Bradley, Marion Zimmer - SSC 03 (3 page)

 
          
"No
—
"

 
          
The
girl narrowed her eyes in pity. "Is it then with you as Rabben said
—
that your secret is that you have been deprived of
manhood?" But beyond the pity was a delicious flicker of amusement
—
what a tidbit of gossip!
A juicy bit for
the Streets of Women.

 
          
"Silence!"
Lythande's glance was imperative.
"Come."

 
          
She
followed, along the twisting streets that led into the Street of Red Lanterns.
Lythande strode with confidence, now, past the House of Mermaids, where, it
was said, delights as exotic as the name promised were to be found; past the
House of Whips, shunned by all except those who refused to go elsewhere; and at
last, beneath the face of the Green Lady as she was worshiped far away and
beyond Ranke, the Aphrodisia House.

 
          
Bercy
looked around, eyes wide, at the pillared lobby, the brilliance of a hundred
lanterns, the exquisitely dressed women lounging on cushions till they were
summoned. They were finely dressed and bejeweled
—
Myrtis knew her trade, and how to present her wares
—
and Lythande guessed that the ragged Bercy's glance was
one of envy; she had probably sold herself in the bazaars for a few coppers or
for a loaf of bread, she was old enough. Yet somehow, like flowers covering a
dungheap, she had kept an exquisite fresh beauty, all gold and white,
flowerlike. Even ragged and half-starved, she touched Lythande's heart.

 
          
"Bercy,
have you eaten today?"

 
          
"No, master."

 
         
Lythande
summoned the huge eunuch Jiro, whose business it was to conduct the favored
customers to the chambers of their chosen women, and throw out the drunks and
abusive customers into the street. He came
—
huge-bellied, naked except for a skimpy loincloth and a dozen rings in his ear
—
he had once had a lover who was an earring-seller and had
used him to display her' wares.

 
          
"How
we may serve the magician Lythande?"

 
          
The
women on the couches and cushions were twittering at one another in surprise
and dismay, and Lythande could almost hear their thoughts;

 
          
None
of us has been able to attract or seduce the great magician, and this ragged
street wench has caught his eyes?
And, being women, Lythande knew they
could see the unclouded beauty that shone through the girl's rags.

 
          
"Is
Madame Myrtis available, Jiro?"

 
         
"She's
sleeping, O great wizard, but for you she's given orders she's to be waked at
any hour. Is this
—
" no one alive can be
quite
so
supercilious as the chief eunuch of a
fashionable brothel
—
"yours,
Lythande, or a gift for my
madame?"

 
          
"Both, perhaps.
Give her something to eat and find her
a place to spend the night."

 
          
"And a bath, magician?
She has fleas enough to louse a
floorful of cushions!"

 
         
"A bath, certainly, and a bath-woman with scents and
oils," Lythande said, "and something in the nature of a whole garment."

           
"Leave it to me," said
Jiro expansively, and Bercy looked at Lythande in dread, but went when the magician
gestured to her to go. As Jiro took her away, Lythande saw Myrtis standing in
the doorway; a heavy woman, no longer young, but with the frozen beauty of a
spell. Through the perfect spelled features, her eyes were warm and welcoming
as she smiled at Lythande.

 
          
"My
dear, I had not expected to see you here. Is that yours?" She moved her
head toward the door through which Jiro had conducted the frightened Bercy.
"She'll probably run away, you know, once you take your, eyes off
her."

 
          
"I
wish I thought so, Myrtis. But no such luck, I fear."

 
          
"You
had better tell me the whole story," Myrtis said, and listened to
Lythande's brief, succinct account of the affair.

 
          
"And
if you laugh, Myrtis, I take back my spell and leave your grey hairs and
wrinkles open to the mockery of everyone in Sanctuary!"

 
          
But
Myrtis had known Lythande too long to take that threat very seriously. "So
the maiden you rescued is all maddened with desire for the love of
Lythande!" She chuckled. "It is like an old ballad, indeed!"

 
          
"But
what am I to do, Myrtis? By the paps of Shipri the All-Mother, this is a
dilemma!"

 
          
"Take
her into your confidence and tell her why your love cannot be hers,"
Myrtis said.

 
          
Lythande
frowned. "You hold my Secret, since I had no choice; you knew me before I
was made magician, or bore the blue star
—
"

 
          
"And
before I was a harlot," Myrtis agreed.

 
          
"But
if I make this girl feel like a fool for loving me, she will hate me as much as
she loves; and I cannot confide in anyone I cannot trust with my life and my power.
All I have is yours, Myrtis, because of that past we shared. And that includes
my power, if you ever should need it. But I cannot entrust it to this
girl."

 
          
"Still
she owes you something, for delivering her out of the hands of Rabben."

 
          
Lythande
said, "I will think about it; and now make haste to bring me food, for I
am hungry and athirst." Taken to a private room, Lythande ate and drank,
served by Myrtis’s own hands. And Myrtis said, "I could never have sworn
your vow
—
to eat and drink in the
sight of no man!"

 
          
"If
you sought the power of a magician, you would keep it well enough," said
Lythande. "I am seldom tempted now to break it; I fear only lest I break
it unawares; I cannot drink in a tavern lest among the women there might be
some one of those strange men who find diversion in putting on- the garments of
a female; even here I will not eat or drink among your women, for that reason.
All power depends on the vows and the secret."

 
          
"Then
I cannot aid you," Myrtis said, "but you are not bound to speak truth
to her; tell her you have vowed to live without women."

 
          
"I
may do that," Lythande said, and finished the food, scowling.

 
          
Later
Bercy was brought in, wide-eyed, enthralled by her fine gown and her freshly
washed hair, softly curling about her pink-and-white face and the sweet scent
of bath oils and perfumes that hung about her.

 
          
"The
girls here wear such pretty clothes, and one of them told me they could eat
twice a day if they wished! Am I pretty enough, do you think, that Madame
Myrtis would have me here?"

 
          
"If
that is what you wish. You are more than beautiful."

 
          
Bercy
said boldly, "I would rather belong to
you,
magician," and
flung herself again on Lythande, her hands clutching and clinging, dragging the
lean face down to hers. Lythande, who rarely touched anything living, held her
gently, trying not to reveal consternation.

 
          
"Bercy,
child, this is only a fancy. It will pass."

 
          
"No,"
she wept. "I love you, I want only you!"

 
          
And
then, unmistakably, along the magician's nerves, Lythande felt that little
ripple, that warning thrill of tension which said:
spellcasting is in use.
Not
against Lythande. That could have been countered.
But somewhere
within the room.

 
          
Here,
in the Aphrodisia House? Myrtis, Lythande knew, could be trusted with life,
reputation, fortune, the magical power of the Blue Star itself; she had been
tested before this. Had she altered enough to turn betrayer, it would have been
apparent in her aura when Lythande came near.

 
          
That
left only the girl, who was clinging and whimpering, "I will die if you
do not love me! I will die! Tell me it is not true,
Lythande,
that
you are unable to love! Tell me it is an evil lie that magicians
are emasculated, incapable of loving woman ..."

 
          
"That
is certainly an evil lie," Lythande agreed gravely. "I give you my
solemn assurance that I have never been emasculated." But Lythande's
nerves tingled as the words were spoken. A magician might lie, and most of them
did. Lythande would lie as readily as any other, in a good cause. But the law
of the Blue Star was this: when questioned directly on a matter bearing
directly on the Secret, the adept might not tell a direct lie. And Bercy,
unknowing, was only one question away from the fatal one hiding the Secret.

 
          
With
a mighty effort, Lythande's magic wrenched at the very fabric of Time itself;
the girl stood motionless, aware of no lapse, as Lythande stepped away far
enough to read her aura. And yes, there within the traces of that vibrating
field, was the shadow of the blue star.
Rabben's;
overpowering her will.

 
          
Rabben.
Rabben the Half-handed, who had set his will on the
girl, who had staged and contrived the whole thing, including the encounter
where the girl had needed rescue; put the girl under a spell' to attract and
bespell Lythande.

 
          
The
law of the Blue Star forbade one adept of the Star to kill another; for all
would be needed to fight side by side, on the last day, against Chaos. Yet if
one adept could prise forth the secret of another's power . . . then the
powerless one was not needed against Chaos and could be killed.

 
          
What
could be done now? Kill the girl? Rabben would take that, too, as an answer;
Bercy had been so bespelled as to be irresistible to any man; if Lythande sent
her away untouched, Rabben would know that Lythande's secret lay in that area
and would never rest in his attempts to uncover it. For if Lythande was
untouched by this sex-spell to make Bercy irresistible, then Lythande was a
eunuch, or a homosexual, or ... sweating, Lythande dared not even think beyond
that. The Secret was safe only if never questioned. It would not be read in the
aura; but one simple question, and all was ended.

 
          
/
should kill her,
Lythande thought.
For now I am
fighting, not for my magic alone, but for my secret and for my life. For
surely, with my power gone, Rabben would lose no time in making an end of me,
in revenge for the loss of half a hand.

 
          
The
girl was still motionless, entranced. How easily she could be killed! Then
Lythande recalled an old fairy-tale, which might be used to save the Secret of
the Star.

 
          
The
light flickered as Time returned to the chamber. Bercy was still clinging and
weeping, unaware of the lapse; Lythande had resolved what to do, and the girl
felt Lythande's arms enfolding her, and the magician's kiss on her welcoming
mouth. .

 
          
"You
must love me or I shall die!" Bercy wept.

           
Lythande said, "You shall be
mine." The soft neutral voice was very gentle. "But even a magician
is vulnerable in love, and I must protect myself. A place shall be made ready
for us without light or sound save for what I provide with my magic; and you
must swear that you will not seek to see or to touch me except by that magical
light. Will you swear it by the All-Mother, Bercy? For if you swear this, I
shall love you as no woman has ever been loved before."