"Sssslay us if you will." The voice that shaped the hiss into words was harsh and brutal.
"They are cowardsss like all Dar'Nethi vermin," said a second voice, "sssneaking, binding with their pitiable magics. None dares challenge us with a blade."
Zhid.
I stepped backward into the lane we'd just exited, ready to draw D'Sanya away from danger. But she shook off my hand and hurried across the trampled dirt and grass, leaving me no choice but to follow.
"What's going on here?" she called out. Her tone of command was irrefusable, as I well knew.
Men and women turned to gape at her, stepping aside as she walked into their midst. Five or six men were struggling to force a bedraggled captive to his knees. The Zhid, a thick, shaggy man with blood smeared across his face, was half standing, refusing to go down. Backs and arms strained to retain their hold on the warrior's brawny arms; boots scuffed the dirt as the Zhid shoved his captors inexorably backward. Zhid were wickedly strong and hard to kill. While one townsman held a roll of thick silver cord, two others were cutting off lengths of it to wrap around the captive's wrists and ankles.
I couldn't see the second Zhid, as he lay face down on the ground with two villagers sitting on his back, binding his limbs with more of the silver cord; dolemar , it was called, a material enchanted to prevent use of power. While a man in a blacksmith's apron tried to restrain a wild-eyed horse, two women tended to a groaning townsman with a horrific gash in his side. Dark blood soaked the hard ground beneath him.
"Come here, little maid, and tell these brutes to leave off," said the shaggy Zhid, his pale eyes settling on D'Sanya. He snarled and wrenched his shoulders as the townsmen knotted the silver cord about his left wrist and yanked his hand behind him to tie off with the other. "You've a pretty face. Won't you have pity on a ssstarving warrior?"
"Pity, yes," she said softly. "What is more pitiable than a being without a soul?"
"It's the Lady … the princess …" I couldn't see who said it first, for the words swept through the circle of Dar'Nethi like an autumn wind. Some stared. Some bowed. Some dropped to their knees. Eyes flicked from D'Sanya to the growling Zhid and back again, anticipating.
The burly Zhid scrabbled his feet back under himself and lurched upward, toppling one Dar'Nethi and smashing his captor in the face with his boot. But a wooden club in the gut felled the Zhid warrior instantly and left him in the dirt. The Dar'Nethi rolled him onto his face, jerking brutally on the cord about his wrists and wrapping it around his ankles until his back was arched like a bow.
D'Sanya flinched at the blows and the vigor of the Dar'Nethi captors. "Careful," she said. "He is sick and broken, but not irredeemable."
"I don't know, my lady," said one of the men tightening the cords. "We caught these two at Hy'Tan and J'Kari's house . . . and the two of them and their two little ones murdered. These damnable creatures were drinking J'Kari's blood! If Prince Ven'Dar had not commanded us to keep Zhid alive . . ." His voice broke.
"We'll drink yours as well before we're done," said the second Zhid, a long thin man with a tangled mop of red hair. He lay face down, arms and legs trussed as awkwardly as his fellow's. "We'll savor it. . . sssssssavor it…" The Zhid's unnerving expression of disdain issued from him like a viper's greeting.
Unlucky that I had stepped up to stand beside D'Sanya, for when a heavy boot rolled him onto his side, the red-haired Zhid's eyes fell directly on my own. His face brightened in astonishment . . . and then glee. "So it's true—"
I bellowed and pounced on the Zhid, throttling him so that he could not utter the words of honor and greeting that sat so eagerly on his tongue. I gripped his head unmoving and locked my eyes on his, forcing my thoughts into the villainous murk that was a Zhid's mind—especially this particular Zhid's mind. You will
say nothing, warrior. You will neither speak my name nor give the slightest hint that you know me. I am your master, your Lord, and my purposes are beyond your comprehension. You will obey me or I will squeeze the blood from your heart.
Even as Dar'Nethi hands tugged at my arms, trying to pull me off him, I ripped power from the Zhid's exhilaration and his fear, and I squeezed his heart with an invisible fist, feeling its pumping stutter, using his pain and the panic of his failing breath to strengthen my hold on his body and mind. Acknowledge my command or die this moment, Gensei Kovrack. You will say nothing of me. You will not look upon me. You will not think of me .
Of course, Great Lord Dieste … we hear your call. . . yes . . . yes . . . as you command . . .
My hands were shaking as they dragged me off him, hatred and murder flowing through me like a river of fire. I bit my lip and tasted the blood, and the hunger came near choking me. I required every smattering of will I possessed, every scrap of control I could summon, to take my hands from his throat and release his heart without killing him. By earth and sky and all gods, I wanted him dead—Gensei Kovrack, the red-haired Zhid general who had taken me into the desert and taught me the arts of command and torture.
The eyes of the crowd were hot on my back. An explanation. I needed an explanation. Someone might have sensed the vile enchantment I had worked. No one would guess it mine, not when Zhid were present, but my actions were very un-Dar'Nethi. "I've seen him before," I whispered. I was kneeling in the dirt, five men restraining me. "He slaughtered … so many . . . enslaved my father . . . my family … so powerful. Don't trust even dolemar bindings to hold him. I'm sorry . . . so very sorry."
"We understand." The hands that held me gradually fell away, a few squeezing my arm tight or touching my back in comradeship and sympathy.
"I'm sorry. I lost the Way." That's what a true Dar'
Nethi would say. >
Two fair hands reached out for me, offering to help me to my feet—D'Sanya's hands. "Oh, my dear friend." Her brow knit in worry, sympathy mellowing her eyes, she brushed a hand across my brow. Peace and comfort and care enfolded me . . . smothered me.
Unfortunately her gifts were designed to soothe a sorrow I did not feel. Hatred and revulsion sat heavy in my belly, and my attention remained on Kovrack, a wily and powerful Zhid. Would he obey? Would he suspect I was no longer what he believed?
"I must help here," said D'Sanya, half apologizing.
"Of course," I said. "Do what you have to do. I'll wait. I'm sorry."
As D'Sanya knelt beside the wounded townsman who lay in the profound stillness of mortal injury, the youth in bright red and green pelted across the yard toward the growing crowd. Behind him trotted an older man in purple robes, breathing hard.
I backed into the crowd, feeling an occasional pat on my back or my shoulder. Kovrack's gaze was pinned to the dirt. I did not take my eye from him.
"Stand back," said the man in purple when he came to the center of the crowd. He closed his eyes and threw out his hand as if scattering seeds on a field, and I felt the shivering power of the Word Winder's cast settling over the two Zhid. An extra binding to prevent their use of sorcery, I suspected. As had every enchantment I had sensed since crossing the Bridge, it abraded my spirit like steel on glass.
At the same time the afternoon sunlight flickered brighter, almost garish in its orange brilliance. The chattering crowd fell into awestruck silence as D'Sanya breathed into the mouth of the fallen Dar'Nethi. His chest spasmed. One limp hand moved as if to grip the earth itself, and soon his eyes flicked open and color flooded back into his pale cheeks. The two women swooped down on him again, weeping.
When D'Sanya rose and stepped away from the man, the Word Winder bowed, extending his palms. "My gracious Lady," he said. "Surely holy Vasrin has sent you to us in our need. Those of us privileged to witness your deeds are blessed."