.a.ped it.

"He means the combination, Kylar," Feir said, his eyes wide. "That move's called Garuwas.h.i.+'s Turn. No one else is fast enough to do it."

Kylar fell back into a ready stance, not in fear now, but futility. He'd thrown his best at Garuwas.h.i.+ and barely scratched him. "No one taught me," he said. "It just seemed right."

The anger dropped from Lantano Garuwas.h.i.+'s face in an instant. This was a man, Kylar saw, of sudden pa.s.sions, unpredictable, intense, dangerous. Garuwas.h.i.+ drew a white handkerchief and reverently wiped Ceur'caelestos clean of Kylar's blood. He sheathed the Blade of Heaven.

"I will not kill you today, doen-Kylar, peace rest with your blade. In ten years, you will be full in your prime. Let us meet then in Aenu and fight before the royal court. Masters such as we deserve to fight with minstrels and maidens and lesser masters in attendance. Should you win, you may have all that is mine, including the holy blade. Should I win, at least you will have had ten years of life and glory, yes? It will be an event antic.i.p.ated for a decade and retold for a thousand."

In ten years Kylar would indeed be in his prime, and what Garuwas.h.i.+ wasn't saying was that he would be past his own. Garuwas.h.i.+ would then be what, forty-five? Perhaps his speed and Kylar's would be equal then. He would still have his reach, and both would have a lot more experience, but that was the more precious coin to Kylar. Would the Wolf care if Kylar waited ten years? h.e.l.l, if Kylar didn't get himself killed, he wouldn't even see the Wolf for... well, probably ten years. Then again, if Kylar died on this sword, he wouldn't see the Wolf at all.

Grimacing, Kylar said, "You tell me, if I promised you that I was going to get something for you, would you want it now or in ten years?"

"If you try now, you'll die. In ten years, you'll have a chance."

A month ago, Kylar had one goal: to convince his girlfriend Elene that eighteen years as a virgin was quite enough. Then Jarl had been murdered while delivering the news that Logan Gyre was trapped in his own dungeon. Kylar's loyalties to the living and the dead had given him two new goals that had cost him the first. He'd abandoned Elene as he'd sworn he wouldn't in order to save Logan and avenge Jarl by killing the G.o.dking. It had cost him an arm, a magical bond to the beautiful disaster named Vi Sovari, and an oath to steal Garuwas.h.i.+'s blade. eighteen years as a virgin was quite enough. Then Jarl had been murdered while delivering the news that Logan Gyre was trapped in his own dungeon. Kylar's loyalties to the living and the dead had given him two new goals that had cost him the first. He'd abandoned Elene as he'd sworn he wouldn't in order to save Logan and avenge Jarl by killing the G.o.dking. It had cost him an arm, a magical bond to the beautiful disaster named Vi Sovari, and an oath to steal Garuwas.h.i.+'s blade.

Now all Kylar wanted was to make sure his sacrifices hadn't been for nothing, and then to go make things right with Elene.

As if to punish him for his faithlessness, he now imagined her saying, "An oath you only keep when it's convenient isn't an oath at all."

"I can't put it off," Kylar said. "Sorry."

Garuwas.h.i.+ shrugged. "It is a matter of honor, yes? I understand. That is a-"

"Pit wyrm!" Feir shouted, leaping to his feet. Feir shouted, leaping to his feet.

Kylar turned and all he could see was a hole tearing in s.p.a.ce ten paces away, and through it, h.e.l.l and rus.h.i.+ng fire-cracked skin. In the forest, a big-nosed, big-eared Vurdmeister was laughing.

8

p.i.s.s. You're different, Halfman," Hopper said. He was a tall, lean, white-haired old eunuch who was training Dorian-Halfman, he reminded himself. Hopper handed him a pot. he reminded himself. Hopper handed him a pot.

"What do you mean?" Halfman asked.

"Two s.h.i.+ts." Hopper handed Halfman two more chamber pots. Halfman emptied half of the p.i.s.s into each, swished it around, and emptied the pots into an enormous clay jar set in a wicker frame. "A p.i.s.s for every two s.h.i.+ts. The rest of the p.i.s.ses go last. They're easy. You get a puke or a slippery, you use two p.i.s.ses on those. No one wants to smell that all day."

Halfman thought Hopper wasn't going to answer him, but after they finished emptying the pots into the enormous clay jars-six of them today, it meant one more trip for Halfman than usual-Hopper paused. "I dunno. Look at how you sit all straight."

Cursing inwardly, Halfman slouched. He'd been forgetting. Thirty-two years of sitting up straight like a king's son was dangerous. Of course, no one spent as much time with him as Hopper, but if the old eunuch had noticed, what would happen if Zurgah or an overseer or a meister or an aetheling did? His half-Feyuri appearance had already isolated him. He was regularly singled out for extra ch.o.r.es and beatings for imagined infractions. The nights he didn't go to bed aching were rare.

"Don't forget yourself. Puke-how the girls manage to nick wine is beyond me-if you do, well..." Hopper lifted his sandal-clad feet one at a time and wiggled his big toes. Those two toes were all he had left. He'd been caught teaching the bored women of the harem a dance, he said, and the only reason he'd been let off so easily was because Zurgah liked him, and the dance hadn't involved touching or speaking to the women. Other eunuchs, Hopper said, were killed for less. "Twenty-two years since my little dance. Twenty-two years I been with the chamber pots, and I'll stay with 'em till I die. Now help me with the empties. You remember the process?"

"One clean water rinses ten p.i.s.ses or four s.h.i.+ts."

"Bright one, you. Help me rinse the first forty, then you can take pots out."

They worked together in silence. Halfman had made no progress finding the woman who would be his wife. The Citadel held two separate harems, and several women were kept apart from either one. Halfman had been a.s.signed to the common harem.

More than a hundred of Garoth Ursuul's wives and concubines lived here-wives were the women who had produced sons, concubines those who had produced either daughters or nothing, which were considered equivalent. Given that Garoth Ursuul had to be near sixty, all of the women were surprisingly young. No one ever said what happened to the old wives.

It was strange to be in his father's harem. He was seeing a different and oddly personal side of the man who had shaped him in a hundred ways. Like most Khalidorans, the G.o.dking favored solid women with wide hips and full b.u.t.tocks. There was a northern saying, volaer ust va.s.suhr, vola uss vossahr. volaer ust va.s.suhr, vola uss vossahr. Literally, "a man's horses and his brides should be big enough to ride." Most of the common women were Khalidoran, but the G.o.dking's harems included all nationalities except the Feyuri. All were beautiful; all had large eyes and full lips; and he preferred taking them, Hopper said, as soon after their flowering as possible. Literally, "a man's horses and his brides should be big enough to ride." Most of the common women were Khalidoran, but the G.o.dking's harems included all nationalities except the Feyuri. All were beautiful; all had large eyes and full lips; and he preferred taking them, Hopper said, as soon after their flowering as possible.

Life in the harem, though, bore little relation to the stories southrons told. If it was a life of luxury, it was also one of enforced boredom.

Each day, as he gathered the chamber pots from the concubines' rooms, Halfman stole glances at the women. The first thing he noticed was that they were always fully clothed. Not only was the G.o.dking out of the city, but winter was coming. With no possibility of being asked to serve any time soon, some of the women didn't even bother brus.h.i.+ng their hair or changing out of their bedclothes, though there seemed to be a form of social censure that kept anyone from slipping too far. Halfman stole glances at the women. The first thing he noticed was that they were always fully clothed. Not only was the G.o.dking out of the city, but winter was coming. With no possibility of being asked to serve any time soon, some of the women didn't even bother brus.h.i.+ng their hair or changing out of their bedclothes, though there seemed to be a form of social censure that kept anyone from slipping too far.

"They used to sit there all winter, half-naked and made up like fertility wh.o.r.es, huddled around the fires and s.h.i.+vering like puppies in the snow," Hopper said. "Now we give 'em a signal when His Holiness is on his way. Just wait'll you see it. You've never seen anyone move so fast. Or if one of them's called for by name, every last one of the others will descend on her. Khali's blood, you can't even see her for a good five minutes. Then when she comes out of that circle, you'd swear they traded her for the G.o.ddess herself. Much as they hate each other and scheme and gossip, when the G.o.dking calls, they help each other. It's one thing to gossip and lie about a woman," Hopper lowered his voice, "but none of them wants to be the reason a girl gets sent to the aethelings."

Dorian's stomach turned. So they knew. Of course they knew. Dorian's seed cla.s.s had been taught flaying on a disrespectful concubine. Dorian, as the first of the cla.s.s, had been a.s.signed her face. He remembered his pride as he had presented it to his tutor Neph Dada whole, even the eyelids and eyelashes intact. The ten-year-old Dorian had worn that face to dinner as a mask, making j.a.pes with his seed cla.s.s while Neph smiled encouragement. G.o.d help him, he had done even worse things.

What was he doing here? This place was sick. How could a people tolerate this? How could they wors.h.i.+p a G.o.ddess that delighted in suffering? Dorian sometimes believed that countries had the kind of leaders they deserved. What did that say about Khalidor-with its tribalism and endemic corruption held in check only by its deep fear of the men who styled themselves G.o.dkings? What did it say about Dorian? This was his people, his country, his culture-and once, his birthright. He, Dorian Ursuul, had survived. He'd demolished his seed cla.s.s one at a time, pitting brother against brother until only he survived. He'd accomplished his uurdthan, his Harrowing, and shown himself worthy to be called the G.o.dking's son and heir. This, all of this, could have been his-and he didn't miss it for a second.

He loved many things about Khalidor: the music, the dances, the hospitality of its poor, its men who laughed or cried freely, and its women who would wail and keen over their dead where southrons stood silent like they didn't care. Dorian loved their zoomorphic art, the wild woad tattoos of the lowland tribes, the cool blue-eyed maidens with their milk-white skin and fierce tempers. He loved a hundred things about his people, but sometimes he wondered if the world wouldn't be a better place if the sea swept in and drowned them all. fierce tempers. He loved a hundred things about his people, but sometimes he wondered if the world wouldn't be a better place if the sea swept in and drowned them all.

As sacrifices for abundant livestock, how many of those blue-eyed girls had laid their mewling firstborn sons on Khali pyres? For abundant crops, how many of those expressive men had caged their aged fathers in wicker coffins and watched them drown slowly in bogs? They wept as they did murder-but they did it. For honor, when a man died, if his wife wasn't claimed by the clan chief, she was expected to throw herself on her husband's pyre. Dorian had seen a girl fourteen years old whose courage failed her. She'd been married less than a month to an old man she'd never met before her wedding. Her father beat her b.l.o.o.d.y and threw her on the pyre himself, cursing her for embarra.s.sing him.

"Hey," Hopper said, "you're thinking. Don't. It's no good here. You work hard, you don't have to think. Got it?" Halfman nodded. "Then let's strap this on and you can work."

Together, they strapped the wicker basket to Halfman's back. There were thongs that wrapped around each shoulder and his hips to help him bear the great weight of the clay pot full of sewage. Hopper promised to have another pot ready by the time Halfman got back.

Halfman trudged through the cold basalt hallways. It was always dark in the slaves' pa.s.sages, with only enough torches burning so the slaves could avoid colliding.

"I'm tired of banging toothless slaves," a voice said around the next intersection of hallways. "I hear the new girl's in the Tygre Tower. They say she's beautiful."

"Tavi! You can't call it that." Bertold Ursuul was Dorian's great-grandfather, and the man had gone mad, believing he could ascend to heaven if he built a tower high enough and decorated it solely with Harani sword-tooth tygres. His madness embarra.s.sed Garoth Ursuul, so he'd forbidden the tower to be called anything but Bertold's Tower.

Dorian stopped. There was a torch at the intersection and no way he could retreat without being noticed. The aethelings-for no one else spoke with such arrogance-were coming toward him. There was no escape.

Then he remembered. He was Halfman now, a eunuch slave. So he slouched and prayed that he was invisible.

"I talk how I please," Tavi said, coming into the intersection just as Halfman did. Halfman stopped, stepped aside, and averted his eyes. Tavi was a cla.s.sic aetheling: good-looking if with a hawkish nose, well-groomed, well-dressed, an aura of command, and the stench of great power, despite being barely fifteen years old. Halfman couldn't help but size him up instantly-this one would be the first of his seed cla.s.s. This would have been one Dorian would have tried to kill early. Too arrogant, though. Tavi was the kind who needed to brag. He would never make it through his uurdthan. "And I can f.u.c.k who I please, too," Tavi said, coming to a stop. He looked down each of the halls as if lost. His indecision froze Halfman in place. He couldn't move without possibly moving into the aethelings' path. being barely fifteen years old. Halfman couldn't help but size him up instantly-this one would be the first of his seed cla.s.s. This would have been one Dorian would have tried to kill early. Too arrogant, though. Tavi was the kind who needed to brag. He would never make it through his uurdthan. "And I can f.u.c.k who I please, too," Tavi said, coming to a stop. He looked down each of the halls as if lost. His indecision froze Halfman in place. He couldn't move without possibly moving into the aethelings' path.

"Besides," Tavi said, "the harems are too closely guarded. But the Tygre Tower's just got two dreads at the bottom, and her deaf-mute eunuchs."

"He'll kill you," the other aetheling said. He didn't look pleased to be having this conversation in front of Halfman.

"Who's gonna tell him? The girl? So he'll kill her, too? f.u.c.k! Where are we? We've been walking this way for ten minutes. All these halls look the same."

"I said we should have gone the other-" the other aetheling began.

"Shut up, Rivik. You," Tavi said, speaking to Halfman. Halfman flinched as a slave would. "Khali, you stink! Which way is it to the kitchens?"

Halfman reluctantly pointed back the way the aethelings had come.