Part 36 (2/2)
”Will you tell me something? I am curious.” He turned to follow her, stepping away from the window and into the room.
”You are capable of curiosity, then?”
”I am capable of worlds.”
Dhulyn wanted to snort in disbelief, but found she couldn't. ”Ask.”
”How was it known, so quickly, that Tek-aKet was not here? With the others, with Beslyn-Tor, with Lok-iKol, no one knew.”
A sensible question. How did you catch me? A very sensible question. Would the Green Shadow understand the answer?
”They had no one close enough,” she told him. ”No one who knew them well enough to see a change.”
”No one who could see me me?”
”No one who could see you,” she agreed. It didn't know about Dal, then, or Gun; nor was she about to tell him. She stepped around a long padded bench, still moving toward him. They were only a few spans apart, almost close enough, and she was eyeing the precise spot on his neck where her blow should land.
”What do you want?” she asked. Keep him talking, keep his attention from what she planned.
”Nothing.”
”Your actions say otherwise. Have we no common ground? Can we not negotiate?”
The thing that possessed Tek-aKet closed its eyes. ”Common ground.” Its voice, Tek's and yet not Tek's, trembled with some unnameable emotion. ”Too much shape.” The eyes opened, bright as gemstones. ”All things here have shape. Everything. Shapes. Edges. Start, stop. Here, even I I have shape. Even I. Can you send me back, Seer? Can you or any of your kind do more than force me to a different shape? You ask me what I want. Give me nothing.” The right hand rose up and, fingers curled, tapped it on the chest. ”Make this nothing. have shape. Even I. Can you send me back, Seer? Can you or any of your kind do more than force me to a different shape? You ask me what I want. Give me nothing.” The right hand rose up and, fingers curled, tapped it on the chest. ”Make this nothing. I want NOTHING I want NOTHING.”
She blinked, and s.h.i.+fted her gaze. The far end of the bench, the end closest to the Shadow . . . s.h.i.+mmered s.h.i.+mmered like the air above a fire. It was not there, then it was. She blinked again and shook her head. A fog grew out of nowhere and swallowed the bench, and the Tarkina's room, and the world, leaving a curious emptiness. A like the air above a fire. It was not there, then it was. She blinked again and shook her head. A fog grew out of nowhere and swallowed the bench, and the Tarkina's room, and the world, leaving a curious emptiness. A NOT. NOT.
Dhulyn stopped walking. A corridor formed around her and dissolved as she stepped forward onto a beach . . . the Tarkina's bedroom again with the Green Shadow who inhabited the Tarkin looking at her . . . the hold of a s.h.i.+p . . . a window, a mirror-no, a window, the night sky cut and a green fog spilling down. The corridor again with the fog, a cloud like hot dust eating the air, consuming all that lay before it, making NOT. NOT.
Advancing toward her.
This was death coming. Now. Death was now now. No battlefield. No sword in her hand. No hot rush of blood, heart pounding in her ears. A slow dissolve, the world like crystals of ice slowly melting and becoming not water, but nothing, nothing at all.
NOT. . . .
Why had she never Seen this? Never this this Vision? Vision?
The world changed again. Not a Sight. A memory. A dark-skinned man, his teeth white in the darkness of the hold as he smiled at her where she stood over the corpse of the careless slaver, that same slaver's sword in her hand. ”Come with me,” the smiling dark-skinned man had said, ”and I'll teach you to use that thing.” Suddenly that sword was once again in her hand, the memory sword, her first sword, that Dorian the Black had let her keep, and taught her how to use. Sharp, clear, its edges well-defined and solid. She brought the sword up in a salute, and then brought it down and up again, in the sweep she would use to clear s.p.a.ce before her when she was being crowded. The blade pa.s.sed through the stones of the corridor before the dissolve could reach her, cutting them cleanly and leaving a sharp, distinct edge. A gap like a firebreak.
The fog was on the other side, and, now that she was focused, now that she was armed, she could see the two spots of green that were the eyes. She smiled, lifted her left hand and made a beckoning motion.
She was back in the Tarkina's bedroom. Back with the Green-eyed Shadow before her. But this time she knew what to do. Her breathing steadied, and she fell into the first position of the Wading Crane Shora Shora.
Focus. Like light through a lens. Sharper. Cast out all noise, all smells. See only the strike. When you strike, with blade or with hand, with stave or with elbow, you strike through, through, not at. The blow does not stop at the target, but goes through. See nothing but the target. See only the strike. not at. The blow does not stop at the target, but goes through. See nothing but the target. See only the strike.
SEE the Strike.
SEE the Fall.
Was that a thump? He shook his head. He didn't care what he'd agreed to, he was going in. He drew his sword, unlatched the door, grabbed up Dhulyn's sword in his free hand, and kicked the door open.
Dhulyn was dragging Tek-aKet's unconscious body toward the bed. One of the clothes presses was open and a number of silk scarves had been pulled out, their colors spilling over the thick rugs.
Parno frowned, blinking. For an instant the far end of the padded bench that stood between him and Dhulyn had looked somehow melted and blackened. Then it had appeared whole again. He stepped forward to examine it more closely and found that his initial a.s.sessment had, after all, been correct. The end of the bench was melted and fused like gla.s.s, as was a large section of carpet and floor under it.
”Since you're here, you can help me tie him up.”
Parno looked around. ”It was the Shadow?”
Dhulyn gave him a look that would turn wine into vinegar, and Parno felt his muscles unknot, felt the grin spread across his face. Only the real Dhulyn could look at him like that. He sheathed his sword, tossed hers on the undamaged end of the bench and grasped the Tarkin's wrists.
”On the bed, I thought,” Dhulyn said. ”We'll have to keep him comfortable, and he'll have less leverage lying down.”
”Facedown?”
”And feed him how?”
Parno shrugged again. The fact was that Dhulyn had far more experience with keeping prisoners-or being kept prisoner, than he had himself.
”What if Tek, the Tarkin I mean, comes back to his senses?”
Dhulyn pulled a final silk scarf around the unconscious man's head and secured it as a blindfold over the eyes.
”Always supposing that's possible, that Zelianora actually did speak to her husband, and not the Shadow.” Now it was Dhulyn's turn to shrug. ”We'll explain to him why he's tied up.” She walked back over to the damaged section of the floor. ”Does this look at all familiar to you?”
Parno squatted beside her. ”How do you mean?
”Does it not remind you, in a small way, of the Dead Lands?”
Parno pursed his lips in a silent whistle.
After checking the ties one last time-better careful than cursing, is what Dhulyn always said-they came out into the anteroom to find Gun and Karlyn-Tan waiting for them. The former Steward was wearing a politician's face, telling nothing, but the young Scholar had his lower lip between his teeth.
”What now?” Dhulyn asked. Parno smiled. Someone was going to regret creating that edge of exasperated impatience in her voice.
”It's Beslyn-Tor,” Gun said, shooting a glance at Karlyn and waiting for his nod to continue. ”He's left. Just got up and walked out.”
”What do you mean 'walked out?' ” Parno asked. When he'd seen the old Jaldean priest that morning, it was all the man could do to find a chair with his backside. ”Who'd he go with?”
”No one,” Karlyn said. ”It seems he simply walked away. The guard at the gate included it in his usual report at the transfer of s.h.i.+ft, but had no orders to stop him or to report it earlier.”
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