A look passed over Chintil’s face, there and gone in an instant. But it twisted something inside Nineth. She hoped Chintil wouldn’t get hurt; what she really wanted was for the Hatha-kala Mistress to teach Tamsyn a lesson. But that, she knew, was too much to expect.
Chintil stepped forward, pivoted, and grabbed Tamsyn under the arms. Tamsyn slid sideways with a single step, smooth as a snake. She dropped her hips, grabbed Chintil by the waist, and fell backward, throwing Chintil sideways. Chintil landed with a thud that made Nineth wince. Everyone was perfectly still.
Tamsyn rose, graceful as ever. “See, children? I hope you have all learned something.” She turned to Chintil and said in a concerned tone of voice, “I hope you are not hurt, Elder?”
“Not at all,” said Chintil calmly, getting up. “Thank you for the demonstration. Now, if you will excuse us, I should get on with the class.”
Tamsyn’s teeth flashed. “Certainly. Please meet me in my chamber afterward.”
She left, and Chintil continued with the class, but Nineth could tell that her heart wasn’t quite in it.
*
“I don’t see why we have to lift a finger to help the Order of Valavan.” Tamsyn sounded bored as she gazed at the four elders standing in front of her. She had not invited them to sit—indeed, there was no place for them to sit in the Mahimata’s cell except the floor. Tamsyn herself was behind her desk, playing with a linen-wrapped package—the same package she had dangled in front of Navroz, claiming that it was from Shirin Mam. Three scented candles burned at the desk, casting their yellow, uncertain light on the Mahimata’s masklike face.
“It’s not about helping the Order of Valavan,” said Navroz. “It’s a matter of responsibility. Shirin Mam gave the order to execute Kai’s eldest son. Now he is amassing an army and using the dark weapons to kill innocent people. Perhaps the death of his son unhinged him, or perhaps he is taking revenge. He must be stopped before more people die. The Orders—all of them—must put away their differences to deal with this menace.”
“I hope you are not referring to the Order of Khur,” drawled Tamsyn. “They’re nothing but a band of outlaws. Mere men, aspiring to our position.”
Mumuksu frowned. “They exist, whether we wish it or not. It would be better to work with them in this case, as Kai was one of theirs.”
Tamsyn leaned back and gave a humorless smile. “My point exactly,” she said. “The Marksmen are unstable and dangerous and cannot be trusted. A man bonded to a blade is a perversion against the natural order of things. Besides, we don’t need them. And we don’t need the Order of Valavan. We can destroy the outlaws by ourselves on the condition that the Thar is recognized as ours.”
The four elders stared at her, dumbfounded.
“That would be madness. Suicidal!” said Chintil. Navroz tried to catch her gaze. It was better not to display overt opposition to the new Mahimata; they would have to be more subtle if they were to have any say in the direction their Order took now. But Chintil would not look at her; her face had gone red, as if she suppressed great emotion.
“We cannot face the dark weapons on our own,” said Mumuksu. “They would destroy us before we even came close to them.”
“Who wants the Thar? Backward little desert full of bandits and outlaws.” That last was from Felda.
Navroz groaned inwardly. She had spent hours talking with the others before they could agree on how to present a calm and united front to the Mahimata, but Tamsyn was not making it easy for them.
Aloud she said, “There is no question of taking over any part of Valavian territory, Tamsyn. Faran Lashail would never stand for it, not if we cleaned the Deccan of every single outlaw that infests it. And what makes you think we can do this on our own? Kai is known to possess at least twelve kalashiks, and he must have amassed hundreds of more primitive weapons as well.”
“It is simple, Navroz,” said Tamsyn. “I am surprised that no one else has thought of it. I will present my plan at the meeting in Sikandra, and I am sure that it will be accepted. Please don’t let me keep you any longer; I am sure your pupils await you.” She waved her arm, signifying that the meeting was over.
“You aren’t going to tell us what your plan is?” asked Felda through gritted teeth.
“Don’t worry about it, my dear Felda,” said Tamsyn sweetly. “Concentrate on those equations of yours—so critical to the well-being of our Order.”
“You can hardly expect our cooperation if you do not tell us what you intend,” said Chintil tightly.
Tamsyn laughed. “On the contrary, Chintil, I know you will cooperate fully with your Mahimata. As will the rest of you.” Her voice was laced with the Inner Speech. Her dark eyes were filled with amusement. They rested on each of the four elders, one by one. When they came to Navroz they lingered a bit longer than on the others. Navroz stiffened, refusing to let slip the slightest emotion under that intrusive gaze.
Finally Tamsyn nodded, as if satisfied with what she had seen. “You may go,” she said.
*
No one spoke until they were outside the caves. A cool breeze had sprung up, and Navroz inhaled the fresh air gratefully. An encounter with Tamsyn always left her breathless and with a pounding headache. She rubbed her temples, hoping the others wouldn’t notice.
“Well, she certainly put us in our place,” said Chintil.
Chintil Maya was younger than most of them, though not as young as Tamsyn, of course—and the best Hatha-kala teacher the Order had seen in generations. At one time, some fifteen years ago, Tamsyn had been her favorite pupil. That had been before Tamsyn overtook them all in both Hatha-kala and the Mental Arts, becoming second to none but Shirin Mam herself.
It was not only Tamsyn’s talent, of course, that had prompted Navroz to announce her as the new Mahimata. In the shock and confusion surrounding Shirin Mam’s death, it had seemed the right thing to do. Tamsyn was the Hand of Kali, the natural successor to Shirin Mam.
Now, however, Navroz was not sure that she had acted wisely. During the ceremony to initiate Tamsyn as the Mahimata, all the torches had flickered out, plunging them into darkness and dismay. It was an ill omen, a harbinger of the bleak times to come.
It was not only the debacle with Kyra, unfortunate as that was. It was the fact that Navroz was no closer to the truth of Shirin Mam’s death than she had been that first night, when she saw the twisted shape of Shirin’s body lying on the floor of her cell. In that moment she had the insight that nothing was as it seemed, that Shirin herself had arranged to be found like this by Kyra. But as time passed she was no closer to understanding why, or even how.