The Lady of Han-Gilen Read Online Free PDF Page B

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vows,’ she said to me, unshakable.
    “And who should come upon us but the Prince of Han-Gilen? He
defied me, son of my brother though he was, lay votary of the order, bound to
obedience within the walls of my temple. His men-at-arms loosed the prisoner,
and my priests stood aside with sheathed swords, for she had bewitched them
also. I cursed them all. In the law’s name I snatched a sword to do execution.
And they seized me, my own priests, and my kinsman held me to trial. I had
dared to lay hands upon the god’s chosen bride, and through her his
true-begotten son, heir of Avaryan and emperor that would be. My law had no
defense for me; the prince had what he called mercy. Forbearing to put me to
death, instead he stripped me of my torque and my office, unbound and cut away
my braid, and cast me into exile. And all the while his woman watched me with
his bastard in her belly.”
    The words were like hammer blows, weighted with long years
of bitterness. The priestess bore them in silence. When the exile fell silent
at last, the younger woman spoke. “You chose your punishment. You could have
kept your office and accepted the truth; or you could have stepped aside in
honor, setting me in your place and retiring to the cloister.”
    “Honor, say you?” The exile’s contempt was absolute. “You, who
would found an empire on a lie?”
    “On the god’s own truth.”
    The exile’s face was a mask. “You have found the truth here,
O betrayer of your vows. All Han-Gilen lies under your spell. But I have
escaped it. I have wielded my freedom in its guise of banishment, to gather
such men as will not succumb to sorcery, to restore the shattered law. It
remains. It waits to take you.”
    The priestess smiled. “Not the law; the god. Can you not
hear how he calls me?”
    “The god has turned his face from you.”
    “No. Nor has he abandoned you, greatly though you fear it,
greatly enough to turn all against him and bow at the feet of his dark sister.
When first I came to you, when you saw me and hated me for the love you knew he
bore me, how terribly I pitied you; for you had no knowledge at all of his love
for you. Rank you had, and power, but where you looked for him you could not
find him. You despaired; yet you had but sought him where he was not. He waited
still, calling to your deaf ears, waiting for your eyes to turn to him. Even
now he cries to you. Will you not listen? Will you not see?”
    There were tears in the priestess’ eyes, tears of
compassion. The exile’s hands came up to her face; she thrust them down. Her
voice lashed out. “Silence her!”
    Blades flashed. The priestess smiled. If she knew pain, it
could not touch the heart of her joy.
    Hooves rang on stone. A deep voice cried out: “Sanelin!” A lighter
one rose above it, close to a shriek: “Mother!” Black pony and red charger plunged into the glade.
    The priestess lay where her captors had flung her, on her
back by the water. Bright blood stained the grass.
    Men howled, trampled under sharpened hooves, cloven by the
prince’s sword. She neither heard nor saw. Above her loomed her enemy.
    The exile’s hand rose high, with a dagger glittering in it;
yet even as the blade poised to fall, the woman looked up. Hooves struck at
her, both dainty and deadly; a narrow wicked head tossed, slashing sidewise
with its horns.
    She writhed away, around, beneath. Her knife flashed upward
past the pony, toward its rider.
    Sanelin cried out. Mirain flung up his hand. Lightnings
leaped from it.
    The knife found flesh. But its force was feeble. Its wielder
cried aloud and reeled, clawing at her eyes, and fled.
    The pony stood still, snorting. Mirain wavered half stunned,
his hand dangling, burning. The fire flickered in it, burning low now, a golden
ember.
    Sanelin could not draw his gaze, could not speak. A massive fist
smote him to the ground.
    The silence was absolute. No living enemy stood in the
glade. The man who had struck Mirain had turned and