A Shadow on the Glass (50 page)

“Be silent!” thundered Selial. “It is for the Syndics to judge, as you know better than any.” Tensor bowed his head and sat down again. The conclave resumed. Eventually they had agreement, and Selial stood.

“Karan Elienor Melluselde Fyrn.”

Karan, who had been supporting herself on the railing,
looking utterly exhausted, pushed herself away and stood up straight. She looked directly at Selial. Llian’s heart went out to her.

“You have been charged with treason. You know the penalty, and it is death. Are you prepared for our verdict?”

“I am.” Her voice barely carried to where Llian sat.

“We have weighed your evidence, as we have the evidence of all the witnesses.” Selial looked down at her hands. Llian found it difficult to breathe. “We judge that your evidence is truth, as you know it. The charge is dismissed. You are free.”

Karan gave a great sigh and slumped forward on the rail with her head in her hands. It seemed that she was weeping.

“Nor cried Tensor. “She lies. She must be read.”

“I sense no wrong,” said one of the Syndics, looking at her with compassion; then another. “Karan cannot be
read
. That would shame us, and her. Can you not recall how she came to us, what joy she brought us, and the debt we owe her because of Emmant’s behavior when she lived with us before? There is no crime. She has behaved with honor and must be freed.”

“I do not wish it,” said Tensor grimly. “She lies. She knows where the Mirror is. Perhaps her contempt for us is so great that she even brought it here. She stands between us and our great destiny. Will you not allow me to reach out and bring it to you?”

The Syndics were united against him. “The price is too high,” one said.

“You let this need cloud your judgment,” said another.

“We no longer have a destiny,” said a third. “We are con tent just to be.”

‘To be is to wither,” said Tensor. “I am not content. The search may not have been sufficient.”

“It was, Tensor,” said another. “All she brought has been checked and checked again.”

“Her arm?”

“The cast was made here; I made it,” said Rael, and the one who had helped him verified it.

“Can she have hidden it in the city?”

“We do not believe so. They were both watched when they left their chamber.”

“The search must be made anew. I will not consent to freeing her. I say we hold her another day, for there is a wrongness here, whether you see it or nay. We must swallow our shame. What say the Syndics?”

The Syndics consulted among themselves. “Very well,” said Selial. “We sense no lie, but we will allow you one more day. Then if you find no firm evidence she must be allowed to go. Karan, you are released into Rael’s protection.”

Tensor bowed his head. “It will be as you wish. We will talk further this night.” He turned to lead the way out, then Selial called to him again.

“There is another matter to be dealt with—the matter of Emmant. To spy on them was wrong, but to use the Secret Art against the helpless Zain was unforgivable. We are Aachim, nobler than any, but only while we so act. We have no need of base devices.”

“The error was mine,” said Tensor with bowed head. “I cared too much for the glory of the Aachim.”

“Our honor is too great a price to pay for future glory,” Selial said. “Never again. But the greater error was Emmant’s. Too great for one who seeks to be Aachim; for one who has already been warned.” She turned to him.

But Emmant was on his feet, shouting, “She has it! I know she has it!” He held out his hands to the Syndics. “Give her to me; give
me
leave. I will find it for you, never doubt me. My ways are sure. I will flay her, layer by layer,
and peel back the layers of deceit as well. And when her weeping flesh is laid bare I will reach into her still-beating heart and pluck out the truth for you. Then you will know my worth …”

Even on the impassive faces of the Syndics their horror and contempt was evident. Even to Emmant. Selial spoke with cold formality and her words cut through his self-delusion like a blade through a veil.

“Say no more! You are stripped of all duties and responsibilities to the Aachim. You may go or remain, as you wish, but you are worth nothing to us now.”

Emmant let out a tortured wail. He had expected to be praised and rewarded, not the loss of all he had ever striven for. He was shattered, shaking so much that he had to be led from the hall. At the door he turned and looked back at Karan, his face in torment, his eyes just the surface expression of a malignancy with its roots in his soul. Llian felt a twisted pity for him then, pity mixed with a terrible dread of this driven man. But Emmant opened his mouth and vomited forth a torrent of abuse so vile that Llian, who was no stranger to uncouthness, was almost sick. Then as suddenly the flow was cut off and he allowed the Aachim to lead him away.

“Hold,” said Selial, as Tensor turned to go. “There is yet another matter.”

Tensor turned back to her.

“Do you still wish to charge the chronicler?”

Tensor was silent for a long time. Finally, “I will hold that in abeyance until the other issue is resolved.”

“Then, Llian of Chanthed, you are free to do as you wish, save that you may not yet leave Shazmak.”

As they spoke Karan limped down the spiral stair. Near the bottom she stumbled, slipped and cracked her cast against the iron. Screwing her eyes shut she stood still as
death, supporting her arm. Then she threw her shoulders back and, head in the air, walked across to where Llian sat. But once there she could keep it up no longer, and slumped on the chair as though the marrow had been withdrawn from her bones.

Llian had never hated anyone more than he hated Tensor at that moment. The urge to strike back, though he knew it was foolhardy, was overwhelming. “In that case I have a question of my own, if the Syndics will allow it,” he said.

Tensor jerked upright. The audience murmured.

‘Truly a presumptuous chronicler!” said Selial. “You have no right to examine any of us, unless you have been charged.”

“You said I was free to do as I wished. I wish to have an answer to one question at this Syndic.”

“Very well. If I must err it will be on the side of courtesy,” Selial replied. “Who would you question, and what would you ask?”

“My question is to Tensor, and it is this—”

Karan looked up at Llian in amazement. Surely he didn’t have the temerity?

Llian did. ‘Tell me what happened at Huling’s Tower after Shuthdar destroyed the golden flute and the Forbidding was made.”

Tensor’s head jerked around. His eyes glowed golden, his whole body gone rigid in his shame and fury.

“Insolent dog of a Zain, I will crucify you for this! You shall be tried right now. Charge him!”

Selial stood up. She was small for an Aachim. She bent before Tensor’s fury, then snapped back.

“Do not! Would you bring the Syndic into disrepute to cover up your own failings?” She looked to each of her fellows, nodded, then spoke again.

“In the circumstances the Zain has a right. We do not see
the relevance of this question, but since it is the only one he asks, we allow it. You must answer Llian, and be sure that we will judge the truth of it. To the dock, if you will.”

Tensor’s flesh seemed to run before the white heat of his fury, but he climbed the stairs and stood in the iron dock. He gripped the rail so hard that Llian expected the marble to crumble in his fingers.

Llian felt Karan’s hand slip into his. She was shivering.

Tensor shook his head, forcing himself to calmness. If he must confess his shame, he would do it with dignity.

Then he looked Llian in the eye. “The destruction of the flute,” he said softly. “Why
did
it unman us so?

“It was not the very air glowing red, yellow, blue and violet, battering past us like a solid rainbow, a painted cyclone. It was not the waves that rolled head-high through the ground, throwing men, women, horses and even wagons, up in the air. Not the unseen force that flattened every tree outwards for a league, nor the lightnings that streamed from sword and chain mail and helmet, nor the birds that fell dead with brains boiling out their beaks. It was none of those, nor the hundred other strangenesses not seen before or since.

“What made me run like a craven? I’ll tell you, chronicler. I’ll tell you, and pray that you never see it, lest your entrails liquify and dribble out your backside.”

Selial stiffened at the vulgarity, then coldly motioned for Tensor to go on.

He nodded an apology to the Syndics. “The flute struck down every creature save us Aachim. Death or unconsciousness spared them what we saw, chronicler!

“The flute opened the Way between the Worlds, and for an instant we saw right into the void. Know you what dwells there, chronicler? Not even a teller such as you could imagine it

“In the void, life is more desperate, more brutal, more
fleeting than anywhere. Every race and every creature is armored, toothed, clawed, and deadly cunning. Every weapon, every protection, every unearthly power and talent must be bettered daily, as, in the desperation required for survival there, every other race and creature does the same. To fail once is to be extinguished. To stay the same is to be extinguished. In the void none but the fittest survive, and only by remaking themselves constantly.

“The Charon were cast into the void in their millions, chronicler, and fled from it reduced to hundreds, on the precipice of extinction. The void was too violent, too brutal, too clever even for the Charon. That is what we saw, and that is why we fled, but then the Forbidding came down and could not be undone. Have I satisfied you?”

Llian’s skin crawled. The answer raised a dozen other questions, but he would not get them answered here. “You have not. I asked what happened at the tower
after
the Forbidding.”

“I do not understand.”

“There was a lame girl in the tower. She was murdered shortly after Shuthdar’s death. I would know who killed her, and why.”

“You think that someone entered in secret?” Something glowed in his golden eyes, as though he saw a new hope, or a new fear.

“Yes,” said Llian.

“I cannot say. I was … not there.”

“Then who can I ask? Where can I look?” cried Llian, despairing again.

“I have answered your question. I will say nothing more, save this. Who was the first to enter the tower? I always thought that it was a Charon, perhaps Rulke, but the whole history of that time is bound up with deceit. Only three Charon ever came to Santhenar. If Rulke, go to Alcifer. If
Yalkara, to Havissard, far to the east. If Kandor, who once had the fabulous Empire of Perion, before the sea went dry, seek the lost city of Katazza, in the center of the Dry Sea. That trek will test you, chronicler, to the last sinew of your feeble bag of bones. Had I the Mirror, I might find a better answer. Without it, I can tell you no more. I did not see.” His resolve broke, bis shame overflowed. “
I way not there
.”

Selial rose. “That is the key to the mystery, chronicler. No one knows who got in, or what they found there, and mat is all we can tell you. We have heard the evidence of this witness, and it is truth, as he knows it. This trial is ended.”

Tensor, despite his bulk, came down the steps like a panther. His yellow eyes were fixed on Llian.

“You will pay for this a hundredfold,” he said, then turned his back and strode away.

“Thank you for standing up for me,” said Karan, holding onto Llian’s arm, “though I would rather you hadn’t You have made yourself an enemy who will never forget, or for give.”

Rael escorted Karan and Llian back to their chambers. Karan’s aftersickness was worse than it had ever been. She could do no more than lie on the couch with her eyes closed. Llian was restless, exhilarated in spite of her peril and his own, and Tensor’s unsatisfactory response.

“What are they doing now?” he asked, as he paced back and forth.

“Arguing about me,” she replied weakly. “We have had a victory, but not enough. Tensor will never give in. He will convince them, if it goes long enough. But the Syndics have judged and they do not change their mind easily. Go away now.”

He went into the other room and sat in the gloom, thinking about what he had learned. That the first person into the tower was probably a Charon. That the Mirror might hold
the answer. That if it was a Charon, the answer could lie somewhere in one of their great cities, each a long trek away; each abandoned long ago.

Tempting, if he knew where the Mirror was, to make a bargain with Tensor. The Mirror in exchange for whatever secret it held about the Forbidding. He might have done it too, a few weeks ago, but not now. Not even for a Great Tale.

The debate had been going back and forth for a long time now, and even Tensor was weary, but at last he began to sway them.

“I do not ask you to betray the honor of the Aachim,” he said softly, “only to relax the rigidity of our code, this once. The time has come when we must go forward and grow, or disappear. An opportunity has come that we did not even hope for; may we not reach out for it?” He looked eagerly at each of the Syndics, in the long silence that followed.