"The Sorcery Within" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smeds Dave)

III

ALEMAR ANDELENYA SPENT THE HEATof the day resting in one of the arroyos common to the region. The banks of the ancient streambed cut deeply and suddenly into the plain, invisible from only a short distance away, a trick characteristic of the land and one that had allowed the T'lil to appear so suddenly at the water hole. The desert riders used canopies to augment the natural shade. To the twins, it was a shock to be free of the burden of sunlight.

The group stretched out on either side of them in a long line. The oeikani were gathered together at a spot where the stream's course widened, where they could be easily guarded. The twins scooted into a shallow fissure, left to themselves, but not enough so that they couldn't be seen at all times. Elenya barely managed to smooth the sand beneath her before she fell asleep.

When she awoke, the sun occupied the opposite quarter of the sky. High above, a huge black bird circled, probably a vulture. For a moment, still half dreaming, she pictured it as a dragon, waiting to dive upon her, flame spouting from its throat. An unlikely fantasy – Gloroc, the Dragon of Elandris, was the only living example of his race within the civilized world, and he wasn't old enough to fly yet.

She heard the snores of napping Zyraii. Other members of the tribe were engaged in games of chance played with three twelve-sided dice. One or two honed their weapons. She uncurled herself, groaned, and noticed that Alemar was awake.

"Haven't you slept?"

"No. Couldn't."

"If you fall off your animal later, don't expect me to pick you up," she said, noting his bloodshot eyes and the heaviness of his lids. She didn't need to ask how he felt; they had been through the eret-Zyraii together.

"Have some salt," he said, handing her their precious supply. She sprinkled some on her tongue and followed it with several swallows of water.

"What now?" She spoke quietly and used the Low Speech of the Cilendri for extra measure, but none of the strangers gave any sign that they were interested in the twins' conversation.

"They know where Setan is. We don't."

"That doesn't help us much if we're prisoners."

They both felt the alert eyes that pretended not to look at them and noted the smooth, feline gait of a warrior walking by. In their state of exhaustion, they couldn't even think to escape. The fight at the water hole had taken what scant reserves they had.

Not far away, a Zyraii relieved himself. Elenya felt no longings from her own bladder, despite the time since she'd last emptied it, but she began thinking.

"Do I look like a man?" she asked, gesturing down at her body. Like her brother, she was short and slender. Although fair-skinned, the sun had tanned them almost to the swarthiness of the Zyraii, and shoulder-length, jet-black hair occasionally peeked out of either of their cowls. The clothing hung so loosely as to completely conceal her small breasts unless she pressed the cloth against herself, and the veil hid the fact that she had no beard.

Alemar squinted at her, as if trying to place himself in an objective viewpoint. "No. But neither do you appear not to be. One would see what one expected to see."

"They made the mistake very easily."

"I know. That's why I didn't correct Lonal. Maybe there's a good reason why you should be a man."

"But they'll know I'm a woman before very long, one way or another."

He frowned. "Yes. You're right. I'd keep my voice down if I were you."

She checked herself. "What happens when they find out we've lied?"

"I don't know."

They rested a while longer. More and more of the party stirred as the heat began to wane. They felt caresses from the faithful afternoon breeze. A half dozen Zyraii began practicing knife throwing. Elenya had recognized the short daggers carried by all of the riders. They performed demonblade. The name was taken from the Demon Steppes, a label Zyraii territory was known by outside the Eastern Deserts. Legend had it that Zyraii boys learned to throw knives before they could hold the weapons with one hand. The twins carried knives of their own, weighted for throwing, and knew how to use them, but they had never before had the opportunity to watch the skill performed by its traditional masters.

The men aimed at a wooden shield, the same type that could be found strapped to each rider's nonthrowing hand. Like the demonblades, the shields were cherished articles, wood oiled for protection from the weather, leather straps sewn tight. Wood, not metal. Metal became too hot in the sun. Likewise, wood slowed a blade's momentum in cases where metal only deflected.

The target piece, however, was worn and cracked and covered with several layers of hide to protect the points of the knives that struck it. Though it was barely wider across than the span of an adult's thumb and middle finger, the throwers rarely missed.

"They're good," Elenya said.

"Yes," Alemar answered. "Better than we."

"Better than you," Elenya said. Alemar didn't dispute her.

"The good ones aren't practicing," she continued. "Like the two on the left there. I can smell others. And isn't it funny how our view is seldom blocked?" Feigning disinterest, members of the tribe stole glances in the direction of the twins. Elenya stared them down.

Eventually she pointed to Lonal. "Heis the best. He's not even on the same scale." The war-leader scarcely watched the proceedings. Even at rest, he projected confidence. When he did move, each action had its place, nothing wasted.

"Better than you?" Alemar asked.

She paused. "I would like to spar with him someday."

At dusk, they mounted their oeikani and proceeded swiftly toward the east. The terrain became more varied. Desert flowers, cacti, and sparse brush appeared. After so long in utter desert, Alemar smelled the increase of water in the air. He shrugged this off as delusion born of exhaustion and nurtured by the knowledge that as they travelled east, they approached the Ahloorm, Zyraii's only major river.

The sun's stifling brilliance gave way to the cool, muted light of Motherworld. The Sister had already climbed high in the sky, her glow no longer dwarfed by the day. Shadows diffused and broadened. Hints of life scurried next to the path. Occasionally a rider would swing out from the group, small bow in hand, to return with a sagecrawler or a small mammal. Tiny feral sounds increased as the darkness deepened. It wouldn't grow beyond twilight until near morning, as Motherworld was in a gibbous phase, bold with her bands of ochre and beige.

At last, the land seemed to live. In the west, the eret-Zyraii, the best that could be hoped for was the rare water hole such as the twins had found that morning. Nature was a bad enemy. It was better here, among human adversaries. People were vulnerable.

They reached the Zyraii camp during midevening. It was a substantial settlement – three concentric rings of goat-hide tents, the largest and best toward the center. A small ritual fire burned at the hub, an area that also contained a spacious, undecorated tent of actual cloth, as well as a smith's forge and the livestock corrals. The first thing Alemar noticed about the place was the scarcity of fire – only the central flame and a few scattered oil cooking braziers. He saw figures bustling to and fro. Sentries had alerted the inhabitants, and children rushed out to greet the incoming warriors. Women hurried in other directions to prepare the reception.

The group rode immediately to the oeikani corral, through a twisting aisle between the tents just wide enough to accommodate their double file. Alemar deduced at once the significance of placing the corrals in the center – the valuable oeikani, sheep, and goats stood less chance of being lost in a raid. Boys came forward to tend to the mounts, including one who trotted up without hesitation to take those of Alemar and Elenya. He stopped short as soon as he saw them closely. The twins read his surprise as they dismounted but, handicapped as they were by lack of language, could only stare back with equal perplexity.

"Rol, yil ta wakani!" Lonal told the boy, who blanched.

The oeikani shuffled impatiently, awaiting their feeding. The boy turned and quieted them by name, glanced back at the twins one more time, and hurried away with his charges.

Alemar felt the blood on his hands.

Lonal ignored the questioning glances and led them through the tents. As they passed, women and children stared at the twins in a manner that the warriors had not, open-mouthed and shrinking back, making ritual signs. They wore no veils. The women dressed mainly in loose, flowing skirts with multilayered wraparound tops, seldom exposing more than head, hands, ankles, and feet. A few wore leather sandals; most were barefoot. Infants and small children ran naked. Fabrics boasted many colors and patterns, some quite plain, others intricate in both the design and the weaving. Only grown men, and not all of these, displayed the white robes of the group that they had ridden with. Eventually, Alemar noticed that those who wore white were the only ones who bore weapons.

Lonal spoke to them as they ferreted their way through the walls of hide. "These are the tents of my clan, the T'krt, largest of all the T'lil. We journey to the Ahloorm Basin. For tonight, you will be shown your tent and introduced to the elders. We will decide what to do with you tomorrow. Your adoption must be recognized, and you will have to be educated in our ways."

Lonal seemed completely unperturbed that he was declaring the long-term fate of two people with a handful of words. He drew off his veil as he spoke and flipped back the cowl, revealing a handsome, hawk-nosed face, much younger than Alemar had expected. There was energy in that face.

He instructed them to wait where they were for a few moments and disappeared into a tent. Soon they could hear him conversing with another man in the Zyraii language. When he returned, a short, lame tribesman followed him.

"This is Fumlok," Lonal said. Fumlok walked with a limp and stood slightly bent. He was thin and leathery, a gaunt face drawn with distinct contours along the bone. His eyes seldom lit on any one spot for long, and he smiled for no apparent reason at regular intervals. Unlike the warriors, he wore trousers and a loose shirt reminiscent of the city dwellers to the south, though his features were unmistakably native.

"Few of my tribe speak Calinin. Fumlok will be your mouth until you learn Zyraii. I will leave you in his hands for the moment. You are to stay near him at all times. He will show you your holdings, while I consult with the elders."

"Our holdings?"

Lonal nodded. "I told you that you were to replace Am and Roel, whom you killed today. They were cousins, the last adult males of their family. What was theirs is yours." He gestured to Fumlok and said firmly, "He will answer your questions now." He marched away, soon to be obscured behind the tents.

Alemar turned and found Fumlok smiling at him. When the twins failed to respond, the translator's happiness vanished.

"So you know the High Speech?" Alemar asked.

"I speak many tongues," Fumlok said awkwardly. His eyes darted from Elenya to Alemar to the ground. "It's what I'm good for."

Alemar wasn't sure if Fumlok genuinely meant to judge himself that way or not; the man stressed his syllables oddly and clearly was no master of the language. But perhaps it was true. The nomads might not tolerate a cripple among them if he couldn't be of some use. Alemar didn't like the little man. Fumlok reminded him of fawning courtiers. But if keeping him near would allow them to communicate, they would put up with him. The sooner they gathered some knowledge, the better.

"Come, come," Fumlok said, leading them toward a modest-sized tent in the second ring. As they walked, observers began to gather, including warriors who had not been on the excursion. Three or four well-armed, well-dressed men followed most closely of all, keeping a distance barely casual.

Five people came out of the tent as the twins approached. All of them prostrated themselves, touching noses to the ground, and waited on their knees with eyes downcast. Four were women; one was the boy who had taken their oeikani from them at the corral, and thereby drew their attention first. He was strong-featured, alert, just short of puberty. There had been members in the party with whom they had ridden who had been only slightly older. Alemar saw a little of himself seven or eight years gone.

The two plain, thirtyish women lifted hands, palms down and fingers limp, heads still tilted toward the earth. "These are your wives," Fumlok said. "They are called Omi and Peyri."

"Wives?"

Fumlok nodded, smiling. "Lonal tell you about it already. Am and Roel are dead. Now Omi and Peyri are yours."

"You mean they're property?"

"What is property?" Fumlok asked.

Alemar wasn't sure whether Fumlok didn't know the word or didn't know the concept. "Like slaves?"

Fumlok recoiled. "No! Only foreign women are slaves! A man must look after the women of his own tribe. It is his duty to God."

Alemar looked at the strange women's faces, and at the home behind them, which they had shared with the men he and Elenya had killed. Peyri glanced up at him, met his eyes, and quickly looked back down, trembling at her own audacity. Alemar sickened – both at the sheer wretchedness of the women and at the guilt they inspired.

"What if we don't want them?" Alemar suggested.

Fumlok's small eyes went round. "Not want?" He stepped over to Omi and slapped her belly and made her open her mouth to show her teeth. She had most of them. "They both young. Healthy. Still bear good sons." He continued on toward Peyri.

"I was raised by different customs," Alemar explained. It was alarming enough to have been involuntarily adopted into the clan. To be suddenly burdened with a family compounded the disaster. "Ask them if they want us."

"It doesn't matter," Fumlok said. "What they think not important."

"Ask it anyway."

Fumlok muttered a few words to the women. They, as well as the two younger girls behind them, suddenly cowered and prostrated themselves again. The boy scowled.

Alemar was confused. "What exactly did you tell them?"

"I say you don't want wives, maybe."

"Why are they afraid?"

Fumlok shuffled nervously away from the gradually increasing group of spectators. "Women who are not wives, not daughters, not mothers, not sisters – they are…"

He struggled to find the right word, as if the one he would have used were inappropriate. "They are what?" Alemar demanded.

"Available."

Fumlok shrugged, eyes darting meaningfully back at the men standing not far away. Absent of veils, too many of the faces betrayed the hard lives behind them. Alemar grimaced. Now he understood. The offer of wives was not a reward for victory in combat; it assured that Am and Roel's widows would continue to have a source of physical protection and provender.

"We'll keep them," he told Fumlok.

"Are you crazy?" Elenya whispered.

"I won't let them be turned into whores," he argued.

As soon as Fumlok translated Alemar's acceptance, the women tried to crawl forward and kiss the twins' feet. Elenya danced away. "Ask them to go inside and prepare a meal," Alemar said, merely to free himself of the embarrassment. He needed a moment to meditate on this state of affairs. The incident had shaken him more than the attack at the water hole. He could understand laws requiring death for stealing water. This custom was insidious.

Omi and Peyri complied immediately, but Alemar had the younger women wait long enough to be introduced. Sesheer was an unappealing, somewhat pudgy teenager, timorous and ungainly. Meyr was about the same age as the boy, Rol, in the midst of her growth spurt. She was slender, sharp-featured, with plenty of nervous energy.

"Where are the small children?" Alemar asked. "I thought you said Omi and Peyri were still good childbearers."

Fumlok shrugged. "The desert is not kind to them. Omi lose last young one two seasons ago." His manner was offhand. Alemar sensed that it was not entirely callousness. To lose several children was simply the way of the desert. Although parents regularly saw infants die in his homeland, Alemar preferred not to think of it as inevitable.

"Don't you have healers here?" he asked.

Fumlok seemed surprised. "The Hab-no-ken are rare. Sometimes they visit a clan only once or twice a year."

"The Hab-no-ken?"

Fumlok paused. "There are four ken. You learn when you are taught the laws of the So-de'es." He wouldn't elaborate.

The two girls slipped inside the flaps, but the boy stayed. He stood stiffly, and shook when the twins turned toward him.

"Elique pertoh va nagt Po-no-fa!"the boy said. "Oi soh." He spun on his heel and ducked into the tent.

"Why is he angry?" Alemar asked, though, in truth, he understood the reaction better than he had those of the women.

"He say that in one year he rides with the Po-no-pha, the warriors. Then this tent is his. But you kill Am and Roel too soon. Now Rol must listen to you. If he disobeys, you can throw him out."

Abruptly, Alemar heard a deep voice speaking to him in Zyraii. The words meant nothing, but the tone implied a great deal. He turned around to face a burly, barrel-chested man.

Elenya shifted her stance meaningfully. Alemar tensed. Their training would serve them again, if need be, but after the disorientation and physical trials of the day, he wanted only to lie down for a very long time.

"Translate," Alemar ordered Fumlok.

"Shigmur say that it not polite to wear veil among your brothers, inside the camp. He say take it off." Fumlok's demeanor hinted that the suggestion was a good one.

Alemar could tell Shigmur was going to press the matter. But weary as he was, he couldn't submit so simply.

"What if we don't want to take them off?" Alemar asked. Fumlok gulped and translated.

Shigmur's reply sounded both calm and ominous.

"Shigmur say no reason to cover the head and face among one's brothers. It is insult. Shigmur does not like it. Of course, a very great warrior do as he please, if he beat ones who disagree. He say you are being a very great fighter to insult so openly."

Alemar pondered the situation for a few moments, then flipped back his cowl and dropped his veil. Shigmur frowned.

"My brother is better," Alemar said softly.

Alemar stepped back, and Elenya replaced him. "Do as you will," he told her. "I've had enough of customs and laws for one day."

Elenya stood where she was.

Shigmur said something gruff.

"Take off your veil," Fumlok repeated.

"No," she said.

"Na,"Fumlok told Shigmur.

The crowd immediately began to clear away from the front of the tent. Fumlok pressed Alemar back. Soon Elenya and Shigmur were in the center of a ring some ten paces wide.

"Shigmur duels you. The loser admits he is wrong," Fumlok said.

"What are the rules?" Elenya asked.

Fumlok blinked. It was the first time Elenya had spoken clearly, betraying her voice's high pitch. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "First blood or surrender." Hastily he added, "Killing is not permitted in the camp."

Alemar was relieved. On the other hand, his sister was often only hampered by rules. She was best in an all-out fight.

"Your choice of weapons, or none," Fumlok said.

She drew her rapier.

Shigmur stared at the insubstantiality of the blade and furrowed his eyebrows. He spoke to Fumlok.

"We have no swords like that here," Fumlok explained.

"Let him use his scimitar," she said. She motioned to Alemar, who loaned her his saber. Though less curved than the Zyraii weapon, it was similar in weight and length.

Shigmur nodded and drew his weapon.

"This is very bad for your brother," Fumlok told Alemar under his breath.

Alemar agreed. Shigmur towered over Elenya, so wide that he appeared overweight, though his grace denied it. His bulk hinted at endurance, rather than ponderousness. As did the other warriors, Shigmur wore only white, but in contrast to many of the clan, the clothing was well-tailored, the material superior, the embroidery intricate and lovingly crafted. The other members of the crowd gave him a clear berth.

Shigmur didn't smile as Elenya assumed her stance. That, too, was bad. Apparently, he had more sense than to scoff at unknown antagonists.

He made the first move, a sudden thrust. Elenya shifted her hips abruptly, turning her torso away. The point jabbed empty space just in front of her breasts. She held her own weapon upright in front of herself, so that the man's sword edge brushed her own, but it was only a precautionary measure. Her body movement had been enough.

The spectators murmured, impressed, as Elenya wove from side to side. She slashed three times, an irregular rhythm aimed at three different points. The man countered easily, the last time opening a tiny slit in her sleeve above the left elbow.

He tested her again. Elenya parried his blow but lost ground. Though more than twice her weight, he was light on his feet.

The crowd noise grew stronger off to one side. People made room for Lonal and an authoritative group of men, older than most of the warriors. The duellists were oblivious, and the newcomers did not attempt to interrupt. They took places in the forefront of the spectators.

Elenya had clipped a shoulder seam on Shigmur's robe, but it had been a wild stroke. She was forced back another step. Alemar wiped his palms dry. Shigmur was neither impulsive nor unskilled, as the attackers at the water hole had been. The crowd's opinion of him was clear in the way they anticipated his victory each time he moved.

He thrust again. Elenya twisted away, but less gracefully than the previous time. Alemar noted the tenor of the thrust – aimed precisely at her shoulder, where the muscle was thick and risk of a fatal injury smaller and pulled so that penetration would not be deep if the strike succeeded. Shigmur's control was superb.

Not so Elenya. Wheezing, she made another reckless swipe. Alemar began to worry. She was exhausted from the trip through the eret-Zyraii, and though she knew the saber almost as well as the rapier, her skill could be just deficient enough to make her question herself. She was getting impulsive.

Don't kill him, sister, he thought. The humiliation was written in her posture, and he knew what she was capable of in such a state.

The duellists continued to circle and feint. They had engaged eight times now, far more often than an ordinary contest – certainly much longer than a fight to the death. It was a challenge to be able to score against a well-matched opponent without causing serious harm. A definitive move eluded them. Alemar had to consciously remember to breathe.

Elenya's veil quivered from the action of her lungs. Worn, as well as unused to the climate, she had no stamina. She faltered slightly. Immediately, Shigmur rushed forward with a series of power slashes that kept her backing up as fast as she could, each impact threatening to snap her saber. His movements were stunning, most of them hidden within a blur. All eyes seemed riveted to his scimitar.

Alemar, however, watched his sister. He stopped worrying.

Abruptly, the man's sword flew through the air, flipped out of his hand by a tiny but accurate movement of Elenya's wrist.

Children's eyes bulged. The men in the foreground grunted in surprise. Shigmur wielded his imaginary weapon for a split moment after he had been disarmed. He cried out and stared disbelieving at his own hand.

The sword splashed into the sand behind him.

Alemar sighed. Shigmur had pressed too soon. Thanks to her size, Elenya had rarely trained with anyone weaker than herself. As long as she had any strength left, she was capable of tricking a power fencer.

Elenya stretched her swordpoint forward and made a tiny nick on the back of her challenger's hand, which he offered to her, his expression a mixture of surprise and respect. He didn't seem angry.

A flood of words poured through the crowd, cut short by an elder's sharp command. Another order followed, and Shigmur bowed deferentially to the source and walked back to his original companions. Elenya remained in the center of a circle of highly intrigued Zyraii.

Fumlok was called to the elders and questioned briefly. The cripple was especially meek, blending into the audience as soon as permitted. The elders traded a few comments among themselves, and Lonal came forward into the circle.

Elenya waited, saber lowered but still drawn. Lonal stopped a few paces away.

"You are a good fighter, which I had already seen. This morning you had cause to fight. But this is too small a thing," and he flicked the cloth of his own lowered veil. "You do insult to all present by refusing to reveal your face. I cannot demand it of you by law, but if you persist, you will duel every warrior in this camp, one by one."

Something in his tone told Alemar that Lonal would be the first one Elenya would have to battle. He saw her fingers twitch. If Lonal had physically threatened her, she would have dealt with it. But he had approached with undrawn weapon, so close that he could not have escaped a critical wound should she care to deliver one. He stood within her power, yet told her what to do.

Alemar knew that part of his sister would have been glad to fight every man of the tribe. She would have known her measure against such a task. She was not defeated, yet she had won little beyond passing admiration. And in order to have her way, she would have to go through Lonal. They both knew that her victory over Shigmur had been a combination of surprise and luck.

The war-leader remained as he was, supple arms lax at his sides, breath easy and regular.

Elenya took off the veil.

The crowd was silent. She shook loose the thick black hair framing her delicate features. The children of the clan were the first to express their astonishment.

"Reimi!"a small boy shouted.

The tribe chattered. The stern, stultified visages of the elders melted in shock. And Lonal, after having so tranquilly dealt with the situation, suddenly looked very young and, so it seemed to Alemar, a bit frightened.

Lonal stared at Elenya's chest and crotch. "Is it true? Are you a female?"

"Of course."

Lonal looked as if he had been betrayed. He turned to Alemar, as if to double-check that he were, in fact, a male.

"Fumlok!" he yelled.

Fumlok limped forward.

Lonal didn't look at the cripple but said fiercely, "Explain to these two what this means after I leave." To the twins he added, "Go to your tent, and do not come out until bidden." To Elenya he said, "You have destroyed me."

The war-leader, no longer the confident figure they had known up to that point, strode off, the block of elders in his wake. The twins were left to the stares of women and children and soon slipped into their tent to escape them.

"What happened?" Alemar asked Fumlok.

The little man kept gulping and opening his mouth like a fish. At first, Alemar worried that the discomfiture concerned Elenya's gender; then he realized that Fumlok had been terrified to have been so close to Lonal's anger. When he could finally speak, his answer was tentative.

"It is a religious question. Toltac, most high of the Bo-no-ken, must judge."

"I don't understand."

Fumlok pointed to Elenya. "She wears white. She plays theju-moh-kai, the duel. And she kills a man in combat. Women cannot do this."

"Why not?" Elenya demanded.

When Fumlok replied, he spoke only to Alemar. "Because women have no souls."