Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (12 page)

 
          
"You
place small value on your life," Tobias said.

 
          
He
was about to add more, but Bylath raised a hand to silence him, glowering at
the Kem.

 
          
"This
is true?"

 
          
Bracht
nodded. Bylath clapped his hands and a door opened to admit a blank-faced
servant.

 
          
"Ten
varre," snapped the Domm. "Quickly!"

 
          
The
servant departed and the quartet stood in silence, only Bracht seeming at ease,
as if undaunted by the prestigious company. Calandryll shifted from foot to
foot, nervously probing his loosened tooth. The servant returned with a small
pouch; Bylath gestured in Bracht's direction and the coins changed hands.

 
          
"My
thanks," the Kem said, ducking his head in vague approximation of a bow.

 
          
"Thank
you for your service," Bylath grunted. "You may go."

 
          
Bracht
glanced at Calandryll, smiling. "Farewell, Calandryll."

 
          
"Farewell,"
he replied. "And thank you."

 
          
The
Kem nodded and followed the waiting servant to the door. Calandryll squared his
shoulders, awaiting the onslaught of his father's wrath.

 
          
It
was a short wait.

 
          
"You,"
Bylath said, spitting the words, each one a whiplash, "are the son of the
Domm of Secca. You have a position,- you are expected to set an example. You
have duties. Chief among those duties is obedience. Without obedience there is
nothing, only chaos. The observance of protocol is a part of that obedience.
But a part, it seems, that you choose to ignore. You were summoned to attend a
banquet of double importance. It was to celebrate our agreements with Aldarin,
and to honor your brother's betrothal. You chose to insult both our guests and
your own family!"

 
          
He
broke off, snorting as though outrage stilled his tongue. Beside him, Tobias
stood smugly, enjoying his brother's discomfort. Calandryll stood in silence,
trepidation and resentment mingled.

 
          
"You
insulted Nadama, who shall one day be Domme," Bylath continued. "You
insulted her family. Are you without any loyalty? Do you have no respect?"

 
          
He
paused, but when Calandryll offered no reply he went on, "You disappoint
me, boy. I've long given up any great expectations of you; Dera knows, you're
useless enough. You're no warrior and you show no interest in the affairs of
state, but—thank the Goddess!—I can rely on your brother in those matters. But
I do not expect insults from you! When you're ordered to attend a banquet I
expect you to remain. I do not expect you to disappear. Nor to return looking
like ... like ..."

 
          
"Some
common brawler?" Tobias suggested, then sniggered as he added,
"Though Calandryll is hardly the type to seek a fight."

 
          
"What
happened? Where were you?" Bylath roared. "Who was that mercenary? Do
you prefer the company of freeswords?"

 
          
Calandryll
saw that an answer was expected. He licked his lips.

 
          
"I
went to the Sailors Gate," he said. "I went to a tavern, and when
they found out I had no money they set upon me. Bracht stopped them. He
..."

 
          
"What
in Dera's name did you think, going to the Sailors Gate?" By lath
interrupted, the notion of his son mingling with commoners fueling his rage.

 
          
"I
was . .." Calandryll faltered, reluctant to admit his reasons, reluctant
to give Tobias that further satisfaction, unwilling to admit his visit to Reba.
"I was ... upset."

 
          
"By
all the gods!" fumed Bylath. "You were ? My son insulted me because
he was
upset?”
He stepped a pace closer and for a moment Calandryll
thought he would lash out. Instead, his voice dropped ominously. "What
upset
you, boy?"

 
          
The
diminutive was offensive. Tobias's smile was offensive. Calandryll shrugged.
Bylath raised a hand. Dropped it as Calandryll took an instinctive step
backward.

 
          
"What
upset you,
boy?"                                     
-

 
          
"I
love Nadama," he blurted.

 
          
His
father stared at him, dumbstruck, face purpling. Tobias laughed out loud.

 
          
"What?"
asked Bylath, as though the idea was ungrasp- able.

 
          
"I
love Nadama. I thought ..."

 
          
"She's
to marry your brother." Bylath shook his head.

 
          
"Still,
I love her."

 
          
"What
have your feelings to do with this?" Bylath asked, and somehow that
unfeeling question cut deeper than his anger: Calandryll stared at him in
silence.

 
          
"You're
to enter the priesthood."

 
          
"No."                                                   
„                 
,

 
          
He
was surprised to hear himself say it; almost as surprised as his father.

 
          
"No?
What do you say, no?"

 
          
"I
do not wish to become a priest." Now the words came in a flood, fear
banished by resentment, by the unfairness of it all, by his father's lack of
feeling, by Tobias's mocking grin. "I feel no calling. Why must I be a
priest?

 
          
I
want to study. Why can't I study? Why should I be celibate? I want ..."

 
          
Bylath's
hand punctuated the sentence, cutting it snort, sending Calandryll staggering
sideways, crying out as the force of it drove his damaged lips hard against his
teeth. Something broke then, not physical, and at first he did not realize what
the blow had shattered or what it , strengthened by its breaking. He felt
involuntary tears moisten his eyes, heard, dimly through the ringing in his
ears, Tobias say casually, "He weeps. Poor little brother.

           
Bylath said, "What you want has
nothing to do with this. You will obey me. Do you understand that, boy? You
will
obey me!"

 
          
He
shook his head, less in negation of his father s demand than in dismissal of
his tears, in chagrin. Then he gasped as Bylath clutched his dirtied shirt,
snatching him upright, drawing him close enough that spittle landed on his
face.             
,

 
          
"You
will obey me," the Domm repeated. And I say you shall be a priest."

           
He released his hold and Calandryll
tottered back.

 
          
"There
will be no more discussion. No more argument. You will obey. Now go to your
quarters and remain there until I send for you."

 
          
Calandryll
stared at him for a moment, then turned and stumbled to the door, shoulders
slumping, tasting blood salty on his tongue. As he left he heard Bylath say,
"Thank Dera you were the first born," and Tobias's answering chuckle.

 
          
*
* *

 
          
He
found his way to his chambers with downcast eyes, ignoring the curious stares
of servants and soldiers, wanting then only solitude. Inside, he tugged the
bell cord and collapsed onto his bed. When a servant appeared he asked that a
bath be drawn and a healer attend him, and began to pull off his soiled
clothing. Outside, the day waned toward evening, cloud blowing up from the
Eastern
Sea
, grey as his mood.

 
          
He
was in the tub when the healer came, rising stiffly to present himself to the
woman's ministrations, wincing is she probed his ribs and examined his damaged
mouth, ler expression carefully indifferent. It occurred to him that all the
palace must know by now of his humiliation, she laid her hands on the bruises,
her brown eyes assuming the blank stare of total concentration, becoming unfocused
as she murmured softly, drawing out the pain until all he felt was a dull
aching, forgettable. She applied unguents and wound a bandage soaked in some
aromatic preparation about his torso, advising him to avoid rigorous exercise
for the next few days. When she was gone he dressed in shirt and breeks and
lowered himself into a chair with Medith's
History of Lysse the World
open on his knees.

 
          
He
turned the pages idly, his interest dimmed by the confusion of his thoughts.
Did he obey his father, then he was condemned to the cloistered life of the
priesthood, his studies limited to the religious texts permitted the order, to
a life of celibacy and ritual. Should he disobey, what? If Reba had spoken true
then a quest lay before him. But a quest to where? With whom? The spaewife had
spoken of comrades and for a little while he had bought Bracht was the one foretold,
but the Kern had shown no interest, save in the promised reward. Varent, then?
Was the ambassador of Aldarin the one? He might—perhaps—be safe there, but as
Reba herself had said, Aldarin was not far distant; and would Varent risk jeopardizing
the alliance, chance Bylath's wrath, by helping him? It seemed unlikely.
Perhaps Bracht's skepticism had been well-founded.

 
          
No!
He would not accept that: he had a choice between acquiescence and freedom. The
problem was to find the path the spaewife had foretold; take the first steps
along that road.

 
          
But
how?

 
          
That
he could not say, and he closed the book, setting it aside as he rose and limped
to the window.

 
          
Dusk
was falling and bats darted about the palace walls, flittering shapes in the
growing darkness. The cloud had increased, the undersides silvered by the
waxing moon, blown up in great billows by the wind that rustled the foliage below.
He shivered, thinking that if he was to find the path he must openly disobey
his father, that such disobedience must outlaw him from Secca, from everything
he knew, all that was familiar and safe. It was a large step to take and it
frightened him. He moved back from the window as a knocking announced the
servant come to light the lamps in his chambers, and called for the man to
enter. Another, he felt certain, who knew of Bylath's wrath and all that had
transpired that day. He watched the man as the lamps were lit, wondering if he
laughed, or if his bland expression hid sympathy. The servant offered no
comment and Calandryll watched him depart, wondering now if his father intended
the further humiliation of denying him food.
Like a willful child:
the
thought fueled his resentment. He would not accept the role forced on him! He
would
take the path Reba had offered.

 
          
He
filled a cup with water, sipping slowly as he paced the confines of his
chambers, determined now, but no wiser as to how to go about his rebellion.

 
          
He
was still pacing when servants arrived with food and wine, their eyes failing
to meet his as they set out the repast, filing out with no word spoken. As they
went through the door, he saw that two guardsmen stood in the corridor outside:
he moved toward the portal.

 
          
The
guardsmen shifted, blocking his exit. They were burly men, shoulders wide
beneath their breastplates, and they filled the doorway. Calandryll halted,
staring at them.

 
          
"I
would leave."

 
          
"Forgive
me, Lord Calandryll, but you are to remain here. The Domm has ordered it."