P. C. Hodgell - Kencyrath 03 - Seekers Mask

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Seeker's Mask

Table of Contents

Characters Present and Past

PART 1

III

Interim I

PART II

Gothregor: 54th – 55th of Spring

III

VII

Interim II

PART III

The Riverland: 55th – 58th of Spring

III

VII

VIII

Interim III

PART IV

Restormir: 58th of Spring

III

VII

VIII

Interim IV

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PART V

Mount Alban: 59th of Spring

III

VII

Interim V

PART VI

Mount Alban: 60th of Spring

III

Interim VI

PART VII

Wilden: 60th of Spring

III

Interim VII

III

PART VIII

Kithorn: 60th of Spring

III

VII

VIII

SEEKER'S MASK

P.C. Hodgell

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This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any

resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

Paper versions are available from

Meisha Merlin Publishing Inc.

www.meishamerlin.com

ISBN 10: 0-689-31171-0

ISBN 13: 978-0-689-31171-0

Cover art by P. C. Hodgell

First Baen Ebook, April 2007

Dedication:

For Teddington Weir, who was and always will be Jonn,

and for Romney Marsh,

and for Melinda

Characters Present and Past

Adiraina the Ardeth Matriarch, Adric's cousin, sister-kin to Kinzi Adric Lord Ardeth of Omiroth,

Torisen's ally and former mentor Aerulan a Highborn Knorth girl killed in the Massacre; Jame's cousin;

sister-kin to Brenwyr Argentiel That-Which-Preserves, the Second Face of the Three-Faced-God

Ashe a scrolls-woman singer who was killed by haunts in the White Hills and therefore returned as one

Bane Ganth's son by a Kendar mistress, Jame's half-brother Bashtiri Shadow Guild a guild of

assassins, noted for their determination and invisibility Brant Lord Brandan of Falkirr, Brenwyr's

brother Brenwyr the Brandan Matriarch, Brant's sister, sister-kin to Aerulan Brier Iron-thorn a

Knorth randon cadet, formerly a Caineron yondri Burnt Man Merikit avenger of the slain Burr Torisen's

Kendar servant Caldane Lord Caineron of Restormir, Torisen's enemy Cattila the Caineron Matriarch,

Caldane's great-grandmother Chingetai Merikit chief Chaos Serpent the great, primal snake said to lie

under Rathillien, whose mouth is the maelstrom known as the Maw Dianthe the Danior Matriarch

Ganth Gray Lord former Highlord of the Kencyrath, father of Jame and Torisen Gerridon the Master

of Knorth, former Highlord whose treachery caused the Fall Gorgo a Tastigon rain god of the Old

Pantheon Graykin (Griki) Jame's half-breed servant and Caldane's bastard son Grimly a wolver poet

Grondin Caldane's first established son Harn Grip-hard Torisen's second in command with the

Southern Host Hawthorn a Brandan randon captain, assigned to Tentir and Gorthregor Higron

Caldane's sixth established son Hollens (Holly), Lord Danior of Shadow Rock, Torisen's closest kin on

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the High Council, therefore his heir presumptive Immalai the Arrin-ken who passed judgment on Jame

in the Ebonbane Index an old scrollsman, expert on the Merikit Ishtier a Kencyr high-priest, Jame's

enemy Jame Jamethiel Priest's-Bane, Torisen's twin sister Jorin Jame's blind royal Gold ounce

Kallystine Caldane's favorite daughter, Torisen's limited term consort Karidia the Coman Matriarch

Kindrie Soul-Walker a healer, Jame's cousin, the Knorth Bastard Kinzi Jame's great-grandmother,

sister-kin to Adirania, killed in the Massacre, the last Knorth Matriarch Kirien the Jaran Lordan or Heir,

a scrollswoman Logan Gorgo's priest Lower Town Monster the demon created by Ishtier around

Bane's soul Lyra Caldane's young daughter, formerly consort to Prince Odalian of Karkinaroth,

nicknamed "Lack-wit" Marc Jame's Kendar friend Pereden Ardeth's dead, renegade son, former

commander of the Southern Host Ragga Mother Ragga, the Earth Wife of Peshtar Rawneth the Randir

Matriarch Regonereth That-Which-Destroys, the Third Face of the Three-Faced-God River Snake

that offspring of the Serpent's Brood that lies under the Silver Rose Iron-thorn Brier's mother Rowan

Torisen's steward at Gothregor Rue a Knorth randon cadet "Sonny" Chingetai's son, the Merikit

Favorite Telarien Jame's grandmother, killed in the Massacre Tieri Ganth's young sister, sole survivor

of the Massacre Tiggeri Caldane's seventh established son Tishooo the Old Man, a wind from the

south Torisen Lord Knorth of Gothregor, Black Lord ("Blackie"), Highlord of the Kencyrath, Jame's

twin brother Tungit a Merikit shaman-elder, Index's old friend Vant a Knorth randon cadet Yolindra

the Edirr Matriarch

PART 1

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"The first duty of a Highborn lady is obedience."

So spoke the young instructress as she swept imperiously back and forth before her even younger class.

The extreme tightness of her under-skirt obliged her to walk with tiny, rapid steps, but she did this so

smoothly that she might have been mounted on wheels.

"A lady's second duty is self-restraint," she said, pivoting on her toes. Her full outer skirt belled out

round her, velvet pleats opening to reveal panels of rich embroidery, restraint transformed by long

practice into grace.

"Her third duty is endurance."

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The little girls obediently echoed the words after her, fingers busy with the knot stitch which they were

currently learning, eyes downcast behind the simple veils that were appropriate to their age and rank.

They had already repeated these maxims endless times, both in their home keeps and here in the

Women's Halls at Gothregor—not that their teacher thought of that in terms of endurance. She herself

had learned to love the simple dictums which gave shape to her life, and believed that the more often her

students heard them, the better.

That had been especially true over the winter just past. Never in her short life had she seen such snows,

or felt such cold, or heard such winds as had come howling down the narrow throat of the Riverland. By

day, her fingers had blanched with frost even within the halls, while outside birds had plummeted frozen

from the sky. At night, she had lain awake in the arms of her sister-friend, hearing the stones groan

around them and the distant boom of ironwood trees shattering in the cold. Even on Spring's Eve, they

had to dig into snow banks for the crocus with which to make their vows, guided by the flowers' violet

glow beneath the ice crust.

Under these circumstances, the inmates of the halls hadn't been home since the previous autumn. True,

the younger ones didn't expect to leave Gothregor before summer, but it made a difference, knowing they

couldn't go home even if they wanted to. Still, thought the instructress, they had better get used to being

homesick. Soon they would have to go wherever their lord sent them, to honor whatever contract he

chose to make in their behalf. By then, of course, many of them would belong to the community of

sister-kinship which would be their only true "home" as adults. At present, though, they were still the

children of different, distant homes, in need of all the self-control which the Women's World could teach

them.

Their young teacher had also felt that need, despite the warm arms of her Edirr sister. For her, the snow,

the cold, and the wind of the past winter had been nothing compared to its strangeness. With most of the

Kencyr Host wintering in Kothifir, the Riverland had been soempty . Now that the snow had finally

melted, one heard first hand accounts of things only rumored before: of weirding mist and Merikit raiders,

of strange noises in the earth and air, and of arboreal drift. Why, one hunter even claimed to have heard

the demented howls of the Burning Ones, avengers of the slain, far south of their usual haunts—but that

was nonsense. Everyoneknew that they and their master, the Burnt Man, were mere Merikit

superstitions.

Still, thingsmust improve soon, now that Kencyr were beginning to return. The Jaran Heir Kirien had

passed by some weeks ago accompanied by the haunt singer Ashe, bound for the Scrollsmen's College

at Mount Alban. More important, only three days ago the first of the lords had returned. That it had been

Caldane, Lord Caineron of Restormir, seemed an especially good omen, since she herself was a Coman

with two Caineron grandmothers. The Highlord's garrison, on the other hand, had manned the walls as if

expecting an attack.

Abruptly, another memory came to her, unbidden, unwelcome. Rumor said that just after the great battle

at the Cataracts, Caineron had been stricken with some mysterious illness, which his randon commander

had described as "not quite feeling in touch with things"—whateverthat meant. The health of great lords

affected everyone bound to them, even distantly, as she herself was. One more thing tottering in her

world, one more thing insecure . . . .

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So she glided back and forth before her class, repeating the great truths, demonstrating by her grace that

the world still made sense, here in the heart of the Women's World where nothing ever changed.

Below, hooves rang on cobble stones. The windows looked down on the Forecourt, so called because

it occupied the foremost open space in the Women's Halls, which themselves occupied the back half of

Gothregor. At the center of the entire fortress was the old Knorth keep, whose own rear half projected

into the Forecourt. A horse was clattering in through the gate which separated the court from the

fortress's inner ward. But men weren't allowed here, the instructress thought, outraged. These were the

Women's Halls, where even the Kendar guards were female.

Then she saw that the rider, although properly masked, was wearing a divided skirt and, yes, boots.

Lady Brenwyr of Brandan had returned to Gothregor.

At the best of times, most people found this Highborn unnerving. The Iron Matriarch, they called her

behind her back for her rigid discipline. These past few months, however, that control had seemed to

slip. Everyone had been aware of her restless comings and goings, as if even in the depths of winter she

had been unable either to stay in or away from the Women's Halls for any length of time.

The instructress had heard scandalized whispers about the Iron Matriarch's traveling garb, but had never

before seen it for herself. It was indecent, she thought, and yet . . . and yet . . . .

She firmly believed that whatever her elders did was above criticism. The conflict between that dictum

and her feelings confused and frightened her. Things should be one way or the other.

Brenwyr dismounted and disappeared into the north wing quarters of the Brandan.

"Forget what you can't help," the Women's World taught.

The instructress turned from the window, wiping what she had just seen from her mind.

"The fourth duty of a lady," she said firmly to the class, "is to be silent."

Traditionally, the response to this was mouthed rather than spoken. This time, however, a low but quite

distinct voice in the rear of the classroom said:

"Damn."

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"Who was that?" demanded the instructress sharply, but she already knew. "Nowwhat have you done?

Come here and let me see."

The dark figure in the back row rose and glided forward into the shafts of late afternoon sunlight which

fell through the windows like the memory of antique gold. Once her gown must have glowed in such light.

Now the little girls snickered as she passed, pointing out to each other the tarnished silver trim, the

threadbare royal blue facings, and the rich plum velvet, dulled by age to the color of a bruise.

Once they had laughed less cautiously. The instructress remembered their taunt: "Seeker, seeker . . . ."

because of the eyeless mask with which the Matriarchs had tried to curb the newcomer's roaming. But

then that blind face had turned toward the class and they had frozen, like . . . like the instinctive cower of

small animals before a hooded hawk.

That wasnot a suitable image, the young teacher told herself sternly.

Anyway, now the oncoming figure wore a standard half-mask and ignored the children as she passed

them.

But their giggles were still nervous, and so was their teacher.

For one thing, she wasn't used to pupils older than herself, if only by a few years. Worse, this elder girl

was a Knorth, the Highlord's own sister. There had been no Knorth women at Gothregor for more than

thirty years, since Bashtiri assassins had given the entire family a hard shove toward extinction. To have

one here now, with her incredibly old, fabulously pure bloodlines, was like trying to deal with a creature

of legend.

But the Matriarchs hadn't allowed her that status. Rather, they had subordinated her to her brother's

limited term consort, Kallystine, and to any teacher whose classes she was ordered to attend. This was

one of them. And, really, this Knorth was so very ignorant. Why, not only had she no knowledge of

needlecraft—or of any other skill which any self-respecting lady should long since have known—but she

wasn't an initiate into even the lowest ring of secrecy. Therefore, the instructress spoke sharply to her, but

with a strong impulse to back away as the Knorth advanced, black gloved hands extended.

Then she saw why those hands were so oddly held: the Knorth had accidentally sewn them together.

The young teacher sighed, obscurely reassured.

"Oh, Lady Jameth. Not again. If those gloves make you so clumsy, why don't you take them off?"

"I prefer not to."

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The voice was level, without emphasis, but with something so unyielding in it that the instructress felt

piqued. After all, this was her class, and all the pupils here were under her authority.

"Don't be silly," she said sharply. "I insist."

"So do I."

The gloved hands clenched and parted, snapping the threads, diving out of sight behind the other's back.

Like two wild things escaping, the instructress thought.

For a moment, absurdly, she had been very frightened indeed, and that in turn made her angry.

"Youmust obey me!" she insisted, reaffirming the shape of her world. "The first duty of a Highborn

lady . . . ."

". . . is obedience," finished that expressionless voice. "But why?"

"You mustn't ask that!"

"Why not?"

"Because . . . because it's forbidden!"

"That's circular reasoning. Why is it forbidden?"

This couldn't be happening. No one asked such things, especially in front of children. "All knowledge is

the gift of our elders. They tell us what we need to know, when we need to know it. To demand an

answer is . . . is sacrilegious."

"Not that, surely," said the Knorth. Her voice had lost its flatness, as if for the first time in weeks she was

beginning to enjoy herself. "When the Three-Faced God drew the three people of the Kencyrath together

to fight Perimal Darkling down the Chain of Creation, he (or she, or it) didn't give us any choice in the

matter. I don't think that, ultimately, we could commit sacrilege against him if we tried. Anyway, he

apparently abandoned us after our first defeat thirty millennia ago, so that we've been on our own, in

retreat from threshold world to world, ever since. But we still have our honor, whatever god or man does

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摘要：

Seeker'sMaskTableofContentsCharactersPresentandPastPART1IIIIIIIVVVIInterimIPARTIIGothregor:54th–55thofSpringIIIIIIIVVVIVIIInterimIIPARTIIITheRiverland:55th–58thofSpringIIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIIXXInterimIIIPARTIVRestormir:58thofSpringIIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIInterimIVGeneratedbyABCAmberLITConverter,http://www.pro...

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