Lyrec Page 16

  Having opened the grillwork door with a key, Slyur pulled Tynec inside. The Hespet looked around. As he’d anticipated, no other priests were in view; they were all busy elsewhere, most at the front entrance where they would now be prying beggars like barnacles off his coach. He had instructed the driver that he would be staying in the castle and would walk home in disguise later to avoid the crowd. He had also insisted the driver take supper before returning, which allowed the Hespet time to get to the temple.

  The yard was dark. Light came from the priests’ quarters along the south wall. A row of hedges paralleled the walk from the gate to the side entrance of the temple building, and though Slyur and Tynec kept near the hedge, Slyur strode boldly along, acting as if nothing surreptitious were going on at all. No one noticed them.

  Inside the temple, the night candles had been lighted. Their glow was steady, reassuring. The Hespet removed his disguising outer robes and took the cape from Tynec, depositing them on a table that they passed on their way into the center of the temple.

  The statue of Chagri gleamed in the candlelight. Bits of mineral within the chidsist figure glittered like stars. The candles were hidden on stands in the hollow of Chagri’s shield, placed in such a way as to fill the statue’s unfinished eyes with shadows. The eyes thus seemed to look down with a harsh verdict. Tynec met them once and did not look up again. He directed his attention to the priest, noting with a certain satisfaction that the Hespet, too, seemed cowed by the statue.

  “I will leave you now for a short while, Tynec,” Slyur whispered, then coughed and cleared his throat. “When the moment is right we’ll meet Chagri and you will have bestowed upon you the secrets he gave your father and his—the secrets that will make you as proud a ruler as your—as Dekür was.” He left hastily.

  Tynec’s eyes shone like glass. He was almost sure the priest was lying to him. Maybe it was all so fantastic that even the Hespet could not accept it. What secrets could he have meant? How could anybody entrust such secrets to him? Tynec could not recall his father ever acting through any abstruse powers—his father had always acted openly, sometimes hotly. He almost never had mentioned the god of war, and not once in any positive way. His father had resented the idea that someone could actually worship war.

  Tynec listened. In their hiding places, the candles hissed. He could not tell where the Hespet had gone. Uncomfortable with his back to it, he shifted so that he could see the statue without having to stare at it directly. This proved to be a mistake—seen peripherally, the statue appeared to move with each small waver of candle flames. Anxiously, Tynec backed away from it. His feet crunched the stones. The sound crashed through the huge chamber, and he took slight consolation in the knowledge that at least no one could sneak up on him. His fingers rubbed lightly on the hilt of his belt dagger. He moved to the corner, his back against one wall. On either side of him a candle burned. He waited. With each passing minute, he grew more at ease.

  The statue offered no threat, and neither did the Hespet. Although his father had never brought him here, the temple did not awe him. His father had worshipped in the much larger temple of Anralys, asking for guidance, health and wisdom for his family. He never prayed for anything that Chagri might offer.

  Tynec reflected on the wretched people he had seen camped around the temple. Never had he encountered so many helpless and destitute people gathered in one place. He’d not realized that so many of them existed in Atlarma. How did they survive? Why was nothing done for them?

  The first thing he would do upon becoming king would be to pass a law concerning the unfortunates. There were so many. He would banish them all from the city. That way—

  What had he thought? He hadn’t meant that. His brain must be tired to have thought that—he was jittery, his thoughts had drifted. Not banishment, for the sake of charity! How ridiculous. Those people must be helpless. They could not fight to defend the city, but they could certainly die. When the attack came on Atlarma, they could be placed out front as a barrier to shield the soldiers. A human battlement, yes, don’t banish them. He could see it now: bodies adrift like logs jamming a river, carrion birds circling in the plumes of smoke. Death—the order of disorder, the certainty amidst chaos. He so looked forward to the day of destruction.

  For now, good-bye, Tynec.

  The young boy moved from between the candles and across the room. His puppet-body was easily manipulated. He’d barely noticed as his mind was dislocated.

  The Hespet returned a few minutes later. He saw the expression on the boy’s face and did not have to ask if the transformation had been a success. The boy said, “Hello, Slyur—ah, but I mustn’t call you that. You must be the Hespet to me in this form or someone might grow suspicious.” He stretched his arms up and flexed his fingers. “A healthy little boy, this. Good. Now. you and I can rule well and certainly more wisely than an eight year old, heh?” He chuckled. “You’ll have your favorite world of clerics and worshippers—soon, more than ever before. I’ll guide you, don’t worry. However, as regards the secular world, hereafter you needn’t concern yourself with it at all. I shall reshape it soon.”

  Slyur made no answer.

  “Oh, and you needn’t accompany me back, either. I can find my way to the castle through the detritus, and I would just as soon wander the streets a bit, soak up a little of the local debauchery. Good night, priest.” He marched out past Slyur in triumph, like a young warrior on his way to battle. His footsteps ground away into the night.

  Chapter 13.

  Deep within Maribus Wood, Lyrec rode his lone vigil with Borregad draped across his shoulders and trying very hard to be asleep. He kept to the trail as instructed. The other two patrollers had parted company with him that morning and he did not know how close they might be or if they rode somewhere behind him to observe his compliance the orders Talenyecis had given him.

  During the earlier part of the ride, he had struck up a conversation with the two. They claimed that to patrol Maribus was an honor; in both their cases, they’d won the privilege by capturing and returning escaped field workers. Whatever he had unknowingly done, it had obviously won him favor in the eyes of Talenyecis. But this, they warned him, had a darker side he should be careful of. Talenyecis was possessed of unknown but obviously perilous sexual tendencies—a number of men had won the honor of a visit to her quarters, and most had ever been seen again. The others—the survivors, as they were called—refused to speak of it, but clearly whatever had happened had been humiliating. But when Lyrec asked who had disappeared, the soldiers confessed that they’d not personally known any of the men but that the stories were far too numerous to doubt. “Don’t trust her, ever,” both men warned, “especially when she rewards you. Everything she does has a double meaning.”

  Once they split up and he rode off alone, Lyrec wondered just what he had done to deserve this so-called honor. He wished he had found a time and situation to probe Talenyecis and uncover her motives, but she had not returned to the barracks again and had spoken to him this morning just long enough to assign him the patrol. For awhile he considered hidden motives, but could think of only one—murder. He might well be riding into a prearranged ambush, perhaps staged by the same two soldiers. Then, as many uninterrupted hours and numerous fruitless probes into the general vicinity passed, he had abandoned the idea. Whatever her reason, it was somehow to his advantage.

  “Borregad,” he said, “are you awake?”

  “Mmm.”

  “When we get back, will you be able to find that hidden room again?”

  “Of course, but—” he raised his head suddenly “—you don’t mean to face Miradomon there, do you?”

  “That’s exactly my intention. If, as you say, he’s called through the integrant of his crex there, then what better place? We’ll catch him off-guard, expecting Ladomirus. We could never hope for another opportunity like this. He appears in a mortal form—”

  “An immortal form, if I might say. Ladomirus called him
a god. For that matter, he referred to himself as one. These gods are the equivalent of us in a peculiar sort of way. They’ve all sorts of powers, controlling fundamental aspects of the world. They can make storms. They can level cities. But they don’t live among the lesser creatures.”

  Lyrec laughed. “You can’t actually believe in these gods? When was the last time we visited the remains of a world and saw the gods come down to inspect the damage?”

  “What about Caudel’s tale? ‘The gods came down and obliterated everything,’ he said. It could be more than myth.”

  “All right, it could be more than myth. If it is, then Miradomon started off by killing all the gods, because he is presently impersonating one of them. If they were still around they would have taken some action against him by now.”

  Borregad sat up. “Exactly, ’pon my soul! Look at his power!”

  “Then, my notion is still right. The best time to attack him is the moment he appears in that room, in physical form, unprotected.”

  “Unprotected? From what? What will you do, kick him in the shins? The crex is lying in the tavern yard.”

  “Well, where do you suppose we’ve been going while you slept?”

  “What? But I thought we were riding patrol inside this water-logged excuse for a country.”

  “We are. We’re also headed west. We should arrive at the tavern by tomorrow midday. We will retrieve the crex and ride back to Ladoman, and our week’s patrol will be up. I only hope Miradomon doesn’t intend to move quickly. From what you said, he seems to be doing the opposite, delaying, manipulating on a vast scale. If he proceeds as he did the last time, then Ladomirus will assemble an army and Miradomon the god will lead that force into battle and annihilation. If only a localized phenomenon.”

  “The army of Ladoman? Those stupid, scabby miscreants against all of Secamelan? And any other nations that band with them? It’s preposterous. The fat man’s army wouldn’t survive one battle. Miradomon wipes out worlds, whole continents at a time. There have to be more nations involved—Miria, Novalok these other places. And what about this assassination he’s cooked up with Ladomirus? What are we going to do about that?”

  “What can we do? I don’t even know the circumstances surrounding it. We can’t stop it when we don’t even know where or when it’s to take place. No, the only thing we can do is confront him in that room. The rest of whatever he has planned will have to take care of itself. You were the one who said I shouldn’t waste my time worrying about these creatures and their problems. Well, I’m not. I’ve concerned myself with one thing and one thing alone.”

  They rode on for quite some time in silence, each of them tangled in his own thoughts. Lyrec had taken sides with Borregad, and was forcing himself not to let the day-to-day problems of an entire race get between him and his goal—a task requiring him to deny all emotional involvement. He found this to be the equivalent of lying to himself.

  The sun had nearly set when Lyrec steered the horse off the trail and along the river. Both he and the animal were tired and needed rest and food. Not far downstream of the ford he came upon a clearing that seemed like a good place to camp.

  The cat interrupted his thoughts. “Lyrec, there is one other thing. I’ve hesitated to bring it up.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If Elystroya really is still alive, and you slay Miradomon in that castle room, before we find his sanctum, you’ll lose our one thread to her.”

  “That cannot influence what we do. We’re here to stop Miradomon. To kill him. And he wouldn’t have kept her alive. There’s no reason why he would. I have to accept it. She’s dead.” And that statement seemed to incense him. With more anger he continued, “Don’t speak to me of her again. Don’t offer me false hope! Elystroya’s dead. And you know it the same as I do.”

  The cat said nothing, but jumped down from Lyrec’s shoulder and plodded away.

  Borregad reached the river and began to pace along the bank. The water drifted lazily by, curling around a sandbar not far away. The cat did not understand himself: he couldn’t perceive his own motives in taking sides against Lyrec. He adamantly refused to believe it was out of spite, but he could not accept that they had changed positions so extraordinarily.

  The cat walked onto the sandbar and lay down. He looked at the water. It slid past him in a ceaseless stream, indifferent to the plans and doubts of men or gods or beings who were neither.

  *****

  Borregad had no idea how long he lay there on the sand, but at some point the breeze upon his fur cooled, and he opened his eyes to find that the sky had darkened. He got up and headed back to where he had left Lyrec.

  He found a fire burning, but Lyrec, in his Ladomantine uniform, was nowhere to be seen. The cat listened to the forest and heard a soft splashing that might easily have been produced by some large fish. Instinctively he set off toward the sound and soon came upon a narrow path. The clearing must have been a popular campsite for travelers through the wood.

  The river turned back upon itself not far south of where he had lain. Another sandbar peninsula hooked around there, enclosing a pool where there was little current. Lyrec’s uniform lay piled on the sand and he swam in the middle of the pool.

  Borregad walked out to the tip of the sandbar. He considered how the water seemed to refresh Lyrec, but some deeply embedded emotion caused him to hesitate in joining his friend. Gingerly, at the water’s edge he dunked one paw.

  A wave of dread besieged him. He backed away and fled to the safety of the shore, there pausing to clean off his foot. The baleful glares he cast at the black waters were more cat than Borregad in origin.

  Lyrec climbed out of the river and sat on the sandbar in the dusk for awhile. The swim had charged and awakened him; the chill of the air redoubled this effect, making him feel lean and tightly strung. He’d seen Borregad come out onto the sand earlier, but now he couldn’t find him. Closing his eyes, he probed and located Borregad not far away, sitting on the far side of a fallen tree.

  “Bo,” he called out, “forgive me for my anger before—I’m still unaccustomed to being affected so deeply. It’s as you said the first day we arrived. The total sweep of emotions has invaded us just as we’ve invaded this world.

  “For awhile I thought how lucky we were to have come across Miradomon so quickly, but I’ve changed my mind. We would have found him in any violence anywhere, any cruelty or crime would have led us back to him eventually. I think he basks in the violence these creatures throw off. He loves it—it’s part of him. And I am deathly afraid it has become part of me, too. I’ve hidden most of it from you, but twice now I’ve been driven to murderous anger; the last time I actually relished it. I looked at what I’d done and I was sickened and thrilled at the same time. This duality, I can’t reconcile it. I’m not even certain I want to find Elystroya. What would she be like in this environment? What I recall seems to have been a dream, a fading memory of a life so unlike this one that it cannot possibly have been real. But if I were to find her, what then? Can we exist in this world? Borregad, I’m afraid of myself.”

  When, after a few minutes, the cat did not reply, Lyrec got up and dressed in the orange and brown uniform once again. “I don’t want to fight with you any further. We have only us, and both of us must survive.”

  Borregad sidled out from behind the log. “Of course we’ll both survive. I already knew about your anger—as a matter of fact, I’ve been its recipient since we arrived here. If you wouldn’t insist on being in control all the time, we would get along much better. And stop worrying, will you? It’s not as if you can change who you are.”

  Lyrec walked up to him, paused, then said, “All right, I’ll stop worrying … if you stop nagging.” He walked on.

  The cat looked insolently after him. “Nagging? Me? See if you ever get a drop of sympathy out of me again, ever.” Lyrec climbed the bank. Borregad stood on his hind legs and shouted, “And instead of being afraid of yourself, you might
show a little respectful fear of Miradomon—because I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t have a single, solitary reason to be afraid of you!” He gestured angrily and fell over on his back.

  *****

  Embers lay where the fire had been. The two figures lay motionless, asleep. The clearing was embalmed in momentary silence, as if the entire forest had hesitated in unison.

  The moment ended.

  Lyrec’s eyes opened. He stared straight into the darkness. What had awakened him? He shifted his gaze. In the dim red glow he could just make out Borregad lying on his back with his paws stretched in absurd directions. If he was awake, he was doing a remarkable job of concealing it. Lyrec looked at nothing and concentrated on listening.

  Forests at night are full of sounds that no living being from outside the forests would call natural: Dead branches succumb to their own weight after months or years of hanging on and crash to the ground, nocturnal animals escape from nocturnal predators with a dash through brush, various forms of insect make passionate love calls with their legs. Lyrec identified what sounds he could and accepted that the rest belonged there. Apparently nothing extraordinary had awakened him. He closed his eyes and shifted to lie on his side.

  Silence fell upon the forest again.

  He opened his eyes again and waited. He began to believe that he could actually see the silence strung like a cobweb around him. He felt it creep like a chill into him. With defensive instinct he closed off his mind and, faintly, the natural sounds of the forest returned.

  Someone was probing him.

  With his own wall up, he sent out a reciprocal probe, discovering quickly that his inquisitor had remarkably little defense and numerous personalities.

  Shh … I can’t find … thistle’s in my … be quiet … someone there … feel queer … head, my head, must tell someone …

  A dozen or more voices in all, the thoughts circled him chaotically. Completely awake now, he sat up, pinpointing a cluster of people, although he could not see their physical shapes. For a second he had the rare experience of seeing himself through someone else’s eyes.