The 16th Summer of Daq Jaddarra

"Twenty-Five? Twenty-five?" the great-bellied merchant Fadab fluted like a eunuch. "Surely,that must be your price for this entire lot of cloth. In which case I might be interested—slightly."

"The ghosts of my ancestors would be laughed out of paradise," replied Suulemaion. "It is only because you are an old friend that I offer this fine Dwazian silk at only twenty-five for each bolt."

"Silk? The trickster who sold you this claimed it was silk?"

Oblivious of the heavy-handed sun, Suulemaion and Fadab had already sweated their way through hours of unmanly haggling over the prices of blankets, cooking utensils, medicinal herbs—with jewelry, spices and several precious kegs of Baaj wine still to come. I sweated with them. Suulemaion had sworn he could not afford my wages until he'd made a sale. I'd sworn I'd not leave his side tillI'd been paid. Since in town I was to be his bodyguard, that did not distress him.

•

I had met the intrepid but stingy caravaneer in the Kug, that vast, arid emptiness men call the Wilderness at the Heart of the World. That mighty desert occupies the center of the world's largest continent, separating its great civilizations and, thus, keeping them from destroying one another.I had entered from the North, pursued by a troop of angry cavalry, even though the duel in which their captain died had been an honorable one. Soon after losing the cavalry, I lost my horse. Threeextremely honorable days later, I crawled into an oasis. There were a few scrawny date palms whosetreasures I gobbled, after which I laid waste to the population of lizards and spiders.

A few evenings later, I bade farewell to my depleted haven, heading south. I'd been walking several hours when I met Suulemaion's scouts, two grizzled men of the same temperament and aroma as their camels. I greeted them without unseemly enthusiasm: a young warrior out stretching his legs. Thescouts, after all, were the ones who were lost; making an east-west crossing, they'd passed south of the oasis.

I led them back to it. They refreshed themselves, then their mounts; offered their thanks; struck me with a rock and grabbed hold of me with intentions of using me as a boy.

In the morning, I rode east. When I found the caravan, I presented their heads to Suulemaion, along with an honest account of their failings, and offered myself as their replacement. The hawk-nosed caravaneer scratched his thin beard, squinted up at me and said, "So young, so large, so serious...can you find the city of Jemot?" I said I could, which was not exactly an untruth; my grandfather had been there once.

This was in my 16th summer, when I knew I could do anything.

For seven weeks we trekked westward. It was my duty to find oases before we ran dry and bandits before they found us. I have a nose for water—since childhood, I'd come down to the Kug when I needed to be alone. And my grandfather had taught me that when desert scum are awakened by the sound of a Jaddarran war cry and the sight of a howling Jaddarran whirling a reddened blade over their recently retired leaders, they will hurry off to ply their trade elsewhere.

•

Nothing about the Kug—save the absence of women—was as torturous as the bargaining in Jemot. The spot where the caravaneer and the merchant were happily arguing and roasting was not 100 paces from the gate of Fadab's walled garden, a tract only slightly larger than the village I'd been born in. Set high on the slopes of a verdant valley, looking down on the city proper, the densely planted paradise surrounding Fadab's enormous villa was cooled by brooks and spring-fed ponds and scented by 100 varieties of flowers. But no trader was invited to sample its delights until prices had been sweated out.

As hawk nose and great belly engaged in improbable speculations about the genealogy of the silk, Iattempted to shut out their jabber by dreaming of how far my wages would take me. Suulemaion wanted me to continue escorting his caravan through the western towns as far as Chogo, the wealthiest port on the Western Sea. But I'd left home to enjoy the world, not to nursemaid camels. I had yet to taste the notorious pleasures of the South, yet to see the awesome citadels of the East with their fabled——My reverie was broken as the garden gate swung open.

A curtained litter emerged, carried by a pair of squat, copper-colored M'ddrrggs and guarded by two more. All were naked except for their weapons, with shaved heads, ritually scarred faces and ritually mutilated genitals. They came to a halt at a respectable distance, the thickly muscled bearers holding the litter as steadily as though it were set into a pair of miniature stone monsters.

Fadab excused himself with a weak grin and waddled to the litter. After a whispered conference with its occupant, he clapped. One of the stone monsters came to life and fetched the more ornate silks.

The curtains parted the width of a snake's tongue. Each bolt was perused. One, sea green shot through with silver threads, was satisfactory.

Fadab burbled approving noises, then began laboriously conveying himself back toward us. Behind him, the litter's curtains suddenly billowed open—enormous green-gray eyes, rich-lipped wide mouth, honey-dark ringlets cascading over golden skin——The curtains closed on my breeze-blown gift.

Except there had been no breeze.

My n'gurga hardened fiercely.

"For that bolt, twenty-five," lamented Fadab. "I can refuse my precious wife nothing."

Suulemaion held up a solicitous hand. "Please. That bolt is my gift." He smiled sincerely. "It is these others that are twenty-five apiece."

•

"A man reaches an age when a young bride can make him exceedingly"—Suulemaion glanced at the merely pretty slave girls attending and spying on us—"generous."

"Does not his generosity incite the rest of his harem?" I asked, accepting a pear from a girl who brushed my arm with her merely ostentatious d'lalls.

"There is no harem. Fadab has never——" Suulemaion stopped short and dismissed the slaves. They disappeared along one of the cunningly contrived paths that twisted through Fadab's private jungle. Except for a tiny, caged golden bird that trilled soothing melodies, we were now alone in the small, lavishly pillowed pavilion where, to celebrate the consummation of our commerce and to render us fit to have into the main house for supper, we'd been bathed, oiled and pampered. When I'd declined as much pampering as the slave girls offered, Suulemaion had steered the conversation to our host's bride.

"Fadab has never felt the need for more than one wife," he continued. "His true passion is bargaining; his true delight, wealth. There were only two previous wives. Both barren. Both summoned to paradise at an early age."

I was seized by a vision of her suffocating beneath——

Suulemaion coughed tactfully. I followed his gaze down to my hand. Crushed pear oozed between my fingers.

"Overripe," I muttered.

"It's the climate," he offered.

It is, I suddenly knew, that she needs me. She needs me. The golden bird sang its rapturousagreement.

The bird fell silent as a M'ddrrgg materialized in front of the pavilion. He was carrying a small bronze casket. He grunted respectfully, set the casket down before Suulemaion, folded his arms and turned back into stone.

Suulemaion instructed him to leave us. The M'ddrrgg uttered what I took to be a protest—no language finds a comfortable home on a M'ddrrgg's ritually mutilated tongue. (All that ever comes out is m'ddrrgg.) Suulemaion assured the stony little man that we could find our way in to supper.The M'ddrrgg made what was doubtless a polite reply and vanished.

The casket held the payment for the day's sale: a small pile of silver coins and some thin slabs of gold. I said it didn't look like much.

"If you'd paid attention," Suulemaion pointed out with infinite charity, "you'd remember I'm to select part of my payment from the goods in Fadab's storing-houses. In fact, if you were to take your wages in goods instead of——"

I snorted and held out my hand. Suulemaion shrugged and counted coins into my palm as reluctantly as if they were his children.

While Suulemaion busied himself secreting the remainder of the precious metals in pouches and belts beneath his robes, I reached up and opened the golden bird's cage.

•

As we approached Fadab's three-story villa, I only dimly noted its desperate splendor, the late-afternoon sun glinting along its gilded tiers of sloping roofs fancifully dotted with terraces and turrets.

Inside, nothing about the fabulously appointed feasting hall merited a second glance, not even theimmense Dwazian carpet with its intricately woven map of the world. Suulemaion swore that traversing that carpet required a camel and two days' water. I floated across, levitated by the pleasurable ache that sang through me: I was concentrating so hard on controlling my n'gurga that mydesire seemed to seek expression at every extremity from teeth to toes.

On the other side of the world carpet, set into the far wall, was an immense curved niche proportioned like an altar of a major deity. Three broad steps led up to it. Ensconced on an upholstered throne as wide as a dock was the regally robed and bejeweled behemoth who'd spent his day arguing the price of pots and pans. (continued on page 120)Daq Jaddarra(continued from page 116) Standing alongside was the woman who needed me.

She was just five feet in height, though next to Fadab she appeared no larger than one of those household fetishes devout lowlanders carry about. Her face was half veiled. The rest of her was swathed in just enough layers of sheer silk to obscure the delights they closely outlined. What littleof her flesh showed was flawless, lustrous, in tone the same muted gold as the famed war horses of Ibdossa. But what fed my fever were those green eyes flecked with icy gray—alive, intent, amused as Suulemaion began spouting preposterous salutations.

I have since heard emperors petitioned with greater dispatch. Not to be outdone, Fadab testified in a sensitive whine to the divine benevolence that led us to grace his humble tent, surely the honor of this and any other of his lifetimes. His speech began to put me in mind of the three days inthe Kug after my horse died; I ceased being able to make out the meaning of any of his words—until I saw a huge, doughy hand descend upon her shoulder....

"The succor of an unworthy husband's declining years, a daughter of the isle of Kytra and of the Kytrarch Witanor, that greathearted lord of the sea whose ships are more numerous than a virgin's fears, k-huk k-huk"—he made the damp, clotted sound that was his laugh—"and dear as a daughter to me, my only wife, Witana."

Witana.

Witana inclined her head and murmured an islander's cautious greeting, her voice a trickle of warmnectar: "May the solace the weary traveler finds in our harbor equal the joy he brings. Welcome, Suulemaion of Kesseria. Welcome, Daq Jaddarra."

It was as though I'd never heard my name before.

Slaves carried in gleaming porphyry tables. The largest was set before Fadab. Others, at which we were seated, were set one step down and to his left. Witana sat on the right arm of Fadab's throne.

There were courses more numerous than a husband's self-deceptions. Wines rarer than a discreet lover. I kept my distance from the grape. Like many young men, I was embarrassed by not being able todown as much wine in an evening as a lifelong drunkard could. Given the opportunity, I would usually attempt to drown my embarrassment and end up multiplying it. This night, I often placed a hand over my flagon when slaves offered to refill it.

There was also an opulent flow of entertainments. Dancers, jugglers, a fire-eater, a pair of married dwarfs who quarreled and merrily beat each other with staves. Each was rewarded according to how well the master had been pleased. Out of the corners of their eyes, slave girls sized up performers, calculating the chances of separating each from his coins. I had a dishonorable thought aboutthe dwarf and the slave girl with the ostentatious d'lalls.

"Look how contemplative the battles of our tiny friends have made young Daq," Fadab roared, besotted k-huk k-huk k-huks bubbling up from his vast innards. "Perhaps he realizes for the first time the terrors a husband faces."

My cheeks burned at this insult to Witana.

Suulemaion thumped me. "From what I've seen, Daq fears nothing of this world," he proclaimed. Withtipsy enthusiasm, he related the grisly circumstances of our first meeting, then poetically detailed the slight carnage resulting from my midnight raids on bandit camps. Witana cast down her eyes.But her breathing deepened.

So did Fadab's. "Chogo!" he burped. "That is why the goddess summoned you from the Wilderness at the Heart of the World, in this of all years!"

Suulemaion paled. "The boy is not meant for Chogo. I did not know this was the tenth year, on my oath."

Curious. Suulemaion had urged me to ride with him as far as Chogo. Now he was against it—and referring to me as a boy. In my deepest voice, I said, "Neither Chogo nor its goddess is any concern of mine."

Fadab smirked. "Have you never heard of the Selecting? Can this be?"

"It can."

Fadab smiled benignly. "My dear Daq, Chogo is ruled by a high priestess. She cannot have a husbandbut must have a daughter to inherit her domain. So once every ten years comes the divine Selecting of an appropriate sire."

"In the arena," muttered Suulemaion. "In the gladiators' pit, where Chogoans wager on slaves and animals."

"No, no; in this highest of holy festivals, only highborn and free men may fight. The winner, dear Daq, is rewarded with his weight in gems and gold. And after his wounds heal, he is anointed consort for three years. I think—no, the devil with thought; I feel, I vow by my sacred gift for predicting the main chance—you are to be selected! Think, dear Daq, of the wealth—think of the glory—think, k-huk k-huk, of the favors of a high priestess."

"I am thinking, noble host, that you would very much like to be a friend of the consort and, thus,of the woman who rules Chogo."

"Suulemaion," Fadab brayed, "you did not tell me he was as keen as he is valiant! Yes, Daq, like yourself, I wish to go as far in this world as I can—and by your insight, you've convinced me more than ever that you are destined to be selected! I would be honored beyond reason if you'd permit me to equip you with the finest of arms, engage a gladiatorial slave to teach you all the tricks, provide——"

"Many thanks, Fadab of Jemot. I cannot accept."

"What a shame to deny the will of the goddess," Fadab pouted. "Not to mention her gold."

"When my grandfather taught me what he knew of the blade, he made me swear to use it honorably. Not to kill where there is no quarrel. Not for the amusement of the mob."

Fadab studied me for a moment, then nodded gravely. "He was wise, most wise.... Now," he announced with abrupt good cheer, "you must taste some of the exquisite Baaj that Suulemaion has carried so far at so great a cost, k-huk k-huk."

Golden chalices were set before us. A steward solemnly filled them from a golden amphora. I did not taste any reason for the wine's ruinous price. (Today, if I could lay hands on a single keg of that vintage....)

While Suulemaion and Fadab discussed the Baaj in terms sorcerers reserve for their most arcane potions, slaves began rolling back the world carpet. Witana whispered excitedly to one of her handmaidens. Fadab noticed and patted her head.

"Yes," he crooned, "the spotted one."

There are no man-eating cats on her home island, which explained—perhaps—Witana's gleeful anticipation of being indoors with a leopard. After a majestic fanfare, the beast was led into the hall by a tall, gaunt, hollow-eyed Nork. He controlled the cat with only a lead chain and a short whip, the sound of which seemed to frighten the long-toothed killer. Should whipcracks prove insufficient, the Nork's apprentice, an oiled dandy, stood ready with a stout spear.

Before long, I decided the spear was to impress the audience rather than the leopard, which willingly performed such tricks as children teach their dogs. But the Nork was a canny showman; each succeeding trick was at once more whimsical and more dangerous than the last. By the time he put the leopard's paws on his shoulders and led it in a clumsy dance, Witana was (continued on page 140)Daq Jaddarra(continued from page 120) laughing so heartily moisture sparkled around her eyes; they would never believe this on Kytra. Having provoked such laughter, the Nork brought us to rapt silence by ending his performance with his head between the beast's jaws.

Witana led the applause. The Nork casually acknowledged his due. Witana murmured in Fadab's ear. He shook his head. Witana drew one of her perfect hands along his jowl and caressed his chins. Fadab emitted a ponderous wet sigh.

"You there, valiant Nork. My little treasure wishes to touch the spotted one."

The Nork nodded, looked frankly into the eyes of the woman who needed me and beckoned to her.

Witana took a deep breath. As she moved slowly toward the cat, her silks whispered lush promises. When she reached the leopard, the Nork motioned for her to hold out a hand. The leopard sniffed suspiciously, then with interest, then licked. A light shudder passed through Witana. The cat luxuriously rubbed its head against her palm. Her fingers curled in the fur behind its ear. Blood dancedin my chest in rhythm with flickering torchlight.

A soft trill came from the rafters. The leopard's attention snapped upward. Witana stumbled back, quickly regained herself. The cat made a noise deep in its throat.

A tiny golden bird fluttered noisily from the rafters, circled the hall and came to rest on Witana's shoulder. She stroked it reassuringly.

The leopard went for the bird. The Nork bellowed, yanking the chain. The leopard snarled and twisted backward, taking an annoyed swipe. The Nork fell, opened from chest to thigh. He died looking at his dinner and his h'benkas on the floor before him.

There were screams, people scrambling, falling. Witana stood frozen. The Nork's apprentice jabbed timidly. The leopard snapped at the spearhead. The apprentice threw. The spear passed well over the cat and pierced a M'ddrrgg.

I edged toward Witana, as did another M'ddrrgg, his short-sword drawn, from the other side. The only other armed men in the room were the two M'ddrrggs behind whom Fadab crouched, a hand clamped on each.

The leopard faked a charge at the fleeing apprentice, then wheeled. Its eyes locked on the bird, piping hysterically and flitting in tight circles around Witana. The leopard bunched its muscles.

We leaped. In mid-air, I hit its flank, knocking it sideways. I heard a tearing sound as fire shotacross my shoulder.

The leopard came down on the M'ddrrgg. The short-sword rattled across the floor as crushing jaws found the man's throat. Blood fountained from the sides of the cat's mouth. It shook the M'ddrrgg to make sure he was dead, then proudly shook him some more. I slammed a porphyry table down on its skull.

The stone table cracked. The leopard staggered back, howling, but kept its feet. Its right eye wascrushed. It snarled, showing shattered fangs. Its left front leg spasmed uncontrollably as it circled to find me with its good eye.

I turned with it, keeping between it and Witana. I saw Fadab backing toward a doorway, clutching his human shields. Suulemaion had gotten hold of the Nork's whip; his other arm was protectively clutching the amphora of irreplaceable Baaj.

I caught a whiff of perfume and felt an incredibly soft hand slip a sticky short-sword into my grasp.

The leopard charged. It skidded in one of the red ponds many of us were creating. As it tried to stop, its quivering front leg gave way. I plunged the short-sword in behind the shoulder and tore back with both hands. I heard three ribs snap before the blade did.

The leopard churned, stiffened, made a low sad noise, then was no more.

Perfume. I turned and looked into enormous, brimming eyes. As I passed out, I heard Fadab squeal, "Chogo—we must get him to Chogo!"

•

Crust on my eyes.

I blinked. Through a blur, I saw a creature who had a thin beard and gigantic d'lalls.

"He's awake."

I tried to rub my eyes. My shoulder screamed at me.

Someone dabbed my eyes with a damp cloth. Beard and d'lalls separated onto different bodies.

"You are fortunate," sighed Suulemaion, "that the cat was a tame one."

"Wine," I rasped.

They poured a goblet of water into me. I sat up. There were stars alongside my bed; we were on one of the terraces. A hideous, guttural parody of human speech issued from behind Suulemaion. He stepped aside to reveal two powerful trolls with runes carved on their faces, accompanied by yet another slave girl. She announced that the M'ddrrggs wished to present me with the spirit knife of the tribesman I'd avenged.

"But...it was I who threw the cat into him," I protested, proving modesty and tact are not always the same.

The older, more awful M'ddrrgg made a grave declaration with what was left of his tongue. The girl translated with miraculous ease: The M'ddrrgg had died suitably, as he was the master's wife's bodyguard. The leopard slew him. I slew the leopard. Therefore, his fantastically engraved spirit knife was mine. If I desired, they would employ it to bless my visage with certain protective symbols.

I accepted the knife but declined the blessings. The M'ddrrggs betrayed only a little disappointment. The older one presented the spirit knife. I clasped his arm. It felt as much like granite as it looked.

The M'ddrrggs gave a formal grunt and trotted off. The translator explained that the other slain M'ddrrgg had died unsuitably, due to the Nork's apprentice, who was so careless with spears. The apprentice would be found and introduced to the oldest, slowest of M'ddrrgg spirit-knife rituals.

I solemnly thanked the slave girl for her translations, inwardly promising never to behave unsuitably near a M'ddrrgg.

Suulemaion shook his head. "So young, so large, so serious," he complained. He placed a hand on my brow. "At least you are free from fever. But not, I suspect, from a certain ripeness—it's the climate," he added, winking, and was gone.

The slave girls sloughed off their garments and eased into bed. Grinning sorrowfully, I touched mybandage and motioned for them to leave. They protested softly. They attempted to prove how gentle they could be.

I sent them away.

Standing up was not impossible. I drank more water. Pretended to search for portents in the stars. Glanced away from the constellations, down to the roof of the villa. There was one gilded turret far larger than the others. A soft light glowed in its lone window.

Crossing the sloping roofs was not nearly as hard as standing up had been. As I crept to the base of the turret, I heard urgent, sinuous piping from above. I climbed.

My shoulder said some unkind things but remained attached. I pulled myself up onto the window ledge. I peered down through a wide-woven ivory lattice.

Against the far wall of the rounded chamber, seated cross-legged on an enormous cushion, was a pipe player wrinkled enough to pass for the Immortal's older brother. He had a blind man's clouded white eyes.

In the center of the chamber, on his back, lay the husband of the woman who needed me. Not precisely on his back: His puffy legs were spread and held aloft by padded chains, with a wedge of sweat-soaked pillows supporting his hindquarters, around which no description will stretch.

Witana stood naked between the mammoth suspended thighs. Her astonishing face looked even younger than I remembered. There was nothing of the child about the rest of her. With one hand she anointed her body with oil, while with the other she encouraged Fadab's reluctant n'gurga. She spoke to it, cooed at it, scolded it, then guided it on a slippery exploration of her golden terrain.It began to show life, curving upward.

Fadab groaned, muttering obscenities. Witana began whipping him with a velvet snake, its diamond fangs leaving tiny red marks. She crawled up onto his oceanic belly. The velvet snake bit again andagain. The piper's tempo raced, his tone grew harsh. Witana reached beneath her and clasped the curved n'gurga to her shwussu-shwussu but did not insert it. She held it and held it...until she could inundate it with her shwussu-shwussu's more mundane function——

Impossibly beautiful green-gray eyes looked up and found themselves looking into mine——

Fadab wailed and twisted in his chains——

An anguished moan broke from Witana's full-fleshed Kytrite lips——

My shoulder said nothing as I climbed down the turret, down past the terrace where I should have been healing my wounds, down into the garden, where I wandered serpentine paths for hours. This wasin the depths of my 16th summer, when I assumed I would spend my life feeling as I did at that moment.

How could she? I supposed wifely obedience explained a good deal, but....

I was searching for explanations among the stars, this time in earnest, when I caught the scent of perfume. There was a remembered sensation of a small hand placing a short-sword in mine....

A small figure in a hooded black robe stood on the path.

"You must leave at first light," she said.

I had no answer.

"I am afraid."

Words failed me still.

"The world is full of women," she insisted, her trickling-nectar voice giving the lie to her words. Then, pleading: "I fear you will harm him." She held out a bulging leather pouch. "Gold enough for years. Now, please, go."

I slapped it away and drew her near. Slowly pulled back the hood. Looked. Kissed. Tasted. Gently set her down on the damp mossy earth, spreading her cloak. She sobbed and clung with an endless hunger.

When dawn threatened, Witana hurried back to the villa, remembering to pick up the leather pouch as she went.

•

Summers are lengthy in Jemot. Months must have passed. I had no reason to number the days. The nights were all the same night, one long, delirious torrent that brought us to that exquisite pitch only the young and unjaded can reach—so easily they take it for granted.

So easily; Fadab slept as heavily as he ate and drank. It was Witana's custom to leave his chamberafter satisfying him. Custom now included continuing past her own chamber, down to the garden.

Every few afternoons, I'd corner a different slave girl and claim my hero's portion—at Witana's insistence. She was wise in the ways of society for one only in her 14th summer. But then, she was raised in the courts of Kytra.

Fadab was delighted to hear of my bulling my way through his retainers. His gratitude for my saving his little treasure seemed genuine. He made much of me at the feasts he gave for the debased nobles who nominally ruled the valley. Theirs was the name of Jemot; his, the power. Each side held the other in contempt, and all were terribly courteous.

I missed Suulemaion. He'd delayed his departure until he was certain I was not seriously hurt. When I saw him off, he admonished me, "Be sensible—refresh yourself and ride on. The world is full of women."

I looked at him as though I had no idea what he meant.

Suulemaion sadly shook his head. "Daq Jaddarra, there is always a beautiful reason when a man attacks a leopard with a dinner table." He began to mount his camel, stopped, turned, sighed, extracted a gold coin from his belt, regarded it wistfully, shuddered, pressed it into my hand and whispered, "A magic coin—it is worth more the farther you get from Jemot."

The M'ddrrggs returned the day Suulemaion left. They'd caught the Nork's apprentice in a matter of hours and had since been religiously administering their vengeance. No one pressed the translator for specifics.

As my wounds knit, the M'ddrrggs and I practiced weapons together. They were good, fearless men. Iwas pleased that they accepted me despite my repugnantly smooth face.

But they were not quite real. No one and nothing was, except Witana.

•

Summer's waning brought complete recovery and maddening pain. I had no excuse to stay and I could not go. Not alone.

Witana loved to remain entwined after we'd exhausted ourselves, with me still filling her. At suchtimes, she often spoke dreamily of her homeland.

"We could go there," I suggested.

"You and I cannot go anywhere," she murmured, lazily tracing the claw marks on my shoulder. "Besides, we have no reason to." She gave me a nip.

"Ow. Despite your attentions, I've healed. If I remain, Fadab will wonder why."

"Fadab is indebted to you. He likes you." She shifted. I slipped out of her. "He would find you a place here."

"It is already too——Witana, I have never had to feign friendship for a man I...dislike."

"The practice will do you good."

"I'm not some two-faced lord or fawning merchant."

Her golden features sank into a golden despair. "That is not kind," she teased, "to say to a daughter of a Kytrarch and a wife of a merchant."

"I can save you from that," I protested. "It's not in me to go on pretending, Witana, to be unable to touch you all day, to know what you and he do at n——"

She stiffened. "Promise you will never take hand or weapon to him."

"I do not wish him harm," I lied. "All I want is you."

"Swear." Huge green-gray eyes widened, threatening to engulf me. I swore in the names of enough gods, demons and ancestors to risk damning untold generations of Jaddarrans.

"Now," I begged, "will you come away with me before we're caught? This morning is not too soon. This moment would be better."

Witana said something, but her lips were too occupied with other matters for me to understand or care what it was.

•

The M'ddrrgg said something that might have been "The master awaits." He took my horse's reins and pointed up the garden path I was to follow. I'd just returned from a gallop along the Kug. The Wilderness at the Heart of the World had looked provocatively simple and inviting. But my fever brought me back to the garden of Fadab as surely as my footsteps now brought me to the pavilion where his enormousness was spread across the inevitable squadrons of suffering pillows.

"Fried baby parakeets?" he offered. I shook my head. "Your appetite cannot have deserted you," he sang, popping a birdling into the curiously tiny mouth that sustained that magnificent corpulence.

I managed a grin. "After riding all morning, I've an appetite for some of that ale you're drinking."

Fadab gestured for me to help myself. "Someday soon," he mourned, "you will ride off and not return. I fear your spirit has been sore chafed, sharing this dull tradesman's existence."

"There has been no chafing," I assured him. "I have never known such splendor."

"Splendor? Dear Daq, you have not known splendor until you've known Chogo," he decreed, patting my hand with greasy fingers. "Please indulge an unworthy host by permitting him to bore you with a tale of wealth and power."

I drained my ale, poured for us both and nodded. All summer, I'd been waiting for Chogo to come up again.

"Here is Jemot," said Fadab, holding up a fistful of crisp baby birds. "Gateway to the Kug and, thence, the world. There is the Western Sea"—a tankard of ale—"which knows no mightier trading force than the combined fleet of the seven Kytrarchs. I dominate inland; my father-in-law, the sea. But between us, on the coast, Chogo—the richest, most conniving city of the West."

"So you seek an alliance."

"Excellent! Dear Daq, such an alliance would control the commerce of the West and then, perhaps, k-huk...." He made an equivocal gesture. "But the high priestess is jealous of her independence and will not listen."

I put down my tankard. "You desire the ear of the high priestess, which her consort will have."

"That is more important to me than you will ever know," he whispered. "And will make you richer than you can conceive."

"And all I must do to gain it is cut my way through the arena."

"That path can be smoothed; oh, yes. Opponents have been known to accept a small fortune rather than risk all for a large one. Others have suffered terrible misfortunes with their equipment or food."

Rage rose in me at the suggestion that I would have to cheat to survive a contest I had no intention of entering. "My grandfather warned me," I growled, "that unearned wealth costs more than it is worth."

Fadab favored me with an unctuous smile. "Do not judge me harshly, dear Daq. Surely, you know thatif the passion is grand enough, the man it grips will do whatever he must. Even that which a grandfather might find dishonorable."

He knew. He knew about Witana and he——No. I was panicking.

"All I ask," he continued, "is that you think deeply on what a man loses by fleeing his destiny." Fadab gazed fondly at the final morsel. "I don't know how you deny yourself. They are at their tenderest when young."

•

I squandered the afternoon debating whether or not he knew. I lost the debate. All I could be certain of was that Witana and I had to leave. If I took her against her will, I'd lose her. But how to convince her? She was so much better with words than I.

Very well. I would demonstrate with my absence what I could not persuade her of with words.

That night, I did not wait in the garden. I strapped on my M'ddrrgg blade and went down the slope to Jemot. To a tavern in the low quarter.

I drank much and traded jests with unclean wenches. A lout spilled wine on me. I thrashed him. Andhis comrades. And the tavernkeeper. Then I bought them all a drink and they toasted my valor. I went outside for some air and vomited. As I did so, a thief attacked me. I grabbed his throat and held him away as I finished my spew. My hand must have clenched along with my guts—when I was done, I found myself holding a blue-faced corpse. I sat him against a wall, threw his purse to a goggle-eyed old beggar who was staring as though he'd never seen an accident before and marched back up the slope under a dazzling moon, hoping Witana had learned her lesson.

The walk cleared my head but made me thirsty. Perhaps that is why I went to the pond where I was to have met the woman who needed me. I filled my hands with cold water. I could not get enough. So I jumped in. It felt even better than it tasted.

A twig snapped.

A small figure in a hooded black robe stood beneath a broad-leafed yggthia tree. She stood deathlystill. She's angry, I thought. Good.

I waded out. As I reached the overhang of the tree, my wet sandal slipped on a mossy rock. I went down but caught myself on one knee. I looked up with a sheepish grin and saw within the hood a scarred copper face.

I drew my spirit knife and the second M'ddrrgg dropped out of the tree just in front of me—which would have been just behind me had I not slipped. I slashed the inside of his knife arm as he came down. His dagger dropped as his arm went slack, but my knife also went as his falling weight wrenched it from my grasp.

The hooded M'ddrrgg charged. I went under his thrust, grabbed the robe and flung him behind me into the pond. The wounded M'ddrrgg butted the side of my face. I sprawled sideways. As he reached for my knife with his left hand, I kicked him in the throat. I heard the other one sloshing out of the pond. I reached across the bleeding, gagging M'ddrrgg to get at my blade.

A mistake. He threw his good arm around me and closed rock-hard muscles across my windpipe. As I wrenched at him, I saw the other M'ddrrgg shrug off the water-heavy robe. I found the handle of my knife, and the M'ddrrgg on my back sank his teeth into my shoulder. I heaved upward and turned as the other M'ddrrgg lunged. His blade went deep into his tribesman's side. I dove out from under the dead man as the enraged M'ddrrgg yanked his blade free. He slashed down, but I was just out of reach. His cut twisted him far enough around for me to bring my blade across and open the back of his neck. He grabbed his wound and I sliced the front of his neck. He took a last feeble slash at me as he collapsed.

I stood. I felt none of the elation that lifts a man after surviving an attack. There was only a cold sickness, and it wasn't from cheap wine. The M'ddrrggs and I had no quarrel. This was between me and Fadab—Witana.

Perhaps I flew; suddenly, I was peering through the turret window. Witana's wrists were bound to achain link high on the wall. Torn clothes hung from her hips. Fadab was using a flat strap—a whip would have cut into the merchandise. His face was as red as the outrages on her back. He was cursing like a deranged squirrel and kneading himself through a stained loincloth.

The blind musician's head came up sharply as my sandal scraped on the window ledge. I burst through the ivory lattice. Fadab dropped the strap and shrieked for his M'ddrrggs.

I dropped their spirit knives at his feet and drew the one they'd given me, the one freshly decorated with their blood. Fadab cringed against the wall.

"I didn't tell them to—I feared you'd run, after...after our talk," he babbled. "Couldn't sleep...sent a M'ddrrgg to your terrace, found Witana there, crying...you must...I didn't...only told those two savages to bring you...I'd never——"

I pressed the cutting edge low against his gut. "Two lives we must answer for. They doubtless thought you meant to watch them carve me. A quick death was their parting gift. Savages wouldn't suspect it wasn't revenge you had in mind but a trade—I give you my services; you give me your wife's."

Cadaverously white lips drew back. "You learn swiftly."

"Pray, bottomless belly of Jemot," I hissed. "Set a price with your greediest god."

Behind me, Witana moaned, "You swore...."

I looked at her welts, then at Fadab. He whimpered. I cut Witana loose, supporting her carefully. I turned her toward Fadab and offered her my spirit knife.

"No!" She stumbled to Fadab, huddled against his bulk.

A phantom earthquake: I felt the floor tilt and buck, though neither it nor I moved. "Witana ...?"

She lowered her head.

"Look at me," I said as quietly and angrily as I have said anything in my life.

Witana raised her eyes. Those eyes. "I am the daughter of the Kytrarch Witanor. I cannot break his pledge...and I will not live as a vagabond."

Some unknowable time crawled by. It was Fadab who finally spoke, with calm satisfaction. "Now, dear Daq, you have three choices. A fool would take the satisfaction of killing me. He—and the miserable tribe that spawned him—would be hunted down and destroyed. An ordinary man would simply run, hoping he was not worth the expense of finding. A fighter would accompany us to Chogo, where he would enjoy my protection and, as you so charmingly put it, Witana's services. As a sign of my forgiveness, k-huk, she would be yours alone."

I looked into enormous green-gray eyes gone empty. "I have been a man to you. And yet you cling tothat."

"The world," she uttered with finality, "is full of men."

I don't know what I meant to say. An animal howl came out. Witana matched it as I plunged the spirit knife at the center of Fadab's face.

I angled the blade past him and buried it in the wall alongside his ear. Fadab broke wind and fainted, pinning Witana beneath him.

"Help," she gasped, tugging with her free arm at the soft load spread across her.

I retrieved my spirit knife. "When your husband comes to," I told Witana, "tell him I have a fourth choice."

Frightened, imploring green-gray eyes—I quickly turned away. I went back out the window. The sun was peering over the edge of the valley as I walked away from the villa. I heard a melancholy piping and looked back. The blind man stood at the broken window, playing a tune for Daq Jaddarra.

•

At Jemot, I purchased a horse, provisions, weapons. I rode to the western end of the valley, wheretrails branch off in three directions. I took the one to Chogo, where once every ten years a man might be selected for enough wealth and power to shatter another man's dreams. Enough to hold even the most desirable of women. Where, selected or not, a man could purge his errors.

Thus ended my 16th summer, when I discovered the things I did could become expensive.

"Witana inclined her head and murmured a greeting, her voice a trickle of warm nectar."

"I caught a whiff of perfume and felt an incredibly soft hand slip a sticky short-sword into my grasp."