Angus Wells - Lords of the Sky

I set my hand firmer on his shoulder, for fear he might fling himself away into the emptiness beneath us. I said, “Is it so hard?”

He turned his face away a moment. When he looked at me again, his eyes burned. “I am gijan. You cannot know what that means.”

I shook my head. I moved to embrace him, but he waved me off, and I could only stand and hear him out. We must both shout over the wailing of the wind.

He said, “I have no name.”

I said, “You are Tezdal Kashijan. You are a Dragonmaster; and my true friend.”

He said, “I am a Dragonmaster, yes. You call me Tezdal, but I no longer own that name. I am gijan. I have no right to friendship.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he put his hand there, silencing me. “Only listen, eh?”

I nodded, and he unclamped his fingers.

He said, “You will not understand this: you cannot. You are Dhar, and though we are friends, we are still different. Different as we Dragonmasters are become to-” He waved a desperate hand, encompassing all the land below us, all the world around. “I was born and raised Kho’rabi. I took vows-you know this. And that I betrayed those vows.”

I said, ignoring his plea for silence, “In service of another. In service of this peace we’ve won.”

I wondered then how any man could smile so; or how a voice be so bereft of life.

“Yes. Is it not strange? As if the Three use me for their dice. But heed me. Daviot. I was born Kho’rabi-Dedicated-and all my life lived to that end.”

I think I sensed then where this conversation led, and again I ignored his imperative to say, “And have you not achieved that end? The Ahn come back to Kellambek now; and that was your doing, as much as mine or Rwyan’s.”

Perhaps I should not have spoken her name. Certainly I saw pain flood his face at the mention.

He said, “Retze slew herself for my disgrace; and then my parents. Now I am gijan-the clan Kashijan exists no longer because of me.” He saw my incomprehension and barked his awful laugh again. “No,” he said, and I heard the terrible weariness in his voice. “You do not understand. How should you? Only we Ahn understand that. Listen! I offer you a choice-Rwyan or Deburah. One you must forgo. Which?”

I said, “I’d not make that choice. I do not think I could.” He said, “I did.”

I saw the direction he took and gave him back, “But you’d lost your memory. You were dying; Rwyan saved you.”

He said, “And then I got back my memory and knew who I was and what I had been.”

I said, “I saw Sky Lords speak with Changed and said nothing of it. I learned the Changed communicated. I think I guessed they planned rebellion, but I said nothing. Are you steeped deeper in guilt than I?”

He said, “Are your parents alive? Is Rwyan dead?”

I had no answer for that.

He said, “It is different for me, Daviot. I knew what I was when I came to that grove in Trebizar and slew Allanyn’s people. I knew I betrayed my own people when I brought you horses and set you free. When I came with you.”

I said- No! I shrieked-“Because you’d given your word to Rwyan! Because you are an honorable man.”

“Yes.” He ducked his head. “And now my honor shows me only one way to efface my shame.”

I said, “You’ve no shame, Tezdal.”

He said, “Were I Dhar or Changed, likely I’d agree. But I am not! I was Kho’rabi, and now I am gijan. All those I loved are dead because of what I did. The clan Kashijan is disbanded for what I did.”

I said, helplessly now, “You forged peace. You gave your people back their homeland.”

I watched his lips stretch over his teeth. Inside his cloak he shrugged. “Perhaps for that the Three will forgive me. But I cannot.”

I said, “What of the future? What of us?”

He said, “I think the future’s settled now. And you?” He turned away, resting his hands on the battlements, his head lowered. “Urt’s his Lysra now; and you, Rwyan. Are you not happy?”

I said, “Yes. Save you-Tezdal!” I hunted, desperate, for such words as might dissuade him from the course I knew he took. “Might you not find another wife?”

He shook his head. He said, “In all my life I’ve loved only two women. One was Retze; the other is … not mine to have.”

I should have known it!

But I had not, and so I said, lowly, “Rwyan?”

His laughter disputed the wind’s howling. “Could you not see it?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“She does,” he said. “She knows it and loves you. And she’ll not leave you.”

I had no words for this. Only a numbing dread of what might follow. I had been as blind as any man in love; and as much stupid.

“So.” Tezdal turned from his contemplation of the ramparts’ stone to face me. “Shall we fight for her? Shall you slay me, or I slay you? Might that secure me her love?”

I said, “Tezdal, I’d not fight you.”

He said, “Nor I you. Nor should it win me more than her hate. So …”

I said, “What of Peliane?”

He said, “Dragons live after their masters. How else are we here? Bellek’s gone, no? She’ll mourn me a while, but she’s you and Rwyan and Urt now. And likely there shall be other Dragonmasters found ere long, now that we’ve forged our Great Peace. Do I betray her, Daviot? If so, then it’s only one more betrayal to my account. And I cannot live longer with this pain! I tell you true-I cannot.”

He shed his cloak then, and I saw what he wore beneath: the blades of a Kho’rabi knight. The kachen and the dagger, and I knew with a ghastly surety what he intended and what he’d ask of me. I staggered back, shaking my head.

He said, “I’d take the Way of Honor, Daviot. Even though I am gijan and so undeserving. Did you know the Khe’anjiwha favored me? Gijan-we few!-are usually crucified. Upside down, Daviot. Had you not needed me to interpret, I’d long ago have hung head down on a tree, with all who passed spitting on my face. Or worse. Listen to me!” This because I backed away, and shook my head, and pushed out my hands to reject the duty he gave me. “Listen to me! I shall die. Like Bellek, do you not prove your friendship. But I should sooner do this with what honor’s left me. As if I were still Kho’rabi. Perhaps that shall placate the Three, and they grant my soul peace.”

“No!”

I did not recognize my own voice. It sounded like the wind’s wailing. It sounded like the mourning of the dragons. I did not know it came out from between my lips. Inside my head I felt the dragons stir; and Rwyan and Urt.

I staggered back until cold stone denied me further retreat. But Tezdal advanced still, and still his hands held out the burden of friendship’s duty.

He said, “As you love me, friend.”

His eyes allowed no other choice: I took the blade and asked him, “What must I do?”

He said, “This should be done with Attul-ki attending. Or at least Kho’rabi knights. But … you wait until I’ve opened the Way, and then use the sword on my neck.”

I said, “Is there truly no other way?”

And he shook his head. “No. Neither would I ask this of any other. Only of my truest friend.”

He clasped my hand, and there was such longing in his eyes, I could only nod through my tears and slide the sword from its sheath as he knelt and loosed the fastenings of his tunic and shirt and slipped the garments off, so that his torso was bared to the wind and the cold. And his neck to the sword I held. It shone in the failing light. It rested heavy in my hands: heavy as the weight on my soul.

I said, “I am not sure I can do this, Tezdal.”

He said, “As you love me, you can.”

And then, before I might argue further or throw down the sword and run away, he drew his dagger and sank the blade deep into his belly. He made no sound as he cut, but I saw the agony on his face as his lips contorted in denial of the pain. And in his eyes a terrible relief as he found his Way of Honor.