“I can understand why.” Hugh grunted. “Trying to go up against a mark using a kid’s toy.”
Ciang shook her head. “You do not understand.” She raised her slanted eyes to his, and again there was that strange glint. “He died of shock.” She paused, looked down at the weapon, and added, almost casually, “He had grown four arms.”
Hugh’s jaw sagged. Then he snapped his mouth shut, cleared his throat.
“You don’t believe me. I don’t blame you. I didn’t believe it myself. Not until I saw it with my own eyes.” Ciang stared at the cobwebs as if they wove time. “It was many cycles ago. When I became ‘arm.’ The dagger had come to us from an elven lord, long ago, when the Brotherhood first began. It was kept in this vault, with a warning. A curse was on it, so the warning went. A human, a young man, scoffed at the notion. He did not believe in the curse. He took the knife—for it is written that ‘he who masters the knife will be invincible against all foes. Not even the gods will dare oppose him.’” She eyed Hugh as she said this. “Of course,” she added, “this was in the days when there were no gods. Not anymore.”
“What happened?” Hugh asked, trying not to sound skeptical. He was, after all, talking to Ciang.
“I am not certain. The partner, who survived, could not give us a coherent account. Apparently the young man attacked his mark, using the knife, and suddenly it was not a knife. It changed to a sword—enormous, whirling, many-bladed. Two ordinary arms could not hold it. Then it was that two more arms sprouted from the young man’s body. He stared at his four arms and dropped dead—of terror and shock. His partner eventually went mad, threw himself off the isle. I don’t blame him. I saw the body. The man had four arms. I dream of it still sometimes.”
She was silent, lips pursed. Hugh, looking at that hard, pitiless face, saw it blanch. The compression of the lips was to hold them firm. He looked at the knife and felt his stomach crawl.
“That incident could have been the end of the Brotherhood.” Ciang glanced at him sideways. “You can imagine what rumor would have made of this. Perhaps we—the Brotherhood—had cast the dreadful curse upon the young man. I acted swiftly. I ordered the body brought here under cover of darkness. The partner also. I questioned him before witnesses. I read the tract to them——the tract that came with the knife.
“We agreed that it was the knife itself that was cursed. I forbade its use. We buried the grotesque body in secret. All brothers and sisters were ordered, on pain of death, not to speak of the incident.
“That was long ago. Now,” she added softly, “I am the only one left alive who remembers. No one, not even the Ancient, whose grandfather had not yet been born when this occurred, knows about the cursed knife. I have written the injunction against its use in my will. But I have never told the story to anyone. Not until now.”
“Cover it up,” Hugh said grimly. “I don’t want it.” His frown darkened. “I’ve never used magic before—”
“You have never been asked to kill a god before,” Ciang said, displeased.
“The dwarf, Limbeck, claims they’re not gods. He said Haplo was almost dead when the dwarf first saw him, just like any ordinary man. No, I will not use it!”
Two red spots of anger appeared in the woman’s skull-like face. She seemed about to make a bitter rejoinder, then paused. The red spots faded; the slanted eyes were suddenly cool. “It is your choice, of course, my friend. If you insist on dying in dishonor, that is your own affair. I will not argue further except to remind you that another’s life is at stake here. Perhaps you have not considered this?”
“What other life?” Hugh demanded, suspicious. “The boy, Bane, is dead.”
“But his mother lives. A woman for whom you hold strong feelings. Who knows but that if you fail and fall, this Haplo would not go after her next? She knows who he is, what he is.”
Hugh thought back. Iridal had said something to him about Haplo, but the assassin couldn’t remember what. They’d had little time to talk. His mind had been on other things—the dead child he had carried in his arms, Iridal’s grief, his own confusion at being alive when he was supposed to be dead. No, whatever she’d said to him about the Patryn, Hugh had lost in the horror-tinged mists of that terrible night. What had it to do with him anyway?
He was going to give the Kenkari his soul. He was going to return to that beautiful, peaceful realm...
Would Haplo try to find Iridal? He had taken her son captive. Why not her?
Could Hugh afford to take the chance? He owed her something, after all. Owed her for having failed her.
“A tract, you said?” he asked Ciang.
Her hand slid into the large pockets of her voluminous robes, withdrew several sheets of vellum held together by a black ribbon tied around them. The vellum was old and discolored, the ribbon tattered and faded. She smoothed it with her hand.
“I read it again last night. The first time I have read it since that dreadful night. Then I read the tract aloud, to the witnesses. Now I will read it to you.”
Hugh flushed. He wanted to read it, study it in private, but he didn’t dare insult her. “I have put you to so much trouble already, Ciang—”
“I must translate it for you,” she said with a smile that indicated she understood. “It is written in High Elven, a language spoken after the Sundering, a language that is all but forgotten now. You would not be able to understand it.”
Hugh had no further objections.
“Bring me a chair. The text is long and I am weary of standing. And put the lamp close.”
Hugh brought a chair, set it in a corner beside the table on which rested the “cursed” knife. He remained standing outside the circle of lamplight, not sorry to keep his face hidden in the shadows, his doubts concealed. He didn’t believe it. Didn’t believe any of it.
Yet he wouldn’t have believed a man could die and come back to life again either.
And so he listened to the tale.
8
Since you are reading this, my son, I am dead and my soul has gone to Krenka-Anris, to help in the liberation of our people.[12] Since it has come to open war, I trust that you will acquit yourself honorably in battle, as have all those who bear this name who have gone before you.
I am the first of our family to set down this account on paper. Before now, the story of the Accursed Blade was whispered to the eldest son from his father’s deathbed. Thus my father told me and thus his father before him and so on back to before the Sundering. But since it seems likely that my deathbed may be the hard ground of a battlefield and that you, my beloved son, will be far away, I leave this account to be read after my death. And so you will take an oath, my son, by Krenka-Anris and by my soul, that you will pass this account to your son—may the Goddess bless your lady-wife and deliver her safely.
In the armory is a box with a pearl-inlaid lid that holds the ceremonial dueling daggers. You know the one, I am certain, for as a child you expressed your admiration for the daggers, an admiration much misplaced, as you know by now, being a seasoned warrior yourself.[13] You have undoubtedly wondered why I kept the fool things, much less accorded them room in the armory. Little did you know, my son, what those daggers concealed.
Select a time when your lady-wife and her retinue have left the castle. Dismiss the servants. Make absolutely certain that you are alone. Go to the armory. Take up the box. On the lid, you will note that in each corner there is a butterfly. Press down simultaneously on the butterflies in the upper right corner and the lower left. A false bottom at the left-hand side will slide open. Please, my son, for the sake of my soul and your own, do not place your hand in this box!
12
By this we assume that the writer was a member of the Tribus elven clan, who were battling their Paxar cousins in the war that became known as the Brotherblood. See
13
The ancient elven custom of dagger-dueling had gone out of favor by this time, probably because so many elves were fighting for their lives on the battlefield. Dueling came to the fore under the peaceful reign of the Paxar, providing a way for youths to test their courage without placing anyone in real danger. As this elf implies, the daggers were meant more for show than actual use, often having jeweled handles and fancifully shaped blades. The rules of the duel were complicated. The intent was to slash an ear. An elf walking around with a cropped “human” ear was an object of ridicule. To avoid scarring the face or damaging eyes, elaborate headgear was worn that left only the ears exposed.