Part 50 (1/2)

'I have a little water,' she said. 'And meat. And an herb you can rub into your skin, to keep those flies away.'

'You take too great a risk with these visits,' said Hercol.

'Not especially,' said Diadrelu. 'You're a deadly fighter. Your people wouldn't dare approach this cell without lamps and noise.'

'But yours might.'

'Well, then!' she said, trying to sound lighthearted. 'If I'm not wanted--'

'Need I respond to that, my lady?'

She put down her pack, leaped in one bound to his knee, and sat, folding her long legs beneath her.

'Need I stick a pin through your lip to stop you calling me lady lady?'

Hercol laughed softly. 'Thirty years of service to the n.o.ble-born have made some habits unbreakable,' he said. 'Very well, just-plain-Dri: how goes the journey? Is there anything to see but the empty horizon?'

'I told you of the sky-ribbon.'

'That was days ago. Has it returned?'

'Yes. Men are calling it the Red Storm, a name out of some old tale of the Ruling Sea. They say Rose glimpsed it decades ago, that he sailed this far, and then turned back to safety to the north.'

'Curious,' said Hercol. 'But that is not what concerns you most, I think.'

She was surprised that her voice had given away so much. Disappointed, too: why worry him with things he could not change?

'The Vortex is in sight again,' she said. 'A little nearer, this time. The first watch saw it pull a thunderhead down from the sky and devour it, lightning and all, and this has put the fear of death in the men. Before today we were fairly flying southward. But now Rose has us beating west, away from that monster.'

Hercol's smile was gone. His eyes slid once around the cell block, professionally.

'You truly think you can break out of here?' she asked.

'It has been arranged,' he said, matter-of-fact, and glanced briefly at the ceiling. 'But the harder question is, whom can I help by escaping? When I break out, I shall have only a short time to accomplish something before I'm put back in again. I could run to the stateroom, and perhaps find refuge there, but I do not wish to do so while Rose is leaving our friends in relative peace. They would merely place ten Turachs on the doorstep, and we should all be prisoners together.'

'You would be safe, at least,' said Diadrelu.

Not a flicker of response showed on Hercol's face. 'What news of our friends?' he asked.

Diadrelu sighed. 'Neeps and Marila have become somewhat more than friends; Pazel and Thasha, somewhat less. They are cold to each other. Pazel simply will not remain in her presence, and Thasha is too proud to ask him why. In any case, they have all been busy recruiting people to our cause - and debating how much to tell them.'

'They are going ahead with the council meeting, then?' asked Hercol.

'It begins just minutes from now,' said Diadrelu. 'That's why I've woken you at such an hour, I - well, it was an impulse, I was pa.s.sing near--'

'You're not not going to show yourself to six strangers!' going to show yourself to six strangers!'

'Hercol,' said Diadrelu, 'I am an outcast, not an imbecile. My sophister sophisters and I will keep watch from the ceiling.'

Hercol nodded, realizing he had overstepped. 'What of your quarrel with the clan?'

'It is not a quarrel,' she said. 'It is death, if they should lay hands on me. And not because my people are hot for my blood. No, if it came to that, I think a good number would rather die defending me than obey Taliktrum's order to kill. I should have to help them do it, and swiftly.'

Hercol leaned nearer, blinking in the darkness. 'Help them? What are you saying?'

'That I would take my own life, rather than watch my clan torn to pieces by a blood feud. That is our way. Surely by now you understand?'

Suddenly Hercol cupped his hands beneath her and lifted, as though she were an injured bird that might start into flight. Diadrelu froze, her breath caught in her throat. It was all she could do to keep her mind from battle patterns, the twenty ways she had learned to slash and bite and twist out of such hands. The swordsman brought her close to his face.

'I do not not understand,' he said. 'How can you think the clan would be well served by your death? Surely your nephew's rule will tear it apart anyway?' understand,' he said. 'How can you think the clan would be well served by your death? Surely your nephew's rule will tear it apart anyway?'

'Not surely, my friend. Only probably. That is beside the point, however. Of all my people's maxims, the most sacred is clan before self clan before self. None of us quite live up to that maxim, but all of us aspire to. When we abandon the effort, we die. It has happened countless times in our history, as we learn when the survivors of ma.s.sacred Houses share their tales. Almost always the death of a clan can be traced back to selfishness. A leader who has lost the people's love tries to stay in power through fear. An ixchel chased by humans runs towards towards the clan house instead of away. Two ixchel duel over a lover, and one dies - or two.' the clan house instead of away. Two ixchel duel over a lover, and one dies - or two.'

'Or even three, if the lover is too heartbroken to live on,' said Hercol. 'So at least it happens in our fables.'

'I think you do understand me, Hercol,' she said. 'The sort of questions you people face only in wartime or feuds of pa.s.sion, we face endlessly, throughout our lives. What deed of mine will protect the clan? What will endanger them? What will keep death at bay until tomorrow?'

Hercol's hands trembled slightly beneath her. 'I have been thinking of that day,' he said. 'The day you asked us to kill Master Mugstur.'

'I had no right to address you thus,' said Diadrelu.

'You had every right. How were you to know that we were not your equals in honesty?'

'Honesty?' Dri frowned. 'Speak plainly, man. I must go soon.'

'Of course I am a killer,' whispered Hercol. 'Did I not say that I was Ott's righthand man? That I worked his will, pursued his mad notion of Arquali ”interests,” until the day he went too far?'

'The day he ordered you to slay the Empress and her sons,' said Diadrelu. 'You told us.'

'I failed the sons,' said Hercol. 'They were the age of Pazel and Neeps - indeed I look at those two and am reminded of Maisa's children. Like the tarboys, they grew up with danger and loss, and yet somehow their hearts remained open. They would be grown men by now, if I had saved them. Ott keeps their bodies packed in ice, in a cave under Mol Etheg. Shall I tell you why he goes to such trouble?'

'If you wish to,' she said.

'When a spy has completed all his other training, he must pa.s.s one final test. He must go with Ott to that cave and look at Maisa's sons, lying there grey and wrinkled with their throats slit. Princes of Arqual, he tells the trainee, but also enemies of Magad the Fifth - and therefore of all the people. Ott asks for the trainee's opinion. If the young man objects, or questions the idea that blind loyalty is what Arqual needs; if he so much as looks looks troubled, then he never joins the Secret Fist. Instead he joins the host of the disappeared, one more sacrifice on the altar of the State.' troubled, then he never joins the Secret Fist. Instead he joins the host of the disappeared, one more sacrifice on the altar of the State.'

'You left that world behind,' said Diadrelu softly, 'and have atoned for it thrice over. As for her sons: you must let those memories go. You cannot save everyone, Hercol. That is another thing we ixchel learn as children.'

The warrior's hands were still trembling. A bit impatient now - did he think his burden so special? - she turned her head, so that she was looking down on the fingers encircling her.

'Herid aj !'

Someone had been at his fingernails. On his left hand, one nail was torn out completely, and the finger hideously swollen. Another nail had had slivers cut from it, as though by the tip of a very sharp knife, and the shards that remained dangled by their roots. On Hercol's right hand the fingertips were blue-black, the nails crushed into the flesh. It might have been done with a hammer, or the heel of a boot.

'No,' she said, breathless with fury. 'Hercol - brother - who did this to you?'

'My old master,' said Hercol, setting her carefully on the floor, 'though I swear he did not enjoy himself. Perhaps Ott still dreams that I will return to the fold, and lead the Secret Fist when he no longer can.' Hercol considered his hands. 'Something held him back, in any case. If he had enjoyed himself I would be far worse off.'