Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (7 page)

 
          
"It
cannot be so bad," Varent murmured, his tone pitched low enough that only
Calandryll might hear him. "Even as a priest you must surely find time to
study."

 
          
Calandryll
shook his head mournfully.

 
          
"In
Secca, my lord, the priests are denied such luxuries—their only study is the
worship of Dera. And I would marry."

 
          
"That
lovely maiden?" asked Varent, following his gaze.

 
          
"If
she will have me."

 
          
The
Aldarin ambassador nodded thoughtfully. "And does your father know of this
desire?"

 
          
"No,"
Calandryll murmured, turning to face Varent, "Nor would I have him know
until I nave her answer. Her family has sufficient influence they might sway my
father's decision."

 
          
"So
you would kill two birds with the single stone," the ambassador whispered,
smiling. "Fear not, Calandryll—your secret is safe with me."

 
          
"If
she will have me," he repeated.

 
          
"You
think she might refuse?" Varent studied him speculatively.

 
          
"I
have a rival."

 
          
Dark
brows rose, framing an unspoken question. Calandryll said, "My
brother."

 
          
Varent's
eyes hooded, though the smile remained fixed on his lips. Calandryll paid it
scant attention, though it occurred to him that Varent did not particularly
like Tobias.

 
          
"What
will you do should she refuse?"

 
          
It
was on the tip of his tongue to mention Reba's prophecy to the ambassador.
There was something about Varent that elicited trust, and Calandryll thought he
might obtain sound guidance from the older man. Was he, perhaps, the friend
Reba had forecast? But it was too soon; he was not yet sure enough: he said,
"I do not know, my lord."

 
          
Varent's
dark eyes were contemplative as he studied Calandryll's face and it seemed he
was about to speak, but Bylath claimed his attention and he turned to answer
the Domm. Calandryll applied himself to the food set before him and for a while
he was ignored, left to his own thoughts, which turned like a dog chasing its
own tail back to Nadama.

 
          
He
was relieved when the eating was done, then alarmed again when Bylath rose to
his feet, compelling the hall to silence. He had no need of a crier to gain
attention. His height and natural air of command were impressive enough.

 
          
"We
have today agreed treaties of great import," the Domm announced,
"unprecedented in the history of Lysse. Secca joins in alliance with
Aldarin that we may defeat the Kand pirates."

 
          
A
roar of approval greeted the declaration. Bylath gestured for silence.

 
          
"Eryn
will build the ships, but they will be manned by the warriors of our two
cities. We have yet to decide the levies needed to finance the venture, and so
my councillors shall attend me on the morrow." His eyes scanned the hall
as though warning those nobles likely to object to such taxation, daunting as
swords. "But know now that my son, Tobias, shall command the ships of
Secca with the title of admiral."

 
          
There
was a rattle of applause. Calandtyll glanced at his brother, knowing this was
the source of Tobias's selfsatisfaction. Learning there was more to come.

 
          
"In
proof of my faith I name Tobias, formally, my successor. He shall be Domm of
Secca after me." He paused as fresh applause greeted the proclamation,
waiting until it died to say, "At the Feast of Dera he shall be ordained
heir.

 
          
"Further,
my younger son, Calandryll, shall assume the duties of the priesthood. Know
that I, Bylath den Karynth, Domm of Secca, declare it so."

 
          
He
sat as cheering filled the hall. It dinned against Calandryll's ears, drumming
home the stark realization that his future, so far as his father and brother
were concerned, was determined. He had no say in the matter: alliance with
Aldarin might be a new thing, but in Secca the world turned as it always had.
He thought of the endless round of duties that must inevitably follow, should
his father have his way, and the only consolation he could find was in hope of
Nadama's acceptance. He could envisage no way in which Reba's prophecy knitted
with his father's plans.

 
          
"Congratulations."

 
          
Tobias's
mocking voice interrupted his self-absorption and he looked up to find his
brother at his side, realising that musicians had struck up a tune, bringing
folk onto the floor even as servants hurried to shift the tables, making room
for the celebrations.

 
          
"And
to you," he offered, automatically.

 
          
"It
was decided today," Tobias said. "Had you shown more interest, father
might have wished you in attendance. But as you have not ... Well, it is the
custom. And you will be where I can watch you. Guide you."

 
          
"Yes,"
he muttered, grimly.

 
          
"Of
course," Tobias grinned, "you'll have no time for your bookish
nonsense. Save the study of religious observance. I'll see to that."

 
          
He
slapped Calandryll's shoulder with amiable menace and flourished a bow in the
direction of the Domm and the ambassador.

 
          
"My
lords, will you excuse me? A lady awaits."

 
          
Grinning
hugely he sprang from the platform holding the High Table to Nadama's side.
Calandryll's jaw clenched tight as he watched her rise, her smile glorious. For
Tobias.

 
          
He
sat dumbly as they moved to the center of the floor, Tobias's arm about her
waist, hers about his, their feet moving as though guided by a single mind,
Nadama's eyes radiant on Tobias's face.

 
          
Had
he been utterly wrong? Had he misinterpreted her affection? That his brother
was a rival he had known, but he had not expected to see such adoration in her
eyes. Not for Tobias.

 
          
"We
have a saying in Aldarin," he heard Varent murmur sympathetically, "
'The vine bears many grapes.' "

 
          
"But
not for priests," he answered dolefully, unable to tear his gaze from the
couple.

 
          
He
did not think to offer excuses as he heard the music end and rose to his feet,
ignoring courtesy as he left the table to push through the waiting dancers,
confronting the woman he loved.

 
          
"You
will excuse me?"

 
          
He
took Nadama's arm without awaiting a response, leaving Tobias standing as the
musicians began a second tune. He was, at least, as good a dancer as his
brother.

 
          
That
did not help as he sought the words he was suddenly afraid to utter. Perhaps he
had misunderstood her expression. He swallowed, steeling himself.

 
          
"Congratulations,"
Nadama spoke before he was able to organize his confused thoughts. "Are
you not pleased with your appointment?"

 
          
"No,"
he answered, apprehension making his voice gruff. "I have no wish to be a
priest."

 
          
Abruptly
he was sorry: this was not the way to approach it.

 
          
"Forgive
me. I had hoped ..." He broke off. "I don't know what I hoped."

 
          
"It
is customary," she said, smiling in a manner that quickened his heartbeat.

 
          
"A
priest is celibate," he muttered, cursing his confusion. "A priest
may not marry. Nor study, save religious tracts."

 
          
Nadama
nodded, still smiling, swirling in a flurry of skirts, returning to his arms,
her perfume heady as she drew close.

 
          
"I
admit you are an unlikely priest."

 
          
"I
should not be able to marry," he protested.

 
          
"Why
should that trouble you?" She was smiling still, though not the way she
had smiled at Tobias. "Are there not ways in which the priests ... satisfy
. .. those desires?"

 
          
He
felt a coldness knot tight in his belly. He stared at her, feeling that his
heart climbed his ribs to lodge in his mouth.

 
          
"I
want to marry."

 
          
"You?
Whom do you favor? And how shall you refuse the. Domm's command?"

 
          
Did
she pretend confusion? Did she play some game? Did she not understand? The cold
spread, presentiment ugly as a tumor. He thought he heard the desperate
thudding of his heartbeat; felt she must surely hear it, too; must surely know
what it was he asked.

 
          
"You,"
he said, "I want to marry you. Did your father but speak to mine this business
of the priesthood ..."

 
          
"Calandryll
..."

 
          
A
warning rang in her voice; he ignored it, committed now, speaking before the
cold numbed his tongue and he lost the power of speech.

 
          
"I
love you. I want to marry you. Please?"

 
          
"Calandryll!"
She moved as far away as his grip on her arms would allow: the distance was a
chasm. "You are fond of me, I know that ... But this is madness. I am
promised."

 
          
"I
love you.. Will you marry me?"

 
          
The
music stopped. Tobias stood beside them, a hand extended. Nadama took it,
granting Calandryll one sorry glance before her smile returned, like the sun
rising. Bathing Tobias in its radiance.

 
          
He
watched them walk toward the High Table. Saw Tobias speak with Bylath. The Domm
rise.

 
          
Silence
descended again.

 
          
Bylath
said, "It appears there is further good news: tonight my son has cnosen a
bride. I give my blessing to their union. Nadama, daughter of Tyras and
Roshanne den Ecvin, shall wed Tobias."

 
          
Calandryll
stared, dumbstruck. It seemed his heart beat a dull threnody against his ribs,
threatening to empty his stomach over the floor. Tobias raised Nadama's hand to
his lips; Bylath beamed, embracing her. Varent offered his felicitations,-
Tyras and Roshanne stepped beaming onto the dais. Calandryll felt himself carried
toward them as the crowd surged forward. He stared at them. Heard a voice he
barely recognized as his say, "May Dera bless you."

 
          
It
was automatic, a reflex empty of feeling: he felt only pain. He could stand no
more. Nadama's smile hurt too much, a knife of happiness that turned in his
gut; Tobias, smiling hugely, said something he could not hear through the
pounding in his ears. He turned away, ignoring his father's angry cry and the
curious glances of the others as he stumbled from the hall with the taste of
ashes in his mouth.

 
          
He
had no idea how he came to be in the Seers Gate, no memory of quitting the
palace or of the streets he had traversed. The moon hung gibbous above,
streamered with rack, the wind that drove the cloud cold, chilling the sweat
that plastered fresh-barbered hair to his forehead, shirt to back. The
guano-whitened sign creaked on its moorings, the sound like malign laughter,
the frontage of Reba's house dark and forbidding. He was aware that he pounded
on her door only when the lilting voice bade him stop, and then he stood
panting, hands knotted in desolate fists, seeing the door open, the spaewife a
dark mass against the lightless shadow of the corridor.