High Couch of Silistra (12 page)

“Perhaps,” I allowed. “Perhaps not, though. If you think M’lennin mellow, I will be glad to exchange Liaisons with you. He and I have much dislike with each other.”

“If Dellin is so difficult, then, why do you want him?”

“I have a revenge to work on that man,” I said coldly.

“That I understand.” I had thought she would.

“How would you enjoy my hospitality, Estri of Astria? You need not work in Arlet. We are not so light in our touch as Astria. You might find our couch overly taxing, and so much has been made of your arrival that continuing subterfuge is out of the question. If you couch here, you will have to do it as Estri of Astria.”

I dreaded the thought of inactivity. My feelings for Dellin would only grow stronger should I not work at my craft.

“I need a change. I would work until the Day-Keepers’ envoy finds me. Under the circumstances, I will take whatever your couch-price is as my own.” I knew her price was much less than mine, and would not offend her by demanding more.

“I see you wear the Slayers’ chain,” I observed. “I have some small skill, imparted to me by Rin diet Tron. At your convenience, I would work out with you.”

Celendra reached out and squeezed my arm, then sank back into the cushions.

“You do not wear the black chain?”

“As you said, in Astria we keep our touch light.”

The Well-Keepress laughed, low and throaty.

“I had thought you much less than you are, Keepress,” she said.

“And I you.”

Celendra reached behind her and threw aside a small Parset rug. Beneath it was a square of star-steel. Disapprovingly, I realized it was a communicator.

She pushed a button, replaced the rug. Someday, as had happened long ago in Astria, she would have need of the device, and it would malfunction.

“See your keep, and meet me for a meal in the dining hall at the fourth bell. Then we will go to the circle.” She leaned over and kissed me on the lips,

The same shaved-headed girl appeared at the door and took me to my Arletian keep.

At the door, she turned to me.

“Should I stay, high lady?” said she, wetting her lips. I was puzzled.

“I can find my way about, I think.”

The girl flushed, wheeled, and ran lightly down the hall.

I shrugged to myself and palmed the lock. The keep was much the same as Celendra’s, but in pale blues and golds. None of the dark-blue gol-work was visible behind the layers of fabric and drapes. The couch was wide and its wood frame gold-leafed. I was glad to see a window, large and overlooking the craggy drop to the road. The window, however, did not open. I peered behind the curtains of pale blue that framed it and saw two small grilles set near the ceiling high above my head. Temperature control, another star trick. I would not have such dependency on machines in Astria. I was beginning to understand why Arlet, although second among the Wells, was such a rich post for the Liaison, and why M’lennin carped so at Astria’s low import policy.

I explored further, poking into chests full of fabric, boxes of jewelry and chains. The posts in the rooms bore lashes and knives, manacles and rings, as had Celendra’s. I took the keyring that hung on the post nearest the couch and buried it beneath a length of Koster silk in the largest of the three carved chests. None would put such chains upon me without my consent.

Then I stripped off the silvery garment Dellin had given me, and the clips and comb, and carefully folded the material around them. These, with the tas pouch, I buried also in the great thala chest. In the washroom there were combs aplenty; and brushes; and thick, absorbent, sky-colored toweling.

I threw myself on the couch and tried to nap. I could not. My mind chased itself in circles. Finally I gave up.

I would need something to wear to the circle. I found a length of plain white tas wool and cut it to shape with a gol-knife. I made breech out of one half and breast band of the other, fastening them with bronze clips I found among the jewelry. Second bell had just rung.

I did an hour of dhara-san, that exercise system which welds mind to body, clears the soul, and releases energy repressed to constructive use. I stretched long in warm-ups, the back of my legs informing me it had been too long since I had practiced my routine. By third bell I had a good sweat and was in the dhar, the contortions of great skill. I took a long headstand, letting my mind roll free. Thoughts of Dellin and my father, Celendra’s obscurity and my great-grandmother’s warning passed through me. I regained my perspective. Perhaps Dellin was he who was not as he seemed, for he had almost lured me from my quest. I thought of the time around me, and pinpointed the feel. Silistrans learn to identify four major subdivisions of time, and sixteen minor ones. Though no forereader, I had not needed Celendra to tell me that I was in draw, to crux, and had little choice but to go with the flow. I would, I decided, control my destiny as best I could. It occurred to me that the decision was probably preordained, and I came out of my headstand into a crouch. I could carry that line of reasoning no further. But I felt fine, tingling, whole again. My equilibrium had returned to me.

Thus I made my way to the common room, and through it to the dining hall, in good spirits. I took a table in the hall’s far corner, from which I could observe the entire room. There were only four girls eating, sitting together at one of the glass-and-gol trestle tables. They whispered to each other when I passed them and took my seat. A staffer in gray came to me to take my order.

“I wait for your mistress,” I said to the middle-aged, nondescript man in staffer’s garb. “Bring me rana and honey, and fruit juice.”

He scurried off.

By the time the stimulating hot drink was cooled enough to drink, Celendra sat opposite me. She wore a leather breech and band, studded with brass, and bands on her throat and wrists to match. Her silken hair was caught at the back of her neck in a thick knot fastened with a brass clip.

The staffer hovered over her. She ordered juice and rana for herself. One does not take intoxicating beverage before entering the circle, if one is wise.

As we ate, we discussed the passes’ take, which always increases in the spring, and the quality of our respective clientele.

I had a question strong in my mind, and when the opportunity arose, I asked it.

“How,” I queried, “does the Well-Keepress of Arlet avoid being abused by her clients? The chains I saw in your keep are not just for show?”

“What makes you think I would avoid the chains? Not many men could conquer me, even for an evening, without them. One must not make value judgments, Estri, about primal needs. One had the needs before one learned the values. And it is not always the men who wield the lash and hold the leash. One must give to get. I find it easier, bound. If one cannot respect the man, one can at least respect the chains. And they allow us to extend our experience beyond the limits of playacting, into totality. A taste of reality is welcome, every once in a while. It is the nature of man to conquer, and of woman to fight being conquered. Surely you yourself have at times wished for bonds against which to struggle, bonds more physical, hence less demanding, than the bonds of chaldra?”

I looked into my cup. I knew she was right. I had asked in order to hear her say it.

“And yet there is the matter of pride,” I objected.

“Do I seem to you lacking in pride? One often wins by losing.”

“I shall see for myself.” I grinned at her. “There is much food for thought here in Arlet.” I pushed away my cup.

“Shall we?” Celendra invited. I rose, and we walked the halls of Arlet, coming at last to a large turfed outdoor practice area, behind the Well proper but within the outer wall. There was a number of Arletian guards, a half-dozen Slayers, and some twenty well women sitting on the tiered gol seats backed up against the outer wall. Two men fought hand-to-hand within one circle; two worked at stones, the five-lashed weighted whip, in another. The three outer circles were empty.

Racked against the wall of the Well itself, next to the door through which we had come, were weapons of every conceivable variety.

Celendra gestured to them.

“Your choice, Estri.” I had hoped she would cede me the option. With her greater size and weight I would have been hopelessly outclassed at stones or hand-to-hand. I went to the rack. There I found what I wanted. Gol-knives. These are forearm-length straight blades, with one edge serrated. The points were guarded a finger’s width down the blade, that one might strike with force and not puncture one’s opponent deeply. I tried several until I found one with a balance I liked.

Some of the men had left their ladies and were milling about the area. The stone-fighters had finished and walked toward us to replace their weapons in the rack.

As they approached, Celendra spoke to the larger, a dark-tanned man in leather breech.

“Will you call for us, Jerin?” Jerin grinned as he racked his lashes. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and walked to the nearest circle, bounded in low gol-blocks, where he hunkered down, waiting.

Celendra tossed her head. She took a gol-knife without testing. She knew which she wanted.

We stepped within the circle.

She opposite me, we both took time, eyes closed, to ready ourselves.

I would be the slitsa, the deadly serpent. Like the slitsa, I would hypnotize, striking and gone, deadly. I went through the ritual, feeling the knife as my head, my eyes, my fangs. My hand was one with my weapon, my eyes were in the blade, I was what the knife was. I was ready before Jerin called us out.

I faced my quarry, crouched, swaying. The gol-knife writhed back and forth in my grasp. Her eyes,, followed. I kept my eyes from focusing on her blade as she leaped toward me. When she reached my position, I was not there, but behind her. As she whirled to meet me, I slashed out, and the teeth of the gol’s serrated edge raked her dark shoulder. I had first blood. She cursed, leaped, and struck down. I felt the wind from her thrust, but the slitsa, ever moving, remained untouched. Some had come to the edge of the circle. I heard rather than saw them. My eyes were for Celendra’s face, reading. She stood, legs planted wide apart, tossing the knife from hand to hand. I waited. When she thought she had my attention, she struck. Whirling not quite fast enough, I felt the gol-teeth on my arm. Infuriated, I ducked under her slash and felt the gol-point connect with her rib cage. Before I could withdraw, her blade came up, for my throat. Beyond thought, I met her blade with mine, so close to my face I could see the sweat on her black hand. The blood trickled down my arm, from her shoulder, from her ribs. She was stronger than I. Slowly my blade was pushed up by hers. I disengaged, rolling. I heard shouts. She landed where I had just been. I scrambled to my knees. She was on her feet. I tossed my head to clear the hair from my face. In that moment, while she waited, tossing her blade, crouched, I knew I could take her. She should have come in and downed me then, but she did not. Celendra, too, knew that I was more than her match. I struck up at her, launching myself at the hand that would hold the blade when I reached her, and connected. My fanged gol-knife bit hers from her hand, and it flew from the circle. So does the tiny slitsa down the mighty dorkat.

I threw my blade after hers, and, slicked and panting, reached out my copper hand, wet with blood from my gol-bitten arm. She looked at me, did Celendra, and took it slowly. Then her arm went around my waist. I had seen her struggle with her feelings, as I would have had to if it were she who had bested me.

Jerin, who had called for us, had the knives back at the rack. The Slayers and the guards regarded us with amused respect, standing in small knots around the circle. I saw coins change hands. So they had bet on us. I wondered what my odds had been.

I put my scraped arm to my mouth and sucked the blood. A girl appeared with water and clean cloths. I took a cloth and turned to my opponent. She let me clean and dress her scrapes. It was the least I could do. None were deep, nor would they scar noticeably.

I think some of the Slayers would have approached us, had they dared. We sat together on the ground and watched the men practice until the sixth bell, at which time Celendra arose, thanking me for the match.

“My honor,” I said.

“Next time, Estri, I will be ready for you.”

“The element of surprise does have its limitations,” I agreed.

She would probably beat me badly the next time, if I were fool enough to use the same technique.

“Would you have your meal with me in my keep?”

I nodded. “I would be much pleased to do so.”

“Eighth bell,” she said, disappearing through the door near the racked weapons.

As she entered the doorway, two of the Slayers I had seen watching us earlier made their way toward me.

“Would you go again, lady?” asked one, when they stood before me where I sat with my rear on the low gol-blocks.

“Thanks, no.” I smiled up at them. The sun was at their backs.

“We won a sets pay on you.”

“You have excellent judgment,” I congratulated him.

The one who had spoken last knelt down before me.

“Be careful of her, lady. She does not like to lose. She has slit throats for less.”

“No one likes to lose,” I answered him. His hair and eyes were brown, his skin dark. He would have been handsome but for a scar that ran the length of his face, following his cheekbone, down to his jaw.

His mouth twitched, he started to say more, and stopped.

“Yes?” I prompted. It was getting chilly as I sat there with the sweat drying on me.

“Are you of the Well? I have not seen you. I would give back some of what I won on you.”

“I am new here.” I told him my name. He raised an eyebrow but did not withdraw.

“What is your price?” he asked. I told him that, and then got to my feet.

I put on my best smile. I find it hard to feel feminine directly after an encounter in the circle.

“I will see you later,” he said to me as I headed for the door to the Well.

“Tasa,” I replied.

As I made my way back to my blue-and-gold-hung keep, the Slayer’s words rang in my ears. Perhaps I should not have scored Celendra. The fight had taken me; I had never even considered the politics of beating one’s hostess before her own people one day in that stranger’s hospitality. I had been going since sun’s rising without food, and little drink, and under much pressure. I determined to get some rest before the evening’s activities, that I might have a clearer head and more balanced emotions. I wondered whether Dellin would couch Celendra this night, and then whether that possibility had had anything to do with my precipitation of our sojourn to the Slayer’s circle, and then lay down on the blue spread couch and went within myself to that place which is neither sleep nor waking, where time slows down, and one can crowd an evening’s rest into the space of two bells.