46

 

Gwin could cheerfully have stayed at the guest house for the rest of her life. The natural hot pools, the soft beds, the delicious meals served by respectful servants—all these had brought home to her the rigors of the journey just past. Ahead lay the ominous Labranza Lamith and then the long return to Tharn Valley, neither being an appealing prospect. The house itself was a crude log cabin, rude and primitive, but she could learn to live with that. The original imperial buildings had collapsed in a heap not long after the empire itself had done the same thing, Tibal Frainith had explained. Buildings often did in Raragash.

As the travelers assembled in the yard, it became obvious that the horses had enjoyed the facilities too. They were clean again and must have fed generously on oats, for even Morningstar was frisky. Hooves clattered and men swore, but the tussles were good-humored on both sides.

Gwin was just about to mount when Jasbur grabbed her arm.

“Ordur has gone!”

“Oh? When?”

“In the night! He has taken one of your horses. I will murder that bastard!”

Gwin barely managed to keep a straight face. Jasbur was a strikingly attractive woman, but she did not behave like one. She had the athletic body of a dancer, she had smoldering dark eyes and glossy hair, but she completely lacked the poise that should accompany them. She could not play the part of a beauty—which was understandable, considering that next week she might be a prize-fighter.

“Has he gone to conspire with Labranza?”

Obviously Jasbur had not thought of that possibility. She wrinkled her brow in thought. “I assumed he’d gone in search of another bed.”

“I can’t imagine why he should want to.”

Jasbur brightened. “Thank you!” She preened. “Come to think of it, neither can I, after last night.”

“There you are, Gwinim!” said Tibal, leading up his horse. “May I be your guide to Raragash this fine morning?”

“Of course!” She trusted the gangly Shoolscath in a way she could never trust Ordur, no matter who he was at the moment. That was mostly just Tibal himself—carefree and unpretentious—but it was also principle. Since Shoolscaths dared not change the future, they had nothing to gain by intrigue.

He grinned slyly. “I have something important to tell you, something you should be aware of!”

“That’s welcome news! What?”

“It will wait. Now, where is our noble Renewer?”

“If you mean me,” Bulion growled in the background, “then I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

Tibal beamed, adjusting his hat to a rakish angle. “You won’t!”

The old man thrust out his beard aggressively. “Don’t count on it! I can rearrange your future and your face at the same time.” He winked at Gwin.

As they trotted out of the yard, the Shoolscath rode on Gwin’s left, chattering cheerfully. Soon his familiarity came dangerously close to flirting. She hoped Bulion did not mind—she was enjoying Tibal’s attentions almost as much as her fresh clothes and the pleasant surroundings. She felt like a woman again, instead of a scarecrow. At their backs, the rest of the party laughed and bantered as they had not done since leaving home.

The sun shone in a sky speckled with artistic little white clouds. Raragash was beautiful, the air warm and soporific. The scenery had been breathtaking during the descent yesterday. Now trees and flowering shrubs pressed in close on either hand, but they wafted rich scents at the passersby. Although cracked by earth tremors in a few places, the paved imperial road presented no problems and was obviously being maintained. The contrast with yesterday’s bleak terrain was winter to summer. It lulled, banishing thoughts of lurking danger. Novelty and Tibal’s banter passed the time so readily that the road seemed barely to have reached the crater floor before it divided and Tibal reined in.

“Wraxal Saj! This is your turn-off. The Muolscaths’ village lies that way. They haven’t sent anyone to welcome you, but that’s only to be expected.”

The soldier glanced with no apparent interest at the smaller road winding off into the trees. “How far?”

“About an hour’s walk.”

Wraxal pulled his feet from the stirrups.

“You don’t need to walk!” Bulion roared. “Take the horse with my thanks. We are more than grateful to you for all your help.”

“Help? I did nothing for you.” Wraxal looked at Tibal. “Will I have any need for a horse here?”

“None that I can think of.”

“How far to the Jaulscaths?”

Tibal grinned. “Not very far at all.”

“Then keep your horse, Bulion Tharn.” The Muolscath dropped nimbly to the ground, handed the reins to Zanion, who was nearest, and walked away without another word. He had not even bothered to loosen the saddle girths, and Zanion dismounted to do so.

“Isn’t he just the sweetest man?” said a juvenile voice.

Gwin jumped, for it had sounded like Polion’s. It came from Tigon, the young Ogoalscath. The Tharns muttered agreement, exchanging angry glances.

“He can’t help it!” Tibal said cheerfully. “If you’re looking for a fun evening, don’t try visiting the Muolscaths. Their idea of a good time is to stare at a blank wall. Come along, children!”

As they moved off again, in much the same order as before, Gwin said, “I hadn’t realized you kept the groups so separate.”

Tibal chuckled. “It’s a zoo here, you mean? Well, it is! There’s no law, just custom. The Cursed prefer their own kind, naturally. Who would want a stone-faced Muolscath around? They themselves find other people unbearably chattery and irrational. Jaulscaths aren’t welcome anywhere and keep to themselves by choice, too. How would you like to live in a world where everyone went around shouting his innermost thoughts at the top of his voice?”

Put in those terms, segregation made sense, she supposed, but it still left her uneasy. “What exactly goes on between people like Wraxal and Jojo?”

“You mean you can’t guess? Muolscaths wither into despair without emotion. They can raise passion in other people, but not in themselves, nor in other Muolscaths. They can absorb it from Jaulscaths, though.”

“Yes, but what does the Jaulscath get out of this?”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s always nice to feel wanted.”

“Ahem!” said Bulion. “I asked Wraxal that. Crass of me, I admit.”

“And what did he say?”

“Guaranteed success every time.”

Tibal laughed. “Well, there you are! Instant frenzy! I knew there had to be some reason.”

Bulion frowned. “I thought you could help Cursed here in Raragash.”

“Some we can. Not Muolscaths. All we can do for them is pair them up with Jaulscaths, and Wraxal has already found Jojo, thanks to Gwin’s lucky inspiration.” Tibal’s eyes twinkled as if that remark meant more than it said. “Jaulscaths, yes. An untrained Jaulscath hears your thoughts and then shouts them back at you, right? You hear your own secrets, and his, and snatches from whoever else is around. They can learn to control that, especially the shouting back part.”

Gwin and Bulion exchanged thoughtful looks.

“You mean they just hear?” she said. “You don’t know they’re listening?”

Tibal smiled through her in his disconcerting way. “Absolutely correct, Gwinim Tharn. Ordur has explained the advisors to you? King Hexzion Garab, for example, employs a tame Jaulscath to tell him who’s plotting treason. Probably nobody else in his court knows what Han a’Lith is up to. Healers are in big demand, too. Where do you think all the money comes from to run this place?”

“What about you, then? I thought Shoolscaths were frightened of mind readers stealing their secrets?”

Tibal’s gaunt face tightened. “That’s why our enclave is as far from theirs as possible.”

“But what about this council you mentioned? You’re a member.”

He nodded grimly. “It’s a risk for me. Fortunately, the council meets very rarely and only respected, responsible people are elected to it. The Jaulscath on council takes an oath never to read the Shoolscath’s mind, never to reveal anything he learns from it if he does, not to act on the information, and so on. I’m not looking forward to the next meeting, though.”

“If the Jaulscath is going to betray your confidence, can’t you foresee that?”

“No I can’t! It would be me changing my future. By definition, I can never foresee that.” His angular features brightened again as another turnoff came into view. He reined in at the junction. “Awailscaths to the left! Jasbur, it’s been nice knowing you. Introduce yourself again sometime.”

Jasbur scowled at his shout, or at the uncomfortable laughs from the audience. “I want Ordur! Where is he?”

“He’s busy, and you can sheath your claws, because he’s had no time to go romancing other beauties. Vaslar?”

The former soldier rode forward, his ugly face twisted with emotion. “At least I know how to give thanks. Bulion Saj I owe you my life. You, Gwin Saj, gave me back my sanity. I shall never forget your kindness.”

His voice was close to a whine, his eyes glistened. Too much gratitude could be almost worse than none. Bulion became very gruff, contending that Vaslar had more than paid his fare on the journey, and insisting that he keep the horse. The Awailscath said goodbye to everyone individually, becoming more and more emotional until he was openly weeping. He had been a lot less demonstrative when he was a woman. Although the progressive whittling away of the company was beginning to seem almost sinister, everyone sighed with relief when he eventually rode off along the forest road, with Jasbur riding close at his side. She seemed to be trying to flirt with him again, although Gwin could not imagine why any woman would want to.

She dragged her mind back to the looming problem of dealing with Labranza Lamith, the uncrowned queen of this realm. Ordur had managed to escape the questions she would now be free to ask him—which, if her suspicions were correct, he would be unable to avoid answering. To force answers from Tibal Frainith might be close to murder. Surely, though, he could discuss the present situation in general terms? While she was framing suitable queries in her mind, he pointed out remains of marble pillars among the trees. More earthquake damage, he said.

“Looks like a palace!” Bulion remarked.

“Some of them were close to palaces.”

“But Raragash was a prison!”

“Officially. And in the old days, the very old days, that’s exactly what it was. The Cursed were herded in here and left to fend for themselves, with nothing. No tools or spare clothes, nothing! They degenerated to mere brutes. Life here was nasty indeed. Then a promising lad by the name of Losso came along.”

“The emperor?”

“The future emperor.” The Shoolscath turned an amused glance on Gwin. “I’ll read all this in a book one day—in case you’re wondering how I know it. Losso escaped, which probably wasn’t too rare, because there are ways up the cliffs. He was a very distant relative of the imperial family, and only by marriage, but he raised a rebellion and won the throne. Then he set out to improve conditions in Raragash. He founded the Academy.”

“We could use another like him in Kuolia now.”

“But where shall we look for one?” Tibal asked cryptically.

The trees ended, the road emerged into farmland. The Tharns stared around with professional interest and made envious remarks about the fertility of the soil. The town was in view ahead. It had no name. It was just, “the town.”

How many inhabitants, Bulion wanted to know.

A couple of thousand or more in the town itself, Tibal said, and several hundred more Blessed in outlying farms. With about five hundred Cursed, the crater’s total population was well over three thousand.

“Where did they all come from?” Gwin asked.

He answered with his boyish smirk. “The usual place of course! Cursed are fertile, my lady! Awailscaths never make mothers, but even they can be fathers.”

Bulion laughed and she turned her face away to hide her sudden blush. She wondered why Tibal had this strange ability to make her blush. Other men did not.

“We import Cursed and export their children,” he added. “But many stay. It must have been much more crowded in the old days. The Academy was big; all these grand homes would have held a lot of people. The empire stripped it of young men to fight the Zarda. After that it was pretty much abandoned for a while.”

She faced him again. “Did the Academy meddle in politics in the days of the empire?”

“That’s why you…” If that was a slip, Tibal recovered quickly. “That’s why I’ll be reading that book. I don’t precall that I ever do find the answer. It would have been a well-kept secret, no question. There was certainly great wealth in Raragash then, and I’ll conclude that there was at least some fatalist healing going on at the hospital. The Shoolscath turnoff is coming up, but I’ll take you on to the Hall. Labranza and I have a knockdown, tooth-and-nail donnybrook scheduled. She may not know it, but I do.”

“Who wins?”

“She does of course.” Tibal sighed. “That’s not a prophecy, that’s an inevitability.”

Gwin laughed. “Then you’d better tell us your news now, before she gets to work on you!”

“Hm? What news?”

“You said you had something important to tell us.”

He stared at her blankly. “I did? I don’t remember. I must have told you already.”

“Perhaps you did, but you’ve told us lots of things. Which one was important?”

“How should I know? I don’t remember any of them.”