Carol Berg - THE SOUL WEAVER

Ven’Dar let loose a powerful offensive that engaged Karon’s full attention, then dodged a deadly stroke that split the ancient Preceptors’ table with a flash of blue fire. One of the Dar’Nethi observers grabbed my arms from behind and tried to drag me away, but I shook loose and stayed close.

“Think, Karon! Someone wants Gerick dead, and Ven’Dar dead, and wants you to be responsible - for then you’ll be as good as dead, too.”

Another blow and Ven’Dar staggered backward. Karon wiped the sweat from his face with a bloody sleeve, and walked slowly around the table. “The Destroyer will not escape me this time. Not like the day he murdered Gar’Dena.”

Another blow and Ven’Dar’s sword clattered across the floor, and Karon had the Preceptor backed up to a toppled half of the long table. His sword point rested at the older man’s heart vein. “Not this time, Dieste.”

“Do it, D’Natheil - Father,” said Gerick’s voice from Ven’Dar’s lips, cold, unconcerned. “It’s what you’ve wanted for four years. She can’t see what you see. You know who I am because you’ve been closer to me than any mundane woman, even my mother, could ever be. If you don’t do it, then you’ll see all of them dead, including this pitiful relic you’ve chosen to lick your boots.”

I would not allow this. “Listen to me, Karon. Once, very long ago in Martin’s drawing room, you swore that you’d never seen my match when it came to solving puzzles, and that if ever you were to wager your life on a riddle, you would ask me to solve it. So. The time has come. Place your wager.”

Karon’s body was alive with rage, and no more than the weight of a hair would press his sword point into Ven’Dar’s flesh. But he held back.

I forced everything I believed about our son into my words… everything I believed about Karon’s true heart… about our love, our family, our history… everything and anything that might reach him through the armor of D’Natheil’s anger. “That day at the Ravien Bathhouse, why did Gar’Dena turn the knife on himself once Gerick left him? How was it even possible? Those the Lords possess are left mindless. You have seen it in Zhev’Na and here in Avonar. They can’t eat; they can’t pull on a boot; they can’t breathe. They die. You told me the vessel died because once the Lords had used them they didn’t know how to live any more. So how was Gar’Dena able to turn his knife on himself? And why would he need to do so if the very act of Gerick’s withdrawal was his doom? What if Gar’Dena was not possessed by a Lord, but controlled by some other power? What would you have seen when that illusion was done? You would have seen Gar’Dena as himself again, not mindless at all, not dead, and you would have known the truth. And so Gar’Dena had to die. By the Lords will, certainly. Using Gerick’s soul weaving, yes.”

I pressed harder. “Is this not the same thing over again? The one who controls Ven’Dar will make sure you’ve killed your dearest friend. But this time, something is different. As surely as the sun rises, you will also kill your son, the Soul Weaver, and your own true heart will be destroyed. And who benefits? Not Gerick. Not you. Not even the Lords who intend for Gerick to inherit your power. Before you kill this man,” I said, “ask Men’Thor, Where is his son? Ny vah mordeste, es Men’Thor yanevo Radele?”

Infuriated, Men’Thor lunged forward, restrained only by two of the commanders. “How dare you - ?”

But Karon was not swayed. “Impossible! Radele has no skill to possess a man or to create the seeming of another soul. Only the Lords have that kind of power.” Karon’s words dripped with loathing. He snarled and his shoulders tensed. Blood seeped from Ven’Dar’s neck, and I had no answer but faith.

“Wait! Radele does have the power!” A young woman’s breathless voice came from the doorway. The remaining Dar’Nethi turned as one, parting enough that I could see a disheveled Roxanne who stood panting as if she’d run a race. “The same power he used to ensorcel the King of Leire!”

Paulo stood beside her, gulping and heaving. “It’s one of the rings, my lord. Roxanne says that Radele has got one of the magical rings that spins, like the one in the cave of the Source, an oculus like the ones the Lords use in Zhev’Na, but small so’s it’ll fit in your hand. Radele must be controlling everything.”

Before I could quite comprehend their meaning, Ven’Dar growled and twisted out from under Karon’s sword, lunging for his own dropped weapon that lay but an arm’s reach away. Karon was quicker. He slammed his boot into Ven’Dar’s middle. When the Preceptor curled into a ball, Karon dropped his sword and grabbed the Preceptor’s arms, calling two of his warriors to aid him. The Preceptor writhed and fought and spewed foam and spittle from his mouth.

“Hold him,” shouted Karon. “Ward him with the strongest bonds you can manage. No one - no one - is to touch his mind. And on your lives let him touch no weapon. Seri, with me!”

He ran from the room, and as I followed him, Ce’Aret and Mem’Tara rushed to Ven’Dar, who fell limp in his warders’ arms.

Men’Thor had been restrained by two warriors. He squirmed and shouted, “Madman! How dare you accuse my son - ?”

With a barked command, Karon called up the portal in the anteroom and vanished through it. I stepped after him, Paulo and Roxanne on my heels. Thunder exploded behind us. Over my shoulder, I glimpsed Men’Thor strike down his captors with a flash of fire.

I cried out a warning, but Karon was far ahead, already disappearing down a long stairway. Through galleries we sped, down wide staircases, past astonished servants, and into the warren of sloping, narrow passageways that looked increasingly familiar… the steel-banded doors… past four fallen warriors… through the iron gate and the second guardroom where other warriors lay still in pools of blood… From the prison chamber ahead came a scream… as if the victim’s heart was being torn out. Gerick.

I stood at the door of the prison chamber gaping in wonder and horror. The walls had vanished, replaced by fathomless darkness, riven by bolts of blue-and-white fire. Hanging in the center of all was a pulsing orb of lurid light, created by a small brass ring, spinning so fast that it swept every mote of light from the room and wove the light into a palm-sized universe of blinding yellow-streaked purple and gold. A particularly potent burst of lightning illuminated Radele’s smiling face. The spinning ring hovered above his palm.

Another burst of blue and white shattered the darkness and struck the orb of light. At the moment of impact, Gerick jerked and screamed again. He knelt on the stone platform in the center of the guardroom, curled in a knot, his pale, trembling fingers interlaced and cradling his head. Silver bands at his neck, wrists, and ankles were chained to the eyebolts at the corners of the platform.

“Come no closer, my lord,” said the smirking Radele. “I require you to stay where you are while we work out a settlement.”

Karon was just inside the door, trying to move closer to the stone platform. But his every forward movement caused another streak of blue lightning and another scream. Finally, with a curse, he stepped back, and the storm was stilled. “I make no settlements with the Lords of Zhev’Na or their servants.”

Gerick collapsed on the platform, shaking, his face buried in his arms.

“Oh, come now, I’m not one of the Lords. This” - Radele pointed to the magical orb spinning in his left hand - “is only a temporary device, made necessary by your infernal stubbornness. It will help us accomplish what is needed, and then… ” He shrugged.

“You think they’ll let you sever your partnership?” said Karon. “Or perhaps you believe you’re more powerful than the Lords? Or more clever? Yes, that’s it, isn’t it? So you’re a fool as well as a traitor.”