The River of Shadows by Robert V S Redick Read Free Book Online

feverish, his tenth day without water;or still tied up in that cave on Bramian. That was the only explanation.
    “When one of the men turns away,” said Hercól, “try to catch a glimpse of his neck.”
    “You never met my sister. You couldn’t know what she looks like. I think I’m crazy, Hercól.”
    “Enough of that. I’ve looked at her portrait a hundred times. It hung for years in Dr. Chadfallow’s study in Etherhorde, alongside your mother’s and your own. It hangs in his cabin now. But that portrait must be ten years old. I could not be sure it was her, until you saw for yourself.”
    “But how in the blary howling Pits could she be
here
?”
    “Look! There’s an answer for you, or the beginning of one.”
    The older man was reaching for something on his right. He leaned forward, and his long hair fell away from his neck. The firelight showed a black tattoo, a pattern of strokes and diamonds.
    “Lord Rin above,” said Pazel. “They’re Mzithrinis.”
    So they were: three citizens of the Mzithrin Pentarchy, the enemy state, the rival power that had fought the Empire of Arqual to one blood-soaked draw after another, for centuries. Dr. Chadfallow had always claimed that he’d placed Neda in the hands of a Mzithrini diplomat, to save her from becoming a slave or concubine of the invading Arqualis. It could have happened, Pazel thought: she might have taken on their customs, their beliefs. In five years she might have become almost anyone.
    “What should we do?” he whispered.
    “I brought you here that you might help me decide,” said Hercól. “They are Mzithrini, to be sure. Which means that they, like us, have somehow crossed the Ruling Sea. But they are not common sailors. Those tattoos declare holy orders. They are
sfvantskor
s, warrior-priests. And if they choose to attack us, they will win.”
    “Neda won’t attack me.”
    “Pazel, if she has taken the Last Oath and become a true
sfvantskor
, she will do whatever her leader commands. In some parts of the Mzithrin the newly sworn are told to leap one by one into a covered pit. Most find the bottom filled with rose petals, but one lands on razor-sharp stakes. The rest honor his sacrifice with prayers, and taste his blood for discipline.”
    “That’s horrible!”
    “No worse than what a Turach endures. Those three, however, may have a special reason to detest us: the loss of their ship. The men were aboard the
Jistrolloq
when it drew alongside us in Simja. I dare say your sister was as well.”
    “She spoke to me,” said Pazel suddenly. “A
sfvantskor
girl in a mask whispered to me in the shrine—she told me to turn away from evil, as if one
could—
Hercól, how can they be alive? We sank the
Jistrolloq
months ago, in the middle of the Ruling Sea.”
    “Months,” said Hercól, “or two hundred years?”
    Pazel froze, then lowered his face, grinding his forehead into the sand.
    “If we decide to speak to them,” said Hercól, “let us take care not to speak of
that
. So far it has been a secret among the two of us, Thasha and Bolutu. Let it remain so, for now.”
    “It’s not true, anyway,” said Pazel. “That part
can’t
be true.”
    “Why not?” said Hercól.
    “Because if two hundred years have passed, then the whole conspiracy’s failed. And the war must be long over, if it ever came to war.”
    “Certainly,” said Hercól.
    “And your Empress Maisa is dead, and everyone we cared about, everyone who knew our mucking names.”
    “Catastrophes are only unthinkable until they occur. You Ormalis should know that.”
    “I’ll tell you why, then,” said Pazel. “Because if it’s true then I really will go mad. Barking blary mad.”
    Hercól’s hand slipped under his jaw. Gently, but with an iron strength, he lifted Pazel’s chin. His eyes were sharp and wary in the moonlight.
    “Please,” he said, “don’t.”
    The Mzithrinis could smell the rabbit crackling on the spit. It was all they could do not to pluck