Curse Of The First Gods

The Chronicles of the Last Elder Lord

Book One: Curse of the First Gods

By Merilyn F. George and R. Stone Penwell

Copyright 2012 R. Stone Penwell

Smashwords Edition

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, entities or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Note from the Author

The books in The Chronicles of the Last Elder Lord series make use of the second person familiar form of address: thee, thou, and thy. Although these pronouns have fallen out of usage in English, they remain in most other languages such as French, Spanish, and German. Their usage indicates familiarity (for family, good friends), affection or devotion (lovers, deities, masters), condescension or scorn (children, slaves), translating to the ultimate put-down when used to someone for whom you should use the more respectful second person plural (you, yours). However, since it is incredibly hard to write easily readable, flowing English using this form consistently, the usage is inconsistent. I only used it where, to my mind, it really mattered, usually moments of great emotional intensity. This adds a dimension of expression and emphasis as well as a touch of antiquity to the dialogue.

–MFG

Notes on pronunciation:

In general, treat apostrophes as if they separated words. When apostrophes separate repeated vowels, the vowels change value, usually from long to short (e.g. sha'amoth is shay a-moth).

Ard'dr = Ard Der (with a full stop in the middle - not ardor)

Ard'dra'an = Ard DRAY Ann

Sha'azharet'th = Shay AZ-har-edth

Yndrin = IN-drin

Yl'thaia = Eel Thay-EE-ah

Ta’arim = Tay Ha-RIM

Sha’amoth ysthon = shay a-MOTH iss-THON

Caruna = Ka-ROON-ah

Carenar = Ka-REN-ahr

Beginning

Sha'azharet'th woke early that morning, long before dawn—which was not surprising, when one considered that this was going to be the most important day in his life thus far. It was his thirteenth birthday; this day he became a man and a Lord of the Dragon!

The night-candle flickered and guttered beside his silk-draped couch. Old Nar Yi, his Shangi body slave, snored on a mat nearby. The carved wardrobe with its inlaid doors, the delicately traced scrolls on the walls, the enameled dressing table and stool—all were the same as every other morning, yet the boy knew with a swelling, unarguable certainty that from this day forward nothing would ever be the same.

He was of imperial blood, counting among his ancestors no less than seventeen rulers of the Dragon Empire. And although he was far from the throne succession, having been born of a daughter of the emperor, and a younger one at that, still his coming of age would be celebrated with all the splendor appropriate to his proud lineage. Up until now he had been properly addressed as Ard'drin'no, Son of the Dragon, a title honorable enough in itself, but shared by all the thousands who were at least half Ard'dra'an by blood. Only one of pure descent, when he came of age, was known as Ard'dro, Lord of the Dragon, and held a seat in the Council. Of course his friends and even his father (who rarely attended) had already warned him that Council meetings were nothing to look forward to—especially for a thirteen-year-old! But the session today would be exciting enough. Today he would be formally presented before the assembled Lords of Ard'dr, to be accepted or rejected as one of their number.

He lay still, though he felt like jumping out of bed and capering across the floor. The slightest sound would wake Nar Yi, who would then lecture him on the virtues of sleeping during sleep time, so that one might be alert during the day. So he merely hugged himself in anticipation, while thrills prickled up his arms and back.

This day also marked the first step toward his ultimate goal, whose secret end only he and his younger sister Yl'thaia shared. Their father, Prince Eth'harit'th, ruled an entire province—nearly a fourth of the empire—and he had made it plain that he expected his only full-blood son to inherit his office and responsibility. But the son did not share that expectation. His heart was set on the Way of Power, the Way of the Elders.

There came the sound of a door opening in the sitting room outside. The old slave started, coughed, and creaked to his feet as Yen Tak, the muscular bodyguard, opened the bedchamber door to admit two Dragon Lords.

The boy also scrambled hurriedly out of bed and bowed low to his father and his uncle Es'siratin'nar, his father's brother. Yen Tak did not enter, and after making his obeisance, Nar Yi also left the room. The robing ritual was for Ard'dra'an eyes alone.

The two men were already clad in that ritual costume which had descended from the earliest days of Ard'dr. Nowadays it seemed strange and barbarous, but each part had a symbolic meaning, which the men carefully explained as they dressed the new candidate.

The shirt was first. Its richly brocaded crimson covered his left arm from wrist to shoulder, then slashed diagonally across chest and back, from neck to waist, leaving the right arm and shoulder naked. The shirt is the emblem of Power, Eth'harit'th said solemnly. It clothes the left arm, the arm of the spirit, the hand of sorcery.

And the right is the arm of the flesh, the hand of the sword. His uncle took up the litany, clasping a heavy gold bracelet set with many small rubies about the boy's right wrist.

Next came a loin cloth, also red, edged with gold stitching. Its narrow front and back panels hung to his ankles. This cloth, which covers your manhood, represents the mind and will of man, his father intoned.

Which in turn is to be upheld and confined by the will of the Gods, symbolized by this girdle which protects your vitals, the other man concluded, wrapping a broad, metal-stiffened band about his middle.

Eth'harit'th finished the ceremony by draping a full cloak of crimson silk about his shoulders. So art thou robed fitly for the Council of Ard'dr. Be worthy of thy robes, and thy Lordship.

Sha'azharet'th turned to look at himself in the long mirror beside the dressing table. He saw a slender youth, tall for his age, with a smooth cap of black hair. His skin was pale, his nose too big for the face which already displayed the inborn arrogance of his race. His grey eyes sparkled with excitement, but he kept his expression suitably grave as he turned back to bow politely and thank his elder kinsmen.

They made a small parade through the broad and echoing passages leading to the Council Chamber, which was also called the New Hall. Though it was nearly four centuries old, it had seen less than half the history of the Dragon Empire. The two Lords led the procession, followed by the boy two paces behind. Bringing up the rear were their three bodyguards, carrying swords unsheathed before them. This was pure formality, of course, for none walked these ways except the Ard'drin and their loyal servitors. They passed many of the latter, who paused in whatever they were doing to bow respectfully to the group.

At last they came to the head of the Grand Corridor. Some thirty paces broad and three stories in height, it was more like a ballroom than a corridor; however, the floor was crowded with displays and trophies, leaving only a walkway through the middle. This was the repository of most of the official gifts of tributary monarchs to the emperor. Priceless carpets of Rimalya and Akhar covered the floor, which was dotted with statues clothed in richly adorned armor or lavish robes of many lands. Even though several of the figures wore crowns, every head was bowed in respect to the great empire. There were figures of animals as well: horses pulling golden chariots, snowcats decked in jeweled harness, a great bear rearing taller than a man, silver stags with golden antlers, and many more, all looking as though they had been frozen in an instant of motion. The walls were hung with tapestries, scroll paintings, jeweled weapons, icons of strange gods, feather fans, headdresses, and masks—the wealth and beauty of a hundred kingdoms that looked to the Dragon Empire as either ally or overlord.

At the further end of this hall were the twenty-foot-high doors leading into the Council Chamber. These great bronze leaves, so cunningly balanced that a child could move them, now stood open. Uniformed imperial guards stood stiffly at attention before them. The three Ard'drin passed through; their Shangi slaves turned aside to wait for their masters in a nearby chamber.

The New Hall was huge, with seats for ten thousand rising in circular tiers from the relatively small audience floor in the center. On this floor, inlaid in tesserae of jade, garnet, carnelian, jet, and pure gold, coiled the Dragon of Ard'dr, sinuous and savagely fanged.

They led Sha'azharet'th to the center of the seal, and left him there, alone. It was a good half-hour before the meeting was scheduled to begin, and the hall was almost empty, but soon a few other Ard'drin began to trickle in, and before long there was a steady stream. Sha'azharet'th faced the arriving lords, some of whom came over to congratulate him and exchange a few words before taking their seats. All were clothed as he was, except that many wore black instead of red. This variation had arisen some three hundred years earlier, as the symbol of a schism in the imperial succession. At the time, the conflict had been deep and bitter, but a few duels and the eventual marriage of the heir of one line to his half-sister of the alternate line had healed the breach, and now the red or black was just a matter of individual taste.

Several hundred men had come in, and the stream was beginning to thin, when suddenly a stir and rustle ran over the assembly, like a breeze through a forest. The lord who was at that moment speaking with Sha'azharet'th turned to glance toward the door, and the boy peered curiously past him. He saw a very old man just entering the hall. In striking contrast to the rest of that company, he was clad all in white and silver—the token of the Elders!

Although his hair was as white as the rest of his costume, the Elder Lord crossed the floor as lithely as a youth, from which Sha'azharet'th deduced that he must be Ra'athon'non. There were only two Elders left alive in all of Ard'dr, and although he had never met either of them, he had been told that the other, Tem'miris'sit, was lame.

Ra'athon'non approached him; the other man moved hastily to the side. Somehow the boy left off gaping and remembered to bend a knee in obeisance, and to murmur the correct salutation: Honor to thee, Elder Lord.

And to thee, Sha'azharet'th,the other responded formally, extending his left hand. His long, bony fingers were unadorned except for the dull black Ring of Power, symbol of his covenant with the First Gods. In ancient times, many Lords of the Dragon had made that awesome pledge, and received the favor of the Gods. But for the last two generations, every pledge had failed, and these days no one even thought of trying. Almost no one, that is.

As Sha'azharet'th touched the Elder Lord's fingertips, and rose slowly to his feet, his head swam with the vision of himself in the silver and white—himself, wielding that awesome sorcerous power which was named ark'khorm! The picture was so overwhelmingly clear that he thought surely the old man must see it in his face, read it in his startled eyes. He felt flushed, and yet icy cold, all at the same time. He scarcely heard the words of conventional commendation which Ra'athon'non addressed to him. He stammered some reply; then the Elder Lord turned away, taking his seat with the rest, a lonely spot of white in the sea of red and black.

A few moments later the emperor As'sarin'non, called the Golden, arrived with his court. They did not use the main doors, but came in through a special entrance built in the section reserved for them. Even with the court added, the hall seemed almost empty. Of course, not everyone had come today, but it was said that even the full Council filled no more than a third of the seats. The pure blood of Ard'dr was increasingly rare these days.

By the time the emperor was seated, Sha'azharet'th had recovered himself sufficiently to make another obeisance and respond courteously to his grandfather's greeting. Then a crystal tone chimed, quieting the hum and buzz of conversation.

As'sarin'non spoke to the Council: Lords of Ard'dr, we welcome here today a new member of our company. I myself vouch for his lineage—his mother was my daughter Yl'nytha, and his father is Prince Eth'harit'th of Chin. Who speaks for his education?

Halfway down the hall, a man stood up. Sha'azharet'th turned and saw that it was Ath'hamon'nar, his principal tutor. I affirm that Sha'azharet'th has received proper instruction in history, tongues, spells, military arts, and all other appropriate branches of knowledge. I might add that he has distinguished himself in nearly all of these areas, but nowhere more than in the lore and practice of sorcery.

Well-born, well-taught, the emperor observed. Does anyone here speak against the candidate?

None spoke. They never did, so Sha'azharet'th had been assured, but he could not forego a small breath of relief, just the same.

Then let him be seated. Lord Sha'azharet'th, be welcome in the Council of Ard'dr.

The boy bowed low, and then walked to a seat on the far end of the hall. He paid little attention to the business which was discussed that day. Matters of policy and politics had never held his interest, and besides, he was fully occupied with his own thoughts.

It was now nearly four years since Ath'hamon'nar had first told him about the Way of Power. The subject had been the history of Ard'dr, specifically the Shan-Min War which preceded the establishment of the empire. The proud and quarrelsome Ming thought to subject all the earth to their rule, and so after conquering the neighboring kingdoms of Shan and Chin, they had attacked the Ard'drin, who were then a small and peaceful tribe farming a few valleys in the mountains west of Shan. The blood of the Dragon was renowned for sorcerous talent, it was true, but the invaders did not even suspect the extent of their intended victims' powers. The Ard'drin raised no army, sharpened no weapons, donned no armor. They merely pulled the mountains down upon the Mingi hordes, killing thousands and sending the rest scurrying away like frightened rats.

But then, Sha'azharet'th had objected, "why does not the emperor do so nowadays? You have told us of the long struggles against the Kantra, on the western frontier—why do the generals not use their khorm and teach these barbarians a like lesson?"

"Such things are not done with ordinary khorm, the teacher had explained. Control of the earth can only be accomplished with ark'khorm, the Full Power wielded by the Elders."

Then why do not the Elders go smash the barbarians? someone else had asked.

Because there are only two of them, and they're both old, and besides, we have lots of soldiers now, so we don't need Elders anymore. This was the pronouncement of the throne prince Dir'ras'sinak, son of the imperial heir, and three years older than Sha'azharet'th.

But Sha'azharet'th would not be put off, and he asked curiously, Were there more than two Elders when the Ming attacked Ard'dr?

In those days, nearly all the Ard'drin of mature years became Elders. That is, they followed the Way of Power, and took the Pledge, Ath'hamon'nar explained. "There were enough of them to not only drive the Ming out of Ard'dr, but out of Chin and Shan as well, and later to subdue them into a province of the empire. However, as your cousin has pointed out, there seems to be little use for ark'khorm in these days."

I don't care, Sha'azharet'th had told him, his lip thrust out stubbornly. I want it anyway.

The others had laughed, and even his tutor had not been pleased. That is foolish and impossible. There has not been a new Elder for nearly half a century.

Why not? Hasn't anybody tried?

Many have tried. Some were rejected by the Gods; they spilt their blood and died in the shrine. Others withdrew, to save their lives. Some of the wise say that the Gods want no more Elders—that the empire is mighty and the Full Power is no longer needed. Others claim that Ard'dr has degenerated to the point where no one is worthy of the favor of the Gods. Whatever the reason, there has been no successful pledge since that of Ra'athon'non over forty years ago, and no attempt for nearly twenty. Now can we return our attention to the history lesson?

Sha'azharet'th had not mentioned his dream to anyone else except his sister, Yl'thaia. Their mother, the imperial princess, had died soon after Yl'thaia's birth, and their father spent most of his time in Chin Ko, taking care of his administrative duties. The two children had been largely raised by Nar Yi and his wife Tipa. They had grown up together in almost perfect harmony, each one sensing and sympathizing with the other's every mood, sharing every joy and pain, experience and secret. She, of course, had instantly approved.

He now stared at Ra'athon'non, who sat in the lowest tier some forty feet away, and who seemed as little interested in the business of the day as he was. That man had done it—had stood in the Presence of the Gods, and received ark'khorm and lived to use it. Then why not he? He was not afraid; he would die, rather than withdraw and fail, as those mouse-hearted ones had done.

As if he had felt the boy's eyes upon him, Ra'athon'non turned and met his gaze. Embarrassed at having been caught staring, Sha'azharet'th tried to look quickly elsewhere, but he found that he could not move. The old man's eyes held him; a voice spoke inside his head, in crystal tones like those of the emperor's chime: Come to my apartment after the council. Then the Elder Lord turned away, and Sha'azharet'th sat open-mouthed, wondering whether he had dreamed indeed!

At last the meeting was finished. Sha'azharet'th could scarcely wait to answer the strange summons, but it was not that simple. First he must return to his rooms and change, for no one wore the ritual costume except to council and for other great occasions. There he was immediately surrounded by his household slaves, his father and sister, and all his father's half-blood sons and daughters. Some of the boys looked darkly jealous, despite their fair words. They knew that no matter how high they rose in the empire, no effort could ever gain for them the rank he had been given merely on account of his parentage.

This group bore him off to a sumptuous dinner in his honor, and afterward his father conducted him to the Pleasure Court and introduced him to its governess, Lady Nar'reya. She graciously kissed him on the brow and congratulated him as his mother would have done, had she been alive. Then she seated him and brought forth a parade of a dozen beautiful young girls, from as many lands, for his choice. But Sha'azharet'th could think of nothing except the Elder Lord, still waiting for him. At least he hoped he was still waiting, and hadn't given up on him entirely! He must get away!

Nar'reya pursed her finely formed mouth at his abstracted refusals. Perhaps you would prefer an older woman, my lord?

No, no. I...just don't feel...like...like having any woman just now. Maybe later.

The old woman smiled knowingly. A shy one, eh? Well, we are here for your pleasure, and a pleasure enforced is no pleasure at all. Come back anytime, my young lord. We are always happy to greet you.

His father was silent as they left the Pleasure Court, but Sha'azharet'th scarcely noticed, he was so busy trying to think how he could get free to go keep his appointment. Then just as they reached his own quarters, Eth'harit'th asked abruptly, You haven't been there before, have you?

The boy's first thought was that he meant the Elder Lord's house. No! he gulped instantly. Then even as he spoke, he realized his father was referring to the Pleasure Court. No, of course not, he went on. Why?

Now it was the man's turn to be uncomfortable. Sometimes young boys, even noble ones, go there—at the invitation of men who...do not care for women. It's not uncommon, in fact. But it is not appropriate for one of pure lineage to be so used, and besides, I myself consider it an unhealthy appetite. These are the things that feed the decline of Ard'dr, mentioned so movingly at council today. I thought perhaps...since you showed no interest in the women....

No, Father, Sha'azharet'th assured him, with a private sigh of relief. I just didn't feel like it. I think I ate too much, and I've got a headache. It was only half a lie—his whole body was aching with the need to get away.

Well, it has been a big day. Too much excitement, and that wine at dinner was undoubtedly stronger stuff than you've been used to drinking. Maybe you should rest a while now.

Yes, I'll do that, Sha'azharet'th agreed eagerly.

When his father had gone, he quickly stripped off the holiday clothes he had donned before dinner, and called for an ordinary robe of drab brown silk. While Nar Yi was hobbling off to fetch it, he summoned Yen Tak and ordered him to tell anyone who asked that he was resting and could not be disturbed. He snatched the robe from the old slave and whipped it about him, asking, Nar, do you know where is the house of the Elder Lord Ra'athon'non?

Most certainly, Master. Have I not lived all my long life in the Inner City?

Then you will guide me there, by the fastest route possible. We'll leave by the servant's door.

Master, it is not fitting....

It is my wish, the new Dragon Lord snapped. Let us go.

It was a long walk. The Inner City sprawled over an area of five or six square miles in the middle of the metropolis of Lu Shan. As its name implied, it was a city in itself, containing hundreds of palaces, courts, gardens, stables, barns, parks, kitchens, and theatres, with a maze of streets and walkways winding among and about them. The geography was further complicated by the existence of two sets of ways, one for the Ard'drin and another for the slaves who carried on those necessary, invisible functions which made life comfortable for their masters.

Under the boy's prodding, Nar Yi led him though a mixture of high ways and low shortcuts, and at last they arrived. Guards admitted them through iron gates bearing the sign of the Dragon. After passing the length of a formal garden-bordered processional, they came to the door where another guard rang a bell. An ancient Shangi, even older and more decrepit than Nar Yi, came to the door.

The Lord Sha'azharet'th, to see your master, Nar Yi told him, with pride in the new title evident in his voice.

The man bent fractionally. One moment, if it please the young lord. This one shall inform the Elder Lord.

Tell him I'm awfully sorry I'm late, Sha'azharet'th blurted.

Yes, yes, indeed. As you will, young lord. He creaked away, leaving them standing on the doorstep, at which Nar Yi began a grumble, but his master shushed him peremptorily.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the old slave shuffled back to admit them. He indicated that Nar Yi should wait in the anteroom, and then led the boy to a massive iron-banded door, like that of a dungeon or a treasury. At shoulder height it bore a silver disk, on which was engraved Ra'athon'non's monogram—his name and title in Ard'dra'an characters, distorted and intertwined artistically. The ancient lifted a withered brown hand and touched the disk, whereupon the door slid to one side, disappearing into the wall. Then he turned and bowed, gesturing that Sha'azharet'th should enter.

The boy walked in with some trepidation. As soon as he was inside, the door hissed back into place, booming closed behind him. He jumped and shot a startled look back over his shoulder.

You were long enough in coming! Ra'athon'non's voice accused waspishly.

Sha'azharet'th jumped again. I...I..., he gasped. I'm sorry, Great Lord. I just couldn't get here any sooner! There was a feast....

Which was much more important than visiting a stuffy old man.

Oh, no, no! the boy cried in anguish. I wanted to come, more than anything! But I couldn't tell anyone, and I couldn't get away....

Why couldn't you tell anyone? Ra'athon'non demanded.

Why indeed? He had not stopped to analyze it; he had merely assumed that the interview had something to do with his secret dream. Maybe it was just a routine courtesy...but then why hadn't the Elder Lord spoken of it openly when he greeted him out on the floor?

His eyes had adjusted to the dim light. He stood in a large room, nearly empty. In the center, the Elder Lord sat in a lonely chair padded with deep cushions. Sha'azharet'th moved slowly in that direction, gathering his thoughts. When he dropped to one knee before the chair, he replied humbly, Great Lord, I beg you to forgive me if I have chosen badly. Because of the private nature of your summons, I felt it best to say nothing of it to others.

Ra'athon'non smiled briefly. So—you are quick-witted and fair spoken, and you know how to be discreet. What else?

It was an invitation to boast of his accomplishments, but Sha'azharet'th had not come here to boast, nor to engage in polite conversation. He looked up, directly into the wrinkled lean face above him. Ark'ard'dro, I desire the Way of Power.

The other caught his breath, with a distinct hiss. There was a moment of silence, but then he proceeded as if he had not heard. Stand up, my boy. Ath'hamon'nar claimed that you had excelled at sorcery. What do you see here?

He moved one hand in a small gesture, and light suddenly glowed beneath the boy's feet. On the surface of the floor he saw a myriad of figures traced in multicolored luminous lines. Now he realized what this room was, and why it was so empty. It was not a sitting room nor an audience chamber, but a Place of Power, a laboratory for the practice of khorm. Normally the figures would be painted on the floor, or inlaid in tile. This glowing display was in itself a magic spell, not an illusion, but one that he had never seen before. I see many Signs of Power, he answered.

Name them to me, the old man directed.

This white one is Ans'shamoth, the Signification of the Bearer; the green one there is Ans'khorm, the Signification of Power; that purple one I do not know, but the red one lying within it is Kas'shees, the Prison. And so he continued, pointing out a couple of dozen that he had studied. There were only a handful that were unfamiliar.

When he had finished, Ra'athon'non asked, "Has your khorm been tested?"

Of course.

I would like to test it again.

As you wish. Sha'azharet'th stepped to the center of the green symbol and turned back, waiting for the Word of Enablement. This test would reveal the extent and quality of the sorcerous inner strength he possessed, far more accurately than thousands of words and demonstrations.

But the old man did not speak, nor even look at him. He sat with head bowed, as if he were praying, or ill.

Sha'azharet'th frowned, and finally inquired, Are you well, Lord?

The other lifted his head slowly and turned toward him. Perhaps. I scarcely dare to hope. The boy didn't understand, but before he could speak, Ra'athon'non uttered the Word.

Light exploded from the Sign, mounting in a wall of golden white fire to the height of a tall man. Sha'azharet'th could not see the Elder Lord, but he heard a small, heartfelt exclamation before the other spoke the Word of Dismissal, and the fire died. The rest of the Signs disappeared as well, leaving the room almost dark again.

He blinked, and moved slowly back toward the chair. The Elder Lord was silent. So—am I worthy of the Way of Power, Lord?

That is not for me to judge, the old man replied harshly. Then he fell silent once more, but just as Sha'azharet'th was about to speak, he continued, What would you have me do? Foster your desire? Encourage you? So that you also may die, and I may have your blood on my hands, as I have that of so many others?

Then why did you call me here?

Because I am a fool, perhaps. An old man has a right to be a fool, if he wishes.

Many have told me that the Way is closed, that the Gods want no more Elders. Will you also tell me this? You are Their sworn servant, Lord. If you tell me that this is Their will, then I must believe you.

The eyes that Ra'athon'non turned on him were astonishingly tear-filled. You are young to be so cruel.

Cruel? the boy gulped. But....

No, you do it not deliberately. If you only knew how I have longed for you—for one who might be worthy, and strong enough to succeed.... That is my folly. For you are not the first, you know. The Gods have never told me that the Way is closed. And yet every Pledge since my own has failed, one way or another. And every failure has been a knife in my soul. I know not whether I can bear another.

Sha'azharet'th drew himself up resolutely. I have no wish to burden you, Lord. But with or without your encouragement, I will follow the Way of Power.

Ra'athon'non bowed his head, staring at the dark ring on his left middle finger. You have chosen no easy road.

I know.

Do you? the old man questioned sharply, glancing up again to catch him with that piercing, inescapable gaze. "Do you know what price the Old Ones demand in return for ark'khorm? Your mind, your body, your will, your soul—unremitting service, unquestioning obedience, totally undivided dedication?"

The boy shivered lightly, more at the portentous tone than at the words themselves. I will pay the price, he responded in an almost firm voice.

The Elder Lord's deep eyes seemed to search his soul with a wand of flame. Sha'azharet'th trembled, but did not seek escape. At last it was Ra'athon'non who looked away. The boy drew a deep, rasping breath, digging fingernails into his palms in an effort to overcome the faintness which that release had left behind.

Ath'hamon'nar is a good man, the other commented in a casual tone. And I've no doubt he's a good teacher. But from now on, you will come here for your lessons in sorcery.

Here? Sha'azharet'th squeaked.

It would be scarcely proper for an Elder to wait on a mere boy, even if he is the emperor's grandson, Ra'athon'non told him dryly.

No, I mean...you will teach me? You will help me prepare for the pledge?

I will teach you. As to the pledge...we shall speak more of that later.

The boy bowed low. My undying gratitude, Great Lord!

Yes, yes. I certainly hope neither you nor your gratitude will be dying anytime soon. I shall send a note to your father....

Oh! When Ra'athon'non lifted an inquiring eyebrow at him, Sha'azharet'th swallowed. Please, Lord...don't mention...the Way of Power to my father.

He doesn't know then, about this aim of yours?

The youngster shook his head.

Have no fear. I, also, can be discreet. For a moment they grinned at one another, conspirators in the same secret. You may go now, if you wish.

The last phrase was merely a polite form, as the boy's undying gratitude had been. Sha'azharet'th chose to take it literally, as the other had taken his. I do not wish.

Oh? Ra'athon'non questioned in surprise. What more do you desire of me, pray tell?

The Signs. He gestured around at the floor. How do you make them glow?

A localized effect, similar to witchlight.

May I try?

The other turned a skeletal hand over in a negligent gesture of invitation.

The boy closed his eyes, searching with his mind for the nearest symbol. It was perfectly evident to his inner sense, though invisible to his eyes. He found it, and applied the witchlight spell. Then he cracked an eyelid. To his delight, the Sign burned a lambent orange.

Very good, was Ra'athon'non's dry comment.

Was the old man mocking him? No matter; he had lots of questions that he intended to get answers to, whether they were silly or not. Do you know how to make all the Gates? he asked next.

The Elder dipped his chin briefly.

Will you teach me that?

That and much else that is needful for you to know. But not today.

Sha'azharet'th bowed again. Your pardon, Elder Lord. I wish I could have come sooner.

So do I, my son. About twenty years sooner!

Once he was out of the house, Sha'azharet'th could hardly wait to get home, to tell Yl'thaia the fantastic news. He skipped and danced impatiently, trying to hold himself to Nar Yi's sedate pace. As soon as they reached familiar territory once more, he ran ahead, straight to his sister's apartment.

He found her dutifully sweating over a piece of fine silken needlework, but the instant he entered, she dropped it and rushed to greet him. She was a year and a half younger than he, just eleven going on twelve, but already her face revealed the promise of that uncommon beauty which was the heritage of Ard'dra'an women, as sorcerous power was that of the men.

Sha'azharet'th caught her hands and twirled her boisterously in a circle. You'll never guess what happened! he cried.

Her eyes, the same stormy grey as his, lighted in anticipation. Go! she ordered her attendants, with a toss of her head. Leave us!

As they hurriedly bowed and left, she drew him down beside her on the divan. What? Was it the Pleasure Court? Did you....

Khrargn take the Pleasure Court, he interrupted impatiently. I thought I'd never get out of there!

Her mouth and eyes both opened wide. But you promised to tell me all about it! Wasn't it fun at all?

It was fine, I guess. Or would have been, any other time. I'll be going again, of course, to please Father, if nothing else. He won't think I'm a proper man unless I do. And I still promise I'll tell you all about it. But this is something much more important!

Well, what? What?

He bent close. First of all, during the council, Ra'athon'non told me to come to his house after the meeting.

Ra'athon'non! Isn't he....

The Elder Lord, yes! Father said it was unusual enough for him to even come at all. And more than that, he spoke to me—first just an ordinary greeting, like all the rest. And then again later, during the business.

You sat by him? Yl'thaia asked incredulously.

Oh, goodness no! But I was staring at him, and he suddenly looked back at me and spoke—not aloud, but inside my head somehow. I heard this odd voice, not like a man's voice at all, more like...chimes. He frowned suddenly. I forgot to ask him how that was done. Anyway, I was sure it was him speaking, and I was sure, too, that it had to do with...you know what.

She gasped, and pressed a hand to her mouth.

So I didn't dare say anything, but it seemed like I'd never get away to go....

You didn't seem to be having much fun at dinner, the girl observed, nodding.

"But I finally told Father I had a headache, and he let me go to lie down. Then I dashed over there, and talked to him, and told him!"

About...pledging? she whispered, wide-eyed. What did he say?

Sha'azharet'th paused, filled nigh unto bursting with the unbelievable memory. He's going to help me! he cried. He's going to teach me everything he knows! I'll be going to his house for lessons, instead of to Ath'hamon'nar. The Elder Lord is going to be my private tutor!

No! Really? She was as excited as he.

Really!

What if Father objects?

The Elder Lord is going to send him a note—just about the teaching, not about the pledge. And he won't dare object. It's a great honor, don't you see? He'll make sure I appreciate that, along with warning me not to let it go to my head.

Oh, Sha'azharet'th! I'm so happy for you! She threw her arms around him.

He returned the embrace, with enthusiasm. I've got to go now, he told her. I'm supposed to be getting over a headache. Yen Tak is covering for me, but if Father inquires, he won't dare to lie.

* * * * *

Next day, shortly before noon, Eth'harit'th summoned his son to inform him of the change in tutors. Sha'azharet'th, of course, pretended surprise.

This is a very great honor, my boy, the prince stressed, as Sha'azharet'th had known he would. But he went on to add an unexpected warning. You must be careful not to boast of it before the other imperial grandchildren, especially Dir'ras'sinak. They may well take offense.

Why? the boy asked, in surprise which did not need to be feigned this time. "None of them would want it!"

I'm sure they wouldn't. And it would be well if you pretended to feel the same way, when you are around them.

I don't understand, Sha'azharet'th admitted in bewilderment.

Eth'harit'th frowned in exasperation. You are entirely too honest to survive in this society, he said glumly, shaking his head. But at the very least, you must learn to understand—and make allowance for—the dishonesty of others. Not even the throne prince himself was given such an invitation. You are correct in assuming that he wouldn't have wanted it, but that doesn't matter. You have been honored—he hasn't. He cannot vent his jealousy on Ra'athon'non directly, nor even appeal to the emperor, since the Elder Lord is answerable to no authority but that of the Gods. So he will take out his displeasure on you. However, if you convince him that you consider it a burden and a bore, then he may be content with a little scornful derision, rather than plotting more elaborate tricks.

Sha'azharet'th shook his head slowly. They all know better than that. They'd just think I was toadying to Dir'ras'sinak.

His father sighed. You may have a point, at that. I wish this whole thing had never come about, honor or no. I'm afraid it is going to make life difficult for you.

The boy shrugged. They don't like me anyway. But they don't walk on me, the way they do on poor Tes'sharin'nin. He ties himself in knots trying to please Dir'ras'sinak and his friends, and they treat him like dirt. I don't try to please them, and that makes them mad, but I don't care.

One gets on in this world, his father responded grimly, by pleasing people, not by upsetting them. Especially people with power.

The Elder Lord has more power than anyone in the empire. Shouldn't I worry more about pleasing him?

That isn't the kind of power I meant, and you know it. Certainly you should try to please Ra'athon'non—but that doesn't mean you have to antagonize everybody else. He glared down at Sha'azharet'th, who bowed his head in silence. In any case, he went on after a moment, the invitation cannot be refused, and I am sure you will benefit from the training, since sorcery is your best subject anyway. But remember what I have told you, and deal as wisely as you can with the situation.

I will, Father, the boy promised.

* * * * *

Two days later, Sha'azharet'th arrived somewhat late for the tai-shan class which he shared with his nobly born cousins, because he had been engrossed with his new teacher. Besides, it was a long walk—or run—from the Elder's house to the practice field. As he puffed up, sweaty and out of breath, to join the other boys, Prince Dir'ras'sinak, eldest son of the imperial heir, stepped out and fell to one knee in an extravagant obeisance.

Honor to thee, Elder Lord! he cried mockingly. Thy presence blesses our assembly here!

Sha'azharet'th halted with a jerk, aghast at what seemed blasphemy to him. For a moment he could think of nothing to say, nothing to do. Finally he blurted, I'm not an Elder!

What? Not yet? We thought surely by now you would have made it! Dir'ras'sinak looked around at his clique with a lopsided grin, and they all guffawed.

I'll be sure to let you know, as soon as I do, the younger boy responded with grim irony.

Then their teacher intervened, calling them to the practice. Dir'ras'sinak arrogantly demanded a match with Sha'azharet'th, something the instructor would not ordinarily have arranged, since the throne prince was three years older and nearly a head taller. Sha'azharet'th could not hope to beat him (nor would that have done any good—it would only have made him more spiteful.) So he concentrated on avoiding, or lessening the force of the other's blows, and never revealed, by sound or expression, how much some of them hurt him. Dir'ras'sinak won easily, though he also earned a rebuke for excessive violence. He walked away with a dissatisfied frown on his face.

* * * * *

Next day when Sha'azharet'th went to Ra'athon'non's house, he related the incident, not to complain, but to get the Elder Lord's advice on how to handle the situation. He was sure the matter was far from its end!

Ignore them, his new tutor told him shortly. That's what I've had to do for fifty years!

But you don't have a father who wants you to get along with them!

Ra'athon'non chuckled. You do have a problem. But I have confidence that you can handle it. You seem to have done rather nicely already, as far as I can see. Unfortunately, it's been a long time since I was thirteen, and had to worry about such things, so I'm afraid I'm not much help. Tell you what—how would you like to try a Gate today? Something to take your mind off your troubles?

The boy's eyes sparkled with excitement. Can we? Will there be time? I could skip archery today.

You must not do that, Ra'athon'non told him firmly. "For several reasons. Firstly, because those undisciplined brats will think you're afraid of them. Secondly because you must be as well-versed in bodily arts as in arcane ones. Physical and mental skills are all equally important in their place. The reason I took you for khorm training was that I do not trust your other teachers to give it proper emphasis, nor to teach a proper curriculum. In other areas, I'm sure they do a fine job. Besides, you must know that a weak or sickly body cannot support great power. I myself cannot do the half of what I could twenty years ago."

All right, I promise I'll work hard at everything. Can we go now?

Ra'athon'non rose from his chair and walked to the back corner of the room, where there stood a portable framework of bamboo, the size and shape of a doorway. He gestured, and an intricate glyph glowed into life beneath the frame. This Gate is for Arga Vel, the jungle world, he explained. Later you will learn the signs for all the worlds, but for now we shall just pass through this one. Listen to the Word.

He lifted a hand, and spoke a Word of Enablement, which Sha'azharet'th carefully noted. The space inside the frame turned opaque, with a strange greyness that filled the doorway precisely, like a slab of stone. Yet it was not a presence, as stone would have been, but rather an absence, which disturbed the eye to look upon. Quickly the boy ducked around to peek at the opposite side of the doorway. It looked just the same.

This is now the Gate to Arga Vel. If you pass though it—from either side—you will emerge in the other world.

Can we pass through now? Sha'azharet'th asked. Or do we need preparatory spells?

The other nodded, not in reply, but in approval of the question. If this were a Gate to Vir'ran Vel, or Tar'shan Vel, we would indeed need spells in order to survive. But Arga Vel is very similar to this world, except that it is not a world of men. So we can enter it directly. And suiting action to the explanation, he took two steps forward and disappeared into the non-being of the Gate.

Sha'azharet'th waited only one long breath before he followed, plunging through the frame as he would have done through a wall of fire. He felt a violent wrenching, more mental than physical, as if his soul had been yanked out and shoved in again backward. But before he could react, it was over. He stood in knee-high stiff grass, under a blazing tropical sun.

Ra'athon'non waited a few steps away. Beyond him lay a stretch of mud bordering a green-scummed pool. Clumps of reeds higher than his head shut off any further view. The boy drew a long breath of steamy air and turned slowly in place to survey the rest of his surroundings. Behind him was a wall of huge trees, of a variety he had never seen, even in pictures. A flying lizard as big as a child swooped out of the forest and sailed away across the swamp.

The boy's eyes were wide, taking in all this strangeness, but his first question was not about Arga Vel. Where now is the Gate? he asked.

Right where you are standing, was the answer. When we want to return, we must stand there, while I once more enable the spell, and it will return us to the position where the Gate actually exists, in our world. If someone were to destroy or seal that Gate, we would have to find another.

Couldn't we just make a new one, to get to our world? I know it might come out someplace far from Lu Shan, but....

Ra'athon'non shook his head. No. There is no recorded knowledge of how to make Gates in the other worlds which will lead into ours—or anywhere else, for that matter. The spells we use do not work in the Gate worlds. There may very well be other spells which do; perhaps these may even be known to men or other beings which live in those worlds. But if it is so, no one has ever given that knowledge to us.

Then should we set some kind of marker?

None is required. The warping action of the spell is obvious in the astral plane. We could find it from a thousand miles away, if necessary, though I do not think we will be getting that far from it today.

Sha'azharet'th closed his eyes and extended his senses into the astral dimension. Yes, the Gate was an easily discernible hole in space here. Then a heavy splash startled him, popping his eyes open. He jerked around and saw a grey-brown beast as big as Ra'athon'non's house raising its snaky neck out of the reeds a bow-shot away. What's that?! he gasped.

One of the larger denizens of this world. Have no fear—he will not attack us.

Because of the Ring, the boy added. He knew that no living thing under the Law would attack one who bore the ark'khorm.

True, but also because he is an eater of plants, as you can see by his teeth.

Oh. Yes, I see. This would be a good place to hunt.

Not unless you trained one of those monsters as a steed. There is more water than earth here, and what ground there is, is more likely to be mud than solid earth. The first few times I placed a Gate here I walked out into water just like that. He waved at the uninviting pond.

That would be terrible!

At my age, it certainly would be. In fact, I can't pretend it was pleasant even then, but I was much younger, at least.

They made a short excursion into the tangled forest which ran down almost to the swamp edge. Even here the ground was spongy, feeling as if it might give way