Into a Dark Realm (18 page)

Grandy, shivering and looking the worse for his ordeal, said, “If you’ve noticed, no one at the university talks much about family. It’s considered rude. We’re all students.”

Jommy nodded, though he didn’t understand. In the time he had been at the La-Timsan university a few idle remarks had been made about this student or that student being the son of a noble or rich merchant, but as he thought about it, he realized no one had come out and said whose father was whose. Grandy had been the exception when he mentioned that Servan was a cousin to the King’s family.

Jommy felt confused. Exhausted, battered, and totally confused. From the look on the faces of his foster brothers, he could tell that Tad and Zane were feeling equally out of their depth.

He saw horses waiting at the bottom of the trail. At least they wouldn’t have to walk back to the city. And when they were there, there would be dry clothing and hot food.

As they reached better footing down the trail, they picked up speed, and when they were near enough to smell the damp scent of horse hair and the pungent smell of the wet woods, Jommy looked again at Servan. He was in no frame of mind to puzzle out exactly what kind of fellow the young royal really was, but he was determined that things would not return to how they had been before. He saw Godfrey limping, and without saying a word, he slowed a little, moved in next to him, and slipped the boy’s arm over his shoulder, helping him take the weight off his injured ankle.

Valko stood silently with the other nine surviving young warriors as Hirea and another older warrior motioned for the youngsters to line up. When everyone was in place, Hirea said, “There is more to bringing honors and glory to your empire, your society, and your father’s name than being a mindless killer.

“Good killing is an art and nothing brings more pleasure than watching an artful killer dispos. Nothing, that is, save the art of mating.”

A couple of the young men laughed.

Hirea said, “I do not speak of lying with a female, you stupid tavaks!” The field animal he called them was well known for being both sexually active and incredibly stupid.

Now several of the warriors looked confused. They had all taken females while in the Hiding. It was one of the signs that a young male was nearing the time of testing. When the competition among the boys in the Hiding became too violent, their mothers attempted to get them back to their fathers’ domains.

Hirea laughed. “Are there any among you whose mothers have returned with you to your father’s keep, castle, or estate?”

Two young warriors held up their hands.

He pointed at those two. “They are fortunate. They have clever mothers, as well as strong fathers. Their mothers were unforgettable. Their fathers wanted them to return, perhaps to sire another son.

“Some of you had to remind your fathers just who your mother was.” He shook his head as he looked down. “It is the nature of the Dasati that ideal pairings are rare, but they are desirable, not only for the chance for superior offspring, but because an ideal pairing makes a man’s life more bearable, more pleasurable.”

He motioned to the man at his side. “This is Unkarlin, a rider of the Bloodguard.” He turned to him and asked, “How many surviving sons and daughters are in your household?”

“I am the third son, and fifth of seven children.”

“From the same mother?”

Unkarlin inclined his head in assent, and several of the young warriors made noises of astonishment. Two, even three offspring from the same parents was not unheard of, but seven! It was heroic!

“Thus are dynasties born!” shouted Hirea. “When your sons kill their enemies and claim spoils, then riches, estates, Lessers, and more riders come into the family! This man’s family is partially responsible for the Bloodguard’s power and success. Consider your fathers and how many kinsmen ride with him. How many uncles and cousins count you in the Sadharin, Valko?”

In the weeks he had spent with his father before coming to Hirea for training, Valko had learned these details. “My father is eldest in the Sadharin, Hirea! He counts a younger brother, and four lesser
cousins in the riders. From them I have twenty-seven cousins and sixteen lesser cousins.”

“How many riders in the Sadharin?”

“Ninety-seven, fifty lords.”

“Out of fifty lords of the Sadharin, Valko counts forty-nine as kinsmen!” He looked around the room. “You can hardly have stronger ties than that!”

“But to breed that sort of strength, to have that power to call upon, you must pick wisely who you bed, young fools! There are women you will desire until your body aches for them, but they are a waste of your time and seed. Even if you have a powerful son with a Lesser, he is still Lesser born. If you have a son from a warrior family, but it is a weak family, without strong patrons or blood ties, what do you gain? Nothing. They gain by joining your line, but it drags you down.

“You need to seek out equals, or if you are clever enough, if you have something unique in you”—here he seemed to stare directly at Valko—“then you breed upward. Any man who can bed one of the female kin of the Karana, no matter if she is the ugliest female you have every beheld, then do so, and if you keep her until she is with child, pray that child is a warrior of the first renown, for then shall you have ties that will make your enemies tremble at the very thought of you.

“Then can you rise above the politics of your nation, even the politics of your world, and become a force within the Twelve Worlds.” He paused as he saw he had each young warrior listening raptly.

“But it all begins with having the sense to know that mating is an art.”

Now the warriors were ready to understand their next task, thought Valko. He had appeared as interested as the next student, but nothing Hirea had said was new to him. His mother had spoken with him on such topics for hours.

He knew that to waste time with a female of any rank less than his own was the height of foolishness, unless it was to bind a vas
sal, perhaps a lord with no surviving sons, for lands and livestock had more value than sons from lesser houses. But he would focus on trying to rise in status. He knew that his mother expected him to advance quickly, and within ten years to be Lord of the Camareen; and to have powerful sons within twenty years, with links forged to powerful houses.

Valko understood only part of his mother’s plan. That she had a plan, he had no doubt, for she had raised no fool for a son. He knew that somewhere, sometime, she would reveal herself to him again, and then he would learn exactly what was behind his training.

“Now,” said Hirea, “we are going to a festival, in the city of Okora. There you will meet daughters and household females of rich and powerful men. Choose wisely, young warriors, for these shall be among the first to send you sons, sons who will return to your fathers’ houses in years to come, and who those sons shall be is up to you.

Silently, Valko thought,
Only in this one thing. After that, it is the mother who molds the child.

Pug strained against the urge to do something, anything, but willed himself to be as motionless as possible. They sat in a circle, Magnus to his right, Nakor to his left, Bek next to Nakor, and opposite Pug, the Dasati named Martuch.

Martuch had spoken to Pug and Nakor on several occasions over the previous two days, asking questions that were clearly related to this undertaking, as well as seemingly making conversation about the mundane. Aspects of human existence fascinated him as much as everything Dasati fascinated Pug and Nakor; but without a frame of reference, it was difficult for Pug to put a name to his attitude toward the guide. If asked, he would have been inclined to say he found him to be an agreeable companion.

Martuch said, “Be still, my friends. It is better that way. The more you struggle, the more uncomfortable the change.”

They were in the second week of practicing magic in the city
of Sushar. Martuch was, apparently, a practitioner of many trades, and magic was among them. He explained that on the Dasati worlds, “spellmongers” were considered commoners of a trade no more elevated than that of a smith or carpenter. But he had reassured them that once they had mastered their arts on Delecordia, those arts would work on the Dasati worlds.

He had still not agreed to guide them. He had said he would give his decision when the time came, but as of yet he had said neither yes nor no. What he was seeking to understand about Pug and his companions wasn’t clear, but he seemed in no particular hurry to come to a decision.

“You must be patient,” said Martuch. “When this process is complete, you will be able to breathe the air, drink the water, eat the food of the Dasati, and to all appearances be Dasati. There is a glamour we shall employ that will make you seem one of us, though you will probably elicit odd glances from a Deathpriest if you happen to encounter one closely—I would avoid this, if I were you. In this one thing you have an advantage: the Ipiliac magicians are superior to the Deathpriests in that our magic does not depend entirely on necromancy. By various arcane means, we can ensure that your disguise bears close scrutiny.

“But that is the least of your worries. For in temper and nature you are as alien to the Dasati as they are to you, and there are a thousand ways of being, looking at life, and proceeding in the affairs of the everyday that will be lost upon you. Some you may learn quickly, while others will always elude you.”

He looked from face to face. “We are a race of warriors, and I mean that without boast. It is not as if we are the only warrior people to exist; however, we are a race bred to struggle. We kill our young males, did you know that?”

Pug remembered a comment made by Kaspar. “I had heard something like that.”

“Any boy may grow to be a threat, a rival, and as such must be obliterated before they can reach that state of existence.”

Nakor looked fascinated by this. “How, then, did you endure as a race?”

“By being dangerous, even as a child. By being wily. By having mothers who dedicate themselves to sheltering their children until they are old enough to protect themselves.

“You will learn more about the Hiding and other things that are taken for granted among my people, but not all at once. For now, let us concentrate on how to keep you alive more than an hour once you set foot on any of the Twelve Worlds.”

“Not every member of your people can be a warrior, surely?” asked Magnus.

“No, there are warriors and their consorts, and their children and lesser brothers and sisters. That rank is not clearly labeled, much as you might think of the citizens of your nation as being ‘normal,’ while everyone else you meet is an ‘alien.’ He looked from face to face. “On my world you will be the aliens, so it is best if we find you a role that is somewhat suspect to the Dasati to begin with. Do you have any healing skills?”

Nakor said, “I have some knowledge of herbs and how to dress wounds.”

Pug said, “On my world, healing is done by chirurgeons and clerics, but I have some basic knowledge.”

“Then you shall be members of the Guild of Attenders.”

“Attenders?” asked Magnus.

“Everyone not part of the ruling class are known as ‘Lessers,’” said Martuch. “Attenders are especially despised because of their impulse to take care of those not of their immediate family.”

“Yet you endure their presence?” asked Pug.

“Yes,” said Nakor. “Because they are useful!”

Martuch smiled, and for a moment Pug felt there was a glimpse of something behind the stern exterior. “Yes. You grasp the concept.

“Those you fear, you placate. Those who might be a threat, you destroy. But those who are neither fearsome nor threatening, but who may be useful, you keep around. You make them clients and
protect them from other rulers who might take a notion to obliterate them.”

Martuch waved his hand in a circle in the air. “Beyond these walls lies a city which has much more in common with your worlds than with mine. While the people here are distant kin to mine, they have lived long enough in this twisted space, this place halfway between the first and second planes, that many of our…ways are forgotten.

“Here you have merchants and traders and entertainers, much as you do on your world. By our standards, these distant cousins of ours are carefree to the edge of madness—those of your world are surely mad.”

Pug said, “So much to learn.”

Bek finally spoke. “I don’t understand any of this. I just want to do something.”

“Soon,” said Nakor, placating the restless young man.

Martuch said, “Bek, we are done for now. Why don’t you go outside and get some air?”

Bek looked at Nakor who nodded, and after the young man left, Nakor said, “Why did you want him to leave?”

“Because so much of this is lost on him, yet in many ways he is more like a Dasati than any of you can imagine.” He looked at Nakor. “He follows you?”

“He will do what I tell him to do, for at least a little while longer.”

“Keep an eye on him.” To Pug he said, “Why did you bring him?”

Pug said, “I was told to.”

Martuch nodded, as if that were all he needed to know. “He may be important.”

Nakor looked at Magnus, then said, “I need to ask you something, Martuch.”

“What?”

“Why are you helping us, without knowing our intent?”

Martuch said, “I know more than you realize, Nakor the Isalani.

Your coming was not unheralded. We received word some months ago that someone from the first plane of reality would be seeking access to my world.”

“Word?” asked Pug. “From whom?”

“I only have a name,” said the guide. “Kalkin.”

Pug sat stunned. Even Nakor’s eyes widened. Magnus was the first to speak. “It doesn’t mean it
was
Kalkin, or Ban-ath. Just someone using that name.”

“But who would know?” asked Pug. “Who besides the innermost circle of the Conclave even knows of Kaspar’s vision on the roof of the Pavilion of the Gods?”

“And that, my friends, is why I may help you, if you show you’re able to endure what needs to be done to get you to the Dasati worlds. For whether or not you’re aware of it, we play a Game of Gods, and the stakes at risk are far more than you can begin to imagine. It is not only your world that lies at risk; it is my world, as well. Vast danger is circling: entire nations may die.”