BLOOD VOW

Dusk Peterson

Part Four
Land of the Jackal
 

CHAPTER NINE

Late-afternoon light landed on the trees above us and then stole its way slyly through the translucent skin of the leaves to dapple our path, gold on brown. I raised my head to look at the cloudless sky peering at us through the leaves, and to feel upon my face the moist stroke of the sun-heated air. It was warmer than any fire I could remember sitting next to during my fifteen years in Emor.

As I lowered my head again, I saw that Lord Carle was watching me with narrowed eyes. We were riding along the Koretian forest path three abreast, with Peter in the middle; the Chara had shown his usual formal courtesy in acting as though he welcomed equally the company of both of us. By the rules of rank, I should have been riding behind with the servants, leaving the noblemen to talk together, but Peter had insisted on having me by his side during most of our fortnight-long journey, and Lord Dean, I could guess, was willing to take advantage of the time in order to glean bits of gossip from the servants that he could later use to his advantage.

Lord Carle paused from his persistent watch of me only in order to answer a question I had not heard Peter ask. The council lord said, "If I needed one word to describe the nature of this land, it would be blood. All of the oaths in this land are sworn on blood, the gods of this land can only be placated through the blood of animals – and frequently that of humans as well – and the traditional form of Koretian justice, if I may call it that, is the blood feud. It says something about Koretia that its most famous institution is ritualized murder."

I opened my mouth and closed it again, but Peter caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, and he pulled back on his horse's reins so that we were moving at a less rapid pace than before. He had driven the six of us to travel at a rate which Lord Carle had complained was faster than that of the Chara's vanguard, but now we were approaching the capital city, and Peter's anxious look was beginning to ease.

"What would you say, Andrew?" he asked. "Is Koretia founded on blood, as Lord Carle says?"

"I think that Lord Carle has noticed Koretia's outward rituals without understanding their inward significance," I said, carefully phrasing my words so that the council lord could not accuse me of insulting him. "Blood is a sign of sacrifice in Koretia. The Koretian people believe that loyalty to the gods must be shown through offerings of sacrifice. It is true, as Lord Carle says, that the blood feud was used as a form of justice in the old days, but it was not considered a form of private justice, a way to achieve vengeance on one's own behalf. Rather, it was a way to avenge deeds that broke the commands of the gods."

"That hardly reassures me," said Lord Carle, and then paused momentarily to swat a small butterfly that had taken his green and gold tunic to be a flower. Probably, I thought, struggling to remain just toward Lord Carle, he had mistaken the butterfly for one of the Koretian blood-flies that had been feasting upon us since we crossed the black border mountains.

"The bloodthirstiness of this land's gods is a model that I imagine the Koretians strive to imitate," continued Lord Carle. "Take this man, the Jackal. He first appeared during that blood feud to end all blood feuds, the Koretian civil war. I don't suppose that he could have chosen a more fitting moment to make his entrance, considering all the times since then that he has slaked his thirst on the blood of men. He has certainly fashioned himself after your god."

I pulled my horse's reins tight – I think that it was only a reflex action, but once I had done so, I discovered that my horse was standing still, and both Lord Carle and Peter were watching me. The Chara was unconsciously stroking his horse's mane, reassuring it as to our sudden delay, and at sight of Peter's characteristically gentle and affectionate action, I felt my resentment flame within me at Lord Carle's typical harshness. "They are not my gods, Lord Carle," I said. "I wish that you would remember that."

"Yes," said Peter, looking toward the council lord in a pointed manner. "I too wish that you would remember that, Lord Carle. Whatever point you have been trying to make during this trip, I think you can assume that you have long since made it. I am growing weary of hearing you sing the same stale tune."

Lord Carle kept his gaze fixed on me rather than Peter, but he said with that overcourteous formality which I knew drove Peter mad, "I will endeavor to serve you better in the future, Cha— Lord Peter. Is it the Cha— Is it your wish that we stay in the governor's palace tonight?"

I could see Peter biting away a smile at Lord Carle's fumbled speech. If there was one form of loyalty that Lord Carle had never managed to achieve toward his master, it was in following Peter's frequently expressed desire that his council lords not treat him with strict formality during his leisure hours. I suspected that Lord Carle's unusually bad temper during this trip came, not only from his hatred of Koretia and of me, but also from his frustration at Peter's command that Lord Carle address him at all times by his childhood title.

"Why do you ask, Lord Carle?" replied Peter.

"Because we may have to return to our old speed if we are to reach the city by nightfall," said Lord Carle. "This road meanders quite a bit before it reaches the western gates."

This was, I thought, one of Lord Carle's milder statements during the trip. Koretia being the smallest of the Three Lands, it took travellers merely two weeks to journey between the Emorian capital and the Koretian capital at the southern tip of this land. Or rather, it would have taken two weeks if the Koretians had built straight, paved roads the way the Emorians did. As it was, only the Chara's lightning-swift messenger journeyed between the capitals in that amount of time. Ordinary travellers took a month or more, held back by mud and muck, deep cart-ruts that threatened to trip their horses and mules, bridges that were inevitably broken, roads that zig-zagged back and forth for obscure religious reasons or simply because it suited the fancy of the road-builder, and, of course, the Koretians' unique method of collecting tolls.

To prevent Lord Carle on offering further comment on this, I said, "You appear to know a great deal about Koretia."

Lord Carle's gaze drifted over my way once more and remained fixed on me as he said blandly, "It is always wise to know one's enemy."

I was saved from making a reply by the appearance of Lord Dean, who, seeing us halted in the road, had ridden ahead of Curtis and Francis. Peter, glancing his way, started his horse forward again, but the imperturbable High Lord took this as a sign of encouragement and continued toward us. I quickly pulled back behind the others in order to allow Lord Dean his place beside the Chara.

"I hate to admit it, Lord Carle," Peter was saying, "but I have reached the conclusion that you are right about this land, at least as far as the weather is concerned. After two weeks' worth of hot and dusty travel, I am ready to hand my office over to any man who can give me a few days' worth of Emorian coolness."

"Well, it has allowed for a quick journey," said Lord Dean cheerfully. "At least we haven't had to endure any rain."

Lord Carle glanced over his shoulder to where I was riding, a few paces behind Lord Dean. Our eyes met, and I knew that, for once, our thoughts were in sympathy.

Peter, who always caught small gestures in a conversation, asked, "Is the lack of rain a problem?"

"Only because this is a land whose weapon of war is fire," replied Lord Carle.

"Why, we all know that," said Lord Dean. "That's what allowed us to win the Border Wars; the Chara Nicholas was able to turn the Koretians' weapon against them."

Lord Carle said, "Even the Koretians, High Lord, would hesitate to use their favorite weapon during a summer like this."

"Why is that?" asked Peter quietly. I could tell from his tone that he had already guessed Lord Carle's warning, but as always, he preferred to hear other men explain matters in which they had expertise rather than offer comment himself.

Lord Carle looked back at me again. "Perhaps Andrew could give you part of the answer by explaining why all of the towns we have visited have moats surrounding them."

"I had assumed that they were there to protect against invaders," said Peter, looking at me inquiringly.

I shook my head. "Until the civil war, it had been several centuries since any large-scale warfare took place in Koretia. Koretians usually fight through blood feuds, which involves one-on-one combat, rather than through the large battles favored by Emorians. That was why they were so ill-prepared to fight the Emorians. Though the Koretians had an army, they were inexperienced in mass slaughter."

"They seem to have successfully overcome their inexperience and gentleness in the case of the borderland villagers," Lord Carle commented dryly.

"So why do the towns have moats?" asked Peter, cutting off Lord Carle's further words on the subject.

I said, "It is only in the towns and the city that large fights sometimes break out – riots that are sparked when anything causes the inhabitants to quarrel especially hard. In the old days, it was blood feuds that caused the riots, but these days I imagine it is the Emorian rule. You know how the Koretians use fire in these riots, lighting them when there is no wind in order to burn a particular section of the city. But sometimes the wind springs up suddenly, and when that happens, the fires spread out of control, and the entire town may go up in flames. The moats are there to keep the surrounding countryside from catching on fire. There was one particularly bad fire five centuries ago, before the moats were built. It was a windy day, and the summer was dry like this one. The fire ended up burning half of Koretia before it was finally contained by a thunderstorm."

"Well, but now that Koretia has moats—" Peter stopped himself in mid-sentence.

"That is exactly the point," said Lord Carle grimly. "The Koretian capital does not have a moat – not since Lord Alan decided to turn the old moat into a flower garden to impress visiting noblemen."

This time it was Lord Dean who cut off Lord Carle's comments. He said smoothly, "I will save you, Lord Peter, from hearing the remaining text of Lord Carle's elegant and vitriolic speech about how the moat ought to have been retained to protect against future treachery by the Koretians. I and the other members of the council heard half a dozen versions of the speech when we debated the matter ten years ago. The rest of us, however, believed that the city wall was protection enough, should war break out again."

"I wish that you had consulted me on the matter," said Peter. "It touches upon matters of war, which are my province."

"You may recall, Lord Peter, that, with your permission, we consulted with Subcommander Rudolph," said Lord Dean. "He was not in the city at the time of the invasion, of course, since he was leading the northern campaign, but you yourself had been sent back to Daxis by your father. I do not know of any high-ranking Emorian official, other than the Chara Nicholas, who was in the city during the fire."

There was the pause of a heartbeat; then the three noblemen simultaneously looked back at me. "Well?" said Peter.

I shook my head. "I'm afraid that Lord Carle is right. The capital has an inner ditch, but the flames were leaping beyond that and the wall when I was taken from the city. If the moat hadn't been there, the fire would have spread to the countryside."

"Let this moment be recorded for future generations," said Lord Carle. "Andrew has actually admitted that I am right. I never thought that the day would come."

"I suppose," said Peter, "that we can be glad that there has been no wind recently. If this remains true— Hold a minute. Which path do we take?"

We halted our horses again, and this time Curtis and Francis were close enough behind us that they soon reached the branching of the path as well. The six of us stared at where the tree-arched forest path forked, with no sign as to which was the main stream of the road and which was the tributary.

"I don't recall this on our maps," said Peter. "Andrew, which way do we go from here?"

A small black carving, nearly invisible against the dark trunk of the tree to which it was attached, had caught my eye. I slid out of my saddle and went over to the side of the road to touch it with my fingers. At the moment that I did so, I felt memories cut into me like the slice of a blade.

It took me a moment to catch my breath and answer the question that Peter had asked in the meantime. "Yes, it's a carving of a god-mask. This path leads up Capital Mountain to the priests' house."

"Which god is it?" asked Lord Dean pleasantly. He had been doing his best during the trip to catch up with Lord Carle in his knowledge of Koretia.

I remained where I was, touching the side of the small wooden mask, whose face was stained entirely black. "It isn't one of the seven gods. It's the mask of the Unknowable God, who symbolizes any god who is not yet known to the worshipper. Some priests think that all of the gods are just different faces of the Unknowable God."

"He is not a god who is directly worshipped by the Koretians," added Lord Carle. "We may thank the wisdom of the Charas that we do not have eight dagger-wielding Koretian gods to contend with."

I said nothing more, but my gaze drifted toward the side path, where the mountain began climbing steeply above the main road. Somewhere up there was a building I had once known very well, though it was no longer inhabited by the one person in this land whom I would have liked to have seen during this lonely homecoming. I wondered whether, in his new home, John had finally learned who his god was.

I did not realize that Peter had slipped down from his horse until I heard him murmur in my ear, "Shall we go there?"

I looked over at him, and though I spoke no reply, he must have read the thought in my eyes, for he swung around and said to the others, "Well, we're here to uncover information about the Jackal, are we not? What better place to start at than with the priests? From what Andrew has told me in the past, they take guests overnight. I suggest that we stay there tonight rather than risk still being on this road after nightfall."

Lord Dean looked uneasily at the main path ahead of us. Only twice before had we been caught on the road after dark, and on both occasions we had met bandits who wished to exact "toll" from us. Though Lord Carle had grumbled that this was the sort of encounter we might have expected in a land watched over by a thief god, he and the other armed free-men appeared to enjoy the opportunity to use their blades in defense. Lord Carle, it had transpired to no one's surprise, was the most skilled and ruthless bladesman of the five, yet Peter had shown himself surprisingly dexterous, despite the fact that he had received little training in blade-play.

I had stood to the side and watched, secure from harm by the thieves since I bore no weapon.

"I would rather that we were safely inside the governor's palace tonight," Lord Dean said, "but you may be right, Lord Peter. What do you think, Carle?"

"I think that it is the Cha— It is Lord Peter's decision to make," said Lord Carle. Then he added, to my surprise, "I can imagine that after ten years of imprisonment in his palace, he might wish another night free before he enters the imprisonment of the governor's palace."

Peter smiled easily at Lord Carle as he pulled himself back onto his horse. "Then we're decided. One more night of play before we all set about doing difficult and possibly dangerous work."

"Dangerous?" Lord Dean gave a short laugh as we started forward. "I doubt that we need worry about the Jackal showing up at the governor's palace. No, the worst that we have to fear is that we will all die of heat-stroke. . . ."

I did not hear the rest of what he said; I had allowed my horse to fall back until I was halfway between the noblemen and the servants. I did not try to join Curtis and Francis, whom I could hear discussing a free-woman that they had both taken a fancy to. I had long since resigned myself to the fact that I would never be fully accepted by the noblemen or by the slaves or even by the lesser free-men whose rank I officially shared. My leaps downward and upward through the ranks had left me dizzy with uncertainty. Only when I was alone with Peter did I lose all interest in whether I was slave or free-man, Emorian or Koretian, for Peter had always treated me as his loyal friend, no matter which identity I took on.

In this respect, of course, Peter could not have differed more greatly from my previous master. When I was sure that he was not looking my way, I stole a look at Lord Carle's proud, harsh face. In the twelve years since Peter had taken me out of the council lord's care, Lord Carle had never ceased to torment me. Time after time, he had questioned my loyalty, reminded me of what he had made me into when he first bought me. Worst of all, he had repeatedly attempted to persuade Peter to break his friendship with me.

The last action was so futile that I wondered that he even tried it. It was true that Peter was forced to see a great deal of Lord Carle: my former master was one of the leading senior council lords and moreover had been Peter's tutor during the months preceding Peter's enthronement. Biased as I was, even I knew that Lord Carle had great learning in the law and was a valuable member of the Great Council. But this could not balance for me the evidence I had encountered over the years of Peter's suffering in Lord Carle's hands: Peter showing forced cheerfulness after Lord Carle's frequent and lengthy visits to the Chara's quarters. (Peter, mindful of my feelings, always sent me away during these sessions.) Peter growing silent whenever I referred to Lord Carle, though he had told me at length what he thought of the other council lords. And on a couple of terrible occasions during his time as Lord Carle's student, Peter breaking down into sobs after Lord Carle had disciplined him.

It was this, as much as my own experience under Lord Carle's care, that had caused me to try to kill the council lord. Only later had I realized that I had brought further trouble to Peter by my actions. Since the trial, I had tried, without much success, to contain my bloodthirst toward Lord Carle, but my anger rose whenever I saw how oblivious Lord Carle was to his true nature. He was widely known as the cruelest master in the palace, yet he spoke with pride about his training of his servants. Though my only release from his torments could have been to escape his presence, he continued to hold me captive in conversation with such regularity that it was clear that he thought I welcomed the attention. And though it must have been obvious to him how little Peter cared for him, he always appeared at the Chara's door casually and unbidden, as though sure of his welcome.

I could be certain that Peter had done his best to rid himself of Lord Carle. Several times I had overheard Peter coolly addressing the council lord by his name alone, as though to remind him that his title had been given to him as an honor by the Chara. Lord Carle had a mind more keen and cunning than even Lord Dean's, yet he appeared to have no awareness that other people in the world might think less of him than he did of himself.

Now, as we made our way up the steep mountain path toward the building I was beginning to glimpse through the trees, Lord Carle fell back alongside me, and I realized with horror that he was about to give me one of his lectures. He inflicted these on me from time to time, always using the same gentle voice he used toward Peter, in an attempt to lull me into thinking that he was no longer my enemy. He appeared to have a talent for knowing the exact moment at which I was beginning to lower my guard, and to use that moment in which to attack me. If I had been Peter, I would have long since removed this malevolent lord from his council chair – but of course Lord Carle, like all of the other council lords, was awarded his office until death or until he was charged with a crime. There were times when I almost wished that Lord Carle would murder me, just so that he could be summoned for the deed, and Peter would have a way to rid himself of the lord.

"Tell me, Andrew," said Lord Carle in his deceptively mild voice, "do you have any blood kin in this land?"

"No," I said shortly. I cast my gaze toward Peter, who was looking back anxiously toward us, but Lord Dean had him well trapped in conversation.

"None at all? Nobody who might remember a blood vow that you once made?"

"No." I kept my voice low, trying to determine where the conversation was headed. If Lord Carle had been less skilled at inflicting wounds, I would have assumed that he thought I might be swayed by the sight of my blood kin to keep my vow, but Lord Carle's mind was too subtle for him to make the obvious accusation.

"You are fortunate, then."

I looked over at Lord Carle, startled, then saw him looking levelly at me and understood. He would not attack me directly, not after what Peter had said. Instead, he would attack the Koretians and wait for me to fly to their defense.

It was likely that he would succeed. I would have defended even the High Lord if I had witnessed him being attacked by Lord Carle.

"Lord Carle," I said, "you seem to have devoted the past fifteen years to discovering the most unpleasant aspects of Koretian life."

"Don't flatter yourself," replied Lord Carle curtly. "It has been a good many years since I first had the unhappy experience of learning what the Koretians' penalty was for breaking a blood vow to murder." He steered his horse around a tiny sapling that had taken root in the dirt path, and then, with one vicious yank, pulled the tree from the ground and flung it into the undergrowth. He continued calmly, as though the violent abortion had not taken place, "Because of Emorian law, the blood feuds are now outlawed in this land, and because of the Emorian courts, there is no need for the feuds. Therefore, you have the Chara to thank that you will not enter the city tomorrow with your life forfeit."

I wrapped my hands around the reins of my horse in order to resist an impulse to strangle Lord Carle. "You know a great deal about Koretian life, Lord Carle, but your knowledge has certain gaps. I made my vow as part of a vow of friendship, and that vow of loyalty supersedes any other vows I made as well. Even if my blood brother were alive today, even if he hated me for breaking my vow, he would still be sworn to prevent harm from falling upon me."

"Koretian blood vows do have certain subtle loopholes," admitted Lord Carle. "In the last case I knew of this kind, the oath-breaker in question was hunted down and murdered by his own kin. I am relieved to hear that I do not have to worry about the same fate overtaking you."

I stared at the coarse hair of my horse's mane, hating Lord Carle for his ability to take words that appeared kind on the surface and twist them into weapons of torture. Still following his unspoken and evil pleasure, I defended my native land by saying, "He was probably killed because his kin thought him god-cursed for breaking his vow. But there have always been Koretians who understood that men break vows for good reasons as well as bad ones, and that it is possible to break a vow and still remain loyal to the gods. If the gods exist—"

I hesitated. We had reached the top of the path and before us spread the stony face of the priests' house. I said rapidly, "If there are such beings as the Koretian gods, I think that they understand why I broke my old vow and made my new one. Loyalty is something which I was taught that the gods understand."

"Oh, yes, I am sure that you were taught about loyalty," said Lord Carle, his gaze now on Peter, who was about to reach the main door to the priests' house. "The Koretian concept of loyalty is a peculiar one, though. The murderers of that oath-breaker no doubt thought that they were being loyal to the gods in doing what they did. They had no law to tell them otherwise – nothing unchanging and concrete, which stays the same from century to century. There is no question of what it means to be loyal to the Chara; if you have any doubts on the matter, you may consult the law book that describes the crime of disobedience to the Chara. But here we are in a land with no native law of its own, whose people have always depended on the whims of passion to decide their loyalties . . . or else have followed the commands of enigmatic and irrational gods. I hope that you do not allow this visit to confuse your carefully acquired Emorian sensibilities as to the proper definition of loyalty."

I did not reply to Lord Carle's abrasive advice. I had slid from my horse and was looking down the mountainside toward a bit of slope that led to a cave. Fifteen summers ago, I had stood at the mouth of that cave, torn between going toward Peter or fleeing with John. Now there was no question of where my loyalties lay, and none of Lord Carle's dark insults would change that. All they could do, and did, was bring back the pain I had felt in making my choice.

"Are you coming?" It was Peter, standing quietly beside me. I saw that the others were now waiting for us beside the door.

Our eyes linked together in their old manner, and I was suddenly glad that I had come on this trip. No doubt I would encounter further pain from my memories here, but I would have felt greater pain in being parted from Peter during these weeks.

"Gladly," I said, and led my horse up to the wooden doors of the priests' house. This time, I placed myself firmly behind Peter and beside the servants whose rank I was assuming. Curtis and Francis moved over to make room for me, but otherwise made no gesture of welcome.

Lord Carle, who was energetic in all tasks he undertook, raised his fist to give the door a knock that would undoubtedly have reverberated through every corner of the building. At that moment, however, the door opened and a priest emerged.

He was wearing the woollen brown robe of his office, and his hood was flung over his head – this, plus the pack over his shoulder, told me that he was on his way out to minister to the sick or the dying. I could not see his face from where I was, but from the way he came to a halt suddenly, it was clear that he was not expecting to meet six Emorian travellers at his doorstep.

He recovered himself quickly, though, and said softly, "I beg that you impart to me your names."

In his best Koretian – which had improved considerably from practice during our trip – the Chara said, "I am Peter, Lord, through the Chara's honor. These men are Lord Carle and Lord Dean of the Great Council of Emor. We and our free-servants were wondering whether you might have room to allow us to stay the night. We would be glad, of course, to give an offering to your gods for this favor."

The priest swung his head around, perhaps trying to assess from our appearances how great an offering he could hope from us. As he did so, his hooded face came into my view. He was dark in complexion – after several weeks back in Koretia, I still had not accustomed myself to being surrounded by dark-skinned people – and his brows were straight and serious, as befitted a man who had dedicated himself to serving the gods. He had a man's short hair and a man's beard, but he was young, about Peter's age. A white scar upon the left side of his face suggested that his entire life had not been dedicated to acts of worship. His eyes were the color of the midnight sky.

I took a step forward, and as he turned to look at me, the hood fell back. I was by the Chara's side now, but barely aware that Peter was also looking at me. I felt fifteen years falling away from me until there was nothing left but a single word that welled up inside me and then slipped out of my mouth in a whisper.

"John."

In the silence that followed, John looked back at me without expression. I had a sudden vision of what I must look like to him: a beardless man in an Emorian tunic, travelling with Emorian noblemen and speaking in an accent which sounded very Koretian to the Emorians but which, I had learned during this trip, sounded equally Emorian to the Koretians. I was dark-skinned, certainly, but so were many Emorians who lived near the border, just as there were light-skinned Koretians. There was nothing about me to show I had ever lived anywhere but Emor.

John had been right as a boy, I saw. We had met again, and one of us did not recognize the other.

At that moment, another priest came out and gestured toward John. John looked back at him, but did not speak. Instead, he re-entered the house.

I stood motionless as Peter introduced his party once more to the new priest. The priest, with a minimum of words, welcomed us to the refuge of the gods and asked us to pray for this house's peace during our stay. Then, as other priests came forward to take our horses, he escorted us into the building.

The priests' house was just as I remembered it: windowless, hot, and silent. Hanging on the walls were lighted torches that sent smoke puffing up to linger in the corridor. Amidst the torches hung the painted masks of the gods: the Moon, the Sun, the Raven, the Owl, the Cat, the Jackal, and the Fish. Each mask was the shape of an inverted triangle with convex sides – I remembered my delight when John had revealed after a geography lesson from Lovell that Koretia was the same shape as a god's mask. Each mask contained the eyeholes that had once revealed the eyes of the priests who wore the masks. The eyeholes were empty now.

We were led to an area of the house I had never seen before, and Peter and I were shown into a small priests' cell containing little more than some lighted candles and two thin reed pallets on the floor. Peter placed his bag near the door and went over to look at the mask hanging on the wall. The stiff cloth was painted black but for the features of the face, which stood out starkly: slanted golden eyes surrounding the eyeholes, golden whiskers as thin and sleek as knife blades on edge, and a silver and jagged-toothed mouth that was turned up in something between a grin and a snarl.

"The Jackal," I said. "Not the best start to our visit here, that the priest would place us under that god's protection."

Peter reached out to touch the mask gently. "So he is alive," he said.

I did not bother to ask who he meant. "Yes."

"Did he recognize you?"

"I don't think so."

Peter held his fingers to the mask a moment more, as though communicating with it. Then he turned and said, "Go find him. I'll invite Lord Carle to come and bore me with his opinion of the Koretians. Perhaps that will put him in a pleasant mood."

I smiled faintly, but said nothing more as I left the room.

The narrow corridors were filled with torch-smoke and masks. I could see no priests. None of the wooden doors were labelled or open, and I knew that I would no longer be able to find John where he had once lived, in the orphan boys' dormitory. Finally I sighted a door that was ajar; a chorus of voices and some fragrant smoke whispered through the doorway. Hesitantly, I slipped through the door.

I found myself in the priests' sanctuary, a large, square hall that was filled with brown-robed men. They took no notice of my entrance. Their attention was focused on the central dais, where one of their members stood next to a stone altar; with curved dagger in hand, he was poised to strike a goat that lay bleating and bound in preparation for the sacrifice.

I froze, not daring to move during this sacred moment. The area above the altar was open to the sky in order to let out the fire from the sacrificial flame that would soon be lit. One thin rod lay over the opening, and from this branch dangled a mask, but the sunlight above was so bright that I could not see which god was being prayed to.

Already, I knew, I had missed most of the rite. In the Invocation of the God, the god had been called down. In the Plea to the God, the god's assistance had been sought. In the God's Announcement, the priest, speaking for the god, told what he wished as his sacrifice, and the goat had been lured into the sanctuary – only willing victims could be sacrificed to the god. In the Offering to the God, two priests had given their witness as to why the goat should or shouldn't be sacrificed as a symbol of those present. Now all that remained was the God's Decision.

The priest, speaking for the god, spoke the word of the god's decision. The dagger plunged down, the goat screamed in pain and fear, and then the priest raised the bloody blade toward the mask to show the god that the celebrant had honored his priestly vow and made the sacrifice that the god demanded in exchange for bringing peace to the land.

I had not been a pious child, and had rarely come with John to these ceremonies, but I found myself wondering what sort of blasphemy I was committing, that I should stand here in my Emorian clothes, watching rites made to a Koretian god. If John saw me from where he was standing, I thought, he must be horrified at the presence here of a man who was Emorian, yet not even wholly Emorian. As I felt the dark pain inside me grow, I wished to myself that a god, whether Koretian or Emorian or from some unknown land, would speak to me and tell me what sacrifice I should make in exchange for peace to my heart.

As the priests began to stir, their most sacred moment complete, I slipped out of the door and began retracing my path to the Chara's cell.
 

CHAPTER TEN

In my haste to find John, I had forgotten one important fact about the priests' house: every room inside that building looked the same. Every windowless corridor was dark with torch-smoke; every featureless door was made of the same iron-bound oak planks. I wandered up and down the labyrinthine house without direction, unwilling to knock on any doors and ask directions. Once I passed a priest, but his head was bowed and his face hidden in the shadow of his hood, and I could not be sure whether he was absorbed in prayer or merely trying to ignore the foreign intruder near him. So I remained silent until, with much relief, I saw an open door. Composing in my mind an excuse to Peter for my quick return, I entered the cell and found myself facing John.

He was just rising from beside his pack, which lay on a pallet to the right of the door. The room was nearly identical to the one I shared with Peter; even the god-mask was the same. John's hood was tossed back, and he stared silently at me for a moment. I supposed that he was waiting for me to explain my entrance. Then he moved forward a few steps, stretched out his arm, and pulled back his sleeve to show the white scar that ran down his dark skin.

I raised my own arm, and for a moment our wrists hovered next to each other, the two scars from one dagger joined once more. Then one of us moved, I am not sure which, and we embraced.

I had shown no emotion when I was beaten, nor even when the men came to geld me, but now I wept.

We might have stayed in that embrace all day except that the sound of men's voices in the corridor interrupted us. Pulling away, John shut the door; then he turned to me, his face shining with joy and contentment.

"God of Mercy, you've scarcely changed!" he said with a laugh. "It's something about your lack of a beard; it makes you look like a boy still." Then, before I could think how to answer this observation, he handed me the face-cloth in his hand. "I was taking that cloth out for myself. I waited for you here because I didn't want to cry like a babe in front of noblemen. I knew that you would find me."

I passed the cloth over my face and took a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to steady myself. "I would have come looking for you long ago if I had known that you were here. I thought that you had been killed."

He touched the scar on his face briefly. "I was lucky. I arose to my senses before the fire reached me and was able to find refuge in this house during what followed." He hesitated, as though picking his next words carefully. "I knew somehow that you hadn't been killed. I thought perhaps that you must have been enslaved."

"I was." I crumpled the cloth in my hand, waiting for the next question.

John said slowly, "And are you still a slave?"

Like the reverberating jolt of a prison door slamming shut, the mask I had worn for the past fifteen years returned to my face. I knew this, not only because I could feel it, but because I could see the shock on John's face as he witnessed the disappearance of the only face he had seen me wear in the time that he had known me. To him, it must have seemed as though I had been suddenly killed, and a stranger had usurped my place.

I knew then what I had tried to hide from myself during the trip: that the boy I had once been was gone forever. Whatever John had been expecting to find, I could no longer give him.

John had hidden his shock immediately; he was now waiting quietly for my reply. Beyond him, I could see the slanted eyes of the Jackal staring at me. I took a step backwards, which brought me up against the table behind me. Placing my hands behind me as though they were bound, I said in the cool, hard voice that John had never heard, "My master freed me many years ago. I stayed with him as his free-servant. My mother was dead and I thought you were dead and . . . I had certain ties in Emor. So I became an Emorian. And I broke the blood vow I made to you and the Jackal."

Two pairs of eyes looked upon me: the golden hunting eyes of the thief god and the dark, dispassionate eyes of John. I could see reflected in John's eyes the golden flame of a candle as he stared at me without blinking. Finally he said, "Some vows are the type that the god would not want us to keep. I have visited Emor; it is a beautiful land, with people who are capable of great honor and sacrifice. I can see why you grew to love your new home, and I do not believe that you have broken your vow to me in any way."

The relief that flooded over me was like fresh water on a dry day. It was not simply his words that were merciful. It was the fact that he had bothered to say them. Unspoken was his second message: he was willing to accept me – this strange, cold man – as the blood brother to whom he had pledged himself as a child.

Too grateful to John to know what to say, I remarked lightly, "I didn't know that the priests at this house were allowed to travel."

"They aren't – but I'm not a priest. I'm a trader."

"A trader?"

My voice lost its customary evenness, and John laughed, breaking the tension. "You needn't act so surprised," he said. "I'm not the first boy to entertain himself with lofty ambitions of becoming a voice for the god, only to spend his days as a man arguing whether two geese are a fair bargain for three hens. I enjoy being able to travel, and it gives me the opportunity to meet new people. But sometimes I feel the need to come back here and offer up prayer and sacrifice to the god."

"Which god do you pray to?" I asked curiously. My hand was touching something on the table, and I looked down to see what it was. A book lay among several that John must have brought with him, and it was open to a picture of the seven god-masks.

John waited until I had looked up again before saying, "Any god who will speak to me. When the god sends his peace, it doesn't matter to me which mask he wears."

The sound of the men's voices had long since faded, to be replaced by something deeper and more solid: a silence as naked and precise as an unsheathed sword. As a boy I had thought of the silence here as a mere absence of sound and had scorned its comfort. Now I saw that the god's peace was gentle and soothing only in the same way that John himself was: underneath the tranquility was something firm and distinctly delineated. I breathed in and felt the sound of my breath break the silence like the warm moisture of breath breaking the crisp coldness of winter.

I said, "You're fortunate to have such security to turn toward. I wish that the Jackal had been able to help me during my early years in Emor. Are you here now to seek the god's help with any trouble in your life?"

John swung away, and for a moment I thought I had offended him with the directness of my question. Then he walked over to the mask. He placed his left hand upon the stiff black cloth, touched the mask briefly like a man touching his beloved on the cheek. As he let his hand fall, he said, "I suppose that the gods always bring peace to those who pray to them, but their ways are mysterious to men and often seem senseless. I hope there's meaning to what they do, for I came here to pray, not for my own peace, but Koretia's. Things are very bad here." He turned back.

"I know," I said quietly. "That is why my master and the other lords have come to Koretia. Though you may not believe it, we Emorians are seeking peace as well."

I had phrased my last sentence deliberately, to gauge his reaction. He replied with ease, "I believe it. On my visit to Emor, I visited some of the borderland villages, and I heard what the Koretians had done to the villagers there at the beginning of the Border Wars. It seemed to me then that the Chara had shown mercy by enslaving us rather than destroying us for our deeds. But that was long ago, and people here are growing restless in their bonds. It is as though they are just waiting for a sign before they rise up against the Emorians."

"A sign from the Jackal?" My eye caught sight of the mask once more; the painted curves danced in the candlelight. "My master tells me the thieves have been busy."

John shook his head and sank to his knees beside his pack. "I don't know what the spark will be. But if the city goes up in flames again, whether it be months from now or days from now, neither the Jackal nor any other god will be able to bring this land its peace. After fifteen years in captivity, the people here are becoming set in their opinions as to whether the Emorian rule is a good thing. Everyone has been forced to take sides, and this has caused brother to turn against brother."

I said nothing for a minute, watching him pull from the pack some clothes, a few items of food, and the type of satchel in which traders carry their documents. I said, "I think I know, without asking, which side my blood brother has taken."

John smiled again. "I'm on the side of peace. I don't see any way to have peace without gaining our freedom, but while it's easier to kill an Emorian than to talk with him, I think it's less likely to bring peace in the end."

"We wanted to become the Jackal's thieves at one time."

"You wanted it. I wasn't sure whether it was right to kill a man. I'm still not sure."

He began to open the satchel, and then closed it again and rested his hand on the worn leather, not looking my way. I said softly, "You were there with a dagger when I needed you. You are a peacemaker, but you are not a coward."

"Thank you." John's voice was as faint as though he spoke from a great distance. Without looking up, he said, "I had planned to leave tonight; I have important business in one of the towns. But now you are here, and I confess that I'm also curious to see what Emorian noblemen are like. Do you think that your master would be willing to exchange a few words with me?"

"I've told him about you," I replied. "He will want to exchange more than a few words with my blood brother."

John knelt back on his haunches and tilted his head up. His hair fell over his eyes, shading them like shutters on a window. "If you stayed with your master after he freed you, he must be a good man."

"He is—" My throat closed before I could finish. "He's hard to describe. You'll have to judge him for yourself."

John continued to look at me, as though waiting for me to say more. When I remained silent, he rose to his feet and said, "I must go request permission to stay here one more night; then I'll come by to see you. I have—" There was a pause, during which I drunk in once more the sight of John's still, serene face, sometimes smiling, sometimes serious, but always full of peace. Finally he said softly, "I have very much missed you. If your master will allow you the freedom, I would like us to spend some time together during your visit to Koretia."

"Whether he allows me to or not," I said, "you may be sure that we will."

I returned to the Chara's room and found Lord Carle there, trying on the Jackal's mask.

I stopped just outside the doorway. Around the corner to my left, I could hear Peter protesting mildly, "Carle, if you wish to be blasphemous, please wait until we return home. I don't want for you to be dragged away some night by the Jackal's thieves because you've offended their god."

"I am being but a loyal Emorian by committing blasphemy to a Koretian god," said Lord Carle, pulling off the mask. "And there are no Koretians here to take note – unless, of course, Andrew is preparing his report for the Jackal now."

I stepped into the room and said coolly, "I am Emorian."

"That statement was implausible in Emor and is ridiculous here. Have you had your joyous reunion with your Koretian blood brother?" Lord Carle tossed the mask face-down onto the pallet beside him.

"Lord Carle," warned the Chara softly.

He was sitting on the pallet against the wall beside the door, his knee drawn up and his right arm casually slung on top of it. He held Lord Carle's eyes. After a moment, the council lord bowed in acquiescence to him and said to me, "I am corrected. You are Emorian. Now, if the Cha— If Lord Peter will excuse me, I will consult with Lord Dean and discover whether there is a single windowed chamber in this smoke-clogged building."

I stepped back and let him pass before walking over to pick up the Jackal's mask from where it had been flung.

"Did you find John?" Peter asked as I carefully replaced the mask on the wall.

I nodded as I turned. At Peter's gesture, I came forward and sat next to him, pausing on the way to close and lock the door with the key we had been given by the priests. "It was good to be able to talk with him again."

"I have always appreciated your gift for understatement. Leaving aside Lord Carle's sarcasm, it must indeed have been a joyous reunion – that is, if John is still the friend you remember."

"He is like I remembered him." I leaned my head back against the wall, staring at the god's mask on the opposite wall. "When I saw him last, fifteen years ago, he was saying that we should make peace with Emor, and today he was saying the same thing."

"Well," said Peter quietly, "then I suppose that you and he have made your peace over the fact that you stayed in Emor."

"Yes." As I closed my eyes, I felt a smile drift over my lips. I heard Peter get up. When I opened my eyes again, he was standing over me with a wine pitcher and two cups. He handed them to me, and then eased himself down beside me.

"Tell me what you think of this," he said. "It is a gift from our hosts, and while my first taste led me to conclude that the priests are in the pay of the Jackal and that they are trying to poison us, I may be wrong."

I poured myself a cup and tasted it. "I'm sorry to inform you, Peter, that this is fine wild-berry wine, and our hosts will be much insulted if you don't finish the pitcher. So you must at least find some ground to empty the wine onto."

Peter sighed as he took the cup back that I offered him. "My father told me when I was young that the Chara must suffer for his people, but I didn't fully understand what he meant until this journey. I am depending on you to help me with this pitcher." He took a sip, made a sour face, and promptly took another sip. "So your friend desires peace. I suppose that it's easy for him to find peace in a house such as this."

"He doesn't live here. He is a trader."

"A trader. . . ." Peter leaned his chin onto the rim of the cup and left it there for a moment, meditating. "Do you think that your blood brother would be willing to speak to an Emorian lord?"

"He asked me whether my noble master would be willing to speak to him." I looked sideways over at Peter as he gulped down the last of his wine, shuddered, and poured himself a second cup. "Peter . . . What sort of questions do you plan to ask him?"

"Nothing that I couldn't learn from any other Koretian; I'm not planning to wring secrets from him. But if he's a trader, he'll know what the people throughout this land think of the Chara and his rule, and that is the sort of information that I've found it difficult to obtain through my spies." He put down his cup and stared at it. "If you want me to tell him who I am, I will. I can't ask you to keep secrets from your blood brother."

"Thank you," I said, "but it has been many years since I saw him, and while I know that he wishes you no harm, I don't know whether he's the type of man who can keep a secret. I don't want to put you in danger, even if it means hiding something from him."

He was silent for a minute. Then he handed me his cup and said, "Will you finish this for me? I promise you, I will try it again later, until I love it as much as any Koretian, but I think that my Emorian body cannot stand any more of a shock than it has already undergone during this journey."

I laughed before sipping from the cup. "Peter, it's your own fault. I am Emorian, you know that, but even so, I think you're a fool to have us wear these woolen Emorian tunics in the middle of a Koretian summer. Wouldn't it be possible for you to demonstrate your love for Koretia by having us adopt the native dress during our visit?"

Peter smiled at me. "That is advice worth considering. I knew that I brought you on this trip for some reason other than friendship. Would you consider becoming one of my council lords?"

"Lord Carle might have some objection."

"Well," said Peter, "I wouldn't want to hurt Lord Carle's feelings, as I'm feeling friendly toward him at the moment. We had a pleasant conversation just now."

"On military matters or on Koretian barbarities?"

"Both. He told me that a priest who visits the city regularly told him that the Jackal and his thieves have been unusually quiet during the past few days. On most occasions, I would have continued to keep the conversation steered away from his views on Koretia. Instead, I found myself explaining to him that Koretia is the most barbaric, fly-infested land I've ever visited." He smiled at me.

John said coolly, "If you wish to avoid Koretia's blood-flies, it is best to come during the winter."

Peter's smile faded as he turned to look back at the doorway where John stood in his priestly robe. The door had been closed and locked a moment before; I wondered how he had managed to make his way in.

The Chara said quietly, "I ought not to have been making such remarks while being hosted by Koretians. I apologize for causing offense." Then he gestured in the manner that I had seen him do only once before, touching his breast and forehead.

John continued to stand at the doorway, and for a moment it seemed that he would make no reply, either in word or gesture. Finally he said, "No, you spoke truly. Koretia is undoubtedly fly-infested, and it is also barbaric in certain ways. In any case, it is hard to become used to life in a different land." He returned Peter's greeting with a smooth motion of the hand. Then, apparently taking this exchange as permission enough, he closed the door and sat down cross-legged in front of us without another word. I handed him the cup of wine from which I had been sipping.

Peter gestured away the second cup that I filled and offered to him. "It is a pleasure to meet Andrew's blood brother at last. Andrew is not very talkative about his past – it is unwise to be talkative in the Chara's palace, where we live – but he has told me enough about you to intrigue me."

John stared back at Peter, his dark eyes unreadable. Finally he said simply, "It is a pleasure to meet you as well."

The quirk of a smile began to quiver at the edge of the Chara's face. He controlled himself and said, "I hear that you are a trader."

Once again John was silent, his gaze focussed on Peter. I leaned back against the wall, watching the two men fight some private dagger-duel through the eyes. John's voice, when he replied, was low. "I do not suppose that, as an Emorian, you are familiar with the life of a Koretian trader. We travel the country, carrying no goods with us, but instead arrange for barters between merchants who will later deliver the goods themselves. Because we carry no goods, we can travel quickly, and because we travel widely, we are generally the first to hear rumors and to learn what is happening throughout the land. We are the first, besides the governor's soldiers, to know when a Koretian has been arrested; we are the first, besides the Jackal's thieves, to know when an Emorian has been murdered. Unless he consulted the Chara's spies, it is unlikely that an Emorian would be able to find anyone who could tell him as much about the Koretian people as a trader."

Peter looked at John for a moment more before turning his head toward me. "Andrew, I believe that I'll have that cup of wine after all. I think that I'll need strong medicine in order to deal with your blood brother."

For the first time since he entered the room, John smiled. "I am just as interested in Emor as you are in Koretia," he said. "I work as a trader, so I will offer you an exchange: I will tell you what the Koretians think of the Chara's rule if you will tell me what the Chara thinks of the Koretians."

"I think," said Peter slowly, "that you have must be very skilled at your work. It is a fair bargain. What would you like to know about the Chara?"

"Ask me your questions first."

Peter reached up to wipe his neck free from sweat. The air around us was musty and hot, and more heat drifted down to us from the wall-perched candles in the cell, whose flames were steady in the breezeless room. I reached up to wipe the dampness from my face with the back of my hand, but John, motionless and expressionless, had no moisture on his face.

"I am interested in the Jackal," said Peter, gesturing with his head toward the mask on the wall behind John. "I would like to know what sort of man he is and what it is that he wants. Is it the Koretian throne that he is fighting for?"

John was slow in replying. "That is hard to say. The god does not often speak to the Koretians, and his ways are mysterious. But certainly the Jackal has never been heard to make any claim for the throne. In any case, the matter cannot be decided by the Jackal alone. In order to become King, a Koretian would need the consent of his people."

Peter frowned and absentmindedly sipped from the cup I had handed him, too absorbed in his thoughts to notice what he was drinking. "I don't understand," he said. "You make the Koretian throne sound like some barbarian chief's title, in which the chief becomes master through wrestling with all of his warriors."

John drew his left knee up and rested his elbow on it, placing the back of his hand under his bearded chin in a reflective fashion. "There are worse ways to select a leader. However, I am surprised, Lord Peter, that after all these years of governing this dominion, an Emorian council lord should remain so ignorant of Koretian customs. In the old days, it was the High Priest who gave his consent to the enthronement of the heir presumptive, and he did not do so until the Koretian people had indicated, through the King's Council and their local councils, that they wished to be ruled by the heir. This is not Emor, where a master may bond men into unwilling servitude."

Peter put down his cup abruptly, placing it deliberately near me. As I picked up his cup and sipped from it, Peter said, "As I recall, it was the Chara Nicholas who persuaded the Great Council to end slavery in this land, and he did so because it took the most barbaric form possible: the slaves were stripped of their names, deprived of their voices, forced to wear masks, and treated as though they were living corpses. Emor, for all its reputation of harshness, has never done anything to match that; nor has it had blood feuds or demon-stonings or any of the other religious barbarities that Emorian law eliminated from this land."

John paused again before replying in a soft voice, "If you look carefully at the old rules concerning those institutions you will find that even they required consent. No man was ever bonded into Koretian slavery who did not accept the gods' law. But I will not defend those institutions to you. They were indeed barbarities, twistings of the gods' law to serve the baser passions of men."

"Then you understand why we Emorians believe that we have brought good to this land by replacing the gods' law with the Chara's law."

Muffled through the roof, the bell of the priests' house tolled the hour, while in the corridor, footsteps went by. John waited until the passersby were gone before saying, "Lord Peter, I am sure that you have witnessed the Chara in judgment. Did you ever attend a trial in which the Chara would have been creating an injustice if he were to have followed the law strictly?"

Peter's gaze drifted over toward me, silently sitting beside him, sipping from the wine that had turned warm in the heat. "Yes, I know of such a case."

"And did the Chara then decide to destroy Emorian law altogether? Or did he exploit it in such a way as to correct the injustice?"

Peter accepted the cup from my hand as I offered it back to him. "I take your meaning. You are saying that the gods' law could have been reformed rather than eliminated. But the Chara has not forbidden religion in this land. The Koretians are free to worship the gods, in the same way as many Arpeshians and Marcadians continue to do."

"The Chara has forbidden the use of religion in deciding matters of the law. I am not against the Emorian court system; I think that it corrects an imbalance in the gods' law, a tendency to interpret the gods' wishes in a manner that best suits the priests. But I think that the Chara's law is also lacking in balance, in an ability to take fully into account a prisoner's character when passing a judgment. That can be done under Emorian law, but not to the same extent as the gods' law allows it, for in Koretia the gods judge men for all the deeds of their lives, not only for the deeds of a single moment."

"Well," said Peter, leaning back against the wall, "I doubt that we will come to an agreement about this."

"That is exactly my point," said John. "We will never agree about this, any more than the Koretians will ever agree with the Emorians about how to run this land. That is why they are seeking release from the bonds of the Chara's tyranny."

Peter's expression darkened, and I saw that he was close to casting judgment upon John. If this happened, there was a good chance that his look as the Chara would surface, and then his identity would be revealed. I made a small movement to distract his attention. He glanced my way, and his expression relaxed.

John continued, "I do not mean that the Chara intends to be a tyrant. His errors are the result of his ignorance of Koretian customs and his unwillingness to accept that Koretians do not wish to separate their religion from their public lives. I cannot blame the Chara for wishing to rule this land in an Emorian manner. That merely shows why he ought not to be ruling Koretia."

Peter looked steadily at John, his fingers dipping down into the wine he had not sipped for some time. "Then we come back to the question of who should rule Koretia, and that is a question which must be settled before all others."

I had been reaching over to move the wine pitcher. I nearly spilled it. Peter had that effect on me sometimes. I would think that I knew all that he thought and felt, and then I would discover, without warning, that his thoughts had been in a different place altogether than mine.

That the Chara had been considering granting Koretia its freedom he had never hinted to me.

If John was disconcerted by Peter's leap forward, he gave no sign of it. He asked calmly, "Why do you say that, Lord Peter?"

Peter stood suddenly, walked over to the door, and opened it. I wondered whether he had grown concerned that someone was listening to this conversation – one of the Jackal's thieves, perhaps. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, staring out at the corridor. When he had closed and locked the door and returned to where he had been before, he said, "I am Emorian, and I cannot help but be concerned with laws and with order. I see what I imagine the Chara sees as well: that the Chara cannot simply give freedom to this land while the people are without a ruler and while this land has no courts of its own, no central army, nothing that would keep Koretia from collapsing back into civil war. He must give the government over to a ruler until the Koretians have a chance to rebuild their government, create their own law-system, and choose whether they want this man or another to rule over them. Now, who shall the Chara appoint for such a duty? A nobleman who has supported the governor? I doubt that the Koretians would accept him. The Jackal or one of his thieves? The Koretians would accept this but the Chara would not, because he does not wish to arm the hunting god. In any case, Emor cannot withdraw its soldiers and court officials immediately, lest Koretia be destroyed, and since it cannot, the Chara needs someone in power who can both bring peace to the Koretians and work in peace with Emor. Where will the Chara go to find such a man?"

John was silent for a moment, his eyes suddenly distant in a manner that made my back tingle at the memory. Then he said quietly, "If I were the Chara, I would seek the god's command."

"I hope," said Lord Carle from the doorway, "that you are not advising us to place ourselves under the command of Koretian gods. I would say that one god at least is busy enough tonight without our bothering him."

I had been surprised to discover that John had made his way through a locked door; to discover that Lord Carle had managed to pick a lock surprised me not at all. Nor, it seemed, did this cause any questions to rise in Peter's mind; his thoughts were elsewhere. Lifting his head suddenly, like a dog scenting danger, he asked, "What is it?"

"Lord Dean and I have been on the roof. You had best see for yourself."

Peter was on his feet immediately, but John was already out the door and racing down the corridor. We followed him to a stairway and scrambled up after him onto the roof.

Many centuries ago, when there was danger of the Daxion army invading the border from either side of the mountain, the priests' house had been equipped with two square lookout towers. One tower lay at the east end of the roof and the other on the west end. The towers were only slightly taller than the roof connecting them. We found Lord Dean standing on the western tower, leaning his arms onto the stone parapet and staring meditatively at the view to the northeast. He did not turn as we joined him at the parapet.

It was twilight, and night's shadow had spread its cloak across the land. To the west of us, the Daxion border mountains were silhouetted against the shell-pink setting sun. To the east, the coastal waters were lit by the rising moon. The war moon – that was what the Koretians called the full moon, because it shone like a silver blade.

Down in the darkened countryside was evidence of the moon's power.

It was a flame, glowing from the dark land like a red star blazing in the night sky, but larger than any star would be. From this distance, it looked like nothing more than a hearth-fire, but since we were far away, it must be something greater.

"Where is that?" asked Peter.

"Valouse," replied John. He was staring at the fire intently, as though he could see what was happening in the streets there. "It is a large town, with its own garrison. Also, the governor has been sending army divisions there for the past two weeks. There have been hints that riots were about to occur, and he wanted more soldiers there to control the Koretians."

Peter murmured, "May your gods watch over them."

"The soldiers or the Koretians?"

"Both." Peter was silent a moment, as though trying to hear the screams in the town. Then he asked, "How far is the town from here?"

"Lord Peter." The speaker was Lord Dean, turning his gaze for the first time toward the Chara. "It will do Emor no good if we enter into battle now. Our duty lies at the governor's palace, not Valouse."

I did not hear Peter's reply, for at that moment John pushed himself away from the parapet and walked rapidly from the tower. After a moment's hesitation I followed, and caught up with him finally at the eastern tower, staring out at the same view.

From this high up, we could hear no sounds of the night except the occasional cries of the doves settling for the night in the cotes near us, as well as snatches of the raised voices of Lord Dean and Lord Carle as they argued with Peter. I looked sidelong at John. His eyes were calm as he stared out at the burning town, but there was a tightness about his mouth.

He said, "My duty lay in Valouse tonight. That was where I was planning to go."

"Then it's good that you didn't," I said. "You might have lost your life there."

John said softly, "A trader friend of mine asked me to come. He said that he needed my help on some business. I would be at his side now if I hadn't stayed here."

I could think of nothing to say in reply at first, so I glanced over at the western tower, where Peter was standing like an immovable rock as the waves of his council lords' arguments crashed about him. "My master has a strong sense of duty as well. The other lords don't seem to be having much success in convincing him to stay away from Valouse."

"Is he your blood brother?"

I jerked my head back toward John. He was leaning against the tower wall, facing me, and his expression was unreadable.

I said, "Emorians don't have blood brothers."

"That doesn't answer my question."

I looked over at the Chara, still battling with silence the suggestions that he keep himself from danger. Next to me, John waited in similar silence.

Finally I met John's eyes and said, "You are my only blood brother, but Peter is . . ." I tried to think of a way to explain what we were to one another, and then settled for the words that, to an Emorian, would be sufficient explanation. "We share the same cup of wine."

John nodded as though he understood. I asked, "How did you guess?"

"He told me himself when he gave me the free-man's greeting. He wouldn't have greeted me in such a way if he hadn't already done so to my blood brother." He waited for me to say something more, and when I did not, he added gently, "I'm glad to know that you have a friend in Emor. Don't be upset about this."

"It isn't that," I said. "I'm only sorry that I didn't tell you myself."

I sensed that John had a reply ready, but he focussed his view back on Valouse before replying. "Andrew, I know that you've always believed me unworldly, but I'm not a fool. I know that your party is here, not only as diplomats, but also as spies for the Chara, finding out what you can about the Koretians and giving away as little information as possible about yourselves. I knew before I spoke to you that those would be the new terms of our friendship. It did not pain me to accept those terms. You are Emorian and I am Koretian, but it doesn't change what we are to each other. If we must keep secrets from each other for the sake of our lands, it will not change the oath we made to be blood brothers, beyond death. Nothing can change that, because our friendship was ordained by the gods."

I continued watching John's serene face for a while; then I switched my gaze back to Peter. He was speaking in a low voice that did not carry over to where we were. I asked, "What do you think of him?"

John paused a long time before answering, as though his answer was a summary of all that had happened that evening. "I can see why you are friends. He fascinates me. I'm glad to have met him, and I wish that I could talk with him more. I suppose, though, that once you reach the governor's palace, you'll be unable able to leave."

"Peter won't be able to," I said, "but I'll certainly slip out and see you when I can."

"Then come to the market and ask for John the trader. My house lies nearby, and anyone can direct you to it."

He stopped as Lord Carle appeared suddenly at the foot of the short flight of steps leading to our tower. Peter and Lord Dean were following a short distance behind, deep in conversation with one another. Lord Carle said, "Lord Dean has managed to convince your master that the quickest way to bring war to this land would be for an Emorian lord to deliver himself into the hands of the Jackal. I imagine that if your master had had his way, he would be charging up the road toward Valouse right now, waving his sword and acting as vanguard to the army that was nowhere behind him."

Lord Carle paused, and for a moment his eyes slid between me and my dark-skinned blood brother. Then he said coolly, "But since you are, as you have so often told us, a loyal Emorian, perhaps you yourself planned to be your master's army. You would of course have to act like any other Emorian soldier, imprisoning and killing and raping the Koretians. Well, perhaps not raping; I doubt somehow that lovemaking was in your plans for the future."

"Lord Carle." It was Peter, who had carefully placed himself so that his back was to John and me. I could guess that this was because his face had grown cold in the manner of the Chara in judgment, if only from the manner in which Lord Carle turned pale. The council lord turned stiffly to face the Chara. Though he kept from bowing to the man who was now supposed to be a fellow lord, his gaze fell to the ground. Peter said with quiet hardness, "I would like to speak to you privately, if I may."

Lord Carle said nothing, but nodded and walked away. Peter's face returned to normal and he began to follow, but he hesitated and looked up to where John and I stood. John had turned his back on the proceedings, and his eyes were fixed once more on the town.

Peter stepped lightly up the steps, came over to where I stood, and spoke gently to me, as though John were not at my side. "Andrew, he is angry about Valouse, that is all. Don't let this spark your own anger. The last thing that I need on this trip is for you and Lord Carle to cut each other's throats."

I said in a dull voice, "I've tired of fighting him in any case. He has won every battle we have waged since the very first one – as he so kindly reminded me just now. You needn't fear that I'll cut his or any other man's throat on this trip."

Peter began to speak, looked back at where Lord Carle and Lord Dean were disappearing down the roof stairs, and nodded to me, then left.

I turned back to the view. After a minute, John said, "At least there's no breeze tonight. If the winds were up, half this land might burn, but I think that Valouse's moat will be able to contain the flames."

He would not ask me, I knew. Nor was he likely to guess, for only a few outward clues might have revealed my secret shame. My boyish appearance he had already dismissed as unimportant. I had no beard, but I had solved that problem by living in a land of beardless men. The differences to my body were either hidden under my tunic or could pass as normal; tall men with long limbs are common enough to cause no question. As for my voice, I had long since trained myself to speak in the man's voice that would never come to me by nature.

Speaking in that voice now, in a detached manner, I said, "Lord Carle was my first master. He is a man with a strong belief in discipline and order, and when I originally came to Emor, I had no interest in following Emorian laws or adopting Emorian ways of behavior. And so, since I disobeyed Lord Carle's first command, he had me gelded."

There followed one sound – John's breath swiftly rushing in – and one gesture – his hand curling into a fist. It was, for John, as though he had lifted his dagger and given a shout of rage. He did not look my way but said, with an edge to his voice as sharp as a blade, "The Emorians did that to you?"

"Lord Carle had it done to me. Peter would never have done it."

John was silent a long time before saying, "Perhaps. But your master strikes me as a man who is as interested in laws and discipline as any other Emorian. And the soldiers who are down there in Valouse tonight are no more bloodthirsty than any Koretians. They are simply following the customs of Emor, which say that they must maintain discipline at any price."

I said softly, "You won't tell anyone of this?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John looking my way. "You know that I won't. But it's as honorable as any other war wound. You ought not to be ashamed."

"I'm not," I said, "except when I see the look in the face of a woman who has just discovered what I am."

Many minutes passed before John spoke again. Finally he sighed. "Andrew, I must go to Valouse tonight. The fighting will be over before I arrive, but if he has survived, my trader friend will need my help, as others may."

I said, "I suppose that the best that you can do for them is pray to the gods. The gods listen to you in a way that they don't listen to the rest of us."

"I wish that that were true," said John, "but I have been praying for peace for a long time now, and it seems further away than ever."
 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Next morning, as we passed through the city gates, we met John again.

I had lingered at the gates as the rest of the party rode forward, because from this vantage point I could see down into the rest of the city. Most of the city was unfamiliar – the fire had cleansed the capital of its past. The houses I had played amidst had been replaced by an Emorian army camp; the streets were in a new pattern, as though a spider had rewoven its web during the night. My eyes sought one of the few remaining landmarks of my childhood: Council Hill, still covered on its slopes with trees, but now capped by a miniature version of the building that was my home. Another palace, another place of imprisonment for Peter.

Something to the side of me caught my eye. It was John, sitting on a traders' mule and gazing upon the city with a strange, tender look. Dark circles smudged the skin under his eyes, and his face was solemn.

He looked over at me and said, "I saw you ahead on the road. I thought I would catch up." He had changed from his priestly robe into the dark tunic that traders wear, but unlike most Koretian men, he bore no weapon. To the left side of his chest, pinned over his heart, was one of the tiny, wooden god-masks that Koretians wear for protection. The mask was black on black clothing, hard to see even at close range, and I leaned over with curiosity to discover which god John had chosen to place himself under the care of. It took me a moment to realize that John was wearing a mask that no Koretian ever wore: the mask of the Unknowable God.

He reached upward at that moment with his dagger-hand to sweep his hair out of his eyes. His fingers were curled slightly inwards. I caught a flickering sight of his palm: it was black and rugged.

The sharp intake of my breath caught John's attention away from the city. He followed my gaze and said, "That happened years ago. I burnt myself on a fire that I built for a god."

I said slowly, "A sacrificial fire?"

John looked back at me steadily, his silence his only answer. I said, "You must have needed a great deal of help from the god in order to make such a sacrifice."

"It was for a friend of mine. An Emorian soldier had stabbed him, and he was in danger of dying."

I remained without words a while, thinking that it was just like John to fight the Emorians, not with weapons, but by sacrificing his own flesh. Then I asked, "Did you reach Valouse?"

"Brendon, my trader friend, was halfway to the city when I met him. We came back together and took a room for the night along the way. Brendon needed the rest. He travelled on to the city this morning, but I rode up to the priests' house to see whether you had left yet." John kicked his mule forward. Ahead of us, Peter looked back to see where I was before he turned back to continue his conversation with Lord Carle.

I asked, "Did Brendon tell you how things were in Valouse?"

John made no immediate reply. We had wound our way down onto a broad avenue that cut through the trading district – must have been cut through in actual fact, I realized, looking at the haphazard arrangement of the houses around us. As John swiftly turned his mule out of the path of a division of soldiers, I saw that the Chara had stopped his horse and was speaking to the leader of the soldiers. We continued to ride forward slowly as John said, "It was very bad in Valouse. Brendon lost his home; he was lucky to keep his life. He said that the soldiers were not taking prisoners."

John said nothing more, for Peter had wheeled his horse around and come over to us. The Chara nodded his greeting to John before saying to me, "I've just talked to Lord Alan's subcommander. He says that the governor went to Torrid Springs in Central Koretia last week to enjoy the waters, but that he is expected back this morning." Peter sighed and added, "The governor has a long ceremony planned for our arrival. It will take most of the day, I expect. He has invited our servants, but it will be a formal occasion." His hand rested lightly on his dagger hilt as he awaited my reply.

"Then I will be able to escape the torture," I said. "I will find some other way to entertain myself, no doubt."

"I thought, if John had the time, that you might spend the day with him," Peter said, and looked with a questioning expression at my blood brother.

John replied, "I would certainly like to spend time with Andrew, though I may have business to do later this morning. It is kind of you to allow him the time free."

"Well," said Peter, turning his horse forward, "of course we Emorians usually keep our servants chained in a dungeon, but we do allow them out on occasion. I will let the governor's palace guards know that you are expected, Andrew. Return whenever you are ready." Without looking our way again, he spurred his horse forward.

John followed him with his eyes, and then turned his mule off the avenue onto a side street. As I followed him through the dark, narrow alley, he asked, "Why won't you be attending the governor's ceremony?"

"Only free-men are allowed at Emorian ceremonies," I said, "and I don't have a weapon to show that I'm a free-man."

"Couldn't you borrow one from Lord Peter?" John asked. The street grew more narrow and began to be crowded with children playing in the dirt. John slipped smoothly from his mule and began guiding it carefully through the games; I followed suit. My nose was beginning to recognize the smells of my native land: wild-berries set out on windows to dry, blackroot nuts being roasted, and the green scent of leaves from the saplings that always seemed to take root in the roads.

After several minutes, I said, "I had a dagger once. I tried to kill Lord Carle with it when he was unarmed. After that, I decided it would be better not to carry a weapon."

I kept my eyes on the road, dim beneath my feet. The dry dust rose up in protest at each step I took. When I finally looked over at John, he was smiling.

"You've changed," he said. "You always wanted to be dagger-mounted when we were young, and that worried me. Some people like to fight, and some people fight because they have to, but it always seemed to me that fighting was to you like drink is to a weak man. Put a weapon in your hand, and you wouldn't be able to keep yourself from using it, no matter who was your victim. That could be good in the right circumstances, but dangerous in the wrong ones. I'm glad that you've acquired the vision to know yourself so well."

He stopped at a lean-to attached to a house. Pulling the door open, he led his mule into a tiny stall that another mule already occupied. With some difficulty, I managed to squeeze my horse inside as well. John had started to unload his pack from his mule when a voice said, "When are you going to build a new stable, John, so that you can welcome your guests in a manner befitting your station in life?"

A brown-bearded man stood in the doorway. His clothes were tattered and covered with soot, and a red stain was making its way through the cloth that bound his right arm, yet he smiled affably at us.

"I didn't expect to have two guests at once," replied John, knotting his mule's rein around a post. "Did you find the soldiers' supply-keeper?"

"Yes, and he has an extra room, so there's no need for you to crowd me into your house." The man stepped forward into the dark stable and said to me, "You must be a friend of John's."

"This is my blood brother Andrew," said John. "I didn't have time to mention him to you last night."

"You had no time to mention anything to me, for I was too busy telling you of my adventures." The man scanned me quickly, obviously trying to ascertain my land loyalty, and then gave me the free-man's greeting. "Are you the blood brother who disappeared into Emor so many years ago? John has mentioned you before."

"And I venture to guess that you are Brendon," I said, returning the greeting. "I was sorry to hear about your home."

"Ah, well," said Brendon, scratching his forehead beneath the ragged brim of his hat. "Possessions are a curse to a trader in any case. I've always wanted to be able to travel from town to town without having to worry that the Jackal's thieves have set up their lair in my house during my absence."

"The governor will no doubt be sure that the Jackal was in Valouse last night," said John.

"If the Jackal had been in Valouse, he would be dead now," said Brendon tersely. "The tales say that the Jackal barely managed to escape the flames when the capital was burned fifteen years ago, and on that occasion he was unable to stop the carnage. I imagine that the god knew better than to come to a town where he could do no good. Even the Jackal can't solve all of this land's problems. Trade has become very bad. . . . Speaking of bad trades, your supply-keeper friend has managed to convince me to trade a bale of cloth for five of his wife's dinners. Can you advise me on how to escape from this deal?"

John looked at me apologetically. "Thus goes the life of a trader – I am no sooner home than I must talk business. Andrew, I don't want you to fall asleep listening to my advice on the price of linen cloth versus the value of wool cloth. Let me settle you inside, and then Brendon and I will go off and have a drink in a tavern for a short while. You look as though you could use strong sustenance, Brendon." He guided us outside, shut the stable door, and opened the door to his home.

It was a small house, unusually dark for a Koretian building, with only the broad window facing the street and a little window in the back door that overlooked the garden behind the house. The first thing I saw as I entered was the hearth, placed not in the middle of the wall in symmetric Emorian fashion, but off to one side. Over the hearth hung all seven masks of the gods. The rest of the room contained the usual clutter of chests, cooking implements, a table, and two benches. At the far end of the house stood a sleeping alcove with its curtain drawn.

I had seen this in the time that it took the three of us to step inside the house. The rest of my observation was cut short as a young woman rushed forward and flung herself into John's arms.

He held her tight for a moment as she buried her face in his shoulder. I heard her whisper, "You have been gone too long." Then something made her look up, and she stared at me.

She was a year or two into womanhood, about a decade younger than John. Her hair was black and her eyes were dark, like that of all Koretians. But the eyes were set into a face that was paler than my own, and I realized that she must be the product of one of the informal and unfortunate unions that inevitably result when soldiers are stationed for long periods in a foreign land.

She smiled at me, but in a tentative fashion. That fact, added to the peace I was feeling once more in John's presence, caused me to give her one of my rare smiles. Immediately her face lit up, and she turned to look at John inquiringly.

John laid his hands on her shoulders, slowly turning her to face me. Looking down at her face as he stood behind, he said, "Ursula, this is my blood brother Andrew."

I saw the shock go through her like a bodily blow, and her face grew as white as the stones of the Chara's palace. John was still watching her and gently gripping her shoulders as though he were holding her up. Some emotion welled up inside her so great that it seemed that in the next moment it would explode. She took a step forward, heedless of John's hands, which fell away. The hint of a shout or a smile appeared on her face as she whispered, "But this is wonderful. You are—"

As she spoke, she took another step forward. She was within reach of me now, and still walking. I had not noticed that my smile had faded, but she stopped suddenly like a tame creature who has reached the limit of its leash. Whatever great emotion had been about to explode died out, as though cold water had extinguished it.

I noticed this because I had become accustomed in Emor to reading expressions. But this was not something, I think, that anyone else would have noticed, for in the next moment she smiled as she said, "You are alive! After all these years, you have returned home to your blood brother. I'm so glad to meet you. How did you find John?"

John had come forward. He touched Ursula briefly on the shoulder, looking down at her shining face, and then turned his back to us as he placed his pack on the table. He said, "Andrew came knocking at the door of the priests' house just as I was about to leave. I nearly walked into him."

Ursula laughed. "It's as though you had been sent by the god, Andrew. How is it that you were able to return to Koretia?"

John still had his back to us. I saw him bringing out the same items he had unpacked the night before: the clothes, the food, and the satchel. A small roll of white bandage material emerged as well. I looked at the half-breed girl, thinking that she of all people must hate the Emorians, but I found it oddly easy to make my confession to her. "I am a free-servant in Emor, and my master has come to Koretia on business. I did not believe that John was still alive, or I would have visited Koretia before."

Brendon was in the process of tossing his hat onto the table beside John's pack. I saw his eyes flick my way; then he handed John the satchel he had been reaching for. Ursula did not seem disturbed. She said over her shoulder, "I told you that he would find his way back here in the end, John. You needn't have made those long trips to Emor."

John did not reply; he was beginning to pull papers from his satchel. I said quietly, "You went looking for me?"

"I knew that I wouldn't find you. But I had to try."

He still had his back to me. I saw from his arms that he was tugging at one of the papers that must have caught itself in the satchel. I took a step forward to see what was in his face. But my path was blocked by Ursula, who skipped forward another step toward me and said, "The first time he visited, he went to the Emorian capital and saw the Chara's enthronement celebration. He said that it seemed as though everyone in the Three Lands was there. Did your master go? It would be strange if you and John had been in the same city at the same time."

"The Chara!" Brendon struck his forehead with the heel of his palm. "I'm a fool, John. Not only did I not listen to your news, I didn't give you my own. The Chara is here."

"Here in Koretia?" Ursula bounded to the table and leaned toward Brendon.

"I heard that rumor too, before I entered the priests' house." John closed the satchel and walked over to hang it on a hook by the hearth. "Do you suppose there's any truth to the story?"

"There is if your supply-keeper friend is to be trusted. He said the soldiers were saying that the governor expected the Chara to arrive soon."

John picked up his pack and carried it to the sleeping alcove, leaving it lying next to the curtain. "Perhaps we will see him when he enters the city, then. I expect that he'll be accompanied by an impressive array of troops."

"I thought the Chara never left his palace!" exclaimed Ursula. "I'd love to see him when he travels through the city. Andrew, have you ever seen him?"

"My master is a lord living in the Chara's palace," I said carefully, "and the Chara often walks about the palace. I have seen him many times."

"What is he like? John has seen him only once."

"Ursula," John said with a slight note of warning. "Andrew is our guest. You ought not to quiz him in this fashion. Andrew, please be seated. Ursula and I seem to have lost our manners as hosts."

I took the windowseat he offered. Brendon had already seated himself on one of the benches and was staring at the wine cask against the opposite wall with a reflective look. I said to John, "You saw the Chara?"

John smiled. "I saw a voluminous black cloak that the onlookers claimed was the Chara. I was in the crowd at the enthronement celebration when the Chara stood at the east palace gate to greet his people. Like Ursula, I thought the Chara never left the palace, so it seemed my one chance to see him."

"Do you suppose he'll speak to the Koretians while he's here?" Ursula asked wistfully, skipping around the table to take hold of John's waist. "I'd very much like to hear him."

"So would I," John replied. "I doubt, though, that he will leave the governor's palace, not with Koretia on the edge of war. The Chara has probably come to advise the governor on what to do here."

"Well, if I saw the Chara, I'd know how to advise him," said Ursula, her voice rising with passion. "I'd tell him to free Koretia. That's all he needs to do."

Brendon laughed. "Ursula, if you saw the Chara, I know just what you would do. You would begin by scolding him and end by sympathizing with him for all his troubles."

Ursula lifted her chin. "I am Koretian. The Chara is my enemy. I wouldn't sympathize with him for the way he has oppressed us."

"Enough," said John. "Ursula, please bring out wine for a peace offering to Brendon. He needs it." He came over and sat by the trader. "Show me that bandage."

"You wrapped it yourself. Why do you need to see it again?" Brendon tried to edge away from John, but halted as John gripped his left wrist.

"Because I know how you take care of yourself. It is courage to die of a wound gained in battle, but folly to die of one that has been infected through carelessness. Now, sit still." John reached out and began with painstaking care to unwrap the strip of cloth on Brendon's right arm. He looked up, and his eyes met mine. "This isn't much of a homecoming for you, Andrew."

"It feels very much like home," I said. "Matters were always a-broil when I was living in Koretia."

"More so now." John paused a second as Brendon flinched; John had reached the wound. Then, ignoring Brendon's wince, he tore away the cloth that was sticking to the wound. "It looks fine at the moment," he reported.

"It's just a flesh wound, I tell you."

"You would say that if the soldier had cut you to the bone. But you're right this time." John began binding the wound with fresh bandaging, saying, "You have the cunning of the Jackal, Brendon, to escape from that horror with only a flesh wound."

"I call it luck. If I'd had a family to defend, like most men there, I'd be meat for the soldiers' table now."

"Yes." John's eyes drifted upwards to Ursula as she placed a cup of wine in front of Brendon.

She said, "I was going to give Brendon some nuts, but it has been five days since you promised to take me to the market, John, and I'm about to fight the rats for their food."

"You'll have to wait a short while longer, I'm afraid. Brendon and I are about to set off to the tavern and sort out some of this—" He waved his hand toward the business papers strewn on the table.

"Oh, John!" Ursula shook herself with frustration. "It won't take long for me to get what we need. Can't I go on my own?"

"No. I'm sorry." John began gathering the papers into a pile without looking up.

Ursula was silent. I said, "I can take Ursula to the market. I'd like to see what the new one looks like."

John looked over at me. With barely a pause, he said, "Thank you; that is kind of you. That will allow Brendon and me to do our business here, as I don't think our favorite tavern would appreciate having a wounded man bleed all over the customers. May I show you something before you go?"

I nodded. John tightened the bandage; Brendon gave an involuntary whimper, and John's gaze travelled up to his face, but this time John did not pause. When he had finished, he beckoned to me, and I followed him over to the sleeping alcove.

He ducked around the curtain without pulling it back, and I did the same. In the dim light of the alcove, I could see a plain-framed bed and beside it a wooden chest. On the chest was a single carving, that of the blank god-mask. John opened it and began rummaging through the clothing inside.

I could hear Ursula chatting with Brendon at the other end of the house. I said in a low voice, "You didn't tell me you'd married."

John bent over, trying to peer into the dark chest. "I didn't know how to describe Ursula to you. I thought I would let the two of you come face to face so that she could introduce herself to you."

"I like her very much," I said.

John looked back at me then, smiling. "I'm glad. I'd hoped that you two would enjoy each other's company. Ursula is friendly with anyone who will allow her to be, but I can see that she has taken a liking to you."

"I've hardly spoken a word."

"Ursula doesn't need words in order to judge a man. —Here we are."

I sat down beside him and watched as he brought out the iron dagger that had been at the bottom of the chest. He held it out to me, but I did not touch it. Instead I said, "I can scarcely believe that you still have it after all these years."

"It was dedicated to the Unknowable God; I would not have lost it. Nor would I have misplaced the dagger with which we took our blood vow."

I touched it then, very lightly, but withdrew my hand quickly. Looking up, I saw John's eyes on me. He said quietly, "I haven't forgotten what you told me before, but life in Koretia is dangerous now, especially for Ursula. I can go weaponless when I take her to the market because people here know me, but you're wearing an Emorian tunic. You need a blade on display to prevent men from starting fights with you and Ursula. I doubt that you'll need to draw it."

"John . . ." I stopped to phrase my words correctly, and then borrowed them from another source. "John, when I nearly killed Lord Carle, Peter told me that I'm not the sort of man who can master my bloodthirst. I ought not even to wear a weapon."

"Lord Peter is right: you cannot be master over your rage. You can allow someone else to be master of it, though. I am your blood brother, bound to you by an oath to the gods, and I am placing Ursula under your care. In turn, place your anger under my care and swear to me that, while you carry my dagger, you will not do anything that would bring harm to Ursula. If you swear this, then I know that you will not break your trust."

I felt my heart pounding, and I was not entirely sure why. It had taken only a moment to turn gentle John, whom I had cared for when I was a boy as though I were the elder, into something much harder and firmer. It was like the moment when we had made our vows, or the more terrible moment later when I saw John with the dagger in his hand. Yet John's eyes looked upon me with their usual light touch, so I said, "I am Emorian now, and Emorians do not swear to the gods. But I will give you the oath I gave to the Chara, that I will obey the laws that you have bound me with, and I will use the dagger only as you would have me do."

John smiled and said in an easy voice, "Tell Ursula that we'll need plenty of blackroot nuts. I may invite some friends over soon, and we always seem to be short of food when that happens."
 

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was a beautiful Koretian morning. The meadow-green cloth covering the market stalls shone in stark contrast to the deep blue sky. Moisture shimmered on the ground ahead, brought forth by the warm air that enfolded us in its arms. Holding an apple up to inspect it for wormholes, Ursula said, "So you and John saw the demon being stoned?"

I held Ursula's basket forward so that she could fill it with apples without my having to look at the fruit. I had stopped eating apples on the day that I learned Lord Carle owned one of the few orchards in Emor. "It was my idea to watch. I was rather bloodthirsty in those days. I had never seen John so angry – not at the demon, but at the men who stoned him. He said that of course such a man ought to be kept from doing wrong, but that there must be a way to exorcise the evil spirit from him, rather than destroy both the man and the demon at the same time. He talked about it for days."

"It's hard to believe such things ever occurred," said Ursula, handing a few copper pieces to the fruit-seller before taking her basket back from me. "The gods be thanked that the priests no longer allow such happenings."

I opened my mouth, and then closed it again. This was not the place to say that it was not the gods she should be thanking but the Chara. I could see out of the corner of my eye that the stall-keepers and customers in the market were watching suspiciously the half-breed woman and the man in Emorian clothes. It had taken no effort on my part to return to my usual cold expression; now and then I saw Ursula glance uncertainly at my face, but she made no comment on the fact that I had donned my old mask. Just as my rigid face had protected me in Emor from the back-stabbing palace dwellers – or from the more direct assaults of Lord Carle – so too, here in Koretia, the men and women who muttered remarks about Ursula and me appeared unwilling to come close enough to be within striking distance. I was beginning to believe that John's dagger would be a superfluous weapon during our market visit.

As if she had guessed my unspoken thought, Ursula added, "Of course, the priests are to blame in the first place for ever allowing something like that to happen. When the gods gave us their law, they left it up to men to decide how it was used. Ceremonies like demon-stoning destroyed the whole purpose of the law. When you have seen the gods' law used properly, you can't doubt that it's a great gift."

I looked curiously at John's wife, who was swinging around a pole in order to turn a corner between the stalls. "Have you seen the gods' law used? Aren't you too young to have seen it before it was outlawed?"

Ursula turned quickly toward a nut-seller's stall she had just sighted. "Oh, well . . . you know, even rites that the Emorians outlawed still take place. Not demon-stonings, of course, but good rites that shouldn't have been outlawed, like trial by the gods' law. Anyone who has seen the god in judgment isn't willing to accept the Emorian view on such matters."

She spoke as though she had witnessed the god himself pronounce judgment, but I knew what she meant. I had witnessed the gods' law in use only once, when John had been unjustly accused of stealing money from the priests and had asked me to be his witness at the trial. The "trial" – as an Emorian, I no longer regarded it as such – consisted of John and me and John's accuser meeting with his tutor, Lovell, and answering whatever questions the priest asked about John, whether they were connected with the theft or not. I could not initially understand the point of many of the questions, though I was interested in what they revealed about John. I heard not only of his virtues, which I knew, but also of his weaknesses, such as allowing the younger boys under his care to go unpunished for their misdeeds and covering up the wrongdoing of others in order to help them escape punishment. This latter fault was how he had come to be accused of taking part in the crime. I would gladly have adopted such vices, since they were more noble than many of my own virtues, but I was concerned by the strained look on John's face when it came time for Lovell to pronounce in the gods' name what sacrifice the god wished John to make for what he had done. John knew that the gods, being wiser to the consequences of evil than men, could require anything of him up to his death.

In the end, the punishment had been quite small, but I remembered Lovell telling John, "Though the gods' ways may seem mysterious to us, the life of Koretia depends on us obeying the gods' commands."

The memory echoed in my mind – surely I had heard those words at some more recent time – but a shout of voices roused my attention. I looked over at Ursula. We were standing now in the avenue, and she was waiting for me to speak, so I said, "I have seen the gods' law in use, and it is a wonderful tool in the right hands, but I think that if I had a choice between facing trial under a mediocre Koretian priest or facing it under a mediocre Emorian judge, I would prefer the judge. The gods' law is too easy to manipulate."

Ursula's gaze drifted away from me. Fearing that I was being too critical of her land, I changed the subject and said, "Does John know that you go to these unlawful trials, or do you—"

"Look out!" Ursula cried suddenly, pointing behind me.

I whirled, and had just time enough to thrust Ursula to the side of the road. There she fell into the arms of a black-bearded Koretian who, like everyone else, had darted out of the way of the approaching soldiers. Then the horses were upon me, squealing as they rose into the air above my head. The soldiers had stopped them just short of running over me.

For a moment, my vision went dark with fear. I heard shouts and footsteps, and someone grabbed my arms, pinning them behind me. My vision returned, and I discovered that I was surrounded by a half dozen soldiers, all holding swords unsheathed. Beyond them and the horses was a carriage, with a round-faced, clean-shaven man staring angrily out the window at us.

A lieutenant came up to him and said, "I'm sorry, Lord Alan. It's a Koretian blocking the way – probably one of the Jackal's thieves, trying to cause mischief."

"Well, you've played right into his hands, haven't you?" the governor said sharply. "How many times must I tell you? If anyone gets in the way, ride over him. I'm not going to make myself a target for assassins just in order to keep from offending your sensitivities. Now, get this man out of the way, arrest him, and carry on."

The soldier who was holding me dragged me aside as the other soldiers remounted. For a moment I could not speak because I was coughing from the dust flung up by the horses. Then, as the horses and carriage drew away and the lieutenant came forward, I said icily in my best Emorian, "Let me go. I'm no thief; I am free-servant to Peter, Lord through the Chara's honor, who has just arrived at the governor's palace."

The lieutenant looked doubtfully at my face – dark but beardless – and then at my Emorian tunic before nodding to the soldier holding me. As I pulled my numb arms back into place, he said, "Watch your step in the future, Koretian – Emorian – whatever you are. The governor doesn't take kindly to having his path blocked."

I made no reply as the soldiers mounted their horses and hurried to catch up with the others. My gaze was on the bystanders, who had not heard my words, but had witnessed the soldiers' quick release of me. No doubt if I had been some innocent Koretian, I would now be on my way to the governor's dungeon.

I felt a familiar sickness in my mouth as I turned away. This sort of episode was all too familiar to me. For the Chara's sake, I had sometimes returned to his palace slave-quarters to try to help settle disputes that had arisen between the Chara and his slaves. There, for a brief while, I had acted as though I were any other slave-servant again – until evening, when the slaves were locked in for the night, and I returned to my comfortable chamber in the Chara's quarters. The looks I had received then were the same as I received now.

I roused myself from my self-pity only when I realized that Ursula was nowhere to be seen. I could guess where she had gone; she had undoubtedly run back to her house to tell John what had happened. I began to make my way back toward the house.

I learned the error of my assumption when I heard Ursula scream.

Fortunately, she was not far away – I say "fortunately" because she was on the point of being dragged into a house near the market where she would no doubt have been gagged to keep her from screaming any further as the black-bearded Koretian took his pleasure. Not that anyone seemed ready to come to her rescue in any case. A few people glanced uneasily over at the half-Emorian woman struggling in the grasp of the Koretian man, but no one seemed ready to fight the man in her defense.

I skidded to a halt just a few paces from the Koretian, and his look of frustration – Ursula was biting his hand to keep it away from her mouth – changed to one of high delight.

"So, the apostate comes to claim the whore's bastard," he said. "You two are certainly well suited for each other."

"Then give her to me," I said. My palms were tingling, but I kept my hand well away from my dagger. His was already unsheathed; he had used it to persuade Ursula to come this far.

The Koretian smiled and thrust Ursula behind him into the open doorway. "Come take her."

A curious crowd had gathered around us. They were watching me closely. Behind the Koretian, Ursula tried to squeeze her way out of the house, but he pushed her back carelessly with his arm. I heard her cry as she fell to the floor. Slowly, feeling my blood throb in a manner it had not done for a year's time, I pulled out the blade and took a step forward.

A quiet voice next to me said, "Thank you, Andrew. You may give that back to me now."

I was ill-trained in these matters; I made the mistake of looking over to the side. The Koretian was not ill-trained; he chose that moment to attack me. He never reached me, though. The next I knew, John, unarmed, had him on the ground and was wrestling with him for possession of his dagger.

I would have joined the fight at once, but I found myself being held back by Ursula. She had fled from the house and had evidently decided that it was her duty to keep at least one of her protectors alive. Before I could push her aside, the fight was over: the Koretian, panting, had scrambled to his feet and was looking warily at his opponent. John had a cut on his cheek but was otherwise serene in expression as he held the Koretian back with the man's own dagger.

"Andrew," he said softly, "please take Ursula back to the house."

I looked uncertainly at John, raised in the priests' house, who to my knowledge had no more skill with a dagger than that which I had taught him as a child. But Ursula was tugging at my tunic, and I realized that John would have even less skill if he were distracted by worries about his wife's safety. So I took Ursula's hand, and we fled the marketplace together, running for the safety of the house.

The street window was already shuttered and bolted when we arrived. I waited until I had bolted the door as well before I flung John's dagger onto the table and leaned back against the door, trying to catch my breath. Ursula, who seemed well endowed with stamina and nerve, was already unpacking the basket she had quick-wittedly rescued on our way back. As she pulled out the nuts she had bought, I said, "Would you be safe if I left you here?"

Ursula looked up and gave me a rueful smile. I saw that her hands were shaking and realized she was not as calm as she appeared. "You needn't worry about John," she said. "This has happened before, and he knows what to do."

"God of Mercy," I said, lapsing back into a Koretian oath. "I had forgotten what Koretia is like. We have dangers in the Chara's palace, but they do not include rescuing women from dagger-wielding abductors."

"It isn't because I'm a woman." Ursula bent over the nuts, which she was wrapping in a cloth. "It's because I'm half Emorian."

I watched silently as she pulled up a trap door and placed the nuts into a cool cellar box. When she had raised her head again, she was smiling. She said, "You must be hungry. Would you like something to eat?"

"To witness the truth, my appetite has fled me."

Ursula laughed. "Well, John may be hungry. I'm going to go into the back to pull some vegetables."

I went over to the rear window. A tall wall guarded the garden, and its gate was bolted. "If anyone tries to come into the garden, call for me. I will then repeat my performance of pretending to know blade-play."

Ursula's rippling laughter remained ringing in my ears after she had been in the garden for several minutes. I watched her from the window as she urged a shrunken parsley plant with gestures to grow taller, and then paused to chat with a butterfly that had landed nearby.

A loud knock on the door cut into my thoughts. I was quiet for a moment, waiting to see whether John's voice would follow, but nobody said anything, so I stepped lightly to the table and picked up the dagger. I could remain silent, but the person at the door might be Brendon or one of John's other friends. "Who is it?" I asked in my deepest voice.

"An Emorian soldier, come to pillage your house and rape your women."

I fumbled in getting the bolt slid back and the latch lifted. By the time I opened the door, he was leaning against the doorpost with his arms folded, greeting me with a smile which had a touch of darkness to it that looked vaguely familiar. I said, "I'm sorry. I was just threatened by a Koretian who'd decided that traitors like me don't deserve to live."

Peter's smile disappeared, and he stepped into the house at my gesture of invitation. "Yes, I saw that," he said. "I wasn't worried about you, though; you looked quite dangerous yourself. I could have sworn that you'd been taking secret lessons from Lord Carle in blade-play and intimidation."

"What are you doing here?" I asked, glancing through the slats in the shutters of the window before sitting down on one of the benches. Only a light guard stood outside: two men, armed with daggers rather than swords. I was not particularly surprised. Peter, the Great Chara of Emor, had never liked having guards around him, saying that living in the Chara's palace was imprisonment enough. I had helped him slip away from his father's guards at regular intervals when we were boys.

"I got tired of waiting for the governor," replied Peter as he took the bench opposite. "All of his officials were fawning over me – I think they learned their manner from Lord Alan. Finally I decided that my time would be better spent seeing how a common Koretian lives, so I slipped out of the palace when Lord Dean's back was turned."

"Don't tell me that you actually managed to escape the palace without Lord Carle catching you," I said. "I'm acquainted with a number of slave-servants who would love to know your secret."

Peter gave a small smile. He was dressed in a dark blue linen tunic with the gold edging appropriate for a high nobleman, several steps up from the peasant-brown tunic he usually wore at the palace when not at official functions. At his side was the bone-hilted dagger. The tunic's neck-flap was clasped with a copper brooch he had borrowed from me – officially, I remained a less free-man, with no significant rank, but Peter had insisted during the past year that I wear the same copper brooches as the lesser noblemen who were often made palace officials, for otherwise my true status in the palace might be misunderstood. It was typical of Peter to mix rank-markers on his own clothing, but I could see near the copper brooch the faint outline of the emblem brooch that was pinned to his undertunic.

"Your blood brother seems to be well known in this city," he said. "The Koretians I met were eager to tell me where he lived – once, that is, that I had assured them of my peaceful intentions and listened to their long descriptions of the kind favors he had done for their families. If the people here are to be believed, your blood brother is a man of godly mercy, always generous with advice and help, dealing fairly with Koretians and Emorians alike. Since the Koretians I spoke with feared I was coming to arrest him, they particularly emphasized that he is always unarmed and opposed to violence. The Emorians have nothing to fear from John the trader, I was told."

I was puzzled by the tone of Peter's voice, which was dry. "So you found the house. Did John tell you that his wife and I were at the market?"

Peter shook his head, his gaze travelling around the room until it rested upon the Jackal's mask over the mantelpiece. "I saw him leaving the house and followed him at a distance. I was just in time to witness your confrontation, and I stayed to see the aftermath."

"I take it that John is safe, since you came back here?"

"Oh, yes," said Peter. "I would say that John is quite safe."

His words were a tad too light, and there was a touch of coldness to his smile once more. I said, "Heart of Mercy, Peter, don't keep me in suspense. What happened after Ursula and I left?"

"Well," said Peter, tracing a knothole on the table with his finger, "the first thing that happened was that John handed back the dagger to the Koretian."

I was slow to reply. "He hates to fight. He always did."

"Yes, I remember you telling me that. From what you told me, I assumed that John did his fighting with words."

This time I did not reply. I was beginning to see where the story was headed and why Peter's manner had been so restrained. Peter leaned his elbows onto the table, clasped his hands, and rested his chin on the knuckles, saying, "The Koretian was eager to explain why all half-breeds are renegade rabble – parasitic, perfidious miscreants who deserve to die painful deaths. He explained all of this while waving his dagger at John." There was a pause, replete with significance. "John appeared to agree with what the Koretian said. When I left him, he was keeping a careful eye on the dagger and nodding to every word the Koretian spoke."

"Peter . . ." I said, and then stopped, unsure of how to comment.

"I'm sorry, Andrew," he said gently. "I would very much like to believe that your blood brother isn't a coward, but perhaps he has changed since you knew him last."

"John is not a coward!"

I looked over my shoulder and saw Ursula standing at the back door, her arms full of vegetables and her face red. She marched over to us, dumped the vegetables onto the table, and stood with her arms crossed.

Peter was already on his feet. I joined him and said hastily, "Lord Peter, may I present Ursula, who is John's—?"

"He is not a coward, and you wouldn't say that if you knew him!" Ursula was too angry to notice the introduction. She thumped the table with her fist for emphasis. "Anyone can tell you that John's the bravest man in this land. He is always helping people, even at his own risk."

Peter was staring at Ursula with his mouth agape. I supposed that no one had addressed him in this manner for quite some time – perhaps not since the last time he and I had fought. He recovered himself, though, and said firmly, "Madam, I have certainly heard that your husband is generous to his neighbors. But it seems to me that the most important thing a man can do is protect those who are under his care, and I cannot see that he has done that today, by allowing your honor to be sullied."

"What do you know about caring for others?" cried Ursula, throwing a carrot down on the table in Peter's general direction. "You Emorian lords hide yourselves away in the Chara's palace and never go out to see how others live their lives. John lives here amidst the people of our land, and while he cares for me, he also cares for the others here. He does what is best for all of us, not just for those whom he has under his immediate care. He's not like the Chara, who cares only about his friends and family and not about what goes on outside his palace."

I looked back at Peter, wondering whether I would see him angry or amused. What I witnessed was a look of respect that I suspected few people besides myself had ever seen. He said quietly, "The Chara has no wife, but if he did, I think that he would count himself lucky to be married to a woman who showed such loyalty to her husband."

Like an emptied wine bladder going flat, Ursula's anger drained out of her, and she looked at Peter uncertainly. Then the door to the street opened, and John slipped inside.

He did not appear to be harmed in any way except for the cut on his cheek, where the blood had begun to dry. As he closed the door, his gaze travelled between Ursula and Peter, but he did not ask the Chara why he had come. It was Peter who took the initiative, saying, "He let you live, then, even though you're married to one of the rabble."

John went over to the mantel and adjusted the mask of the Jackal, which had fallen crooked. Without looking Peter's way, he said, "Yes."

Ursula came over and hooked her arm around his. "Did you convince him?"

A faint smile travelled onto John's face as he looked down at Ursula. "In the end. We decided that a half-Emorian woman must by definition be half-Koretian. We also decided that anyone who insults a half-Koretian woman is demonstrating a lack of respect for Koretia. And we agreed that, if any Emorian soldier dared to insult you, we ought to defend your honor to the death."

I stood halfway between John and Peter; thus I could see the change in Peter's face as John spoke. When he had finished, Peter said quietly, "So your peacemaking methods work. I would not have guessed that they would be so effective."

John's dark eyes rested upon me for a moment before turning toward Peter. "They work, Lord Peter, because I am Koretian, and I know my land's customs. This is not Emor, where you can maintain discipline by beating others into submission. If you do not allow a Koretian to state his grievances, he will refuse to listen to anyone, even the gods. If you allow him to tell his troubles, then he may be willing to accept the possibility that he is wrong."

"I suppose," said Peter awkwardly, "that it is hard for an Emorian to correctly interpret small confrontations such as this."

I caught my breath as John curled both of his hands into fists. Ursula had taken a step back and was biting her lip; only Peter was unaware that anything had changed.

John said softly, "And how many small confrontations is it going to take, Lord Peter, before you and the other Emorian noblemen realize that you cannot treat Koretians the way you treat your slaves? How many Koretians will have to go to prison because they refuse to humble themselves sufficiently when in the presence of the governor and his officials? How many priests will have to die because they refuse to stop bringing the gods' law to the Koretians who request it? How many more Koretians must endure the Chara's discipline by being burnt alive or raped or sent to Emor in slavery, to face mutilation of body and spirit?"

My gaze was fixed upon Peter. By tremendous strength, he succeeded in keeping his own face, but his eyes were as cold as when he was in judgment. He made no reply, and after a moment, John said, "I apologize, Lord Peter. I ought not to have spoken to you in such a manner – particularly since you are a nobleman."

Peter hands gripped the hilt of his dagger. His fingers on it were as white as the bone itself. He said shortly, "Koretians must have their say, as you just told me." There was a pause; then he added, "I asked you to tell me what the Koretians think of the Chara's rule. I cannot blame you for being honest in your answer. But I think it is likely that both of us have gone astray in our judgments today."

"You may well be right," John said very quietly. "It is hard to get to know another person's character quickly, and I assume that Andrew, who has known you for many years, sees aspects to you that I do not. I am only sorry that you and I will not have more of a chance to get to know each other." He glanced toward the doorway, and I knew that he was thinking that the chance that the palace guards were eavesdropping on this conversation was even greater than the chance that Lord Carle had eavesdropped on his conversation with Peter in the priests' house. This was not the place for whatever uninhibited conversation John wished to hold with Peter.

Peter nodded, perhaps in agreement with John's assessment of the situation, but he made no suggestion of an alternative place for discussion. He was still watching John as warily as he might watch one of his conniving council lords. John turned to me and said, "Andrew, I came to the market to tell you that some of my friends are gathering at a tavern nearby at noonday. I'd like to be able to introduce you to them, but I would rather not leave Ursula alone. Would you mind if she joined us?"

I could not see why he was asking me permission to bring his own wife, and I opened my mouth to say that I would enjoy her company. But Peter cut in swiftly, saying, "If you wish, and if it is agreeable to your wife, I would be glad to keep her company while you and Andrew are gone."

John had turned to pull his satchel off the wall hook. He looked over his shoulder at Peter, and the Chara added, "You may be sure that I will not allow any harm to come to her. You have my oath as an Emorian."

John flicked the briefest of glances over at Ursula. Despite my training in reading people, I missed whatever message passed between them. Turning his attention back to the Chara, he said, "Thank you, Lord Peter. We appreciate your offer."

"At least I have somebody to prepare a meal for," Ursula said, gathering her vegetables together. "Lord Peter, is there any Koretian food you especially hate?"

We left Peter assuring her with convincing sincerity that he loved all Koretian food. We started to walk out the back way through the small garden, but had not gone far when John turned to look back, and I saw that Peter had followed us out.

He came up close to John and said in a low voice, "I may be ignorant of a good many Koretian customs, but I do at least know the Koretian tradition of hospitality, and that a man may not enter a Koretian's house without first giving his name and title. Therefore I would like to give you mine."

John shifted the satchel on his shoulder so as to hug it tighter to his body. He said softly, "I learned who you were when we first met; there is no need for us to exchange names. However, I'm sure that Ursula would be interested in hearing about life at your palace." Then he turned, leaving Peter to stare after him with a disconcerted look.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

We did not ride this time, but instead wove our way by foot through the threadlike streets. I could see that the governor had made an attempt, when rebuilding the city, to recreate the symmetric pattern of the Emorian capital, but it appeared that the Koretians had simply abandoned use of the broad roads and had instead crowded into the narrow, eccentric alleys.

John and I were silent. I longed to ask him questions, but since he had not asked me about my secrets, I could not ask him about his. With an effort, I cast my mind instead on the scenery around me: the men and women clustered around the large shop windows, ordering their wares; the beggar-boys fighting each other on a heap of rubbish; and a hand-bound Koretian man being escorted by soldiers, protesting his innocence of whatever crime he was charged with.

John said, "I suppose that I should have let you stay in the cave after all. It would have saved you the trouble of having to go to Emor to meet him."

I looked over at him. My blood brother was staring straight ahead, a smile on his lips. "John," I said, "how can you continue trusting me when I keep such secrets from you?"

"When you worship the Unknowable God, you get much practice in trust. Trusting you is easy by comparison." He ducked his head under the sign of a candle-maker, a