Tigana by Guy Kay (novel24 txt) 📕

Slowly Erlein lowered his hand and slowly his trembling stopped. ‘Triad curse you,’ he said, low and cold. ‘And curse the bones of your ancestors and blight the lives of your children and your children’s children for what you have done to me.’ It was the voice of someone wronged, brutally, grievously.

Alessan did not flinch or turn away. ‘I was cursed almost nineteen years ago, and my ancestors were, and whatever children I or any of my people might have. It is a curse I have set my life to undo while time yet allows. For no other reason have I bound you to me.’

There was something terrible in Erlein’s face. ‘Every true Prince of Tigana,’ the wizard said with bitter intensity, ‘has known since the beginning how awful a gift the god gave them. How savage a power over a free, a living soul. Do you even know—’ He was forced to stop, white-faced, his hands clenched, to regain control of himself. ‘Do you even know how seldom this gift has been used.’

‘Twice,’ Alessan said calmly. ‘Twice, to my knowledge. The old books recorded it so, though I fear all the books have been burned now.’

‘Twice!’ Erlein echoed, his voice skirling upwards. ‘Twice in how many generations stretching back to the dawn of records in this peninsula? And you, a puling princeling without even a land to rule, have just casually—viciously—set your hands upon my life!’

‘Not casually. And only because I have no home. Because Tigana is dying and will be lost if I do not do something.’

‘And what part of that little speech gives you rights over my life and death?’

‘I have a duty,’ Alessan replied gravely. ‘I must use what tools come to hand.’

‘I am not a tool!’ Erlein cried from the heart. ‘I am a free and living soul with my own destiny!’

Watching Alessan’s face Devin saw how that cry shafted into him. For a long moment there was silence by the river. Devin saw the Prince draw air into his lungs carefully, as if steadying himself under yet another burden, a new weight joined to those he already carried. Another part added to the price of his blood.

‘I will not lie and say that I am sorry,’ Alessan said finally, choosing his words with care. ‘I have dreamt of finding a wizard for too many years. I will say—and this is true—that I understand what you have said and why you will hate me, and I can tell you that I grieve for what necessity demands.’

‘It demands nothing!’ Erlein replied, shrill and unrelenting in his righteousness. ‘We are free men. There is always a choice.’

‘Some choices are closed to some of us.’ It was, surprisingly, Sandre.

He moved forward to stand a little in front of Devin. ‘And some men must make choices for those who cannot, whether through lack of will or lack of power.’ He walked nearer to the other two, by the dark, quiet rushing of the stream. ‘Just as we may choose not to slay the man who is trying to kill our child, so Alessan may have chosen not to bind a wizard who might be needed by his people. His children. Neither refusal, Erlein di Senzio, is a true alternative for anyone with honour.’

‘Honour!’ Erlein spat the word. ‘And how does honour bind a man of Senzio to Tigana’s fate? What Prince compels a free man to a sure death at his side and then speaks of honour?’ He shook his head. ‘Call it naked power and have done.’

‘I will not,’ the Duke replied in his deep voice. It was quite dark now; Devin could no longer see his hooded eyes. From behind them all he heard the sounds of Baerd beginning to light the fire. Overhead the first stars were emerging in the blue-black cloak of the sky. Away west, across the stream, there was a last hint of crimson along the line of the horizon.

‘I will not,’ Sandre said again. ‘The honour of a ruler, and his duty, lies in his care for his land and his people. That is the only true measure. And the price, part of the price of that, comes when he must go against his own soul’s needs and do such things that will grieve him to the very bones of his hands. Such things,’ he added softly, ‘as the Prince of Tigana has just done to you.’

But Erlein’s voice shot back, unpersuaded, contemptuous. ‘And how,’ he snarled, ‘does a bought sword from Khardhun presume to use the word honour or to speak about the burdens of a prince?’ He wanted the words to hurt, Devin could see, but what came through in the inflections of his voice was the sound of someone lost and afraid.

There was a silence. Behind them the fire caught with a rush, and the orange glow spun outward, illuminating Erlein’s taut rage and Sandre’s gaunt, dark face, the bones showing in high relief. Beyond them both, Devin saw, Alessan had not moved at all.

Sandre said, ‘The Khardhu warriors I have known were deeply versed in honour. But I will claim no credit for that. Be not deceived: I am no Khardhu. My name is Sandre d’Astibar, once Duke of that province. I know a little about power.’

Erlein’s mouth fell open.

‘I am also a wizard,’ Sandre added matter-of-factly. ‘Which is how you were known: by the thin spell you use to mask your hand.’

Erlein closed his mouth. He stared fixedly at the Duke as if seeking to penetrate his disguise or find confirmation in the deep-hooded eyes. Then he glanced downwards, almost against his will.

Sandre already had the fingers of his left hand spread wide. All five fingers.

‘I never made the final binding,’ he said. ‘I was twelve years old when my magic found me. I was also the son and heir of Tellani, Duke of Astibar. I made my choice: I turned my back on magic and embraced the rule of