“Master Ven’Dar, have mercy. Leave him in peace!”
I ignored her. “Paulo! Wake up! I know it’s you.”
“Cripes, can’t a body have a decent sleep without somebody has to bully ‘em up and - ?” The lanky, disheveled boy sat up, rubbing his face and yawning. When he caught sight of the Lady, her mouth open in shock, he stopped in mid-complaint. “Oh, my lady, it’s a fine thing… a fine thing to see you.”
“Then you’re not - ” She picked him apart with her eyes, and then glared at me as if I’d pulled some student’s prank on her. “He’s all right. And himself. We must have been wrong.” She snatched the letter from my hand and read it again, while I tried to contain my excitement. If this were true…
“Paulo, we were afraid for you,” I said, squatting so I could look him in the eye. “You weren’t exactly yourself last night.”
The boy leaned up against the curved stone wall, scratched his head, and sighed. “He wouldn’t hurt me. He knew it was a risk, and he hated the thought of it, being so evil a thing as it is, and not even sure how it is he does it. He let me decide. I agreed it was the only way.”
“So you know what happened,” I said. “What he did to you.”
“Of course, I know. We planned it. Well, we didn’t plan he would have to take over like he did. Only that he would hide… inside me… and be here to help if he was needed.”
“So he left his own body and took up residence in yours. And when he saw I could not free myself, he left your body and came into mine.” The sustaining hands. The strength and reason I could not muster on my own. Directing, not controlling my thoughts and actions, though sharing an awareness of my memories and capabilities. And when the deed was done, he had relinquished his control, returning my mind and soul intact. Not corrupted. Not dead. Free.
“We never expected the Lady to be so bad off. And then you was the only one as could help. He had to get you free.” His steady gaze met mine and nothing… nothing lived in him but simple truth.
“What are you talking about?” demanded the Lady. “I thought Gerick had taken Paulo as he did Gar’Dena. Why isn’t Paulo dead?”
I had to work to keep from laughing aloud, struggle to remember the dire situation of the world. This discovery would not even be a footnote in history if we didn’t think carefully about its consequences. But my excitement could not be contained.
“Madam, young Paulo lives and breathes and delights us with his company even after sharing his person, because your son is no more one of the Lords than are you. It is the myth, the legend, the hundredth talent in the list. Twice I tallied the names last night, not knowing that the one who enabled me to speak the list was its capstone… its enigma. Who could relinquish his own life so completely, taking unto himself the full body, mind, and spirit of another being - lending strength or courage, skill or knowledge - and then be able to yield the other soul undamaged? Who could do such a thing and himself remain whole?
“Your son, my lady, is Dar’Nethi and he is sixteen years of age, and, as happens with most of us, his talent has come upon him with ungainly, overwhelming, and mystifying suddenness. And in a charming convolution of the Way, it seems he has turned out to be a Soul Weaver, the rarest of the Dar’Nethi talents, bearing a gift that carries the most magnificent possibilities and the most complex ramifications, and he doesn’t even know it.”
CHAPTER 24
Karon
I spent five days bathed in blood. My anger had burst all its bounds when I walked the blackened ruins of Ephah, past the poles on which children had been spitted like suckling pigs and the pits where old men and women had been set afire. When word came that Zhid marauders had been sighted near the Vale of Seraph, I would hear no caution, but led twelve hundred warriors in pursuit. They drew us into the Wastes, where three thousand smirking Zhid lay in ambush. But they would have needed twice that number to evade my wrath, and when they were all dead or run away, I wept because none were left to kill.
On the blistering evening of our bloody victory, we rode back into the encampment just as the last light faded, dropping a mantle of darkness over the dead and wounded we had packed into carts or draped over horses. After an ordinary foray, warriors would light fires and heat water for bathing their wounds and those of their fellows, for washing off the filth of battle, for preparing food. Sounds of camaraderie and consolation would give a wholesome texture to the night: men and women rattling pots and restoring weapons, singing songs or telling tales. But as this night crept around us, the camp remained dark. Warriors dropped onto the hard, bare ground and did not move. But I didn’t think they slept.
I slid from my horse and shoved the reins at a smudge eyed boy who gawked at my scorched, blood-soaked gauntlets. “Have him ready for me at first light.”
“Aye, my lord.” The boy dropped his gaze…
Two aides rode up behind me, their pale, sand-crusted faces like some primitive artwork in the deepening dusk - inhuman. I gave orders for the watch, sent news and a commendation to Men’Thor, who had led his battle-weary company all the way to Avonar to fortify the garrison, and dismissed them. A few hours’ sleep and then I would return to the business of Paulo and my son. I could not allow Gerick to live one more day, to betray us one more time.
“My lord!” Bareil held open the tent flap. The Duke’s garments were sweat-stained and bloody. While I’d led the troops into the desert after the Zhid raiders he had remained in Seraph Vale, helping with the survivors and seeing that all the information they could give us about the attack was recorded for me to review. “I was just about to ride out in search of you. I’ve sent for Master Ven’Dar, as you commanded me, but neither his aides nor Bastel have seen him for several days. They believed him to be with you. And you’ve an urgent message from Nentao. The quartermaster says it came five days ago.”
Nentao… Seri. My annoyance with Ven’Dar’s lack of communication would have to wait. I yanked off my stiff gauntlets and threw them on the ground, snatched the paper from his hand, and broke the seal. Every crack and ridge in my hand was caked with dried blood. “Five days! What incompetent bastard let it lie here five days?”
Your Grace,
It is with great distress that I must inform you of the events that have transpired since your last visit to Nentao. Preceptor Ven’Dar arrived shortly after your departure. He attempted to interview the prisoner, despite my insistence that he show me some token of your approval. Only when I forcibly prevented his violation of your orders did he relent and leave the premises. I assumed he had returned to his duties.
But on the next morning, I came upon two of my father’s guards I had set to ward your lady’s bedchamber. They were grievously wounded, sire, one dead already. But the second man claimed that Preceptor Ven’Dar himself had done this terrible deed, boasting that this man and his fellow were but the first two “Dar’Nethi Watchers” to be slain that night. I assumed this accusation to be some confusion of the man’s last agony. Yet when I heard of the death of the Vale Watch that preceded the attack on Seraph, it gave me pause.
Regretfully, I must report that your wife’s condition has taken a serious decline since that day. She grows weaker by the hour, and the Healers have despaired. I urge you to come quickly, my lord.
Your obedient servant,
Radele yn Men’Thor yn Ustele
Five days! I rode out without changing my blood-soaked garments, without cleaning the death from my hands. I recklessly conjured an early portal to Avonar, and by the time the night was spent, I was galloping up the winding road to Nentao, dread sitting in my belly like lead. When I smelled the telltale of charred timber on the dawn wind, I could not contain my fear. Bellowing like a speared boar, I spurred my horse unmercifully until I reached the smoldering ruin.