Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (70 page)

he’s good. The best.”

“We can’t get Seri away from Zhev’Na unless the Lords allow it. It doesn’t matter how good your

friend is at anything.”

“I think you should talk to him.”

“Bring him here if you want.”

“He can’t. He’s really stuck.”

“This is stupid.”

“You won’t think so. But you got to keep it secret.”

“All right.”

“Do you swear?”

“Yes. I swear. Take me to him. But you’ll have to lead me.”

“Blazes.”

CHAPTER 41

Karon

I was at wit’s end. I had dabbled in madness for so long that I knew no other way to live. A day with

any semblance of normality would probably have me screaming in terror. I fought and trained and stayed

alive. I watched for the least opportunity, the least chink in the armor of Zhev’Na, and came up with

nothing.

Paulo had been despondent after my match with Vruskot, for he’d been sure that Gerick would take

me on as swordmaster. He told me of his several encounters with my son, and his belief that Gerick was

desperately torn between the demands of his masters and his own nature. “He’s decided to be like them,

but he don’t like it at all. He just don’t see any other way to be.”

“They want him very badly. Only the one person—the anointed Heir of D’Arnath—has power over

the Breach and the Bridge and the Gates.”

“But if you’re still alive . . . Maybe the anointing just won’t work.”

“As long as I’m trapped in this collar, I’m as good as dead. And unless I’m free to use them, the

Heir’s powers will pass straight on to Gerick when he’s anointed.”

Dismal thoughts, all of this. It didn’t help my morale that Paulo was almost caught on that visit. A

guard chose just the wrong time to make a circuit of the slave pen with a blazing torch, and Paulo had to

roll out of the light. I set up a racket on the bars, feigning a bout of madness—a perilously easy bit of

playacting. On his next visit, I would command Paulo to stay away from me. A bleak prospect. His

cheerful grin was the best thing in my life.

My unease was not at all soothed by what Paulo had reported of Gerick’s “changes.”

“They say he’s come a demon, afraid of the light, and that he goes days at a time without eating or

sleeping, and that he’s roaming about the place inside people’s heads. He told me— He told me he was

going to be one of the Lords. Is that what’s happening?”

Of course it was. Corruption was not enough. All the power Gerick would inherit when he came of

age would be theirs, but only if there was nothing of him left that might resist them. I had long since lost

count of the passing time, but weeks had gone by since I had been celebrated for living out an entire year

in the slave pen. Gerick’s anointing could not be far distant. The Three would be the Four. Chaos.

Disaster.

The days continued.

Straw tickled my nose. Waking instantly, I rolled toward the bars.

“I’ve got bad news. They’ve got her—”

“Ah, no . . .” It was all I could do not to scream, to tear at the bars, to bang on them until a guard

would come for me and I could strangle him with my bare hands. I had dared not even think of Seri lest

somehow the knowledge of her presence be detected in me. It had been the only protection I could give

her.

“—but I’ve brought someone as might be able to help.”

“What possible help—?”

“V’Saro”—he was quite emphatic about the name, sharpening my attention—“this person wallowing

in the muck here beside me is the new Prince of Avonar, the young Lord Gerick.” He turned to the dark

shape behind him. “This here is V’Saro. You saw him fight the other day. I think you ought to set him

free so he can help us.”

Disbelieving, I pressed close to the bars and strained to see into the darkness. The boy held his face

away, but his profile was clear. It didn’t seem possible. “Paulo, are you all right?” I whispered. “He

hasn’t—”

“He knows about Seri and says he can get her out of Zhev’Na. But he says
he
won’t come. I told

him that he don’t have to do everything by himself, and that he has to get away from here, too. Tell him,

V’Saro. Maybe he’ll hear it from you.”

“Seri would most certainly agree. She’d say you should be taken out first.”

“She would be wrong.” Gerick’s voice was glacial.

“So can you do it?” Paulo whispered to Gerick.

“Do what?”

“Set V’Saro free. Undo the magic. The collar. Let him loose so he can help us get her.”

“I don’t know. I suppose I could get him out of the pen ... to come and teach me. But the collar ... I

don’t know. If you want your talents . . .” He didn’t seem interested. But he hadn’t closed the door,

either. As long as he’d agree to do it, the less interested the better. I wasn’t sure I was ready for him to

know who I was.

“Swordplay won’t win this battle,” I said. “We need sorcery of a particular kind that I am able to

provide. Though I’ve begun to think Paulo is the only true sorcerer here.”

Gerick snorted at that. “He talks to horses. And gets people to say things they never meant to say.”

“So can you do it?” said Paulo.

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“You won’t be long in your thinkin‘?” said Paulo.

“I can’t. There’s only four days. Then I won’t be able to help you any more.”

“All right, then.” Paulo touched his hand to the bars of my cage, and the boys slipped away.

Four days . . . earth and sky
... If Gerick could unseal the collar, and if I had not forgotten what I

was about—a nagging uncertainty that haunted my nights—I could take us out of Ce Uroth. The Lords

could ensure that any portal to Avonar was under their control, but I knew another way out that they

could not touch. It was just that my gut heaved at the thought. . . .

The proper course would be to abandon Seri. The safety of the Bridge and two worlds was my first

responsibility, and that meant that Gerick was far more important than my wife. Yet, as I lay in the straw,

staring into the dark sky as it yielded to a dead gray, the more certain I became that we could not leave

her behind. Some care for Seri had brought Gerick to this point. Who was to say that the act of saving

her life might not be his salvation?

Late on the next afternoon I was summoned to the Gray House, trussed up like a fowl at a poulterer’s

shop. Gerick was in the fencing yard, sparring with a young slave under the eye of a one-armed warrior.

Vasrin Shaper! It was Vruskot.

Gerick halted the match when the slavehandler dragged me hobbling through the gate. “Ah, here is the

slave I ordered.”

Before anyone could blink, a roaring Vruskot slammed me to the ground facedown with a

bone-jarring thud, kicked me onto my back, and then fell on my belly like a collapsing tower, his knees

gouging and squeezing the life out of me. As I spat out dirt and fought for breath, the sun glinted on the

dagger in his hand. Twisting and wriggling, tossing my head from side to side, I tried to upend the brute

before I lost an eye or worse.

“Warrior!” The world came to a stop at the command. Gerick stood calmly behind the maddened

Zhid with the edge of his sword at Vruskot’s neck. “If you lower that blade the width of an eyelash, your

head will follow it.”

Vruskot took a long time deciding. Foamy spittle dripped from his mouth, and his skin was redder

than the afternoon desert.

“You
will not
damage this slave. I desire that both of you be my teachers, and if you dare trespass

my instructions in this or any matter, I’ll shrivel your brain and draw it out through your nose. Do you

understand me?”

Astonishing. The old Zhid slammed the dagger into its sheath and climbed off me. But the stubborn

devil did manage to plant a foot in my gut and trigger my collar as he stood up. While I was occupied

trying not to heave up my last three days’ graybread before the son I’d scarcely met, Gerick belted the

Zhid with the back of his hand. From the sound of it, a surprisingly strong hand. “Do not test me,

warrior.”

The slavehandler kicked me to get up. “Where shall I put the slave, young Lord? This one must be

controlled and guarded at all times. You are aware that he has no compulsions of obedience? As he still

fights wager matches and training bouts, the slavemaster won’t allow it.”

“Chain him to the wall. He can sit, but should be able to stand and demonstrate a move if I require it.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if Paulo had been deceived by this boy. His demeanor bore not the

slightest trace of recognition or common purpose. I might have been a tree stump.

“I’ve informed the Wargreve Damon that you’re to be mine as long as I have use for you,” he said,

adjusting his sword belt about his slim waist. “You will instruct me in sword work along with this warrior.

You may speak at your will, until such time as I inform you otherwise or leave the training ground. Do

you understand?”

I ducked my head. I never liked to push the talking.

“You will remain here day and night. I’ve taken a fancy to night practice, and don’t wish to wait for

you to be summoned.”

“Is that wise, young Lord?” Vruskot’s hatred eroded his discipline. “Such dogs as this should be

caged.”

“Do not question me, warrior.” Gerick’s glance could have frozen a volcano.

As the sun slid toward the horizon, Gerick resumed his practice with the sturdy young slave. Vruskot

eyed me savagely as he drilled the two repeatedly on a complex move. His choice of lessons was

unfortunate, for it was just the kind of unimaginative attack that had allowed me to defeat him. Only his

own incredible strength and experience had made our match so long and difficult. If Gerick was

playacting then he was doing it quite believably. I had best do the same.

“Exploiting the opponent’s weakness is not always the best attack, young Lord,” I said. “Not unless

you are also calculating his strengths that balance it. No battle is so simple that a single maxim can carry

it.”

Vruskot erupted, of course, but Gerick asserted his authority once again, and invited me to elaborate.

For three hours we continued the lesson on attack strategies, becoming so involved that it was almost

possible to forget our circumstances. He was so intelligent that he could understand my explanations as

soon as I voiced them. And he could carry the implications far beyond the problem of the moment. I

sensed his immense desire to be a master of the art. Swordplay was nothing I’d ever thought to teach a

son of mine, but I treasured every moment of those three hours.

Vruskot seethed and blustered, but Gerick refused to dismiss him. “You are here to protect me,

warrior, lest this Dar’Nethi filth make some attempt to harm me. I trust you to destroy him in such a

case.”

The hour grew late. When the slavehandler came to retrieve Gerick’s sparring partner, Gerick told

him to return later. But before too much more time had passed, the young slave began to stumble, and I

suggested that Gerick would be better served to save him for the next day.

Gerick agreed and promptly ordered Vruskot to return the slave boy to the pen. “While you do that,

I’ll secure this slave for the night,” he said.

Vruskot growled, but obeyed. As soon as he was gone, leaving only the two guards in the distant

corners of the walled enclosure, Gerick knelt beside me. He linked my wrists together, shortened my

ankle hobbles, and tightened the tether chains at wrist, neck, and ankle, securing me firmly to the wall.

“I’ve found a way, but I can’t do it until tomorrow night,” he whispered.

“Any time is fine—” For the first time, I got a close look at his face. Spirits of night... He averted his

face quickly, knowing that I saw. “How do they do it?” I said softly.

“That’s not your business. I just need to know what you plan to do if I should set you free. I don’t

want you interfering with me.”

“Are there plans for you to see Seri . . . the lady?”

“Yes. They expect me to kill her.”

Dear gods
. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there,” I said, struggling to stay rational. “Make

sure Paulo is with me, too, and I’ll take us all out of Zhev’Na.”

“Every way out is controlled by the Lords. You’ve no chance whatsoever.”

“I know of a way. That’s why I was sent.”

He squinted at me, but it was very dark, and I didn’t think he could see very well. Just then, a gate

squeaked and crashed shut again. When Vruskot strode from the stone arch into the yard, Gerick was

leaning against the water barrel, casually taking a sip from the dipper. “I’ve tightened the slave’s bonds,

warrior, but I want you to make sure of him. Instruct the Drudges to provide his normal food and drink,

and do what you can to ensure he doesn’t foul the training ground.”

Vruskot bowed and did an excellent job of ensuring I could not move a finger’s breadth in any

direction. On that long, cold night, I dreamed of my Avonar, of taking my son climbing to the snowy

summit of Karylis and watching the light return to his terrible eyes.

Two Zhid stood at attention in the fencing yard throughout the next day. The Gray House was silent.

No one entered the enclosure. I dozed fitfully in the wicked heat.

Sometime after nightfall, a quiet thud from the dark corner of the yard woke me with a start. One of

the guards had slumped into a heap in the dirt. The second guard was in the process of toppling, even as