Colors in the Dreamweaver's Loom Page 8

  Ask him for the truth, Zan signed. Ask him what would make the Khedathi reconsider conquest if we do not give them the land.

  "You have heard what the Lord of the City has said. Is it true? Would your people raise swords against my people, who bear no arms?" Karivet asked, his voice steady.

  The Khedathen stepped forward. "The Vemathi promised us land if we served them faithfully. If they break their oath, the City will fall. We entered a bargain in good faith. In honor, the lands are ours, and we would take them. If your people were to resist us, they would be hurt."

  "Is there nothing that would change your mind?" Karivet pressed.

  "My people have been promised a land where rain falls. We have served faithfully and are worth our hire. Only a decree of the gods could change our hearts." And these soft forest children will not dare to ask the gods.

  Oh, that fool! the Lord thought. What made him say that? What if they know about Windsmeet? It could slow things down.

  Winds-meet, Zan improvised, signing. Does it mean anything to you?

  A place—in the desert, Iobeh responded.

  Zan gambled. "If only a decree of the gods will stay your hands, then we will journey to Windsmeet to ask them for one. Will you agree to wait for the gods' decision?"

  There was a gasp in the hall. The Khedathen bowed. "The Khedathi will wait." Their looks belie their courage—or they are foolhardy indeed.

  The Lord's thoughts were full of consternation and distrust. "I can order no one to accompany you—it is too dangerous a journey. How will we know what the gods reply?"

  The Khedathen Belerann turned his dark eyes on the Lord. Zan heard his distaste clearly: The weasel judges all as he himself would act. "Who would dare to lie in the gods' name?"

  Honor makes them so naive, the Lord thought contemptuously. But how can we safeguard ourselves without upsetting the Khedathi? The clarity of his thoughts dissolved into a jumble of half-formed notions. Zan followed tags of anxiety, fear, surprise, wild ideas, as they jostled one another, until suddenly, relief and jubilation overrode the chaos. They're finished. It will never work—they haven't all the players. And the desert will kill them. We'll put a limit on the time ... "The Vemathi will wait a year and a day. After that, we will assume you have come to grief. It is a perilous journey to Windsmeet, as you surely know." And if that is not certain enough, a slimy insinuation whispered, we can make it so. There are ways to be sure—and the desert is a wide and lawless place.

  Zan felt sick. What had she gotten herself and her friends into? But she was trapped. "A year and a day," she repeated. "That seems fair enough, if you will undertake to outfit us for the journey."

  "Certainly, certainly." They'll go; thank the gods. I'm safe. "Efiran will provide whatever you need. And now, if there is nothing more, may I suggest that we adjourn?"

  As Zan and the others bowed to him, she caught a stray thought—Efiran's. I hope the Lord has not miscalculated. They are remarkable; they might succeed. And who is the stranger, anyway?

  NINE

  When the three returned to their rooms in Efiran's house, they held a council of their own. Zan relayed as much as she could remember of the Lord of the City's thoughts. The twins looked grave.

  "What do you suppose he meant by 'all the players'?" Karivet asked.

  Zan shook her head. "I don't know. I'm afraid I've gotten us into a terrible mess. I should never have tried to match wits with them. I fear we'll all suffer for my mistakes."

  You did the best you could, Iobeh soothed. We would have been worse off without you.

  "I don't know, Iobeh." Zan sighed. "Maybe we should have told them they could have the lands. That's apt to be the outcome, judging from the Lord's thoughts. He called the desert a vast and lawless place—that sounds as though he won't stop at a little careful murder. If we just gave in and did what he wanted, at least we'd be able to go home and warn the others."

  "The Lord has miscalculated at least once. The fact that we are here at all shows that the Lord's scheming is not always successful," Karivet pointed out. "And from what you said, Efiran fears this may be another mistake. We mustn't give up hope."

  Before Zan could respond, there was a tap at the door and Vihena burst in, her eyes wide. "I just heard the news," she blurted. "You can't go to Windsmeet! It's deep in the desert, in the heart of Khedathi lands. If the desert doesn't finish you, the Wild Khedathi will—they don't tolerate interlopers. Whatever made you offer to go?"

  "What would you have us do?" Zan demanded.

  Give up, give in, go home. "I don't know. I guess there wasn't anything else you could do if you're determined to keep the Khedathi out of your lands. But it's such a long throw—there isn't much chance you'll survive the desert."

  "Thank you for being so encouraging, Vihena," Zan retorted.

  "I'm sorry. It's just that I don't want to see you come to grief."

  "If we're out in the middle of the desert, you won't see it," Zan snapped.

  Iobeh clutched her arm. You've hurt her. Please don't be unkind.

  I suppose it isn't any of my business, Vihena thought sadly. I wish they liked me; they might understand me.

  At Vihena's wistfulness, contrition washed through Zan. "Forgive me," she said, suddenly studying her feet. "I'm angry at myself for suggesting the idea, but that's no reason to lash out at you." She looked up abruptly and met Vihena's eyes. "I've tangled this skein badly, I fear. Everyone acts as though we know what we're getting into, but we don't. I was desperate and it was all I could think of. I don't know the first thing about the desert, or the Wild Khedathi, whatever they are—or the gods, for that matter! All I know is that the Lord of the City expects us to fail and the Khedathen Belerann thinks we're fools—brave, but fools. I should never have tried to be so clever," she muttered.

  Vihena looked appalled. Dear gods. It's worse than I thought. "You could go home," she suggested. "Just go and not come back."

  Zan smiled sadly but shook her head. "Believe me, that has occurred to me, but we can't. If we give in and let the Khedathi have their lands now, it will only get worse. The forest will be eaten away until there is nothing left, unless we do something." Zan turned to the twins. "I should send you home. There's no reason for you to suffer for my ill-advised attempts at negotiation."

  Their expressions were mulish. If she says we're just children, I'll shake her, Karivet thought.

  "But I don't suppose you'd go," Zan added with a rueful smile and a feeling of overwhelming relief.

  And you don't want us to, Iobeh signed.

  What a coil, Vihena thought. "Look, I'm going with you."

  "But your father—" Zan protested.

  "My father!" There was such a tangle of intense feeling behind the words that Iobeh winced, and Zan felt a sudden surge of kinship with her. "Look at me! With my face I should have been born a boy. Then I could head the House. A girl ought to be beautiful, or at the least biddable. I'm wayward and unpredictable. I've done my best to learn the Khedathi Discipline—Khehaddi says I'm good, and she knows. But that doesn't matter here. I'm an embarrassment to my House, and the best I have to hope for is my parents' fond tolerance. Think of it: living with them for the rest of their lives, or as the maiden aunt in my sister's household. Even my father's wealth won't find me a husband—the good Houses are too selective, and my father is so proud he thinks anyone not of a major House is trying to scramble out of the gutter. There is nothing for me here; in my father's world I have no value. If you'd only let me go with you, I could do something worthwhile." She gripped Zan's arm and shook it slightly. "Please—let me go with you. Let me at least put my training to some use." Her eager face contorted painfully. "It was a cruel god who put my spirit in this City-bound body! I should have been born in the desert."

  "I shouldn't let you come," Zan said, distressed. "It seems disloyal to Efiran."

  "Disloyal!" Vihena snorted. "He would think you a fool for such scruples. He has his own kind of honor, but he would poison you
in an instant if the Lord asked him to."

  It took Zan a moment to recover from the shock; then she turned to the twins. What do you think? Should we let her come?

  Both of them nodded.

  "All right, Vihena. If you're sure you want to come with us, we'd be happy to have you."

  A tremendous, relieved smile lit the girl's face. "You won't regret it. But not a whisper to my family—they would prevent it if they knew." She rose to go.

  "Vihena, wait! Besides the desert, are there dangers attached to seeking for the gods at Windsmeet?"

  She shrugged. "It's always perilous for mortals to confront the gods. I know of nothing more specific. I must go—I'm late for my sparring match."

  "Well, thank you," Zan murmured to her retreating back. Then she turned to Karivet. "Perhaps you could tell us something." She heard his shuddering denial and suppressed a sigh. "Never mind. I'm sure we can find out somehow."

  "No, wait. I'll do it. Ask me." But please, please, let it be the right question.

  Hesitantly, listening for his change of mind, Zan took his hands and looked into his eyes. She thought for a long moment, trying to frame the right question. "Karivet, how do we seek the gods at Windsmeet?"

  "At Windsmeet, a party with representatives of every kindred may call upon the gods, and one of the divine company is constrained to answer them."

  Zan released his hands. "Every kindred? Like Vemathi, Orathi, Khedathi?" As the twins nodded, something the Lord had thought snapped into place. "'All the players.' Oh no."

  "We need a Khedath," Karivet said grimly.

  And a shapeshifter, Iobeh signed.

  As if their thoughts had summoned her, the shapeshifter appeared at the door. "There is a Khedathen here to see you. He gives his name as Remarr. Will you see him?"

  "Yes. Thank you."

  The shapeshifter went out again without speaking. Zan watched her go, the spark of an idea brightening in her mind.

  A few minutes later, Remarr was shown in. He bowed politely as Zan introduced him to the twins, but she sensed a shadow behind his cordial manner.

  He's worried about us, Iobeh supplied.

  With reason, I fear, Zan returned. Then she noticed that Remarr was watching their hands with interest.

  So that's how they communicate with the little mute one. I should have thought of that. "I have heard a rumor that troubles me. In the City they are saying that you are going to Windsmeet. Is it so? And why?"

  Karivet answered him. "Yes, it is true. The Khedathen Belerann told us it would take a decree of the gods to keep the Khedathi out of our lands. We're going to ask them for one."

  "You cannot realize how dangerous it is," Remarr said urgently.

  "We know that no one expects us to survive," Zan told him, managing to keep her voice level and matter-of-fact.

  He looked taken aback. "And you're going anyway? 'Tsan, haven't you any sense?"

  "Sense! If I had any sense, I never would have left my car on the interstate." The sudden memory was disorienting, and the English words car and interstate jarred in her ears. The bafflement she saw on the others' faces helped to jolt her mind back to the present. "What other choice is there, Remarr? Where I come from, there were—oh, generations ago—people like the Orathi, who lived in vast forests. Then my people came. They took their lands, cleared the forests, razed their villages. None of them are left. Iroquois, Seneca, Huron, Onondaga, Mohawk—all gone, the forests destroyed, the land poisoned. Perhaps if those people had had someone to send to the gods, the present would wear a different face, one less bleak for my people."

  In the silence her words left, Zan heard the minstrel's thoughts clearly: Brave hearts. I am shamed. She dropped her gaze, suddenly ashamed of herself for hearing what he worked so hard to conceal. As she closed her mind to his thoughts, he spoke. "If you must go, then I will go with you."

  "Now why would you do a senseless thing like that?" Zan asked, striving to regain the bantering tone she associated with Remarr.

  He looked up with a lurking smile. "It will annoy Hobann."

  The absurdity of his reasoning and the mischief in his eyes made her laugh. "That hardly seems sufficient cause," she responded.

  "Well, it will. Besides, I might be of some use. I grew up in the desert. I can guide you to Windsmeet—I even know where there is water. And if the journey is too boring, I can sing."

  That was said with such drollness, it made them all laugh. I like him, Iobeh signed. Tell him yes.

  Karivet spoke. "Iobeh says she likes you. So if you are really fool enough to come with us, you are welcome."

  Remarr looked at Zan uncertainly. She looked back. "Will Hobann send people after you if you disappear?"

  "No. He does not own me, much as he thinks he should. I go and come as I please."

  "Come, then," Zan said. "We'll be glad of your company." He nodded. "You know, I didn't come over here solely to offer meddling advice and to entangle myself in your business. It also occurred to me that you all might enjoy a tour of the City—a real tour, not just trailing about after Efiran of Moirre. What do you think?"

  Iobeh leapt up. Yes!

  "Let's!" said Karivet and Zan together.

  Remarr smiled at Iobeh. "This," he said, making the sign for yes, "means yes?"

  She nodded. Yes, yes, yes! she signed exuberantly.

  "My people have a hand-speech. Perhaps I can learn yours."

  Iobeh grinned. It will give us something else to do when we are bored, she signed. Karivet translated, matching signs to words as he spoke.

  "Indeed it will," Remarr agreed. Then with a bow to shame all courtiers, he took Iobeh's arm. "My lady, shall we go?"

  So they went. Remarr proved an interesting guide, showing them parts of the City they never would have guessed existed. They spent quite some time on the waterfront, watching the little fishing boats. The twins had never seen a boat larger than the skin coracles their people used occasionally; the fishing boats were wooden, with one sail and room for about three crewmembers. Zan was surprised there were no larger boats, but when she asked about it, Remarr told her that wood was very scarce around the City. The boats were big enough to serve; larger boats would be wasteful.

  They also went to the Street of the Artisans. There they saw a weaver whose wares were nowhere near as fine as Eikoheh's, a woodcarver who made figurines so realistic that one expected them to move, and a potter whose graceful vessels seemed to grow out of the clay on his wheel. They watched a glassblower, fascinated by his craft, but they spent the most time with a silversmith who fashioned an intricate brooch with a tiny hammer and a delicate pair of tongs. As he worked, Zan looked at his tools—tongs, chisels, hammers, others for which she had no names—and an idea occurred to her.

  She leaned toward Remarr and whispered, "Would it be possible for me to get a hammer and one of those—" She pointed to the chisels, and when he thought the word, she took it out of his mind. "Chisels?"

  He shrugged. "Varak? Can you spare a chisel and one of your hammers?"

  The smith looked up. "I dare say. Four kessi?"

  "Gods, man, I don't want jeweled ones, just plain for everyday. Two."

  The man laughed. "Ah, Singer, I know you—you'd dicker all afternoon, keeping an honest jeweler from his trade, if I let you. Two, then."

  Coins changed hands, and the jeweler wrapped the tools in a square of rough cloth. Then he went back to his work. Remarr gave the bundle to Zan, waving away her thanks. Though she heard his curiosity, he did not voice his question, for which Zan was grateful. She wasn't ready to explain her plan yet.

  The afternoon passed quickly. Finally Remarr steered them in the direction of Efiran's house. As they turned onto one of the wide streets leading to the residential district, they came upon a group of Khedathi guards.

  "Will you look at this?" one of them, a lean woman with a wolfish smile, asked. "At last Hobann's minstrel has found an occupation that truly suits his temperament: nursemaid."

 
; Better nursemaid than butcher, Remarr thought, but he spread his hands and spoke meekly. "As you see, Edevvi, as you see."

  What a spineless worm he is. "Well, you're not even very good at that, if you intend to let these children go off into the dry lands by themselves. Or perhaps you intend to go along?"

  "Now why would I do a senseless thing like that?" he asked, with a twinkle at Zan.

  "Why, indeed," the one called Edevvi retorted. Comfortloving coward. "Stupid of me even to suggest it."

  He shrugged. "As you say, Edevvi." He answered her sharp glance with one of such blandness that she let the comment pass, and the guards went their way with sniggers and snide looks. Remarr watched them go. Gods, I hate them! he thought, but when he spoke, it was with his self-deprecatory smile. "I told you I was a coward. And please, don't say anything bracing. I am used to myself, and I can't bear well-meaning pity."

  Zan closed her mind, again feeling guilty for eavesdropping. After a moment's silence, she asked, "How far is it to Windsmeet? How many days' journey?"

  "On foot? A month, maybe two. Why?"

  "The Lord said Efiran would provision us. I need to know how much food we should take. Should I ask for horses?"

  Remarr shook his head as they turned up the little street leading to Efiran's house. "They are thirsty beasts; the water holes I can show you are too small. As for food," he said with a shrug, "we'll probably have to do some hunting. I don't think we can carry enough, even if Efiran is paying for it."

  They paused at the steps of Efiran' s house, and Zan clapped Remarr on the shoulder. "Just don't forget your harp. We're counting on those songs."

  He gave her an unreadable look, which turned into a rueful smile when he spoke. "No fear." He started away, waving to them all. Before they even had a chance to thank him, he was gone.

  TEN

  Over the next few days, Efiran was very helpful. He gathered things they would need, including a small, lightweight tent, white robes like those the Wild Khedathi wore, and a set of compact cooking utensils. The food he provided was chiefly dried stuff, nourishing but not heavy, and a great deal of it. One afternoon, when Zan was sorting through some things with him, he asked her whether she needed anything else. Zan had been hoping for such an opening.