a human. Before the rise of the Koshan temples, it was thought to be the god of luck, both good and bad. But that’s a misunderstanding of its purpose.”
“So what’s its purpose?”
“To destroy evil.” Maskelle moved to the open doorway at the back of the shrine.
There were steps here too, leading up to a round stone platform at the back of the temple. It was within the boundary of the low walls, but high enough to be awash in moonlight and screened by the thick green of the treetops, cut off from the light of the court and compound by the stepped tower of the shrine. The breeze had died and the night was quiet except for the calls of nightbirds. She sat down on the smooth stone, still warm from the day’s sunny intervals. She heard Rian step onto the platform behind her and said, “This is a moon-viewing platform. It’s important to some of the rituals to know the exact shape of the shadow patterns on the moon.”
He moved up beside her, looking up at the full moon. There was a mottled pattern of dark and light across its surface tonight. Without referring to the texts that recorded all the permutations and their meanings, Maskelle could only translate it as far as “portentous events.” With the approach of the rainy season Equinox and the culmination of the Hundred Years Rite, that was only to be expected. Rian sat down next to her and relaxed into a sprawl.
“This is one of my temples,” Maskelle said, “or it used to be.” She shifted around to face him. “Why did you come to the Empire?”
He let out his breath and started to pull off his buskins. “It’s a long story.”
“That’s no reason not to tell it.”
He wrestled with a recalcitrant knot in the bootlace. She didn’t think he would answer, but then he said, “The Holder Lord died.”
She frowned. She could see that prying information out of Rian was going to be no easy task, even under the best of circumstances. “You were much attached to him?”
“More so than I thought, apparently.” He managed to wrench the buskin off, gasping in relief, and stretched out on his back.
Maskelle gave up any attempt at subtlety. “I can see why it’s a long story, if you tell it like this.”
He sat up on his elbows. “All right. I’d only been at Markand Hold a year. I was part of a treaty between Markand and Riverwait.”
“Part of a treaty? They trade . . .” She hesitated over the word he had used, then settled for “personal guards?”
“Not usually, but when the Holder Lord of Markand’s legion is on the border and he’s naming treaty terms and he points at you and says ‘And I’ll take that one,’ nobody has much choice about it.”
She watched him thoughtfully. “So Riverwait gave you up to an enemy.”
“The Lady Holder of Riverwait gave me up.” He looked away. “The Holder Lord of Markand had been coming to her hall for years and I was the first of her cortege. We didn’t get along. He chose me as part of the treaty because he knew what it would cost her in honor. She didn’t have a choice. Refusing to give me to him would have been refusing the treaty, and Markand would have overrun us within a month.”
“But she gave you up.”
“I know that part, we don’t have to go over it again,” he said, some annoyance in his voice. “I spent a year at Markand serving the Holder Lord.”
She frowned. “Serving how?”
He sighed. “As a
kjardin
. A personal guard.”
Maskelle sat back, wrapping her arms around her knees. She could imagine it all too readily. From what she had seen of Rian, he would have made no secret of his dislike when the Holder Lord had come to Riverwait on his earlier visits. The Holder Lord of Markand must have been something of a sadistic games-player to demand the favorite bodyguard of the Lady Holder as part of a treaty in the first place. And it must have been an interesting year at Markand for Rian, a virtual prisoner in the guise of a trusted retainer, and of course everyone
“So what’s its purpose?”
“To destroy evil.” Maskelle moved to the open doorway at the back of the shrine.
There were steps here too, leading up to a round stone platform at the back of the temple. It was within the boundary of the low walls, but high enough to be awash in moonlight and screened by the thick green of the treetops, cut off from the light of the court and compound by the stepped tower of the shrine. The breeze had died and the night was quiet except for the calls of nightbirds. She sat down on the smooth stone, still warm from the day’s sunny intervals. She heard Rian step onto the platform behind her and said, “This is a moon-viewing platform. It’s important to some of the rituals to know the exact shape of the shadow patterns on the moon.”
He moved up beside her, looking up at the full moon. There was a mottled pattern of dark and light across its surface tonight. Without referring to the texts that recorded all the permutations and their meanings, Maskelle could only translate it as far as “portentous events.” With the approach of the rainy season Equinox and the culmination of the Hundred Years Rite, that was only to be expected. Rian sat down next to her and relaxed into a sprawl.
“This is one of my temples,” Maskelle said, “or it used to be.” She shifted around to face him. “Why did you come to the Empire?”
He let out his breath and started to pull off his buskins. “It’s a long story.”
“That’s no reason not to tell it.”
He wrestled with a recalcitrant knot in the bootlace. She didn’t think he would answer, but then he said, “The Holder Lord died.”
She frowned. She could see that prying information out of Rian was going to be no easy task, even under the best of circumstances. “You were much attached to him?”
“More so than I thought, apparently.” He managed to wrench the buskin off, gasping in relief, and stretched out on his back.
Maskelle gave up any attempt at subtlety. “I can see why it’s a long story, if you tell it like this.”
He sat up on his elbows. “All right. I’d only been at Markand Hold a year. I was part of a treaty between Markand and Riverwait.”
“Part of a treaty? They trade . . .” She hesitated over the word he had used, then settled for “personal guards?”
“Not usually, but when the Holder Lord of Markand’s legion is on the border and he’s naming treaty terms and he points at you and says ‘And I’ll take that one,’ nobody has much choice about it.”
She watched him thoughtfully. “So Riverwait gave you up to an enemy.”
“The Lady Holder of Riverwait gave me up.” He looked away. “The Holder Lord of Markand had been coming to her hall for years and I was the first of her cortege. We didn’t get along. He chose me as part of the treaty because he knew what it would cost her in honor. She didn’t have a choice. Refusing to give me to him would have been refusing the treaty, and Markand would have overrun us within a month.”
“But she gave you up.”
“I know that part, we don’t have to go over it again,” he said, some annoyance in his voice. “I spent a year at Markand serving the Holder Lord.”
She frowned. “Serving how?”
He sighed. “As a
kjardin
. A personal guard.”
Maskelle sat back, wrapping her arms around her knees. She could imagine it all too readily. From what she had seen of Rian, he would have made no secret of his dislike when the Holder Lord had come to Riverwait on his earlier visits. The Holder Lord of Markand must have been something of a sadistic games-player to demand the favorite bodyguard of the Lady Holder as part of a treaty in the first place. And it must have been an interesting year at Markand for Rian, a virtual prisoner in the guise of a trusted retainer, and of course everyone
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