Lord of Lies. David Zindell

different than the knights of Mesh. They wore diamond battle armor glittering in the morning light. Their surcoats and shields, bordered with white bears, showed their various charges. I noted the black lion against the white field of Sar Kimball and the gold sunburst of Sar Ianashu, a slender and hirsute young man, who was Lord Solhtar’s second son. As marks of cadence, to each of their charges, had been added a small golden cup. I considered letting the new Guardians ride together as a single squadron within our company. But they must become used to us, and we to them, and the sooner the better. And so I positioned Sunjay Naviru next to a Sar Avram and Sivar of Godhra next to Sar Jarlath, and so on. It would be many long miles, I thought, before these proud knights accepted each other in companionship, much less love. In truth, we would be lucky if we didn’t tear into each other with mistrustful eyes and words – or even our swords.

      The first hour of our journey took us down through the houses and shops of Loviisa, the largest of Ishka’s cities, though still quite small. The cool air smelled of baking bread and coal smoke from the many smithies. The armorers here made good steel – though not quite so fine, I thought, as did my countrymen in Godhra. Our route led through winding streets back to the North Road, which gave onto a stout bridge spanning the raging Tushur river. Just beyond this dangerous water, in a square lined with several inns, we came to the intersection of the King’s Road. This was a well-paved band of stone wide enough for six horses to ride down it side by side. It curved east through Ishka into Taron, all the way to Nar. King Hadaru led his knights onto it. And we who guarded the Lightstone followed them.

      We had a fine day for travel, with many drifting white clouds to steal some of the heat from the bright spring sun. It was noisier than I would have liked, however, as the hooves of so many horses sounded a continual percussion of iron against stone, and the wagons’ iron-shod wheels ground particles of grit into dust. It pleased me to hear the knights in my company keeping up a low hum of conversation or even singing one of the battle songs that all the Valari know. In truth, there were moments when both Meshians and Ishkans became too intoxicated with the passion of these old verses, and then their voices seemed to vie with each other in loudness and stridency rather than harmonizing. There were moments, too, when I thought I caught a rumble of discord or a brief flurry of heated words from the knights behind me. But that was the worst of things, and I gave thanks for that. The hours and miles passed uneventfully as we all kept the peace.

      But later that afternoon, a quarrel broke out and threatened to turn into a brawl. We had stopped to water the horses at one of the little rivers that flowed down from the low range of mountains to the north of Loviisa. As I watched Altaru drinking his fill of the icy water, a shout rang out behind me; I turned to see Skyshan push the heel of his hand against Sar Ianashu’s chest and nearly knock him off his feet. Then Sar Ianashu reached for his sword even as Tavar Amadan grabbed his arm to restrain him and Sar Jarlath knocked his shoulder into Tavar.

      ‘Hold!’ I cried out. I saw, all in an instant, that the Ishkans of King Hadaru’s guard on the road ahead of us were all gripping the hilts of their swords. And so were Baltasar, Sunjay Naviru and other knights of Mesh. ‘Hold, now, before it’s too late!’

      I ran down the road and threw my body between Sar Ianashu and Skyshan. I pulled them apart and shouted, ‘Are you Valari knights? Are you Guardians of the Lightstone?’

      My fury, if not my words, cut into them like a sword and seemed to empty them of breath. Tempers cooled, then. I stood listening to these men’s explanations. It turned out that their quarrel was ancient. The ancestors of both of them had lived along the Diamond River, on opposite sides. Once a time – 939 years ago to be precise – one of Skyshan’s great-grandsires had fought a duel with one of Sar Ianashu’s over a woman who had both Meshian and Ishkan blood. Both men had been killed. The resulting feud had lasted a hundred years, until the Diamond shifted its course, and Sar Ianashu’s ancestors had been forced to move to another site higher in the Shoshan range of mountains. For reasons that I was not able to determine, both Sar Ianashu and Skyshan had decided to renew this feud after all these many centuries.

      ‘But this cannot be,’ I said to them. ‘Your grievances are ancient. The very mountains have changed their faces in this time, but you have not. How are we to ride together this way? Is there an Ishkan knight who can’t tell of sorrows more recent at the Meshians’ hands or a man of Mesh who hasn’t suffered the loss of kinsmen in one of our wars? My own grandfather was killed along that very same river scarcely ten years ago, and so were many others.’

      Sar Ianashu, a violent man whose cheek muscles were popping beneath his taut ivory skin, finally opened his mouth as if to gainsay me. But then he thought better of such rashness and bit his lip. I was now his lord. He had made vows and would not break them. He bowed his head in shame, and so did Skyshan.

      By this time, King Hadaru had walked down the road to see what trouble had befallen us. He watched in silence, both jealous that I should so address one of his knights and glad to see that I had calmed this little dispute even as he might have done. Then he returned to his place at the head of our columns. When it came time to get back on our horses, Asaru walked up to me and said, ‘This cannot go on. Ishkans and Meshians, together – this is impossible.’

      And I said to him, ‘No, it will be all right.’

      ‘But, Val, how can you be sure?’

      ‘Because,’ I said, ‘either one believes in men or one does not.’

      Despite my brave words, I kept a wary watch upon my men as we resumed our journey. But Sar Ianashu’s and Skyshan’s outburst seemed to let the bad blood between them rather than inflaming it. That night, we had a happy camp within sight of the mighty Culhadosh river. I gave the Lightstone into Sar Ianashu’s keeping; Sar Ianashu surprised everyone by lending Skyshan his sharpening stone, which was a very fine one made of pressed diamond dust. After that they clasped hands and pledged their companionship. They both knew that, although I had made no threats, any more fighting would result in their expulsion from the Guardians. What would it avail for them to satisfy some point of honor a thousand years old if they must suffer such shame?

      While our dinner of fresh lamb was sizzling over our cooking fires, I gave Estrella what was to become the first of a series of riding lessons. She hated sitting all day by herself in a creaking wagon. With a few motions of her hands and her eager eyes, she indicated that she wished to ride next to me. And so I chose out a gentle mare from our string of remounts and sat Estrella upon her. With her skinny legs gripping the mare’s brown sides, she seemed almost too small to ride a full-sized horse. And she could not speak to this fine animal as others might, with soft words and comforting tones that found resonance in the mare’s easy nickers. Estrella, however, spoke to her in other ways. Her graceful hands caressed the mare’s mane and communicated her faith that the mare would not hurt her. It seemed to me, watching how Estrella’s quick, dark eyes met the dark eye of the mare’s great turned head, that she immediately loved this beast and that the mare knew this with an animal’s instinct. As I led both horse and girl about the fields along the river, I thought that it wouldn’t be long before Estrella could ride with the knights and others of our company.

      After dinner, I discovered that King Hadaru was a fine storyteller. He invited Asaru and me, and several others, over to his campfire to share some very good and very rare Galdan brandy. He recounted the deeds of the Ishkans’ ancestors at the Battle of Rainbow Pass in the year 37 of the Age of Swords, which marked the first time that the Valari had defeated an invading Sarni army and had fought with a people other than themselves. Then, to the nightly ritual of warriors running their sharpening stones along their swords, he recited some ancient verses that were close to every Valari’s heart:

      A sword becomes a warrior’s soul, Its shining steel through pains made keen, His strength and valor keep it whole, His faith and honor keep it clean. A warrior’s soul becomes his sword: It cuts through darkness, pain and fright; Its diamond-brilliance points him toward The brilliant, pure and single light.

      When he finished, he raised his glass to me and told me, ‘Some day, I would know more about this sword it’s said you carry inside you, Valashu Elahad.’

      Early the