The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [40]
The mask was the guardian of emotion, demanding respect and submission to the wychlaren rule, but like the hathran before her, it was a target for their enemies. Thaena cultivated the anger that rested in her gut, saved it and nourished it with the scene around her. Fury was the only thing that would keep her standing, keep her moving and leading until the Creel were ousted from the Shield.
Her gaze betrayed her determination though, constantly returning to the body of her sister.
She knelt solemnly, drawn to the hathran-as if by seeing every detail, perhaps she could keep it from happening again; as if she could keep death at bay by spying its true nature in the wounds of the dead. Folding her hands across her lap, she bowed her head as if intoning a ritual. It was a show for the berserkers, using what they called the vyrrdi, the mystery of the wychlaren, to allay their fears.
One of the hathran's hands rested close her knee, a red scratch running across the wrist, a fingernail broken. The scratch traveled up the arm, growing deeper as it neared the elbow- i "I once watched over the body of a hathran."
Thaena flinched, startled by Anilya's voice. "I-I have no intention of discussing your-"
"Not one that I had slain," Anilya interjected and knelt just behind her. "But one that had taken me under her wing, in Rashemen."
"In Rashemen?" Thaena asked. "You were an ethran?"
"Yes. Many years ago-more than I care to admit."
"How did-how did she die?" Thaena asked.
"We were investigating reports of a Thayan spy near Mulsantir," Anilya said. "We discovered him, along with others, gathering information about our defenses for the zulkirs. They were prepared for us and fought like madmen. My hathran was cut down by the arrows of Thayan assassins."
"I am sorry," Thaena said and meant it.
Anilya edged closer to Thaena's side, looking sidelong at her through her dark mask and its darker covering of sigils. "You could say I've moved on since then."
Thaena looked back to the body. The scent of smoke lingered in Anilya's presence, bringing to mind the bodies raised by her magic. She could trust the durthans hatred of the Creel, but Thaena knew she was far from trusting the durthan herself.
"I was to be made hathran soon after that. The othlor would have sent me to the Urlingwood for the ceremony, but I refused. I wished to extract answers from the Thayan spy, make him tell us what he knew, how much he had told to his masters, and use him to strike back against Thay. And they refused me."
"So you left?" Thaena asked, though she expected Anilya's answer.
"Not right away," the durthan replied, "but I certainly never made it to the Urlingwood. Not while I thought there was more that could have been done-could still be done-for Rashemen."
"Then why the durthan?"
"Because they know the power that our land holds must be protected."
"The wychlaren are quite capable of-"
"Defending? Maybe, for a time perhaps." Anilya leaned forward, catching Thaena's eye. "But for how long?"
"We have done well enough so far," Thaena answered, though in the back of her mind her reasoning felt flimsy. She broke the stare, pretending to watch the western doors for the return of Duras.
"Defense is well and good, but our enemies still exist, still want what is not theirs." The durthans voice was softer but carried a passion that Thaena could not deny. "As long as we tolerate the existence of our enemies we will see no end to useless deaths such as these."
Anilya pulled from her belt a small smooth stone and laid it upon the lap of the hathran, whispering quiet words before rising to her feet.
"Imagine this chamber as the whole of Rashemen, Thaena. Should we defend this meager hall alone and leave all else to barbarians and outsiders? Or do we venture forth and make war before war comes to claim us?" She turned to leave and added, "And what boundaries can one place on war?"