Hero in the Shadows (45 page)

On the last morning, as several hundred
Kriaz-nor
were climbing toward their camp, Ustarte gathered the remaining twenty followers around her. “Stay close to me,” she ordered her people, “and follow when I move.” Reaching out, she pictured
the gateway as she had seen it in Deresh Karany’s thoughts.

The air rippled. Ustarte threw out her arms. “Now!” she cried, just as the
Kriaz-nor
burst upon the camp. Ustarte stepped forward. Bright lights in a score of colors flickered around her. As they faded, she found herself standing within a green clearing in the shadow of a line of tall cliffs. The sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky. Only nine of her followers made it through with her. Startled
Kriaz-nor
warriors were standing close by. Ahead was a huge stone arch cut into the cliff. Beneath the arch the rock was glowing, ripples of blue lightning flashing across it. The
Kriaz-nor
rushed at them. Ustarte leapt toward the arch. Prial, Menias, Corvidal, and Sheetza, a young girl with the scaled skin of a lizard, ran with her. The others charged the
Kriaz-nor
.

Throwing out her arms, Ustarte summoned all her power. For an instant only the rock before her faded, and through it she saw moonlight over a series of ghostly ruins. As it began to fade, she and the last of her followers stepped through.

Behind her the gateway closed, only bare rock remaining.

Sheetza stumbled and fell. Ustarte saw that a knife was embedded in her back. The deformed girl was unconscious. Ustarte drew out the blade and threw it aside. Then she laid her hands over the wound, sealing it. Sheetza’s heart was no longer beating. Concentrating her power, Ustarte set the girl’s blood flowing.

Sheetza opened her eyes. “I thought I was stabbed,” she said, her voice sibilant. “But there is no pain. Are we safe now?”

“We are safe,” said Ustarte, feeling for the girl’s pulse. There was none. Only Ustarte’s magic kept the blood flowing. She was in effect already dead.

In the distance Ustarte saw a glimmering lake. The small group made its way to it. Corvidal went for a swim with Sheetza. The girl moved through the water with the grace of a
dolphin. When she emerged, she was laughing. She sat down at the water’s edge and splashed Menias. He ran forward and grabbed her, and they both fell into the water.

Ustarte moved away from them. Prial came and sat with her. “Maybe some of the others got away,” he said.

Ustarte did not answer. She was watching Sheetza. “I didn’t know you were also a healer,” he said.

“I am not. Sheetza is dying. Her heart was pierced.”

“But she is swimming,” said Prial.

“When the magic fades, she will pass away. A few hours. A day. I don’t know.”

“Oh, Great One! Why are we so cursed? Did we commit some vile sins in a past life?”

That night Ustarte sat talking with Sheetza. The priestess could feel the magic in the girl fading. She tried to add more power to it, but to no avail. Sheetza grew sleepy and lay down. “What will we do in this world, Great One?” asked Sheetza.

“We will save it,” answered Ustarte. “We will thwart the foul plans of Deresh Karany.”

“Will the people here accept me?”

“When they know you, they will love you, Sheetza, as we love you.”

Sheetza smiled and fell asleep. Some time in the night, as Ustarte lay beside her, the lizard girl finally died.

Still lost in thought, Ustarte did not notice Waylander move alongside her, not until he laid his hand on her shoulder.

“I was very arrogant to believe I could stand against Deresh Karany and the Seven,” she said. “Arrogant and stupid.”

“Rather, let us say brave and unselfish,” said Waylander. “But do not judge yourself yet. Tomorrow Emrin and Keeva will take the lad over the high passes and try to make it to the capital. Once they are safely on the road, I shall put your magicker’s immortality to the test.”

“You must not go against him, Gray Man.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“We all have choices. Why throw your life away needlessly? He cannot die.”

“It is not about him, Ustarte. These men have killed my people and tortured my friend. What kind of a man would I be if I did not fight them?”

“I do not want to see you die,” she said. “I have seen too much death already.”

“I have lived long, Ustarte. Perhaps too long. Many better men are now below the ground. Death does not frighten me. But even if I were to accept what you say about the folly of hunting Deresh Karany, there is one fact I cannot ignore. Matze Chai is still their prisoner. And I do not desert my friends.”

14

L
ORD ARIC OF
House Kilraith lounged back in the carriage and stared idly out the window at the houses along the Avenue of Pines. There were few people on the streets of Carlis. The massacre of the duke and his followers had been shocking enough, but to learn that demons had been responsible had terrified the population. Most stayed behind locked doors, rediscovering the delights of prayer. Several hundred families were congregated within the temple, believing its walls would keep out all evil spirits. They were hoping for an appearance from Chardyn, but the priest had wisely gone into hiding.

The carriage moved on through the deserted town.

Aric’s mood was not good. As he had told Eldicar Manushan, he was bored. It was impolite of the man to have forbidden him to see the torture of the Chiatze. There was something about screams of pain that cut through the malaise Aric had been suffering for some while.

His spirits lifted a little as he thought of Lalitia, remembering the slim, red-haired girl he had discovered in the prison. She had courage and ambition and a body she soon learned how to use. Those were good days, he thought.

Aric had been lord of the Crescent then, enjoying a fine life on the taxes he received from the farmers and fishermen. But not so fine as that of some of the other nobles, notably Ruall, whose income had been ten times that of Aric. One night, at
the old duke’s palace in Masyn, Aric had taken part in a gambling tourney. He had won twenty thousand gold pieces. Ruall had been the biggest loser. From being moderately wealthy, Aric had suddenly become, in his own eyes at least, rich. He had spent like a man with ten hands and within a year had debts at least the equal of the money he had won. So he gambled again and this time lost heavily. The more he lost, the more he gambled.

He had been saved from destitution only by the death of the old duke and the accession of Elphons. This in turn allowed Aric to assume the lordship of Kilraith. With the new funds from taxes, he was able to at least maintain the interest on his debts.

The arrival of the Gray Man had been his salvation. He had leased the mysterious stranger the lands of the Crescent against ten years of taxation. It should have been enough to allow Aric freedom from debt. And it would have been had he not accepted Ruall’s wager of forty thousand gold pieces on a single horse race. Aric had been delighted, for though the two horses were evenly matched, Aric had already paid a stable boy to feed Ruall’s thoroughbred a potion that would seriously affect its stamina. The potion had worked better than expected, and the horse had died during the night. Ruall had substituted another racing mount, and Aric could not object. The new horse had beaten Aric’s racer by half a length.

The memory still galled and was made only slightly less bitter by the recollection of Ruall’s death: the look of surprise as the black sword sliced into him and the expression of dreadful agony as life fled from him.

Aric recalled the night Eldicar Manushan had appeared at his door, the beautiful child beside him. It had been almost midnight. Aric had been mildly drunk, and his head had been pounding. He had sworn at the servant who announced the visitors, hurling his goblet at the man and missing him by a yard. The black-bearded magicker had strolled into the long
room, bowed once, then approached the bleary-eyed noble. “I see that you are suffering, my lord,” he had said. “Let us remove that head pain.” He had reached out and touched Aric on the brow. It was as if a cooling breeze were flowing inside Aric’s head. He felt wonderful, better than he had in years.

The boy had fallen asleep on a couch, and he and Eldicar had talked long into the night.

It was around dawn when the magicker first mentioned immortality. Aric was skeptical. Who would not be? Eldicar leaned forward and asked him if he wanted proof.

“If you can supply it, of course.”

“The servant you threw the goblet at, is he valuable to you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Would it distress you were he to die?”

“Die? Why would he die?”

“He is not a young man. He will die when I steal what remains of his life and give it to you,” said Eldicar. “You are jesting, surely.”

“Not at all, Lord Aric. I can make you young and strong in a matter of minutes. But the life force I will give you must come from somewhere.”

Looking back, Aric could not remember why he had hesitated. What possible difference could the death of a servant make to the world? And yet, he recalled, he had wondered if the man had a family. Baffling. As the dawn came up, Eldicar moved to a cabinet and took a small, ornately embellished mirror. He approached Aric, holding the mirror before the nobleman’s face. “Look at yourself. See what is.” Aric saw the sagging face, the hooded eyes, all the signs of age and a life of mild debauchery. “Now see what could be,” Eldicar said softly. The image in the mirror shimmered and changed. Aric sighed with genuine regret as he looked upon the man he had once been, hawkishly handsome and clear-eyed. “Is the servant important to you?” whispered Eldicar.

“No.” An hour later the youth and vitality he had been promised had become a reality. The servant died in his bed.

“He did not have a great deal of life left,” said Eldicar. “We will need to find someone else soon.”

Aric was too delighted to care about such matters.

The carriage trundled on, turning right into Merchants Square. Aric saw the sign for the Starlight Tavern, a brightly painted shield showing a woman’s head surrounded by stars. He remembered his first meeting with Rena there. She had served him his food and curtseyed prettily. Not a very bright woman, he recalled, but she had been warm in bed, and she had loved him. He had taken her on as the housekeeper of a comfortable villa he owned just outside Carlis, on the shores of Willow Lake. She had borne him a daughter, a delightful child, curly-haired and precocious. She would perch on Aric’s lap and demand stories of olden times, of fairies and magic.

The carriage slowed as it climbed the hill. The driver cracked his whip, and the two horses lurched into the traces. Aric settled back into the deep, horsehair-filled leather seat.

Rena had been crying about something on that final day. Aric could not remember what. She had taken to crying a lot in the last few months. Women, thought Aric, could be so selfish. She should have realized that with his new youth and vigor he would need other outlets. The plump, docile Rena had been entirely adequate for the tired, middle-aged man he had been, but she was not equipped to dance the night away in gowns of satin or to attend the various banquets and functions Aric now gloried in. She was, after all, merely a lowborn housekeeper. Then he remembered why she had been crying. Yes, he had tried to explain this to her. She had prattled on about his promise of marriage. She should have realized that such a promise from an aging, poverty-stricken noble should not have been held against the young and powerful man he had become. A different man had made that promise. But she had not had the wit to understand and had begun to wail. He had warned her to be
quiet. She had taken no notice. So he had strangled her. It was a most satisfying experience, he recalled. Looking back, he wished he had made it last a little longer.

Under different circumstances Aric would have raised the child himself, but with the need to plan for the duke’s assassination he had no time. Anyway, Eldicar Manushan had pointed out that the girl’s life force would prove far more efficacious than that of the servant whose death had provided Aric with his first taste of immortality. “Being of your own blood, she will supply years of youth and health.”