The Hand of Chaos

46

The doors to the Cathedral of the Albedo remained closed. The Kenkari continued to turn away the weesham, who occasionally came to stand forlornly, staring at the ornate grillwork until the Keeper of the Door emerged.

“You must go,” he would tell them. “The time is not right.”

“But what do we do?” they cried, clutching the lapis boxes. “When do we return?”

“Wait,” was all he said.

The weesham found no comfort in that, but they could do nothing except return to the Imperanon or to their dukedoms or principalities and wait. Everyone on Paxaria was waiting.

Waiting for their doom.

News of the alliance forged between the rebel elves and the humans had spread rapidly. The Unseen brought back reports that human and elven forces were massing for the final assault. Imperial elven troops began to withdraw from towns on the perimeter of Volkaran, falling back to encircle and defend Aristagon. Towns and cities on the perimeter immediately made plans to surrender to Prince Rees’ahn, on condition that human armies would not be permitted to occupy them. (The elves recalled their own tyrannical occupation of human lands and feared retribution. Their fears were undoubtedly justified. Some wondered if centuries-old, festering wounds would ever heal.) At one point, a strange report, whose source was later traced to Count Tretar, went round the Imperanon. Agah’ran had announced publicly, during luncheon, that King Stephen had been assassinated. The human barons were reportedly in revolt against Queen Anne. Prince Rees’ahn had fled for his life. The alliance was about to crumble.

Parties were held in celebration. When the emperor sobered up, however, he discovered that the report was not true. The Unseen assured Agah’ran that King Stephen was alive and well, though it was observed that the king walked somewhat stiffly and haltingly—the result of a fall suffered during a drinking bout.

Count Tretar was no longer seen at court.

But Agah’ran was confident. He gave more parties, one or two each night, each more glittering, more frantic than the last. The elves who attended (and there were fewer of them each night) laughed at certain other members of the royal family who had purportedly abandoned their homes, gathered up what wealth they could carry, and headed for the frontiers.

“Let the rebels and the human scum come. We will see how they fight against a real army,” said Agah’ran.

In the meantime, he and the other princes and princesses and counts and earls and dukes danced and drank and ate sumptuously.

Their weesham sat silently in the corners and waited.

The silver gong rang. The Keeper of the Door sighed, rose to his feet. Peering through the grillwork, expecting another geir, he gave a small gasp. He opened the door with trembling hands.

“Come in, sir. Come in,” he said in low and solemn tones. Hugh the Hand entered the cathedral.

The Hand wore, once again, the robes of a Kir monk, though in this instance he didn’t wear them to disguise himself for travel through enemy lands. A Kenkari elf accompanied Hugh. The Kenkari had been assigned to escort him from the camp of Prince Rees’ahn in Ulyndia, back to the cathedral in Aristagon. Needless to say, no elf had dared stop them.

Hugh stepped across the threshold. He did not look back, did not take a final glance at a world he would soon be leaving forever. He’d seen enough of that world. It held no joy for him. He was leaving it without regret.

“I will take over from here,” said the Door in a low voice to Hugh’s escort.

“My assistant will show you to your quarters.”

Hugh stood apart, silent, aloof, staring straight ahead. The Kenkari who had accompanied him whispered a few words of blessing, pressed long, delicate-boned fingers into Hugh’s arm. The Hand acknowledged the blessing with a flicker of the deeply sunken eyes, a slight inclination of the head.

“We will go to the Aviary now,” said Door, when they were alone. “If that is what you wish.”

“The sooner I get this over with, the better,” Hugh said. They walked down the crystal corridor that led to the Aviary and the small chapel room just outside.

“How do you do it?” Hugh asked.

The Door flinched, startled. He’d been absorbed in his own thoughts. “Do what, sir?”

“Execute people,” said the Hand. “You’ll excuse the question, but I have a rather personal interest in this.”

The Door went exceedingly pale. “Forgive me. I... I cannot answer. The Keeper of the Soul...” He stammered and fell silent.

Hugh shrugged. After all, what did it matter? The worst part was the journey, the wrenching agony of the soul, unwilling to leave the body. When all ties were severed, he’d be welcomed back home.

They entered the chapel without ceremony, without knocking. Obviously, they were expected. The Keeper of the Book stood behind her desk, the Book open. The Keeper of the Soul stood before the altar.

The Kenkari shut the door, placed his back to it.

“Hugh the Hand, approach the altar,” said the Keeper of the Soul. Hugh stepped forward. Behind the altar, through the window, he could see the Aviary. The green leaves were very still, this day; no motion, no disturbance. The dead souls, too, were waiting.

In moments, Hugh would join them.

“Make this quick,” said Hugh. “No praying, no singing. Just get on with it.”

“It shall be as you desire, sir,” said the Keeper of the Soul, gently. He raised his arms, the butterfly wings shimmered, falling in folds about him.

“Hugh the Hand, you agreed to give your soul to us in return for our assistance to you and the Lady Iridal. Such assistance was granted. Your quest to save the child was successful.”

“Yes,” said Hugh, voice gruff, soft. “He is safe, now.” As I’ll be safe, he thought. Safe in death.

The Keeper of the Soul flicked a glance at Book and Door, then turned his complete attention back.

“And you, Hugh the Hand, now come forward to fulfill your contract with us. You give us your soul.”

“I do,” said Hugh, kneeling down. “Take it.” He braced himself, clasped his hands before him, drew a deep breath, as if he guessed it must be his last.

“I would,” said the Keeper, frowning. “But your soul is not yours to give.”

“What?” Hugh let out his breath, glowered at the Keeper. “What do you mean? I’ve come here to you. I kept my part—”

“Yes, but you do not come to us free of mortal bonds. You have taken on another contract. You agreed to kill a man.”

Hugh was growing angry. “What tricks are you elves up to? What man did I agree to kill?”

“The man called Haplo.”

“Haplo?” Hugh gaped, uncomprehending. He honestly had no idea what the elf was talking about.

And then...

There’s just one thing you must do. You must tell Haplo, when he’s dying, that Xar is the one who wants him dead. Will you remember that name? Xar is the one who says that Haplo must die.

The Keeper of the Soul watched Hugh’s face, nodded when the man looked up at him in stunned and baffled realization. “You promised the child Bane. You took his contract.”

“But ... I never meant...”

“You never meant to live long enough to fulfill it. Yet you are alive. And you took the contract.”

“And Bane is dead!” Hugh said harshly.

“Would that make a difference to the Brotherhood? The contract is sacred ...” His expression dark and grim, Hugh rose, stood facing the Keeper. “Sacred!” He gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, it’s sacred. Apparently it’s the only thing sacred in this accursed life. I thought you Kenkari were different. I thought at last I’d found something I could believe in, something...

“But what do you care? Pah!” Hugh spit on the floor at the Keeper’s feet. “You’re no better than all the rest.”

Book gasped. Door averted his face. Inside the Aviary, the leaves of the trees whispered, sighed. The Keeper regarded Hugh in silence.

At length, the Keeper said, quietly, calmly, “You owe us a life. Instead of yours, we choose his.”

Book caught her breath, stared, horrified, at the Keeper of the Soul. Door opened his mouth, about to do the unthinkable—about to speak, about to protest. The Keeper cast the other Kenkari a swift, stern gaze and both bowed their heads, fell silent.

“Why? What’d he do to you?” Hugh demanded.

“We have our reasons. Do you find this arrangement acceptable?” Hugh folded his arms across his chest, tugged thoughtfully at his twisted beard. “This pays for all?”

The Keeper smiled gently. “Perhaps not all. But it will come close.” Hugh considered, eyed the Kenkari suspiciously. Then he shrugged. “Very well. Where do I find Haplo?”

“On the isle of Drevlin. He has been grievously wounded and is weak.” The Keeper lowered his eyes, his face was flushed. “You should have no difficulty—”

Book made a choking sound, covered her mouth with her hands. Hugh glanced at her, sneered. “Squeamish? Don’t worry, I’ll spare you the gory details. Unless you want to hear how he died, of course. I’ll throw that part in free. Describe his death throes...”

Book turned away, leaned weakly on her desk. Door was livid, his frail body shook and trembled. The Keeper of the Soul stood silent, unmoving. Hugh turned on his heel, walked toward the door. The Keeper glanced questioningly at the Soul.

“Accompany him,” the Kenkari commanded his fellow. “Make whatever arrangements he deems necessary for his transportation to Drevlin. And provide whatever... weapons...”

Door blanched. “Yes, Keeper,” he murmured, barely able to walk. He glanced back, pleadingly, as if he would beg the Keeper to reconsider. Soul remained firm, implacable. Sighing, Door prepared to escort the assassin out.

“Hugh the Hand,” the Soul called.

Pausing on the threshold, Hugh turned. “Now what?”

“Remember to fulfill the condition you promised. Tell Haplo that Xar is the one who wants him dead. You will be certain to do that? It is most important.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell him. Anything for the customer.” Hugh gave a mocking bow. Then he turned to Door. “The only thing I’ll need is a knife, with a good, sharp blade.”

The Keeper shrank into himself. Pallid and wan, he cast a final glance back at Soul. Receiving no reprieve, he accompanied Hugh out and shut the door behind them.

“Keeper, what have you done?” cried Book, unable to contain herself. “Never, in all the centuries of our existence, have we taken a life! Any life! Now our hands will be stained with blood. Why? For what reason?” The Keeper stood staring after the assassin. “I do not know,” he said in a hollow voice. “I was not told. I did only as I was commanded.” He looked behind the altar, through the crystal window, into the Aviary. The leaves of the trees rustled quietly, in satisfaction.