‘Koroll will keep watch.’ Ho turned to the Thelomen giant, peering up. ‘Is that not so?’
Beneath the tangled forest of knotted and matted hair a wide grin split the giant’s craggy tattooed features. ‘I will indeed. Fear not, Hood’s Mortal Sword.’
Dassem frowned, wondering whether to bother disputing the assumption that he was afraid, but the Thelomen’s grin was so open and honest he chose not to argue. He inclined his head instead, in gratitude. ‘My thanks.’
Ho swept an arm, inviting him onward. ‘The Protectress awaits.’
With Ho at his side Dassem passed through gates and checkpoints unimpeded. The armies of Itko Kan had withdrawn long ago, and no outside threat currently menaced the city, but Shalmanat was maintaining strict martial law until all the damage from the recent siege could be repaired; it was not incidental that it also helped to maintain order in the face of the plague.
Dassem was surprised by the summons. Since crushing the army of Chulalorn the Third, the Protectress had been a virtual recluse. Few, if any, save her servants the city mages, had even seen her. Some claimed that she’d died in the firestorm she’d summoned and that the city mages were colluding to hide the fact. Others whispered that she was now horribly disfigured.
Ho led him to the main audience hall where Shalmanat had formerly heard petitions and dispensed justice – the city mages handled such duties now. It was dark and empty, only a few lamps burning in wall sconces. Ho stopped at the doors, gesturing for Dassem to go on without him. ‘She would see you alone.’
Dassem paused. ‘I am armed.’
Ho nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You have not asked for my weapon.’
Ho lifted his chin to indicate the far end of the hall. ‘She said you would never surrender it.’
Dassem shifted his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘That is true.’
‘Very well then.’
‘You would allow this?’
Ho nodded, indicating an appreciation of Dassem’s point. He crossed his thick wrestler’s arms. ‘You claim to be Hood’s Mortal Sword. Well, let me just say that should you strike Shalmanat down now it would merely prove that you most certainly are not.’ And he smiled, motioning him forward.
Dassem wanted to strike that self-satisfied smile from the man’s face, but had to content himself with shutting the door on him instead. He walked up the long hall of polished marble flags to the dais where Shalmanat waited, wrapped in a white cloth that shimmered in the half-light.
At the foot of the steps he knelt to one knee. ‘Protectress.’ Raising his head, he saw her answering nod.
‘Mortal Sword. You honour me.’
‘Not at all. I am your servant.’
‘The reverse, I assure you. I sit before you as petitioner.’
He could not keep the reflexive wince from his features, his hands tightening to fists. ‘Please. Protectress … do not do this.’
‘I must. It is my duty. My city is threatened. I must do all in my power to avert this threat.’
He shook his head, gently. ‘Please…’
Struggling, she tried to rise from the white marble throne. His breath caught as the wrap of silk slid free and revealed her bent form, all bones and strange angles. With her good arm she reached behind the throne to grasp a cane and with its aid she managed to get to her feet, but she remained hunched, as if crippled or ill.
Dassem’s own heart laboured with her as she fought to descend from the dais.
‘I have given my beauty. My youth. My grace, all in defence of this city, Sword,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘What more would you force from me?’
He could not stop shaking his head. ‘Please … do not do this.’ She stood before him, tense from the effort, and it was all he could do not to fall at her feet. ‘Please.’
‘I beg you, Sword of Hood. Spare my city. Intercede with your god.’
‘You do not understand … I cannot.’
‘No? You demand more? It is true then, what they say – that one must give up one’s humanity to become a mortal sword?’
She struggled to lower herself before him and this he could not endure; gently, he took her frail body in his arms and returned her to the dais. ‘Is there nothing that can be done for you? No High Denul healings?’
‘You know this was sacrifice,’ she murmured. ‘You understand sacrifice. It cannot be taken back – so do not change the subject.’
His voice almost cracked as he managed, ‘I have no control over him.’ He raised the wrap to hide her disfigurements, tucking her in. ‘I am his servant, not the reverse.’
‘Like me,’ she answered. ‘I serve the city. Then you must ask yourself, Sword. What price are you prepared to pay?’
He bowed his head to her. ‘Like you. Any.’
She glanced to the far doors. ‘Go then, damn you. The price you pay I fear will be no less.’
He bowed once more, honouring her, then backed away down the hall. Closing the door behind him, he turned to Ho, who stood waiting. ‘She will have to show herself eventually.’
Ho nodded. ‘I know. At Burn’s Festival, perhaps. High at a parapet, possibly.’
‘Do not underestimate these people. They will still want her, despite this.’
‘I know – but she will not have it.’ Ho turned to leave and for a time the two walked side by side in silence.
‘Know you why she summoned me?’ Dassem asked at length.
Ho nodded once more. ‘Yes.’
‘And you know my answer?’
‘Yes.’
‘And…?’
The burly mage shrugged as they walked the empty streets. ‘The effort had to be made. More important,’ watching Dassem sidelong, ‘what will you do now?’
Dassem chose to echo the mage’s shrug. ‘I serve. It is up to Hood.’
The city mage lowered his gaze, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. In silence, he walked Dassem through the streets to his temple-mausoleum, where Koroll lumbered to his feet from the threshold. The giant bowed his head. ‘Sword.’
Ho moved on, but the giant paused, glancing back to the open stone portal of the mausoleum. ‘I wish you luck, Sword,’ he said, his voice low, and then he shambled off.
Dassem watched them go, then entered.
Nara lay where he had left her, and he knelt at her side. The fresh sheet he’d laid upon her was already soaked through across her chest, stomach and thighs. He dipped a cloth into a bowl of sweet water, squeezed it, and substituted it for the one on her brow – so warm to his palm. ‘You spoke with Koroll?’ he asked.
‘We spoke,’ she answered, swallowing. Beads of sweat ran from her temples into her gleaming wet hair. ‘He said he’d met other mortal swords and that he thinks quite highly of you.’
Dassem allowed himself a quiet laugh. ‘An unusual point of view.’ He took up a crust of bread and dipped it in a cold broth, then brought it to her cracked lips.
She grimaced and turned her head away.
‘You must eat.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped.
‘Sorry?’
‘I know this is very … hard for you.’
He snorted his disagreement. ‘I am not the one suffering here. You are.’
‘You know what I mean.’