Moving Water by Sylvia Kelso Page A

riveted into those clammily weeping walls, their key in the Vault-keeper’s custody. I would lock them on, and restore the key to its rightful guardian.
    The guards about-turned and fell in on either side. Without protest he swung and started to walk.

Chapter IV
    I had climbed back to Los Morryan, handed the key to the Lady, and re-crossed the square outside Ker Morrya’s gate, when I regained my will.
    Waking up? No, for I had never slept. Escaping a glass cell? No, for glass you can smash for yourself. Growing up in a single breath? But a baby lacks a man’s coherent memory. I could remember everything. But now it all had meaning. And I was free to make a response.
    The passersby must have thought me a lunatic, running full-pelt in the street. The Treasury scribes certainly did, for I barged straight back to the Vault-keeper’s room and on down the long flight of steps into those dim tunnels, past the torch we had left in a bracket, snatching it as I tore into the dank crypt where that other will had directed me, yelling, “What happened? For the love of anything you like, what happened up there?”
    He stood as we had left him, back to the square rough wall blocks whose faces ran sopping red in the torch-glow, red as the pools on the uneven floor. I had done my duty well. A long fetter ran to each manacle, another to the leg-iron on each ankle. He could hardly have lain down, had there been inducement. But whatever we did, he had recovered his own guard. His eyes caught the light, narrow, sparkling green.
    â€œTo me?” he said. “Or to you?”
    â€œTo, to—” I found then what it means to grow incoherent with rage.
    â€œYou were given a Command. Not pure Chake, a blend of some sort. There’s something odd about all you Assharrans, it must come from—up there. You’re all permanently half under Letharthir—half mesmerized.”
    â€œMesmerized!”
    â€œBewitched, then.” His brows came down. “Did you never think, on the way here, to ask what you were doing? To say to yourself, Here’s a very strange fellow, peculiar powers, quite unknown quantity, could be highly dangerous—so I’ll just conduct him straight to my ruler’s doorstep and see what he’ll do?”
    Â â€œI, I—”
    I stopped as it hit me, winding as a door in the face. All that way, clean across Assharral. The Captain of the Lady’s Guard. With a wizard under my shield-arm, worrying about spies and the doings of the Sathellin.
    â€œThen, when you do get a Command, you go clean under.” The eyes twinkled. “Like sleepwalkers, you were.”
    â€œAnd you, you cackling idiot!” It is wonderful what liberties affection permits. “You let her get away with it!”
    The laughter snuffed. “To stop her,” he said flatly, “I would have had to kill you all.”
    I gasped. He nodded. “Or challenge her, and try to break the Command. There wasn’t time.”
    Water plopped. I heard the scurry of a rat. Then my own voice, sounding shrunken, small.
    â€œCould you have—done it?”
    â€œYou mean, was I able? Oh, yes. Was I willing? Never. No.”
    I stared. He sounded quiet, stern, pure adamant.
    â€œI will never,” he said, “save myself by killing innocent men.”
    The torch guttered between us in the sodden air. He had had the power to win. He had chosen defeat, shameful bondage, rather than abuse that power. For the sake of his enemy’s tools. And whether she understood his power or not, whether or not she had gambled on his integrity, the Lady had been ready to see us slain. For malice, revenge. Victory.
    I should have agreed. Every soldier knows his life may be the price of winning, and counts winning the end that justifies all means. And unquestioning obedience, unswerving fidelity, are the corners of a soldier’s earth. But mine was no longer firm.
    â€œShe,” I