Part 58 (1/2)
”I understand. But . . . why? Ask him why he's doing this?”
Irritation crossed the Khonsel's face as he replied.
”He says . . . it doesn't explain anything, but he said, 'Because I'm a sentimental fool.' ”
It was not the face of a man given to sentimentality or foolishness. A determined face and-if he was reading it right-an honest one. The kind of man he'd have welcomed during the quest: stubborn and fearless and strong.
”Darak? Will you go?”
Only when he heard the tremor in Hircha's voice did he realize the Khonsel's bargain failed to mention her. ”Tell him I'll go. If you're allowed to come with me.”
Her breath caught. Her head came up, the incredible blue eyes huge in her thin face. For a moment, he thought she would cry, but she quickly controlled herself and translated his reply. The Khonsel blew out his breath in exasperation and answered her shortly.
”He said, 'Of course.' ” Her expression was dazed. ” 'I thought that was understood.' ”
”Thank you, Khonsel.” He knew he couldn't clasp the man's hand, so he offered a jerky bow instead. ”Thank you for our lives. We will remember you in our prayers.”
A tremulous smile lit Hircha's face as she listened to the soft but vehement reply. ”The Khonsel says, 'Better you should reimburse me the forty serpents I had to lay out for the boat.' ”
Still scowling, the Khonsel turned on his heel, shouting orders to the guards.
They headed west, skirting the open field where he had camped with the players. Dozens of small fires lit up the plain like fireflies, but once these were behind them, they had only Gheala's thin sliver of light to guide them.
After the incessant noise of Pilozhat, the stillness was eerie, broken only by the rustle of dry gra.s.s and Hircha's labored breathing. Twice, she missed her footing and sprawled headlong, but picked herself up without a word. After that, though, she permitted him to take her hand and help her over the rough terrain.
The sky to the east was just beginning to brighten when the guards slowed. Ahead, he could make out the dark expanse of the sea. Single file, they zigzagged along the top of a cliff, careful to keep a safe distance from the edge. The guards were clearly looking for a path down, but much of the cliff had fallen away during the earthquake; piles of rocks and debris littered the sh.o.r.eline.
Finally, the guards halted, their uneasy glances alternating between the sky and the sh.o.r.e below. After a muted discussion, one of them turned and spoke softly. Hircha nodded, but made no attempt to translate; no doubt, the slaves of the rich merchant's son were expected to understand Zherosi.
One guard started down the slope. Darak seized Hircha's hand and followed. He slipped once on the loose pebbles, sc.r.a.ping his free hand raw as he caught himself. When they finally reached the bottom, he breathed a thankful prayer to the Maker.
The boat looked like a miniature version of the ones that had raided the village. Men were moving about onboard; others stood on the beach. Before he could search for Keirith, Geriv strode toward them and nodded to their guards. Without a glance, the three started back up the cliff. He wished he had thought to ask for the names of Geriv's brothers; like it or not, they, too, would be remembered in his prayers.
An older man gestured for them to hurry. As Darak scanned the men again, a sharp command rang out. He flinched when he recognized the Zheron's voice. Flinched again when he found him standing on the deck of the boat.
It's not the Zheron. It's Keirith. That is my son.
He strained to see Keirith's expression, but all he could make out was a slender figure in a yellow robe. Despite the heat, he was wrapped in some sort of mantle. His arms were folded across his chest, the very picture of a rich young man who had been kept waiting by his dilatory slaves.
He's pretending. Just as he did the night of the performance. He can't show any emotion or it would give everything away.
Hircha was staring at Keirith, too. The G.o.ds only knew what the Zheron had done to her; it must have been something awful to arouse the hatred she had shown earlier and now, this naked fear. She recovered before he did, though, seizing his arm and dragging him to his knees beside her. Bowing her head, she offered what must be an apology for their tardiness, but he couldn't take his eyes off the robed figure looming above them. He searched for something-anything-that would prove this was his son. Keirith stared back at him, hugging himself as if he was cold. When the older man spoke to him, he nodded impatiently and barked out another order in Zherosi.
Hircha rose and walked toward the boat. Two men pulled her over the side, then extended their hands to help him. Darak was reaching for them when their expressions changed. He whirled around to see the Supplicant walking across the sand. The fishermen fell to their knees. Fellgair smiled pleasantly at them before crooking his finger at Keirith.
After a moment's hesitation, Keirith jumped onto the sand. As he pa.s.sed, their gazes met again. The shadows under his eyes looked as purple as new bruises. Sweat glazed his forehead. Despite the confidence of his stride, he was trembling, fighting hard for control. The urge to touch him was overwhelming. Before Darak could succ.u.mb to it, he ducked his head.
I have to help him. I have to play my part. Later, there will be time to talk, to hold him. To make things right.
In a low voice, Keirith said, ”Come.”
It shocked him to hear the tribal tongue coming from the Zheron's mouth. Keirith's mouth. And this was Keirith's voice, this light baritone made harsh by emotion. What had it been like to wake up in that body? To hear that voice for the first time? Had he been terrified? Triumphant? Or simply numb, as he had been when he had awakened to discover himself lying atop Morgath's corpse?
The same numbness seemed to possess him now as he trailed after Keirith. Fellgair regarded them with a complacent smile. ”You neglected to say good-bye,” he chided.
With difficulty, Darak dragged his gaze from his son. ”Aye. I'm sorry. You were gone. I wanted to thank you for all you did.”
”Yes. Everything's turned out quite well, hasn't it?”
”Malaq is dead,” Keirith said. ”And Urkiat. And hundreds of others.” Although his voice was quiet, it sounded raw and hoa.r.s.e. As if he had been shouting-or screaming. ”And I will spend the rest of my life wearing the body of the man who murdered me.”
”It's a delicious irony, isn't it? Although I doubt Xevhan would appreciate it.”
”Neither am I.”
”If you dislike this body, you can always acquire another. You could live forever, skipping from one to the next like our beloved queen.”
”Never!”
”After all, what's a body? It gets old. It dies. Spirit is what matters. Ask the beloved but bark-encrusted Tinnean.”
Keirith opened his mouth and shut it again. Fellgair bestowed a beneficent smile upon him, then sighed. ”Our intrepid sailors grow restless. The tide waits for no man. And tempted though I am to hold it while we linger over our farewells, such an act would be far too ostentatious. Even for me.”
Fellgair leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the forehead. ”I hope we shall meet again, Darak.” A shadow darkened his expression, but it was gone in a moment. ”But I'll certainly encounter you, Keirith. Won't that be fun?”
Keirith turned on his heel and stalked back to the boat. Fellgair sighed again. ”He reminds me of you-rude and impetuous. Let's hope he improves on future acquaintance as you did.”
”He'll be safe?” Darak asked. ”The fishermen won't recognize the Zheron?”
”Xevhan didn't mingle with common folk.”
”Men don't just disappear.”
”Dozens have since the earthquake,” Fellgair reminded him. ”The Khonsel's a resourceful man. He'll think of something. Or perhaps I'll make my own arrangements. They're still pulling bodies out of the ruins. Imagine the Khonsel's surprise when he discovers one of them is the Zheron.”
”But how . . . ? Nay, I don't want to know. As long as we're out of this place forever.” Darak eyed the dark ma.s.s of the mountain looming behind Fellgair; even here, it dominated the sky with malevolent watchfulness. ”Thank you. For helping me. I wish I'd known-when you entered my spirit-that you were preparing me to save his.”
”But that would have ruined the fun.”
”Did you know then what would happen?”
Fellgair's expression grew solemn. ”His chance of surviving was small. The odds that he would acquire the Zheron's body were smaller still. Until the oleaginous Olinio entered the fray.”