The Sheening Of The Blades (Book 1) (35 page)

Rorig bristled like a pine tree at th
e shameless exhibition of bare skin, but she shushed him with a glance, focusing on the storyteller like he held the secret of immortality and hoping the Queensknight would get the hint.  There was just no use comparing the two cultures…too much disparity, too much antipathy (at least on Rorig’s part), was between them.  She sighed contentedly.  It was rough, this ambassadorial work, but she’d keep at it.

Noska, with the flair of his trade, stood absolutely and theatrically motionless.  Not a word passed his
slightly twisted lips until there wasn’t a whisper of sound from his audience, until the stillness of the camp matched the stillness of the night, until it seemed the whole universe was holding its breath.  And then he began, in a great, rich, rolling voice you’d never suspect could come out of that disfigured face or that lean chest:

“
When Rach Kyle came first to these great sands, forgotten by the gods, at the head of a fierce and mighty host, fighting for every yard of ground, he took a mate from among the dusky daughters of his companions.  From her he begot eighteen sons.”

Sable choked on her water.  The Rach warriors half rose to their feet, cheering lustily.

“But from all his sons born brave and true, ‘twas the last he thought most fit to rule.  His name was Kileen, and he begot nine sons.”

For several seconds of genealogy, Sable was held spellbound; this was the legendary
‘oral tradition’ that one learned about at University.  For the next several seconds after that, as names of sons and sons of sons and sons of
their
sons rolled seamlessly off Noska’s skilled tongue, she was further amazed that it could go on so long.  Shamed as she was to admit it, because, really, it was an impressive list to commit to memory, after several minutes of faceless names had filled the air…her attention began to drift.  Idly, she began to surreptitiously study the intent faces around her.  Virility flowed off the Rach in waves, faces all bronze planes and flashing eyes, bodies sleek and supple.  But for all the striking good looks and radiating energy of the men, the women were completely different.  In their faces, the sharp angles smoothed to soft ovals graced with a haunting, ethereal beauty.  Their eyes were dark pools of mystery, manner deft and reserved—calm, steady rocks to the warriors’ dashing waves.  She’d seen the few unmarried Rach men, usually little more than teenagers, watching the girls so breathlessly, so intently, they’d stop mid-sentence to follow them with their eyes.  The girls were slender and graceful as willows, going about their prosaic tasks like princesses, completely impervious to the flattering stares.

There was a pause and Sable glanced back to the storyteller.  Could the Rach finally be done begetting?

“And then,” Noska said in a low and important voice, “the line was broken, forever.  By one humble stonemason who could not even ride.  This is his story.”

Anticipation built like a summer storm as Noska let the silence drag. 

“His name was Kaskari and he was a builder, making docks on the Eastern Sea and whatever few buildings the Rach required.  One night, helping to repel an attack, he chased the Tarq far into the Sheel and became separated from his companions.  When the steel had grown silent, he found himself alone—and in the middle of the rainy season in the endless Sheel.  For four days and three nights he wandered under a cloudy sky, seeing neither sun nor stars, lost, helpless, and despairing.”

“
It was on the fourth night that he could go no farther.  Sinking to the sand, his body but a dry husk, his mind fading away, he resigned himself to never wake again.”

“
But there was a different plan for Kaskari and a purpose for him yet.  He was woken.  By a touch on his brow cool as the sea at dawn.  He woke refreshed, water once again pumping through his body, and looked with amazement on his rescuer.  It was a woman, dressed as in starlight, with black hair that swung to her ankles and eyes as bright as pools in moonlight.”

Sable raised a quiet eyebrow.  Sounded like a man lost in the desert, all right.

“Fair lady,’ croaked Kaskari, for his voice was still rough and dry, ‘who art thou?  Thou hast surely pulled me from the very jaws of death.”

“
My name matters little,’ she said in a voice soft and soothing as an oasis breeze, ‘for I am many things to many people.  What is of true import is that you come to know Il and take His strength for your own, that you might have life.”

Sable felt like she
’d been slapped in the face.  Il?  Here?  What was this sudden over-abundance of Illianism, when she’d barely been aware of its existence the past twenty-two years of her life?

“
Who is he, that I might know him?’ Kaskari asked, confused.”

“
He is the great God, the God of power and love and justice and compassion, and He wishes all men to know His Peace.”

“
Kaskari shook his head, even more confused. ‘The gods have forsaken the Rach.  We are outcast and alone.”

“
No more,’ said his mysterious rescuer.  ‘Il desires you to be His people—not because you are worthy, but because you are His.  His honor will be your honor, His strength your strength, and His mercy your mercy.  He is all that is good and strong and right and true, and He would have you as His own.”

“
And Kaskari felt suddenly a great longing swell up in him for such a god, for him and for his people, and he cried out, ‘Tell me how we can have this great thing, for long have my people been desolate and without joy in this harsh new land!”

“
You are a generous man, to think of your people while you lay almost dying, far from home in the trackless Sheel.  Come with me now, my friend, and we will return to your Rach and I will tell you many things.”

Sable shifted uncomfortably.  Northerners never moralized in their stories—it irritated the audience.  Besides, this was reminding her of things Elger the Shepherd had told her that she
’d thought she was done thinking about.

“
And then into Kaskari’s view stepped a pure white horse, mane and tail like a silver comet against the night sky, and he knew her for who she was.  For who but the Empress wandered alone and without fear through the Realms, ministering to those in desperate need and accompanied only by her great white horse, Spirit?”

Who was obviously a regional addition.  Sable had never heard a single tale that had the Empress
on the back of a horse of
any
color…but then, of what interest would a heroine without a horse be to a Rach?

“
In great awe Kaskari clung to the back of the white stallion, for he had been crippled from birth.  Never had he been able to move with more than a shambling walk or run, nor to sit astride even the smoothest of mounts.  But his delight in being able to ride was but a dim glow compared to the wondrous words of the Empress.  All that night and through the next they rode, taking neither food nor drink, while she told him of the awesome mystery of her God.  And when the sun rose on the morning of the second day, Kaskari saw with astonishment that the Empress had brought him not back to his humble origins by the sea, but far to the west, where the great camp of the Rach himself lay like a vast cloud upon the edge of the Sheel.”

“
Already, as he watched, he saw a patrol racing across the sands to intercept them.  Anxious for her safety, he attempted to dismount, to run ahead and warn them not to harm her, but calmly she prevented him, and calmly Spirit walked on, and calmly she awaited them.  And indeed, as they rode up, they came to a startled halt at sight of her.”

“
We have been lost in the desert,’ Kaskari hastened to explain.  ‘The Empress has found me and saved me from certain death!’  But it was as if he had never spoken, for the scouts had eyes only for the Empress.”

“
We wish to see the Rach,’ she said in her velvet strong voice, and immediately the riders turned and escorted them back to the camp.  And then Kaskari truly began to tremble, for he was a poor and humble builder who knew nothing of the fierce, fine ways of the Rach, and he dreaded a meeting with so mighty a man.”

“
The Rachar were Standing, and the Rach with them, that very morning, and when word was sent in to them of Kaskari and his fair rescuer, immediately they two were summoned.  With heavy heart Kaskari walked beside the Empress, feeling much out of place with his tattered clothes and unmanly gait—especially surrounded as he was by such strength and agility and quickness to action as the men of the Rach displayed; he made for a poor companion.”

“
But as with the patrol, few eyes noticed poor Kaskari.  The brightness of the Empress held the Rachar as if under enchantment, for she was in raiment as starlight, and her black hair swung round her ankles, and her eyes were as moonlit pools, and none could question her for the wonder she evoked.”

“
But she spoke of her own accord, and this is what she said:”

“
Greetings, Rach Killayon, and to your Rachar.  I bring to you this morning great word, of a God who would make you His own, of a plan to make your path sure, and of a man to help you with both.”

“
This is Kaskari,’ she said, ‘who can build you a wall that will stop your dread foe and more surely make your strength of benefit to the Realms.  And the God is Il, who will build of you a great people, for He is the only God bigger than your great hearts.  He alone will not run from your bold courage, calling it intemperance and foolhardy, but will light your path with true valor, great fortitude, honor, and justice.  He calls you to be greater than you are, by serving each other with humility and Himself with reverence and love.  For so He loves you, fiercely, to come to the farthest reaches of the Realms, to call you to be His people.”

“
In silence and awe the Rachar pondered this, for her words rang with power and were strong and pure.  But of Kaskari and the wall there was only puzzlement.”

“
We would know more,’ Rach Killayon finally spoke. ‘Both of this Il, and of this strange wall of which you speak.  Why have we not heard before of Il, and why would we build a wall to stand in one place while we move around like water in a stream, fighting the foul Tarq wherever we find him?”

Sable blinked.  This was before the Ramparts?  That was thousands of years ago.  This was a lot of detail for a centuries-old story, and a lot of breath
less interest in archaic speech by young people who by all rights should be more interested in flirting.

“
The Empress answered in her sure voice, ‘You know Il already, by every longing in your heart for rightness and wisdom, for perfect justice, for true mercy, for elusive honor…He is all these things, and many others besides, and He has sent me, a lone woman of no substance, no family, no home, the least of His servants, to tell you His Name.”

“
As for the wall, think ye on how many Tarq escape your patrols, how many breach your great and dedicated host, to eat into the soft belly of the Empire, pillaging and burning and destroying.  What if
all
could be stopped?  How much more effective would your defense be if you could spend your energies not in chasing down your foe, but confronting him?”

“
And deeply did the Rach and his council listen and deeply did they weigh these words, though had it been another they may well have discounted all…but her visage shone like moonlight through clouds, and her hair swung dark and thick to her ankles, and her eyes spoke more strongly of Truth than even her lips.”

“
And so it was that Rach Killayon decided to attempt the wall which the Empress urged.  Kaskari was sent back to the sea, for there was the most permanent of the homes of the restless, shifting Rach.  The first wall he built, anchored in the sea itself, fell within the very day it was finished.  Thoughtfully he pondered this lesson and thoughtfully he reworked his design, borrowing from the metal and minerals of the Merrani they traded with on the lapping lips of the ocean.  And great was his joy when the Tarq rolled up against his newest wall and were tossed back like a wave from a rock!  Triumphant, the Rach rode forth, wreaking great harm on their stunned enemy.  Loudly then was Kaskari praised and with great rejoicing this news was spread.”

“
Now the Empress had stayed with him there by the sea, teaching him of Il and exhorting all who would listen, and now she urged Kaskari to push out across the length of the Sheel, that all the Rach might have the advantage learned there at the sea.”

“
But the Rach forbade it, seeing—rightly—that it meant permanence, a trapping of the free eddy and flow of his people, for ever must the wall be manned if it were to be of use.”

“
And so the Empress once more visited Rach Killayon, in his great camp, in his great tent, as he sat moodily on his great chair.  And her clear voice rang like a bell through his stubborn will.”

“
You fight ever on the defense,’ she told him, ‘while the Tarq dictate where and when and how many of your people will dance the dance of blades.  With this wall, it is you who choose how many, if any men, will pursue your frustrated enemy back to his hole.  Now, you run constantly, first to this engagement, then to that, and all the while, the Empire is ravaged by those Tarq who go unchecked.  If a wall is built, she will lie protected—and control will lie with the Rach, not the heedless Enemy.”