“Look at my chest. Look well. The mark is hard to see.” He was a dark-complexioned man; his breast was matted with thick, curly black hair, beginning to gray.
“Here,” he said and guided Ciang’s unresisting hand to the part of his breast over the heart.
She looked closely, running her fingers through his chest hair, their touch like bird claws scraping over his flesh. He shivered; the flesh rose in small bumps.
Ciang drew in a deep breath, snatched her hand away. She stared at him in awe slowly crystallizing into understanding.
“The rune-magic!” she breathed.
His head bowed as if in defeat, Hugh sank back on his heels. One hand went to his breast, convulsively grasping the shirt and drawing the two torn halves together again.
The other hand clenched into a fist. His shoulders slumped; he stared unseeing at the floor.
Ciang stood over him, the dagger still balanced in her hand but now forgotten. She had not known fear in a long, long time. How long she couldn’t even remember. And then it hadn’t been fear like this—a crawling worm in the bowels.
The world was changing, changing in drastic ways. Ciang knew it. She wasn’t afraid of change. She had looked into the future and was ready to meet it. As the world changed, so would the Brotherhood. There would be peace among the races now—humans, elves, and dwarves would live together in harmony. The cessation of war and rebellion would be a blow to the organization at first; peace might even mean that the humans and the elves would imagine themselves strong enough to attack the Brotherhood. Ciang doubted that, however. Too many human barons, too many elven lords owed the Brotherhood too many favors. Ciang wasn’t afraid of peace. True peace would be obtained only if every elf and human and dwarf had his or her head cut off and heart cut out. So long as there was life, there would be jealousy, greed, hatred, lust, and so long as there were heads to think and hearts to feel, the Brotherhood would be there to act.
Ciang didn’t fear the future in a world where all things were equal. But this—this upset the balance. Knocked over the scale. She must deal with it swiftly, if she could. For the first time in her life, Ciang doubted herself. That was the root of the fear.
She looked at the dagger, dropped it to the floor.
Ciang placed her hands on Hugh’s gaunt and hollow cheeks, lifted his head gently. “My poor boy,” she said to him softly. “My poor boy.” His eyes dimmed with tears. His body shuddered. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten for so long he had lost the need for either. He fell into her hands like rotten fruit.
“You must tell me everything,” she whispered. Ciang pressed the man’s unresisting head against her bony breast, crooned over him. “Tell me everything, Hugh. Only then can I help you.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep back the tears, but he was too weak. He gave a wrenching sob, covered his face with his hands.
Ciang held him, rocked with him back and forth. “Tell me everything...”
6
“I am not in to anyone this night,” Ciang told the ancient when he tottered up to her chambers, carrying a message from another member begging an audience. The Ancient nodded and closed her door behind him as he left, leaving the two alone.
Hugh was now composed again. Several glasses of wine and a hot meal, which he wolfed from the tray placed on the bloodstained desk, restored his physical and, to some extent, his mental strength. He was so far improved as to recall his outburst with chagrin, flushing darkly when he thought about it. Ciang shook her head at his stammered apology.
“It is no small matter,” she said, “to brush up against a god.” Hugh smiled bitterly. “God. Alfred—a god.”
Night had fallen; the candles were lighted.
“Tell me,” Ciang repeated.
Hugh began at the beginning. He told her about the changeling Bane, about the evil wizard Sinistrad, about being hired to kill Bane and falling under the little boy’s spell. He told Ciang about falling also under the spell of the boy’s mother, Iridal—not a magic spell but one of plain and ordinary love. He told Ciang, unashamed, how he had forsaken the contract to kill the child for love of Iridal and how he had planned to sacrifice his life for her son. And the sacrifice had been made.
“I died,” Hugh said, shuddering at the remembered pain and horror. “I knew torment—terrible torment, far worse than any mortal agony a man can suffer. I was made to see inside myself, see the evil, heartless creature I had become. And I was sorry. Truly sorry. And then... I understood. And when I understood, I was able to forgive myself. And I was forgiven. I knew peace... And then it was all snatched away.”
“He... Alfred... brought you back.”
Perplexed, Hugh looked up. “You believe me, Ciang. I never thought... That was why I didn’t come...”
“I believe you.” Ciang sighed. Her hands, resting on the desk, trembled slightly. “I believe you. Now.” She stared at his chest. Though it was covered, the rune-mark seemed to shine through the fabric. “I might not if you had come back then. However, what is done is done.”
“I tried to go back to my old life, but no one would hire me. Iridal said that I’d become mankind’s conscience. Any who plotted evil deeds saw their own evil in my face.” The Hand shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s true or not. At any rate, I hid myself away in the monastery of the Kir monks. But she found me.”
“The woman you brought here—Iridal, the boy’s mother. She knew you were alive?”
“She was with Alfred when he... did this.” Hugh placed his hand on his breast.
“Alfred denied it afterward, but Iridal knew what she had seen. She left me to myself, though. She was afraid...”
“The touch of the god,” Ciang murmured, nodding.
“And then her son, Bane, turned up again, with the elves. The boy was well named. He was planning to destroy the peace being arranged between Prince Rees’ahn and King Stephen. With the help of the Kenkari, Iridal and I set out to free Bane from the elves, but the boy betrayed us to them. The elves held Iridal hostage, forced me to agree to kill Stephen. As the supposed heir, Bane would take over the human rulership and he would betray them to the elves.”
“And Stephen’s assassination was the job you bungled,” Ciang put in. Hugh flushed again, glanced up at her, gave a rueful smile. “So you heard about that, too? I planned to get myself killed. It was the only way I could think of to save Iridal. Stephen’s guards would take care of me. The king would know Bane was behind it. He’d deal with the boy. But again, I didn’t die. The dog jumped the guard who was about to—”
“Dog?” Ciang interrupted. “What dog?”
Hugh began to reply; then an odd look crossed his face. “Haplo’s dog,” he said softly. “That’s strange. I hadn’t thought of it until now.” Ciang grunted. “More about that in its proper place. Continue your story. This Bane died. His mother killed him, just as he was about to kill King Stephen. Yes.” She smiled at Hugh’s look of amazement. “I heard all about it. The mysteriarch, Iridal, returned to the High Realms. You did not go with her. You went back to the Kenkari. Why?”
“I owed them a debt,” Hugh said slowly, turning his wine glass around and around in his hand. “I had sold them my soul.”
Ciang’s eyes widened. She sat back in her chair. “They do not deal in human souls. Nor would the Kenkari buy the soul of any man—human or elven.”
“They wanted mine. Or at least I thought they did. You can understand why, of course.” Hugh drank down the wine at one gulp.
“Of course.” Ciang shrugged. “You had died and had returned. Your soul would have been one of great value. But I can also understand why they did not take it.”
“You can?” Hugh paused in the act of pouring himself another glass to focus on her. He was drunk, but not drunk enough. He could never get drunk enough.