David Zindell - Lord of Lies

Standing to either side of the pedestal were fifteen knights, each of whom wore a long sword at his side, even as did I. They wore as well suits of mail like my own; to the various blazons on their surcoats had been added a unique mark of cadence: a small, golden cup. For these were thirty of the Guardians of the Lightstone who had sworn to die in its defense. I had chosen them — and seventy others not presently on duty — from among the finest knights of Mesh. They, too, seemed in awe of that which they protected. Their noble faces, I thought, had been touched by the Lightstone's splendor, and their bright, black eyes remained ever watchful, ever awake, ever aware.

Before we had crossed ten paces into the hall, a stout, handsome woman wearing a black gown came up to us, with her dark eyes fixed on Maram. He presented her as Dasha Ambar, Lord Ambar's widow. After bowing to my grandmother, she smiled at Maram and asked, 'Will we go riding tomorrow, Sar Maram?'

'Tomorrow?' Maram said, glancing about the hall as he began to sweat. 'Ah, tomorrow is Moonday, my lady. Why don't we wait until Eaday, when we've recovered from the feast?'

'Very well,' Dasha said. 'In the morning or the afternoon?'

'Ah, I must tell you that the morning, for me, quite often begins in the afternoon.'

Dasha smiled at this, as did my grandmother and I. Then Dasha excused herself and moved off toward the throng of knights who had gathered around Lord Tomavar's table.

'You're playing a dangerous game,' I told Maram as his eyes drank in Dasha's voluptuous form.

'What am I to do?' Maram said, turning toward me. 'Your Valari women are so beautiful, so bold. The widows especially. And there are so many of them.'

'Just be careful that Lord Harsha doesn't make Behira a widow before you even have the chance to marry her.'

'All right, all right,' Maram muttered. He gazed across the hall toward the Lightstone as if hoping its radiance might bestow upon him fidelity and other virtues. Then he seemed to forget his resolve as he looked away and said, 'But someone must console these poor women!'

Again, my grandmother smiled, and she told Maram, 'When the Ishkans made me a widow, it was not possible for me to marry again. But had it been, it would have been my wish to marry for love, not just for my husband's renown.'

'Then you are different from your countrywomen, my lady.'

'No, not so different, Sar Maram,' My grandmother turned her sight less eyes toward his face. Her smile radiated warmth. 'Perhaps in you they hope to find both.'

'Do you see?' Maram said to me as he held his hands toward the ceiling. 'Even in your own grandmother, this damn Valari boldness!'

We all had a good laugh at this, my grandmother especially. She let go of my arm and took Maram's as if grateful for his strength. And strong he truly was, growing more so by the day. Now that he wore in his silver ring the two diamonds of a Valari knight, he was obliged to practise with his sword at least once each day. His body, I thought, was a sort of compromise between this fierce discipline and self-indulgence: the layers of fat, which fooled the undiscerning, covered great mounds of muscle and battle-tempered bone. There was about him a growing certainty of his prowess and physical splendor, and this attracted women like flowers to the sun.

Just then Jasmina Ashur, who had lost her husband in the war against Waas, espied Maram and hurried over to him. She was graceful and slender as a stem, barely eighteen, and her adoring eyes fell upon Maram with an almost smothering desire. After greeting us, she began discussing with Maram the poetry-writing session he had promised her.

'Someone,' she told Maram, 'must put the account of your quest to verse. Since you are too modest to hoist your own banner.'

'Ah,' Maram said, the blood rushing to his face, 'I am too modest, aren't I?'

'Yes, you are. Even so, the world needs to be told of your feats, before others make free with your story.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well I overheard Count Dario claiming that you are really Alonian.'

'Why, that's not true! My grandmother was the daughter of the old Baron Monteer of Iviendenhall before King Kiritan's father conquered it and added it to his realm. Does that make me Alonian?'

'They're saying other things, too. About the Maitreya.'

Maram fell silent as my grandmother squeezed his arm and Master Juwain looked at me. Then Master Juwain rubbed the back of his bald head and asked Jasmina, 'And what are they saying about the Shining One?'

'That he has almost certainly been found. In a village near Adavam. They say that he's the son of a blacksmith and has made miracles: healing the blind and turning lead into gold.'

Adavam, I remembered, lay only fifty miles from Tria, and was clearly within the bounds of Old Alonia.

'But have these miracles been verified?' Master Juwain asked. 'In Galda, before it fell, came stories of a shepherd removing growths from people's bodies with his bare hands. We sent Brother Alexander to investigate. It turned out that the shepherd was showing his poor patients sheep offal through sleight of hand.'

Jasmina grimaced as if such trickery disgusted her. Then she said, 'Who can trust the Galdans? Or the Alonians? It seems to me more likely that the Maitreya would be one of those who found the Lightstone.'

Here she smiled at Maram, and again his face flushed bright red. He coughed out, 'No, no — I'm not Maitreya! Do diamonds bleed? Can you make a silk purse out of a sow's ear?'

'Only in Alonia,' Jasmina said with a little laugh. Then she bowed her head to me and laid her hand on my arm. 'But if not Sar Maram, then perhaps you, Lord Valashu. Many are saying this, that you were the first to touch the golden cup, and much of its light passed into you.'

Maram removed Jasmina's hand from my arm and stood holding her questing fingers in his. 'Val, the Maitreya? No, no — he can't be!'

'But why not?'

'Why, ah, because he just can't'. Maram paused to take a deep breath as he looked at me. 'The one you speak of, my lady, would be more like the wind than the mountains and rivers over which it blows. He would have fire in his veins, not blood. And it would be a cold fire, I think, like that of the stars. Too pure, too. . evanescent. How could such a one ever bring himself to slay his enemies or love a woman? I've seen Val's blood, you know, too many times, too bad. It's as red and hot as mine.'

At that moment, Maram's face fell rigid, and he dropped Jasmina's hand as if it were a hot coal. I turned to see Lord Harsha and Behira enter the hall. They made their way straight toward us with surprising speed, considering the lameness of Lord Harsha's smashed leg, which caused him to limp badly. Despite his age, he was still straight and sturdy, and as hard as the rocks in the fields he still plowed with his own hands. A black eye patch stood out against the long white hair that flowed from his square head; his single eye, like a black diamond, gleamed at Maram, upon whom he advanced with his hand gripping the hilt of his kalama.

'Oh, no!' Maram muttered. And then, as Lord Harsha and his daughter drew up to us, Maram called out, 'Good evening, my lord. Behira, I've never seen you look so beautiful.'

Behira, who was as plump and pretty as a well-fed swan, was dressed in a white silk gown that failed to conceal her large breasts and even larger hips. Her raven-black hair spilled over her shoulders nearly down to her waist. Her oval face, usually quite pleasant to look at, was now marred by some of the darker passions. I knew her to be generous of heart and sweet as the honey that Maram loved, but she was also quite spirited, and there was within her more than a little of her father's steel, sharpened to a razor edge.