The Blade of Gudrin

By James S. Dorr

"No, I'm--I'm not a thief," Sarai protested. She looked up at the man who'd confronted her, seeing a smile crease his wind-beaten face--a smile that she, if she weren't still so frightened, might have considered an offer of friendship.

"I'm not of the city guard, milady," the man replied. "The reason I ask is that you are veiled, as if from the south. Perhaps you are one who worships the Black Stone--or else hiding something? I also see that you carry steel...."

She placed her hand carefully on her hip. "A simple desert knife," she said. "I've come from a caravan outside the city."

"Very few caravans seek out Bukhara these days, milady. I mean you no harm, but I would ask to see the blade of that knife more closely."

She looked around her, frantically hoping to find some escape, but the street she stood in was walled on both sides and, unlike the bazaar of the night before, its gates were shut to her. Besides, she realized, the man did look friendly. What choice did she have but to give him her trust?

"The caravan, actually, is at some distance," she said as she passed the knife, hilt forward, into the man's hand. She watched as he inspected its curved blade, first one side and then the other, then gave it back to her.

"What kind of knife is this?"

"Among my people, it's called a janbiya--as I said, simply a desert knife."

The man looked in her eyes, as if searching for something, then nodded and motioned to her to follow him. Sarai shrugged--what else could she do? She'd already wandered the maze-like city for hours that morning, getting more and more hopelessly lost as the dull copper sun rose up toward its zenith. She needed food and a place to rest so, nodding meekly in return, she let him lead her.

At last they came to a secluded courtyard and,ng a door that stood across from its small, walled fountain, the man led her into a dimly lit inn. He paused for a few whispered words with the innkeeper, then motioned her into a curtained alcove.

Once they were seated, he reached to her veil. "Milady," he said when she twisted her head away from his hand, "I don't think you wear that for reasons of worship. It's best that you don't in any event since foreign religions aren't well received here."

Sarai nodded again. A desert woman, she wore the veil for protection from the wind and sand, but, in the city...she'd already been seen without it once when she'd hailed the gate the previous evening. The soldiers had drawn back as if, somehow, they'd recognized her and, once she was inside, she'd pinned it back up and run, her long cloak flapping behind her, until she'd lost herself in the crowd of the city's bazaar. Now she removed it a second time with her own hands and, feeling the sharpness of terror return, she saw that this man drew back from her as well.

"I-I didn't lie, sir," she stammered. He had said, before, that he wouldn't harm her. "I did come here from a caravan, but one that's camped nearly four days to the west. I-I ran away from...."

The man again seemed to search her eyes closely.

"M-my name is Sarai. I ran away from the husband my father had chosen for me--a cruel husband. A powerful chief who my father feared, and who had me beaten, without any cause for it on my own part, and threatened to kill me. I...."

"I see," the man said. "I had to be sure, though, that you weren't the person some said you might be. You can call me 'Tel." He softened his voice and his smile returned, but only a half smile. "The knife you carry is much like one called the Blade of Gudrin, except the one she wields has blood-red characters etched in its steel. And your face--I'd heard rumors that Gudrin was seen at the gates of the city yesterday evening, possibly going among her subjects as she sometimes does when she plans new evil, yet others had said she was still in her palace. Your face, too, except that your eyes aren't so hard, is much like Gudrin's."

"G-Gudrin the Blessed? I-I heard that name spoken by one of the soldiers...."

"Gudrin the Blessed, as she calls herself--yes. Gudrin the Good. Gudrin the Goddess-Queen of Bukhara. Gudrin, as others say when her guards and her priests can't hear them, the Ultimate Corrupter of People. In the right light, you could pass for her, Sarai."

"I...?"

"Don't say anything more for now, Sarai. I'm going to leave you, but just for a few hours. I've already given the innkeeper orders to bring you food--I know, by the way you looked when we came in, that you must be hungry. After you've eaten, he'll show you a place where you can sleep safely. Then, when I've come back, it will be time to talk."

"Sarai," a voice said.

She blinked and saw cushions strewn around her. Then she remembered--the inn's back room. She looked up at the man who'd whispered and saw it was 'Tel, with a scroll in his hands.

"Sarai," he said again as he carefully unrolled the parchment. "This is a drawing of Gudrin's palace. I want you to memorize its features--its halls and its chambers--and then I'll be back with some other men who'll want to meet you."

She nodded, wondering how long she'd slept, then sat up and took the scroll into her own hands. She looked at it carefully even though she couldn't help thinking, as 'Tel turned to leave her, that he was younger than her husband and, while a large man, he had the appearance of being gentle. She shuddered at the thought of her husband--the hatred and fear--the memory of her final decision, as she'd searched for food and extra skins to be filled with water, to risk death alone in a storm in the desert than stay another night in his tent. She reached to her knife and felt its hilt at her side where it should be--if 'Tel had had her betrayal in mind, the thought came to her, he surely wouldn't have left it with her.

In any event, she reminded herself, she had little choice. She knew no one else in this isolated oasis city. She smoothed the scroll out again on the floor, next to the lamp 'Tel had left at her side, and began to memorize its details.

Perhaps an hour later she heard a scratching sound at the door, then 'Tel's voice again, asking for entrance. She called out an answer and watched as itd and 'Tel strode in with three other men.

She saw the most richly dressed of them nod as the four took cushions and seated themselves in a circle around her. By instinct, she reached to her knife again, then drew her hand back.

"Sarai," 'Tel said, "go ahead and draw it. These men are friends, but, just as I needed to before, they'll want to have a look at its blade."

She did as he asked and handed it to the richly dressed man who looked at it closely, then held it up so the others could see. He nodded again, then handed it back, whispering something to 'Tel as he did so.

"Sarai," 'Tel said, "this man to my right used to be a merchant. He still gets by, as I think you can see by the robes he's wearing, despite the fact that, when Gudrin first came to Bukhara, she had his entire stock of goods confiscated. This one to my left is a guard at the palace--his brother was killed--and the one behind you saw his son die because, when he was sick, Gudrin's taxes had left too little to pay for a doctor. And you, Sarai, have little reason to love Gudrin either because, when reports of you gain her attention, it's not very likely she'll want you to live...."

"B-but what can I do? I-I can't change my features...."

"What you can do is wear your veil one more night for us," the merchant broke in. "You have memorized the plans of the palace? What you must do is go there this evening, before the midnight change of the guards. The one who is with us will be on duty at the side gate and will pass you in. Then you must hide yourself inside the palace until the other attendants are sleeping. Can you do that, Sarai?"

She nodded slowly, remembering how, when the bazaar closed the night before, she'd concealed herself in the dust and filth of Bukhara's alleys until the morning, and even for several hours after that had wandered unnoticed until 'Tel had found her.

"Good," said the merchant. "Now, once you're sure that it's safe to do so, you will have to seek out Gudrin's bedchamber. Inside you must look for a knife that resembles yours and...."

"B-but if she's a goddess, would she have to sleep like other people? I mean, I could get as far as her chamber, but once I've reached it...."

"Sarai," the one that 'Tel had said was a guard interrupted. "Gudrin is a goddess, yes, but her spirit inhabits a woman's body. She may sleep lightly--rumors of the palace have it that, because of the evil she's done, she's disturbed by dreams--but she will be sleeping. In any event, all you must do is take her knife and put yours in its sheath in its place."

"You see, Sarai," the merchant added, "the goddess' protection resides in that knife--in the words that are etched in Gudrin's Blade. Once it's taken from her--and, with yours in its sheath to replace it, unless she has reason to draw it out she's not even likely to realize its loss--it will then be possible for us and the others who've suffered with us to take back the city."

"I-I still don't understand," Sarai protested. "I-I mean, to go into a goddess' bedchamber...."

"An ordinary woman's, Sarai, without her knife at her side to protect her," 'Tel said softly. "That's why Bukhara depends on you--depends on your resemblance to Gudrin to let you get out of the palace safely and bring it to us so we can destroy it." His voice dropped further. "It's why I depend on you as well, Sarai."

Sarai gazed for several minutes at the thinly carpeted floor, then looked up again into 'Tel's eyes. She saw sorrow and pain. "'Tel," she whispered, "you've said the merchant lost his business because of Gudrin. The palace guard saw his brother killed, and your other friend blames her for the loss of his son to an illness. But what is your reason for hating the goddess?"

"My own wife, Sarai, resembled her too. Not as closely as you resemble her, but enough that Gudrin took notice. My wife was tortured before she died, and her body, instead of being buried, was given over to Gudrin's priests to use for their pleasure...."

Sarai huddled behind a curtain as yet another servant passed by. It had been nearly a half hour since the last one, however, and this one carried a candle with him, as if on the way to his own bedchamber. Soon, she thought. All too soon it would be time to use what she'd learned of the palace to seek the goddess.

She thought back to the hours with 'Tel, after the other men had left them, making sure she'd memorized the scroll he'd brought to her. Then, well after darkness, he'd taken her to the city's main square and showed her the gate she'd use to gain entrance, as well as the route she'd have to take, after, to where he and his friends would be waiting. And then he'd kissed her, not in the rough way her husband used women, but in a softer, more gentle way that caused her to raise her veil herself when she parted her lips to his in return.

She thought of the kiss as she counted the minutes--a desert woman, she knew well how to estimate time as well as keep silent as she waited. Twenty, thirty, forty more passed before she finally crept out from the curtain, letting her veil drop so, if she were seen now, she might be mistaken for the goddess on some night errand. She kept to the left wall of the passageway, in near darkness, counting her paces, counting the turns. At last she came up to what her hands told her was a deeply carved wooden door.

She felt the carvings, comparing them in her mind to a sketch that had been on the parchment, then eased the doorenough to slip through. She found herself in a large anteroom, dimly lit by the moon through its windows. Around her she saw the goddess' treasures, her tables and cushions and gilded jewel chests, her gowns and accouterments ready for use. And alone in a corner, next to the arch that led further inside, she saw a gold peg and a belt that hung from it.

Attached to the belt she could see a curved sheath, much like the one she wore at her own hip. Except that this sheath was encrusted with gemstones.

She crossed the room, not with the silence of a thief, but with the wary kind of quietness of one who had been raised a desert tribeswoman. She reached for the sheath--then realized, with an audible gasp, that it was empty.

She turned and slipped, her foot catching under a bench, and froze as the near archway blazed into brightness.

"So," the voice of a woman whispered, "the rumors my soldiers brought me were true. A wench who came through the gates of my city, only last night, veiling herself to conceal my features."

Sarai stepped backward, freeing her foot as she did so, and watched as Gudrin strode into the room with a lamp in her hand. She backed again, another step toward the outer door, as the goddess reached up and fastened the light to a hanging bracket, then froze a second time when she saw a flash of red.

"Might I presume that you came for my pretty--the Blade of Gudrin?" the thinly night-robed goddess taunted. "I trust you didn't think I was so foolish not to keep it safe under my pillow."

Sarai eased her cloak off her shoulders, keeping her eyes on the red-etched knife the goddess now held. She backed again, this time into a crouched position, and wrapped the cloak loosely around her left forearm.

"But, if you've come all this way for my bauble," the goddess continued, her voice taking on a low, soothing tone, "I think you should have it." She took a step forward, holding the knife out in front of her chest, weaving it slowly from side to side in a serpentine motion. She took another step, closing the distance, when Sarai leaped sideways, her own knife flashing.

Sarai's blade struck first,ng a gash on the goddess' left shoulder. Desert fighting--she crouched down again, raising her cloaked arm to ward off Gudrin's expected return blow, pulling her own knife back close to her belly.

But Gudrin just turned to face Sarai again. "You think to hurt me?" the goddess purred. Sarai watched, continuing to circle, as her opponent's wound drew itself closed, the skin smoothing over--as Gudrin took another step forward. A smaller step this time.

Sarai thrust again, this time feinting to Gudrin's midsection, then whipped her point upward to slash at the goddess' unguarded face. She laid a cheek exposing the bone. She saw the goddess flinch, heard a sharp indrawing of breath, then watched as the red line, just like the shoulder wound before it, completed its healing in front of her eyes.

"You'd try again, wench?" This time the goddess' voice no longer purred. "Did you not know that I am protected from such filth as you? But enough of this playing."

The goddess moved quickly, thrusting downward as Sarai countered, deflecting the blade with her cloaked left fist. The goddess feels pain, she thought as she parried a second attack, then dodged to her right. And she doesn't fight as we do in the desert--she holds her blade forward....

Sarai dodged again, then heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside. "My priests approach, carrion," the goddess said. "But first, my pleasure...."

Sarai thought quickly. She holds her blade forward, away from her body--what was it that the merchant had told her? She waited this time for the goddess' next thrust, then, twisting sideways, letting her cloak take the force of the blow, she brought her own blade down on Gudrin's wrist.

The goddess' knife dropped--and Sarai, flinging her cloak in front of her, dropped to the floor too. Gudrin's protection, the merchant had told her, resided in the words that were etched in her weapon's steel. She came up with the blade in her right hand, shifting her own knife into her left, and staggered backward just as the door to the chamber burst

"Malzar! Valderon! Seize the wench quickly," Gudrin screamed. The priests stood in the doorway, staring, as Sarai felt a rush of...enjoyment...course through her body. She shook the feeling off, backing farther as she, too, stared at the goddess' wrist. At the blood that continued to flow from its wound onto the richly carpeted floor.

"Do you hear me, Malzar?"

The more ornately robed of the priests nodded, and took one step forward. He struck Gudrin's face, then signaled the other to seize her shoulders. Together they twisted the now mute woman around until all three faced Sarai.

"We wait for your orders, Blessed Goddess," the first priest said quietly. Sarai crouched, feeling the heft of the knife in her hand--again feeling pleasure--then realized the priest was addressing her.

She who held the Blade of Gudrin.

She licked her lips--the words came out almost before she'd formed them. "Hold the bitch for me, just as you are doing now, Malzar."

She smiled and came forward with slow, mincing steps, giving herself to the pleasure's bidding, then thrust her knife upward, desert fashion, into the soft flesh beneath Gudrin's ribcage. She twisted the curved blade and ripped it higher, exulting in the feel of hot blood on her hands and arms, until the hilt had become so slippery she couldn't continue.

"Now," she sighed, pulling the blade out, wiping it clean on the dead woman's hair, "you may leave me, Malzar. You also, Valderon--take the corpse for whatever use you and your fellows may have--but come back to me again in my chambers after the sun's rise."

She watched as the priests bowed their dismissal, then turned to the peg by the arched inner door. She reached for the belt there and placed it around her, sliding the blade in the sheath that hung from it. She thought she'd seen the chief priest, Malzar, wink when they'd left her, but it didn't matter. She knew she now resembled the old Gudrin quite well enough for the rest of her people.

She knew Gudrin's secret--the power of Gudrin was not in a mere knife. She left the chamber and strode down the darkened, maze-like halls to the gates of her palace, feeling the goddess' spirit within her, the goddess' own joy as she planned the betrayal of 'Tel and the others who'd sought to use her to gain their own power. And after that...yes. She licked her lips in anticipation.

And after that she would raise an army among the people of Bukhara. An army whose first task would be to conquer the husband of Sarai, the desert woman--the woman who had become herself the Blade of Gudrin.

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