Ash and Silver (5 page)

Damon waved it off, even as he stepped closer. His unblinking stare pricked uncomfortably. “Which faction holds your allegiance? Prince . . . priestess . . . ?”

How could he be so familiar with the Order and ask such a question?

“I am incapable of answering that at the moment. As a paratus of Evanide, I defer to the Marshal and his commanders.”

The Marshal leaned forward slightly, intent. His fingers brushed a silver pendant, the only adornment to his stark white.

Still Damon probed. “And yet your account hints at personal feelings about Perryn and about the Harrowers.”

“Who could not despise savagery that raises ignorance to the state of a god?” His probing crept under my skin, lending inappropriate sharpness to my words. “As for Prince Perryn . . . perhaps I misspoke to mention rumor less founded than those regarding Bayard.” Indeed I could not raise particular incidents about the Ardran prince to match Bayard's firing of a Hansker plague ship with all aboard or his stripping of already depleted village storehouses in famine-ridden northern Ardra. “I was attempting to provide some equity between the three. My apologies if I overstepped,
Domé
Lares-Damon.”

His observant posture grew only more intense. “Is it your broken memory that makes you incapable of opinion?”

“I don't—” And here I stumbled. It was not as if I'd no mind to consider what I heard. And yet, who knew what specific understanding had vanished along with the person I had been—this Lucian?

Damon did not relent. “And if so, how will you judge rightly when you are a knight and have sacrificed the personal beliefs shaped by a past you've just hammered into dust?”

“On that day I will be a new man,” I said, reaching for the surety of purpose the Marshal's interview had left in me. “My foundations will be renewed in this Order which I deem worthy, which I
choose
to be the compass that will guide my course.” Yet my answer sounded over-simple and left me entirely unsettled.

Damon strolled toward the center of the chamber and faced the grand windows, where the pearl gray of sea and sky had darkened to the hue of slate. “Magnificent,” he said. “It struck you as you came in, Greenshank, did it not? This window?”

“Aye,
domé
. The prospect makes a man seem quite small.”

“But it was not the center panel that arrested your attention so much as the left, I think. Why?”

Two years in the Order had accustomed me to such intimate probing from Inek, my guide, the one charged to take the dust and splinters they'd left me and reshape them into something worthy. And the Marshal was the commander of us all. But this stranger . . .

I glanced at Inek. The fire beneath his skin had flecked his eyes with sparks. Yet nothing in his soldierly posture gave me permission to withhold such privacies. Nor did the Marshal, whose expression remained unfathomable behind his white mask.

“The depiction filled me with horror and . . . grief.” To speak it felt as if I peeled my skin away. “To burn a place entire must surely make a goddess weep.”

Damon spun round as if I'd kicked him. “How could you know it burned?”

I could not judge whether this was dismay or eagerness or merely surprise. It was tempting to say something outrageous to see what he might do. Did he think I
remembered
something?

A chill left me acutely aware of my damp clothes, of my illicit venture to the estuary and the damning portrait in the sack on my shoulder. More than ever I did not want the portrait exposed here.

“The arrangement of the slivered glass . . . the color of it, citrine and red . . . and imagining sunlight passing through . . . suggested burning. The female figure's tears seemed to affirm it. Perhaps that's an incorrect interpretation. The work, so large and detailed, is stunning no matter its subject.”

Damon gestured dismissal, as if the ripple in his composure had never happened. “Clearly you've a good eye for detail. I never noticed those slivers of glass. Perhaps we could summon the next paratus, Knight Marshal. I'm finished with this one.”

As Damon returned to his seat, the Marshal opened his hand to me. “Thank you for your clarity, Greenshank. Commander Inek, you and your charge are dismissed.”

“Knight Marshal.” Inek touched his forehead and heart.

I echoed his farewell, but on one knee. I had earned no true rank at Evanide. Not yet.

I followed Inek through the fortress like a lamb behind its dam—or its butcher. I would be shed of this matter, even if he bucked me back to tyro and threw me in the bay.

To my surprise he did not take me to one of the private cells where a guide met his charges for individual tutelage, counseling, or whatever personal scouring they needed. He led me to the armory.

“Bare your face. Then light the warning lamp and barricade the door.” The molten fury I'd seen in Inek was ready to spew. Of all days . . .

I hastened to do his bidding. No need to make things worse. The red globe outside the wide doors warned all who had business here that someone was working dangerous enchantment inside. I fired the globe with magelight, then threw the bolts, touched the release pins for the defense bars, and let magic flow through my fingers. Fingers are the conduit of magic.

Steel beams shot out from the sides of the doors. As they slammed into their holding brackets with a resounding boom, Inek launched a shield across the armory and bellowed as I'd never seen him. Then he whirled on me, his eyes like the fire of the
cereus iniga
. “Do you know this Damon? Lie to me and you will sleep tonight in the bottom of Hercal's Downspout with chains about your ankles.”

“No,
rectoré
, how could I possibly—?”

“Because for certain the devious wretch knows you, and for seven days you've lived a lie.”

“I
've no knowledge of the man,
rectoré
. I swear it,” I said. “Indeed, I had an eerie sense when he asked me about the window glass, as if—”

“As if you had remembered something you should not. He believed your memory excision flawed or broken. Is it?”

“No! Truly, I can tell you naught of Damon but what you heard and saw, and I was strictly honest throughout his questioning. But the other—”

“The lies?” Inek had regained control of himself. His glare fixed on me and his words bled disbelief, but at least he didn't look ready to throw anything else.

“I omitted an incident in my report seven days ago. This is not excuse,
rectoré
!” I cut him off before he could say what I already knew. “I fully understand the depths of my fault, and in no way do I expect this confession to offset the penalties you assess. I returned tonight with full intent to tell you all, because I believe in the Order's way. The life you and your brothers live has a purity and purpose well worthy of what an aspirant must sacrifice. But events have clouded my resolve, and in order to find my way again, I must step back. . . .”

I laid the leather sack on the floor between us. “Knight Commander, I report my mission of seven days ago complete.”

“Blessed return, Greenshank. Speak.” His every ritual word was a hammer and a warning.

“My earlier report on Kitaro, the purveyor of rarities, was exact. He rode away, his memory correctly clouded and his Order token left in ashes. But as I returned to the skiff with the
cereus iniga
, I heard a woman singing. . . .” I told him all.

He did not interrupt. Not to call me the names I'd called myself. Not even to remind me that a paratus who puts his life at risk through Evanide's fiercest tides to serve a lie is betraying his brother knights, both those who have nurtured him and those in the future who could suffer for lack of his
strong arm and trained magic. Instead, he paced in ever narrowing circles, arms tightly folded. By the time I unrolled the portrait, he was crouched beside me.

“Goddess Mother of earth,” he whispered.

Anyone who looked on the portrait would recognize its authenticity, whether they had met the woman or not. But for a person who lived with magic as we did, its truth was indisputable. And truth spoke that this woman was not of humankind, but a legend made flesh. Even stony Inek could not contain his awe.

“
You
did this.”

“I must have done. The name holds no meaning, but my fingers recognize the signature as my own. When they touch the page, magic courses through me and I know I could alter the image, if I wished, and it would remain true. I understand that my bent is but hidden and will be returned if I succeed at my endeavors here, and that the name Lucian will not matter when I choose another on the day of my investiture. But this woman . . . the very same who sang and vanished and professed she was bound to me in ways a
human
could not understand . . .
Rectoré
, my every bone, every sense, every perception insists she is Danae. She says her people—Deunor's holy fire, her people whom tales name guardians of the earth—need
my
counsel. What does that mean? Who, in the Sky Lord's mercy,
am
I?”

Inek stared at the portrait. Shook his head. “Is there more?”

“No. I came here straight from the estuary. I do sincerely desire this life, but if you say you must strip these things away— How can I turn my back on a mystery that any man or woman in this kingdom would give a limb to pursue? My soul is ripped asunder with the argument.”

Inek blew a long exhale and sat back on his heels. “Were these things brought me by anyone else I'd have him whipped for brazen lies. But you . . . I've long held suspicions about you.”

The air shifted as Inek resumed his pacing, tapping the rolled portrait on his open palm. What could he possibly
suspect
? Commanders had access to our memory relicts, and for two years I had poured out every scrap of thought and feeling to him. He knew far more of me than I did.

Bracing my shoulder on the stone wall, I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. My head pounded as if the ceiling of the armory were caving in on it, one stone at a time. Not since that initial journey to Evanide, when every moment was a frenzy to squeeze out some scrap of memory, had I experienced the like.

As I grasped a tenuous hold on my wits, Inek halted his pacing in front of me. Resolute.

“I do not know who you are. And I've never understood how you came to be here—or why. Though physically inept and inclined to sentimentality, you were naturally well disciplined, intelligent, your innate power for magic clear. Why was your place in the outside world untenable? Why would you consent to this life? Even yet those answers elude me, for from your first day I've been forbidden to examine your archived memories to plan your training as I do for the others. The old Marshal told me that condition was set by those who recommended you to the Order.”

A single flaying glare, then he shrugged and continued. “That happens from time to time. Family contention is the usual cause. He gave me sparse information about your talents and weaknesses, which has proved accurate for the most part.

“But about the time you were made squire, that Marshal—a hale and vigorous man—collapsed and died. Inexplicably. And not a month after this new Marshal—a strict disciplinarian—takes his office, a former senior paratus who
failed
his final testing is allowed to speak to selected squires . . . and of all Evanide's trainees you are the only one selected for his notice on every single occasion.”

“The Marshal. And Damon.” The implication was like a kick to the knees. “You believe—”

“I believe
nothing
. I state only fact and a coincidence of time and events.”

“But this Damon . . . a
failed
paratus! How is it possible he even knows of the Order?”

Any trainee who failed, no matter what his rank, was stripped of all memory of the Order before leaving Evanide. Only a paratus-exter, a man at the brink of knighthood, who decided he could not in conscience take the final step, was allowed to leave with both his own memories of life before Evanide and his awareness of the Order intact. And even then he carried no memory of the Order's particular magics.

“Damon's status was not an easy thing to learn,” said Inek, “and I'll not deny it seeded me with doubts. Yet, his questioning seemed benign. Thus, I've held discipline all these months, even as I wondered about him—and you. Now you bring me undeniable evidence of the magnitude of your talent, and this extraordinary mystery of your past on the same night I learn that this same Damon, and
not
the Marshal, chooses which fragments of
memory are returned to you. And now, it seems, Damon will also assign your off-island missions.”

“My missions!”

“These things are not righteous.” The air trembled with Inek's indignation. “They compromise the independence of the Marshal, which compromises the integrity of the Order.”

“What kind of
missions
?” His outrage fed my own. I had submitted as was necessary to survive in this place. I had seen worth enough early on to yield my trust as well as my obedience, mostly because of this demanding mentor and what he'd taught me of resolution and endurance, of the knights and their selfless service. And then, the Marshal's passion had captured my soul's aspiration. But if outsiders—a failed trainee—held sway over the Marshal and his decisions so far that
Inek
would doubt, my faith was upended entire.

“I'm to be told at
the proper time
. Until then we are to continue your training as before.”

“So you'll erase my memory of all this. Leave me naked before the wolves.” Anger, and no little fear, depleted what manners I had left. My life . . . my mind . . . were in the Order's hands.

Inek glanced up, blue eyes cold, fully my guide again. “Your training will certainly continue as we are charged. You are a strong and disciplined man, displaying
possibilities
of becoming a true knight. But you are unfinished, and you will need to be stronger yet—and far more wary.”

“No. I can't accept—”

“Do not interrupt! The Marshal apparently supports Damon's purposes and though I deem this violation of the Order's founding principles serious enough to bend my god-sworn oaths, their ultimate goal may be as holy as Mother Samele's breast.”

“You don't believe that!”

“Silence your insolent tongue and listen.” He scrabbled through a wooden box, and then swung around holding two wide silver bracelets. “I'll not strip any of this from you—not the mystery of the woman nor your true name nor awareness of Damon's interest in you. But for your every hour in this fortress, you will bury that knowledge so deep Kemen Sky Lord himself could not discover it.
Off
-island, however, whether dispatched on exercises I choose or Damon chooses, you may draw upon that knowledge as you do all else that bobs to the surface in the slurry pit of a paratus's
mind. Upon your return, you will give me complete reports of everything you discover. We shall speak of these things only here in the armory.”

I gaped at him. Missions off-island . . . allowed to remember . . . to pursue answers. Even as my spirit leapt, my blood pulse quickened. His plan was enormously risky.

Inek ran his fingers over the bracelets' embossed surfaces, seemingly bemused . . . until a stiletto of magic pierced the air.

“I'll not excise your understanding of my own violation, either.” Inek continued as if he had not just made the world thrum with power. His magic always sang. “I've spoken slander, given you unsanctioned information about your background, and allowed you to retain memories you should not have. One hint of this conversation could result in my ruin. Even so, I will not relent in your preparation. I trust you to keep me safe—to keep us
both
safe—as we do what is necessary to preserve the honor of our brother knights' service. If we learn, as I must hope, that I am mistaken in my suspicions, we shall confess our violations to the Marshal, allowing him to determine our future as we have committed ourselves to do. Elsewise . . . we shall see.”

His courage left me speechless. He was trusting me with his mind . . . with his life . . . for a violation of his knightly oath could surely see him stripped of one or the other. He would allow me opportunities to learn what we needed, yet, by maintaining the integrity of his teaching, the path to knighthood remained open to me. Fear shook me to the boots. If this man, the most righteous of knights, was driven to compromise his honor, then his suspicions of conspiracy must run very deep.

For Inek, if naught else, I had to make this work. “Will I be able to distinguish tasks of your devising from the others?”

“When I send a paratus on exercises away from the fortress, I often provide spellwork he is not yet privy to. Often linked to something like these.” He dangled the silver bracelets from his thumbs.

Silver was an extraordinary medium for spellwork. Even the most complex spells could be linked to an artifact of silver and they would retain their cohesion for years. And somehow silver's brilliance, its malleability, its delicate variability—so easily blackened, so easily restored—masked the enchantments it carried, leaving them undetectable to even the most skilled sorcerers.

“These will serve as an armory for your own favored—and perfected—
enchantments. And from now on, as you prepare for an off-island task, you will leave them with me for a few hours. Fix will have them waiting for you with your boat. Pay attention, and you'll easily discern whose mission you undertake.”

He tossed me the bracelets. Eyes closed, I traced the intricate designs. My fingers saw the shapes they traveled, here an embossed star, there a flower or a ring, an engraved spiral or triangle. With practice I would be able to locate each inerrantly, no matter distraction. My exploration continued until I came upon the residue of a small magic humming on a raised circle.
Inek.
The name popped into mind, quite distinctly.

I slipped a silver band over each hand, and snugged it about my wrist with its double latch. “The raised circle will tell me the author of the mission.”

A tilt of his head affirmed it. His hand motioned dismissal.

“One more question.” I could not ignore the most unusual part of the interview with Damon. “What is the image in the window? Damon
cared
what I knew about it. It was my description of fire that shocked him, made him think I knew more than I should—which I did not. I spoke only what I saw.”

Inek's arms were folded again, his face inexpressive. “I'll not answer beyond this: The image is the foundation story of the Order, the reason for our existence and our way. The story will be revealed to you on the day you are vested as a knight, if you should live so long and prove worthy.”

That wasn't enough. “Is it possible the meeting was set for the Marshal's inner chamber so that I would see the glass and Damon could gauge my reaction?”

“Possible.” I was glad Inek was unmasked, as his brow creased just enough before his answer to reveal he'd not considered that.

“As you leave, douse the warning light.” He retrieved three swords from the rack and laid them on the worktable.

One more curiosity. “
Rectoré
, why the armory?”

His snort made his opinion of my question clear. He never liked the question
why
from his subordinates. “Tonight, I deemed you a participant in this corruption of our way. I believed Damon put you here for a purpose, and whether or not you recognized him, I believed you to be working toward that purpose. That may yet be so. The sheer number of
enchantments in the armory makes it impossible to be overheard. Thus, no one would hear as I beat you until you told me the truth.”