Parven came into my mind, then, and said that a warrior had to know that every stroke meant something. Your hand must know the sensation of steel on flesh, and not quail from it. Your eye must see beyond blood and determination, knowing clearly which strokes will damage and which will not. These slaves could have no higher value than to aid in making their new Prince invincible. Now, continue, and do not even think of holding back, for I will know of it. The opponent you spare will be dead before another dawn. And so I told Calador and Harres to look for more skilled opponents for me. Then I’d be less likely to injure them.
Some of my opponents were Zhid, and some were slaves. There was a third kind of servant in the fortress called Drudges. Drudges were stupid and dull and never spoke, even though they weren’t forbidden it like the slaves. Drudges never fought as practice partners. They weren’t allowed to touch weapons, because they didn’t know what to do with them.
“They’re not Dar’Nethi, thus have no true power,” Ziddari told me, “so we have no need to collar them. They breed, and so make more of themselves. That can be useful. If they don’t work, we kill them. They have so little intelligence that it’s better for all. A mercy, in fact. They are nothing.”
I’d never thought of killing people as being a mercy, but if the person was too stupid even to know what to do with a knife, it made more sense.
My training in sorcery continued, too. Notole taught me how to call my horse from anywhere within the training grounds, how to prevent my sword from getting dull, and how to make my knife cut into a rock. I asked her how I could get more power for sorcery, and if it could enable me to do bigger things. She said that someday I would be able to do anything I wanted.
CHAPTER 27
Seri
Fourteen days, Gar’Dena promised, only fourteen days of living under the very noses of the Lords of Zhev’Na. Time enough to learn where Gerick was being kept. Time enough to let the other players work their way into position. Then would come a signal I could not mistake, even though I could not be told of it in advance, and together these other players and I would snatch my son to safety. I could survive Zhev’Na for fourteen days. For my son and the future of the worlds, I could do it.
The venture would be dreadfully risky. There existed only three ways to enter Zhev’Na, Gar’Dena lectured us as we sat in his exotic sitting room on the day after the terrible events in the council chamber. The first was as a Zhid. Of course, to retain enough of one’s soul to perform a selfless deed after being transformed into a Zhid was an all but impossible hope. And only the most powerful of Dar’Nethi captives were made Zhid. It was not a practical way to sneak spies into Zhev’Na.
“Unless one could counterfeit a Zhid,” said Kellea, eagerly abandoning our aimless activities of the past weeks in favor of Gar’Dena’s plot. “Is that possible?”
“I know of only one man who ever has managed such an impersonation,” said the Preceptor. “To live as one of them, performing acts of cruelty and vileness every hour… how does a person with a soul reconcile it? Only a person of tremendous strength and dedication. And only one who was once a Zhid himself. No one else could know the life they lead, the words they speak, or how to work the Seeking or transform another into a Zhid.”
“So, what are the other two ways?” I asked.
“The second is as a captive. Dar’Nethi of lesser power or those considered expendable are made slaves. The Zhid use weaker slaves as a source of power, leaching away the poor souls’ life essence to augment their own power. They forbid the stronger slaves all use of their true talents and force them to spend their lives in unending degradation…” He faltered. “You are not Dar’Nethi, and so that way is not for you.”
“And the third?”
“The third possibihty is yet another kind of servitude, for the Lords of Zhev’Na permit no life but servitude. Before the Catastrophe, when our worlds were closer linked, people from your lands occasionally wandered into ours. Those trapped in Ce Uroth by the Catastrophe fell under the sway of the Lords. Unlike the Zhid, who have lost the ability to reproduce, and the Dar’Nethi slaves, who are forbidden it, these unfortunates beget children. They now number in the thousands, but they have no power, nowhere else to go, and have been in the Wastes so long they know no other life. They live in desolate villages throughout the Wastes, breeding horses or food beasts for the Zhid, or they serve in the war camps or the fortress.”
“And I am to be one of these?”
“We are in contact with a brave man, the one I referred to earlier, a Zhid who was restored to himself by Dassine during his imprisonment in the Wastes. This man has chosen to remain in Ce Uroth all these years, living as a Zhid in order to aid our cause as he is able. He can get you a place in the fortress of Zhev’Na itself, an ordinary duty assignment that will not be remarked. From this position you should be able to discover the whereabouts of your son, his daily routine, how he is guarded, and what possibilities exist for removing him. If we train you well before you go, and you play your part with the same courage and intelligence we’ve seen in you thus far, then you should be able to do what no Dar’Nethi could ever accomplish.”
“This is why you needed someone from my world-a mundane,” I said.
“Exactly so.”
“That means I can go, too,” said Paulo. He had been listening intently while munching raspberries from a silver bowl.
Gar’Dena was taken aback. “We’ve no plans to send anyone else. The dangers-”
“The Prince and the Lady Seri saved my life twice over. I’ve sworn to pay ‘em back for it, and the only way I can see is to get their boy back safe. I’ll go, if I have to walk all the way on my two good legs.”
The giant sorcerer did not laugh as many might have done at a boy of thirteen whose ferocious loyalty was sworn with red juice smeared over his freckles. Rather he laid his wide hand on Paulo’s knee and responded soberly. “The success of the plan can be our only consideration. For now, that requires the lady to go alone. But we will think on how best to use such courage as yours. As for you, young woman”-he glanced tentatively at a thunderous Kellea- “you must see that your road cannot lead to Zhev’Na. Not yet. You are Dar’Nethi, a fact that cannot be masked. Any Zhid can lay his hand on you and know what you are. But, as with this daring young man, I promise we will find ample use for your skills.”
Over the next days, Gar’Dena set me to work in his kitchens, scrubbing and washing up, and to digging in his garden so as to roughen my hands. As I worked, he helped me build a new identify, to forge new habits and thoughts and patterns of speech, tempering them with constant review. I asked Gar’Dena if Bareil could perhaps be brought in to help me learn my role, but the sorcerer scoffed at that idea, saying that the Dulcé had taken no new madrisson and was therefore useless. “A Dulcé unlinked is little more than a child, you know. Young Paulo here has more knowledge at his bidding than would Bareil.” I disagreed, but Gar’Dena would not budge.
Paulo grumbled that he would be happy if he was but allowed to use what knowledge he had.
“I don’t know that I trust these Dar’Nethi or their schemes,” I told the boy privately. “I may need you to come rescue me.”