Paul Thompson: Sister of the Sword

Karada opened her mouth to object, but the stalwart Lyopi pressed on.

“I don’t believe, as Amero did, that Zannian can be changed. As a vine is trained to a wall, so does it grow, and this raider chief was trained by a hate-filled woman and a black-hearted dragon. He’ll never be as kind as his brother or as noble as his sister.

“So let Zannian stay here,” she declared. “Let him live out his life as a prisoner of the people he sought to enslave. Let him live on our charity! Our pity will be a more bitter punishment than swift death would be.”

Her words, forcefully delivered, carried the day. As the conclave broke up, Karada sought out Beramun and embraced her.

“You are the daughter I need,” said the nomad chief. “Will you have me as your mother?”

Beramun blushed. “I’m gaining a mate and a mother in backward order! What do you say, Harak?”

Scratching his chin, he said. “If Karada can live with me, I can live with Karada.”

“You’re too clever, Wanderer,” Karada told him. “But if my daughter loves you, you have my tolerance.”

“And your trust?”

“That you must earn.”

Wrists tied behind her, Mara was blindfolded and thrown over a horse. Six nomads and four villagers escorted her. They rode west out of Yala-tene at sundown. Samtu and Hekani led the group upriver, then onto the open plain. Night was well underway when they stopped.

Samtu dismounted, pulling Mara off the horse. She cut the girl’s bonds and removed her doeskin blindfold. Trembling, Mara fell at Samtu’s feet.

“Don’t kill me!” she begged. “I did it to save us all from the Silvanesti!” She looked around at the other riders, eyes roving desperately in search of a sympathetic face. She found none. “Where is Karada? Let me speak to her. If she hears me, she’ll understand!”

Samtu was disgusted. According to Pakito, Karada’s last words to the girl had been a vow to kill her.

“The day you see Karada again will be the day you die,” she said. She gave the girl a single goatskin bag of water, a flint knife, and a pouch of dried fruit and elk jerky.

“Here’s food and water for four days,” Samtu continued. “You are exiled, Mara, daughter of Seteth and Evanna. If you ever return to Arku-peli or Karada’s band, you’ll be killed on sight. Now go!”

Peering fearfully over her shoulder, the girl moved away. At first she walked slowly, then picked up speed, and finally broke into a run. The last they saw of Mara, she was racing through the widely spaced pines, the fading twilight making her appear ghostlike and insubstantial. She was heading for the great savanna.

Hekani turned his horse around. “How long will she last?” he wondered.

“No way to tell,” said Samtu. “If she’s resourceful—and lucky—she might live a long time.”

“Do you believe that?”

The stout nomad woman thumped her heels against her horse’s ribs, starting the animal for home. “It no longer matters,” she said bluntly.

On the cliffs overlooking the village, Karada stood with Duranix, now restored to dragon form.

“Can you find her?” Karada asked him, her eyes sweeping the dark, distant countryside.

“Yes. Are you at peace with your decision?”

She gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Peace? I’ve never known it and never will.”

Duranix thought this the truest thing she’d ever said. He’d never known a thinking creature less suited to tranquillity.

Rather than leaping into the air, Duranix fell forward off the cliff edge. Spreading his wings, he flew off to complete his final pact with the sister of his first and only human friend.

Zannian entered Yala-tene with a rope around his neck. This was as much to guide him as it was to restrain him. Bahco was leading him from horseback. The nomad was met by Lyopi and Beramun, and he handed the halter to Lyopi. Bidding the women good-bye, Bahco galloped away.

“So I’m in Arku-peli at last,” Zannian said. “I wish I could see it.”

Lyopi tugged on the braided rawhide rope to get his attention. “I’m Lyopi,” she said, “mate of Amero, your brother, once headman of the village.”

“Ah, yes. Mated for a day, weren’t you? Or was it less?”

Lyopi made a fist, but she only said, “Beramun is here, too.”

The name drove the smirk from Zannian’s face. He put out a hand. Beramun stepped aside to avoid it.

“I was hoping you would come,” he said, turning his head toward the crunch of her footstep.

“I leave with Karada tomorrow. Say what you want, then I’ll be going.”

“Out here? In broad daylight?”

“It’s night, and no one’s about,” Lyopi answered.

“Strange. When I heard Beramun’s voice, I thought it was a bright and sunny day.”

Lyopi gave the younger woman a sympathetic, inquiring look. Beramun shook her head, indicating his words held no pain for her. She held out a hand for the rope. Lyopi handed it to her, moved off a few paces, and sat down at the foot of one of the ramps leading up the inside of the wall.

“Lyopi is gone,” Beramun said. “Talk.”

“My guards tell me you’ve taken a mate, but they wouldn’t say who he was,” Zannian replied.

“Strange to say, he was one of your men. Harak.”

If she’d slapped him, she couldn’t have shaken the ex-raider chief more. His tanned face paled below the bandages around his eyes. His throat worked, but no sound came out. Finally, he forced a smile and said, “I can understand why he wants you, but how did he convince you to accept him? Did he use an amulet, as the nomad tried on Karada?”

She said nothing, refusing to be baited. Zannian took a step closer to her voice. She backed away, and he smiled unpleasantly.

“He’s known many women, you know. Cut quite a swath through the captives we took to Almurk. Had a taste for red hair, as I recall, so he’s changed just for you—”

She struck him open-handed across the jaw. No dainty girl, she rocked Zannian back on his heels. He laughed triumphantly.

“You must care if you hit me!”

Beramun backed away again, working to regain her composure. “Has anyone explained what’s to become of you?” she asked finally.

The odd lilt in her voice gave him pause, but he said jauntily, “With the Arkuden dead, I guess Karada will have my head on stick.”

“No.”

“What then?”

“You’re to live in Yala-tene, forever. The villagers will feed you and take care of you like a child. They’ll lead you where you need to go and keep you clean, but you’ll never be allowed outside the walls of the town.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s what the rest of your life will be like, great raider chief. Every day will be just the same, and you shall live and die in darkness.”

Zannian was shaken by the time she finished. He let out a howl, then lunged at her. Lyopi stood to come to her aid, but Beramun waved the other woman off as she easily evaded him.

“I’ll escape!” he declared, head whipping left and right. “My eyes will heal, and I’ll escape!”

“Your sight will never return. You’ll dwell in this village until you’re old and feeble as well as blind. And since you’ve told us there is no more Menni, now there will also be no more Zannian. You’re to have a new name, one befitting your new life—Horiden, ‘the Sightless One.’”

“Amero wouldn’t let you do this!” he said, voice rising high.

“Amero is dead, and this is not my doing. I would gladly grant your wish and take the head from your shoulders, but it wasn’t my decision to make.”

She expected him to rage or even plead for a warrior’s death, but he did neither. He mastered himself, then smiled broadly. That smile unnerved Beramun more than naked rage.