The Lady by K. V. Johansen Page A

stirred. The market square was not filled, not nearly that, but the clusters of folk were numerous, and there were more than could be accounted for by the curious of the neighbourhood. Rumour spread, regardless of the curfew. Red Masks slain, the captain of Sunset brought proof. Priest of Ilbialla, at the tomb of Ilbialla. And, There is a devil in the temple .
    â€œIn the days of the first kings in the north,” Hadidu said abruptly, and stopped, stepping into Tulip’s light. His voice shook only a little as he began again, more loudly. He folded shaking hands into the sleeves of his caftan, which gave him a look of calm assurance Jugurthos knew he did not feel. “In the days of the first kings in the north, the songs say, there were seven wizards, wise and powerful. And there were seven devils, who had escaped from the cold hells where the Old Great Gods had sealed them after the last great war in the heavens. Bodiless, they roamed the earth. And being bodiless, creatures with no bond to it, they could not be sustained by it. They hungered to be of the stuff of the world, as the wizards hungered for knowledge and power, and so a bargain was struck between the seven and the seven, that the devils would join their souls to the wizards’ souls and share the wizards’ bodies, sharing knowledge, and unending life, and power. But the devils deceived the wizards and betrayed them, taking the wizards’ souls into their own and devouring them, taking their bodies for their own, becoming as gods upon the earth. In the end they were defeated, as the tales tell us, by the valour of humanfolk and the strength of the gods and goddesses and demons of the earth, with the aid of the Old Great Gods of the distant heavens. The seven devils were defeated, yes, but not destroyed. They were bound in eternal imprisonment upon the earth, dead and not dead within their graves, and they were guarded by gods and goddesses and demons. But the tales also tell that some, at least, have escaped. One, for certain, we know. He drove the human incarnation of the goddess Attalissa from her lake, scattered her priestesses, made her temple his own, and ruled her land as a tyrant in the body of a Grasslander warlord, powerful almost as a god himself. But he was defeated. You’ve heard this story also. The folk of the road tell it. Attalissa returned, with her guardian Blackdog at her side. Her priestesses emerged from hiding, her folk rose up and threw off the yoke of Grasslander tyranny, and the devil was destroyed.”
    A listening silence.
    â€œIt was only a story of a distant land,” Hadidu said. “Even though it was but last summer that Attalissa returned to her lake. Even when the Tamghati survivors came up the pass from the Four Deserts, fleeing the wrath of the mountains and the Red Desert, it was only a story, and the Voice of the Lady hired them to fight the temple’s wars in Praitan. We have had peace with the tribesfolk Over-Malagru for long years now, and the temple hired this warband that had followed a devil to make war on them.”
    â€œThe Praitans murdered the Voice!” someone called, shadow against a far fire.
    â€œA conquered folk will use what weapons they can,” Jugurthos retorted, as Hadidu hesitated. “They were conquered by the treacherous murder of a Praitannec queen by temple ambassadors and by terror of the Red Masks, but we’re not here to talk about Praitan.”
    â€œShow us the dead Red Mask!” someone else shouted. “We’re not here for a storyteller!”
    Hadidu drew a long breath. He put Jugurthos’s reassuring touch off and raised a hand. “You know me, many of you. Hadidu. The coffeehouse of the Doves, there, the ruin, was mine. And I am not here to tell you stories, save one. This is all one story, do you not see it yet? You know me, and some of you know me truly, a story you’ve buried in your hearts and kept secret, keeping faith