Anthology - Realms of Valor

We venture quickly off the main streets and plunge into a maze of alleys I have never explored. Our route goes past tawdry wineshops and apartments of questionable purpose. A sailor, slurring out a war song I heard soldiers sing in Thesk, staggers by. He is shadowed by a lean pair of half-elves who eye me with far too much interest. A single look from my guide discourages them, and they disappear into the night. I hurry to keep pace, for the streets here are more active than I might wish.

After more twists and turns than I can remember, the servant stops at a gate. Pushing the creaking iron open, he steps aside and motions me to enter. "My mistress awaits you in the garden."

I have not been throughout Procampur, but I do know the waterfront is a crowded and dank place where one would never find gardens. Certainly I have never seen anywhere in the city a garden of the sort that now unfolds before me. The mist that washes the port is here riven to unveil a carefully tended landscape. Unwavering torches light a garden path that wanders past blooming bushes and green grass. A spring breeze warms my aching bones.

I rub my charms, half-expecting to feel the tingle that will alert me to the presence of evil. When nothing happens, I follow the lit path until it comes to a circle of carpets spread under of full-leafed willow.

The rugs are Tuigan, a weave I cannot mistake, and there are dishes and trays arranged neatly at their center. From the wooden pots and silver bowls I smell the barley-porridge odors of tsampo and the smoothness of rich yak-butter tea. There are leather bags I know are filled with kumiss, and steaming plates of greens and roots I have not seen since I was a child. It is wondrous, but because of its very strangeness I do not eat. I have heard the outlanders' stories of ensorcelled food-the snares laid by the treacherous denizens of their Realm of the Dead. Seeing no one else around, I recite a protective sutra to cleanse and purify the food. Satisfied, I gingerly dip my finger in the nearest bowl.

"Wise Koja, I mean you no harm. Please sit and eat, if you would honor my table."

I cannot help a guilty start at the words, moist finger at my lips. I feel like a novitiate caught dozing during meditation. The voice carries musical tones, light as a gong sounding the dawn prayer over high mountain slopes. The willow switches rustle, and a woman dressed in the draped robes of a Khazari noblewoman steps out of the darkness. The silks of her brilliant gown swirl gently as she moves, rippling the embroidered flowers and clouds of gold and red thread on her sleeve. Necklaces of strung silver coins hang layered around her neck, yet she carries her displayed wealth with ease.

For all her dress, she is not a dark-haired and small Khazari woman, but tall and strong. Her thin, pale face is framed with hair so long and golden that it spills down into the silver chains. Small mouth, wide eyes, and nose a trifle too long all combine in a way that transcends these little flaws until she is beautiful beyond the mere physical. Without waiting for me, she sits cross-legged on the mats and begins the meal.

While she samples the dishes, I, marveling at her arrival, test her with the Hundred Lotus sutra, one that would surely cause an evil spirit pain. When I softly chant the words, she shows no sign of having noticed. Perhaps she is not a spirit, as I first suspected. My hostess might be a powerful sorceress-though one is no less dangerous than the other.

I take a seat opposite her, not wishing to be rude but not eager to sit close. I ladle a small bowl of porridge and eat with her. The flavor is more than I held in my memories, full of fall mornings when I sat by the hearth and watched my mother stir the simmering kettle. I savor the taste, knowing the food has been purified by my sutra. Hunger, both immediate and for the things of my past, yearns to be satisfied as I eagerly pick from the other plates set before me. There are types of sweet melons I have not seen since I came among the outlanders and cabbages that only grow in the high valleys outside Manass. My hostess watches, never speaking.

"Dear lady, I must know. How did you obtain such delicacies? Such food could grace the table of a Khazari prince."

She bows slightly to acknowledge my compliment. "I have traveled many distant lands. Once you know of such foods, they are not hard to obtain."

I know this is not true, for I have tried and failed. Considerable magic is needed to gather these ingredients, still fresh, from the East. I carefully press my questions. "I am unworthy to ask, but I must know. Who are you that you are so kind to me?"

She smiles, and by it I know her answer will not be the truth. "I am a simple benefactor of scholars. I have heard of you, even in distant lands."

"By what name shall I call you?"

"None, for you will never see me after tonight."

"What is it you seek of me?" Her soft tones make me shiver, not with cold or fear, but excitement tinged with awe.

My mysterious hostess rises calmly, as if not to alarm me. "You have worked for many years on a history of the eastern raiders-the Tuigan-and now you have finished it."

My throat goes dry, and I cannot swallow. "It is almost completed."

"Now you seek a patron to print your history. Tonight you visited Duke Piniago."

My replies grow softer as my caution returns. "I made a bad judgment in doing so. The duke was not interested in my work."

She laughs like water over stones. "I understand he was all too interested, that it was you who said no. Some say you were rude to the duke, but from what I know of that boor, there must have been some cause."

"You have quick and accurate sources." I answer, wetting my mouth with a swallow of tea. "It is true I refused the duke, but only because he wished to hide the work from others. My pride is my failing, great lady. I could not accept his terms, when others might gain some small knowledge from my work."

She cocks an eyebrow at my claim. "You care so strongly to spread learning, yet you are ready to quit and go back to your homeland."

"How do you know this?" I carefully sidle away from her. The woolen carpet pulls at my robes as I move.

"My man heard you speak with your servant when I sent him to fetch you."

I do not believe her, especially while I sit in this spring garden, green like none other in Procampur. The fact that she knows this, though, only suggests further the extent of her power. Prudently, I do not challenge her lie.

"Koja of Khazari, there are some who think the world needs learning, but there are far too few who will seek it. If you give up, the world has one less seeker. Soon there would be no true scholars left, just men like Duke Piniago."

The memory of a charm slips into a corner of my mind, a way to see things as they truly are. I remember the verses and the ritual, but I need something to activate the sutra.

"I have come," my hostess continues, "to make you an offer. I am willing to be your patron, see your book printed-for a service. I, too, have an interest in knowledge." Her lips part to show the hint of white teeth as she waits for my reaction.

Kumiss, I note silently. I could trigger it with a sprinkle of kumiss. "What service would you require of me, great sorceress?" I try the tide to gauge her reaction.

She laughs again, icicles breaking into a frozen brook. "You honor me with your titles, lama. I am just a lady." She slides effortlessly across the carpets to sit by me once more. "An oath, binding and unbreakable. Will you do that?" Her eyes are fired with eagerness.

"An oath?" I dally with the kumiss bowl before me, surreptitiously dipping my finger in the white fluid. 'There is no sin in this oath?"

"Sworn of itself, it causes no ill to you or any other.

Beyond that, your fate is your own."