Robert Redick - The River of Shadows

“How is it with you, sir?”

“You can see that I am healing,” said Talag curtly. “Taliktrum, you have a traitor in your midst.”

“Apparently,” sighed the young lord.

“What do you mean, ‘apparently’? You cannot believe this was an accident!”

“No, Father.”

“Well, then a traitor’s at work. Have you considered that it may be Myett?”

Taliktrum vehemently shook his head. “Forgive me, sir, but that makes no sense.”

“To sane men the actions of lunatics are senseless by definition,” said Talag. “Senseless-not impossible. The girl has a vague and fearful mind. She trails behind you like a shadow. And she shares your bed. She could well have borrowed your key to the strongbox.”

“But she has no motive whatsoever. She detests the giants.”

“And worships you-apparently. Taliktrum, a perfect cover is reason in itself to be suspicious. Don’t exempt her from scrutiny because of the pleasures of her touch. You should devise some way to test her.”

Taliktrum moved away across the room. He stared at a portrait of Alighri Ixphir, third commander of the House that bore his name. “I will destroy the remaining antidote,” he said. “Isn’t that what you’d do, in my place?”

“And condemn all the prisoners to eventual death?” said Talag. “You are not thinking clearly. What if the traitor simply informs the humans of your act? What will you bargain with, once their death is assured?”

“Besides, we are not savages. That is what Dri would say, in such a pass.”

Talag glowered. “Find the traitor. That is what your father says.”

Taliktrum started to pace. “I will test Myett. I’ll take another woman. We’ll see what jealousy looks like on her pretty face.”

“You’re a fool if you do,” said Talag, sniffing his wine. “It’s the jealousy of the clan you’ll soon be confronted with-the men’s, at any rate.”

“How am I to play the part of a prophet without a prophet’s grandeur?”

Talag thumped the table with his hand. “By not confusing your people’s history with the enemy’s!” he growled. “Arquali mystics were epicures, gluttons. Our own knew restraint. How did you ever get the idea that luxury and wealth would inspire awe? These extra rooms, this feasting, this wallowing in bed with your concubine. No one thinks you more powerful for such displays.”

“The younger folk do. They’re not the same sort of warriors as your generation, Father-the sort you raised me to be. They’ve known more safety in your house than any clan in memory. They like comforts. They like to see someone enjoying them.”

Talag allowed himself a wolfish smile. “Utter rot,” he said. “They believe in you despite your taste for comforts, not because of them. It’s their need for a prophet we’re exploiting here. Fortunately that need is profound. Be a warrior again, Taliktrum, and they’ll follow you to the bottommost Pit.”

Taliktrum smiled in turn. “Perhaps I don’t want to visit the Pits just yet.”

Talag’s face darkened. Taliktrum watched him, hands writhing. He drew closer to Talag and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Skies aflame but it’s bad, Father. Rose is the very last person we should ever wish to set free. He’s maniacal about his command. We don’t dare pick a fight with him openly now-he’s capable of anything, even sacrificing the other prisoners. All of them. Who does he care for among them? Oggosk? We know that she adores him for some reason, but is the feeling reciprocated? And even if it is, I think he might sacrifice her, unnatural beast that he is.”

Talag was very still. “To sacrifice a loved one for a greater cause-you call that unnatural, do you?”

Something in his voice made Taliktrum feel cold in the pit of his stomach. “Not for us, perhaps,” he said. “We understand these things differently. But Rose has no clan to fight for. He’s demonically selfish, and no more. Yet somehow the crew is elated to have him back. Why do they trust him? It proves the giants are half-wits, that’s all I can say.”

“You saw how Rose decimated the Jistrolloq, twice the fighting ship Chathrand is. You saw how he kept us alive through the Nelluroq storms.”

“He’s a fine mariner, of course.”

“He is more than that,” said Talag, motionless. “Some men know exactly what they’re capable of, and set out to achieve it. They have no pretense, because they need none. They choose, and they act. Other men detect this quality in them and want to take shelter in its certainty, its safety. Naturally they find themselves following such men, obeying them willingly. It is the same instinct that makes one hurry to leave a bog for solid ground.”

Taliktrum gave him a sharp look. “Those who believe in me-and it is most of them, you know-believe in me totally. Saturyk has observed them. They stay up late in the night, discussing my chance utterances, trying to catch glimpses of our destiny. It is almost frightening.”

“It is that,” agreed Talag. “And here is something worse. Those who do not believe in you, like Ensyl-they dismiss you utterly, as a weakling and a fraud.”

“I do not like the way they look at me,” said Taliktrum.

“To like or dislike-what is that?” snapped Talag. “Pay less attention to your likes, and more to the content of those looks. Tell me, prophet, what is behind them?”

Taliktrum looked at his hands. “Need,” he said at last.

“That is correct,” said Talag, “need. They believe in He-Who-Sees because they are afraid of their own blindness. Afraid of what may be coming for the clan, in that future they cannot see.”

“Father,” said Taliktrum suddenly, “the hostages are not our only security, are they?”

Talag had been lifting his glass; now he set it slowly on the table.

“If the worst should happen-if we should lose them all-you have another plan, do you not? Something to fall back on as a last resort?”

The old man looked at his son in silence. At last he said, “Would you follow any fool this long if he did not have such a plan?”

“Then why haven’t you shared it with me? You nearly took the secret to your grave!”

Talag just stared at him, unsmiling.

“Do the elders know?” asked Taliktrum.

“Several,” said Talag, nodding, “and chosen others. Ten in all.”

“But I should know as well!”

“Taliktrum,” said his father, “has it occurred to you that if we lose the hostages, the first result may well be your torture? Rose will take you to the galley and jam your leg into Teggatz’s meat grinder, and ask you questions designed to make it easier to kill us all. There are some answers it is better for a commander to be unable to provide. Do not concern yourself with our move of last resort. Devote your energies to seeing that we never need to make it.”

Taliktrum stared at his father, struggling to be still. At last with an anxious twitch he rushed to Talag and leaned close to him, gripping his chair.

“I would follow you again,” he said. “Resume your command, my lord! You need not go out scouting as before. We can do that. You can lead us from right here, until you’re fully yourself again. Just think how the people would rally to you! Their divisions would vanish like a puff of smoke.”

Talag sipped his wine. Then he rose, forcing his son back a step. He stood almost a head taller than Taliktrum. His eyes shone with anger and disgust.

“Would they?” he said. “After I endorsed this ugly cult you’ve built around yourself? Though it profanes the creed that has preserved us for centuries, that no one life must ever be exalted above the needs of the clan? I escape the rats and find my house in ruins, my people so frightened and confused that they would believe in anything-would have ended up kneeling before Mugstur himself, if matters had gone much further. You think I can lead, having declared that I subscribe to this rubbish, that your vision is my own? ‘Ah, but that was yesterday, men of Ixphir House. Today it is not the prophet’s word but Lord Talag’s you must accept. Or some muddled combination of the two.’ No, Taliktrum. You wanted command. You ached for it like a drunkard for his wine. Now it is yours, and you must keep it.”