Mad God's Muse

by Matthew P Gilbert

  “Because he's gone against you,” she corrected. There was more Narelki wanted to say, cutting remarks about Ariano's lack of concern, but in point of fact, Davron was her enemy, and she would prefer Ariano to be on her side of the fight. “What of Prandil and Maklin?”

  “They are aware of the situation, and I'm sure they will stand with us if it comes to that.”

  “He must not get away with this, Maranath! Neither he nor Rithard!”

  Maranath looked at her squarely, the light dancing in his ancient eyes reminding her as always that he was nothing like the old man he seemed. “They won't. That you can count on.”

  Consciousness returned for Kariana with the grace and subtlety of an elephant stomping her skull, only backwards. There was blackness, then incredible pain in her head, and at last a sudden, blinding light. Her whole body ached like she'd been beaten, and not in a good way. In the distance, someone was shouting.

  Her vision slowly focused, halos and blurs resolving into sharp images. Caelwen knelt beside her, gently shaking her shoulder. She noted with alarm that his armor was bloodied, as if he had been in combat recently. “Empress, you must wake!”

  His tone. He's worried. This is very serious. Kariana shook her head as if to physically clear the cobwebs. “Where are we? What happened?”

  Caelwen stood, towering over the small cot where she lay. “House Noril. We lived.”

  Kariana winced. “Are you sure? About me, I mean?” She moaned softly as she started to rise, then thought the better of it. “Hurts lots. I guess you're right.”

  Caelwen shook his head in disapproval. “This is no time for jokes. They'll come to blows soon. Nihlos needs its empress.” He paused there, seeming to consider a moment, then added, “I need you, too.”

  Kariana pushed herself up to a sitting position and slung her legs over the edge of the cot. “ What's going on, that you would say something like that? ”

  “It's bad. Aiul left a clear trail to follow, and it doesn't lead back to the hospital. It leads back to House Noril. The place has been redecorated with body parts, so it's hard to miss.”

  Kariana felt cold fear filling her innards. “Mei! Noril? Where we are right now?”

  Caelwen nodded, his face grave. “The Meites are accusing Davron of being behind the plot. Everyone's blood is up. It's explosive.”

  Kariana considered this a moment. “I don't suppose leaving them to kill one another is an option? We've already fled once today. I'm warming to the idea of fleeing, really. I could get used to it.”

  Caelwen gave her a wry smile at this. “I think this is an enemy we ought engage.”

  For a moment, Kariana simply looked at him, for once in her life seeing the man, not the stone. His close cropped, blond hair; his chiseled, square features, haloed by the stubble of a long day; his troubled, gray eyes; he was not just handsome. He was...noble.

  What struck her most though, was that he was afraid, and not for himself. “This isn't just duty, is it? It's personal.”

  Shame bloomed on Caelwen's face as he reluctantly nodded. “Healer Rithard of House Amrath is implicated, too. He's been lying to Narelki for months about Aiul. Both sides would like to see Rithard dead, if I read things correctly.”

  “Davron is behind this?”

  Caelwen hesitated. “I think so. Not in the attack, but it looks to me as if he spirited Aiul away the night...” He paused again, then muttered, “The night you and Lara had your encounter.”

  “But why?”

  Caelwen chuckled sadly. “For all of your worldliness in the bedroom, you are very sheltered about some things in life, aren't you?”

  Kariana scowled, but let the comment stand. It was, after all, essentially true. “So educate me.”

  “For revenge, Empress. My old master has a long memory, and balls of steel. He's not like my father. He doesn't bend. The Council's decision did not sit well with him. He made his own justice.”

  Kariana sighed, absorbing this. “And what is it you want from me?”

  “I beg you, save Rithard. It is not just that he is my friend. He is a man of very special talents.”

  Kariana could not entirely suppress a smirk at this. “I never thought you of that persuasion.”

  Caelwen's face hardened into a scowl, but the corners of his mouth twitched in a hidden smile. “I should think if I were, I'd choose a lover of sturdier stock than Rithard. He's a slip of a man.”

  “Opposites attract.”

  “These are different talents,” Caelwen answered in an acid tone, then grew more somber. “I've worked with him on some difficult cases. He knows how villains and madmen think. I have seen him reconstruct crime scenes in such detail that if I hadn't known better, I would have arrested him as the guilty party.”

  Kariana feigned a pout. “And here I thought I'd found out something interesting about you.”

  “I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm of ordinary stock in such matters.” His eyes pleaded to her. “Rithard is my friend. One of very few. I know him. If he's guilty, he must have reasons, and we ought to hear them. If you don't intervene, I think he won't survive the night.”

  You've saved me over and over. What's one more enemy compared to that? She held out a hand weakly, her arm feeling much heavier than usual. “Help me up. I'm still a little woozy, but I've done this kind of thing drunk before. It will be pretty much the same.”

  Holding Caelwen's arm for support, Kariana made her way to the great hall, occasionally stopping to rest. Only when she was within sight of the others did she muster her reserves and walk alone. I can do this. It's only for a little while.

  Narelki and Davron stood near the speaking platform. Narelki, her face a mask of fury, was invading Davron Noril's personal space. She was lithe, but tall, and looked him in the eye without having to crane her neck overmuch. Kariana noted the gore on Polus and Davron's armor with a mixture of awe and disgust. Hopefully, that was the zombies. She looked slowly about the room, taking a headcount.

  The Meites were gathered together, isolating themselves from the others, their faces grim. Even Maklin was focused and angry.

  The rest of the elders milled about, clearly nervous, including the new Prosin leader, Balthar, a tall, lanky man with a face like a weasel. I bet you'll think twice about crossing me, won't you? They all looked at her expectantly as she entered the room, their expressions those of lost, frightened children searching for a parent. Seriously? Suddenly I'm the savior instead of the stupid whore?

  Narelki waved a fist at Davron, who was shaking his head and laughing at her. “Laugh now, bastard! You won't get away with this!”

  Davron dismissed her with a wave. “I told you before, I will handle the situation.”

  “Do you actually think I am that stupid, or are you fool enough to think you'll intimidate me?”

  Davron's demeanor changed from amused to threatening in an instant. He hunched his shoulders as he leaned in toward Narelki, shouting, “It's not your place! You are neither authorized nor qualified to arrest anyone!”

  “I am authorized to do what I damned well please with members of my own house! I have no intention of letting you send a band of thugs to silence him!”

  Davron slowly but forcefully extended his hand and pushed Narelki away, eliciting a screech of outrage from the Matriarch of House Amrath. The Meites watched in stony silence, and the rest of the elders again looked at Kariana with expectation and horror.

  “I say you protest too much,” Davron growled, withdrawing his hand and lowering it to his sword. “Rithard is indeed your creature. And does anyone here actually believe you didn't know your own son, even if his face was bandaged? I say you set this up yourself to shame my house.” He turned to the crowd and swept a hand through the air. “Surely it doesn't escape anyone's notice that sorcery was the prime driver in this mess, and here we are, all of the sorcerers and has-beens united.” He looked pointedly at the Meites before locking eyes with Narelki again. “If you think killing me will be as easy
as it was with Maralena and Sadrina, think again.”

  Narelki's voice cracked as she shouted, “Are you threatening me?”

  Davron's voice was cold like steel as he answered, “I am telling you point blank that I can clear this scabbard and take off your head before any of you can stop me. Make of that what you will, cunt.”

  Maranath bristled at this, and stepped forward. “You go too far, Davron! Shall you and I dance?”

  Davron looked at Maranath with cold, calculating eyes. “You may frighten the rest of them, but I am no weak-willed fool. Steel has always been effective against your kind, if the man wielding it has the will.”

  “And you think you have it, eh, boy?”

  Davron sneered at this, not backing down. “I know I do, old man.”

  Polus, standing behind Davron and out of his field of vision, gave Kariana a sharp look and mouthed, “Do something, fool!” Kariana could almost feel the impact of his boot against her backside. So, I have at least some temporary allies. Better than nothing.

  She gathered herself and shouted at the top of her lungs, “What is the meaning of this?”

  The hall fell silent, as all eyes turned toward her. Davron regarded her with a look of utter contempt. “You forget yourself, Kariana. My home, my rules.”

  “If you'd prefer, I could call an emergency session. I'll see you all in the courtroom in, say, ten minutes? You can make it if you run.”

  Davron looked for a moment as if he would challenge her, then gave Maranath a final glare and stepped back, his hand still near his blade, but no longer clutching it. “Some other time, old man.”

  Maranath nodded to him and, with some effort to master himself, took a step back, too. “Any time you like, child.”

  Kariana looked at Davron, then Maranth, making certain they knew she was addressing them. “If you want to fight, you're welcome to petition me for formal permission to duel. You'll have it, as soon as this crisis is done. For now, I'm taking official charge of this mess.”

  Davron and Maranath both raised their right hands in surrender, gesturing they would keep their peace. But Narelki shook her head vehemently. “No! I will not have it!” She stepped forward and raised a fist to strike Davron, who regarded her with a cool, condescending glare.

  Polus's voice thundered over the chatter that immediately erupted. “Meites! Will you restrain your people, or must I intervene?”

  Prandil stepped forward and gently tugged at Narelki's arm. “Not now, my love. Come. This is not the hill to die on.”

  To Kariana it seemed that it was less Prandil's words that reached Narelki, than an almost imperceptible shake of the head from Ariano. At this, Narelki relaxed almost to the point of collapsing, and allowed herself to be towed aside at Prandil's gentle insistence.

  Kariana felt a chill. Narelki was intimidating, to be certain, but Ariano was the only person in the room that Kariana genuinely feared. She breathed a sigh of relief to know she would not be facing off against the wicked crone. She had no illusions of the outcome. Narelki's submission made that all the more clear.

  Kariana looked about at the elders, probing, trying to measure things. It seemed they were content to let her call the shots. “Caelwen, go and collect Healer Rithard.”

  Polus nodded his approval. “Bring him to the prison,” he told his son. “I'll meet you there.”

  “No,” Kariana said. “Bring him to me.”

  Rithard sat at his desk, studying two glass decanters. One, his medicinal liquor, stood open, nearly empty. The other contained the sedative that he had, ironically, intended for Maralena. Perhaps we will put it to use, yet.

  He had consumed enough of the liquor to feel a strong buzzing in his head. Most of his muscles had stopped their annoying spasms sometime after the second drink, and after the third, his jaw and chest relaxed enough that he could breathe properly and think without distraction. The fourth and fifth had been nothing more than insurance against the return of his symptoms. As usual, he didn't feel his fear so much as emotion. It was physical, and temporarily alleviated.

  What to do? Doubtless, his life was about to end, one way or another. If Davron didn’t arrive shortly and skewer him, Narelki would surely have her thoughts on vengeance.

  Rather than viewing his final moments as pointless, Rithard believed they were crucial. There were decisions to be made, consequences to choose, and a confession that, depending on how he slanted it, might buy one or both of his problems a ticket on the same coach to Elgar that they had booked for him.

  Death via the sedative would be painless and easy, and spare him considerable embarrassment. Taking his own life would be seen by many as absolution for his crimes. His name might not be quite so tarnished. But it hardly mattered. He had no children, and his only legacy was the one he had made catching villains. That would be hard to salvage, even with his suicide. They would call him a villain, even if they conceded he had found honor in the end. His own villainy would taint his accomplishments still, perhaps beyond salvage.

  Likely, Davron would make his work quick. Narelki might draw things out. In any event, the information he had entrusted to his mother would certainly come out, and prove devastating to both houses. Taking his own life would remove any control he might exert on the process. And despite knowing her vengeance on him would be terrible, Rithard could not quite bring himself to hate Narelki. He had wronged her. It was to save his own life, but he had betrayed her, still. Did he perhaps have a duty to spare her the worst of it, if not to her, then to his own House?

  Rithard was jarred from his musings by a loud banging on his door. He poured the last of his liquor into his glass and called out, “Come in. I've been expecting you.”

  The door opened quickly, filled by... someone. It took a moment for Rithard's vision to focus, but when it did, he very nearly poured his drink down the front of his shirt.

  Caelwen stood before him, looking both furious and terribly sad. “I doubt that very much.”

  Rithard nodded and took a gulp from his glass. “As a matter of fact, I expected someone else.” He ran a hand over his face in misery. “I seem to be slipping, lately. Missing things, getting blindsided.”

  Caelwen slowly shook his head in resignation. “You didn't miss anything. You just got lucky, and things fell another way. There was no predicting this.” He closed the door and faced Rithard again, his hands clasped together in front of him as if he didn't trust them to keep their peace. “Tell me. Why?”

  Rithard set his glass on the table, avoiding Caelwen's judgmental gaze. “It's nothing convoluted. I wanted to live. And I've done terrible things in that pursuit, now likely pointless.” He buried his face in his hands and began to sob quietly. “I might have come to the same end with my integrity intact, if I'd had your courage.”

  Caelwen slammed a mailed fist on the desk, toppling the decanter of anesthetic. “Stop mewling! I need that wonderful mind of yours intact if we're to find a way out of this for you!”

  Rithard lowered his hands and watched the decanter roll off the edge of the desk and shatter on the floor, scattering its contents in a rain of shards and droplets. “It seems you've helped me resolve a difficult decision,” he muttered.

  “Know this, Rithard. I begged a favor from the empress, and it was she who intervened and sent me here. I don't know what arrangement you may have made with House Noril, but if I know my old master at all, he has every intention of coming here to kill you, and the empress's orders be damned.”

  “Who do you think I was waiting for?”

  “We need to go. Now. Use that damned brain of yours and find us a way to elude them!”

  “Then we are doomed.” He gestured toward the empty bottle of liquor. “I've turned it off for the evening. I didn't see having the opportunity to make use of it again, really.”

  Caelwen snatched up the bottle and hurled it against the wall. Rithard felt a shard of glass prick his cheek, but made no complaint, nor move to rise.

  “Damn you,
I'm doing this with or without your cooperation!” Too quickly for Rithard to follow, Caelwen moved in to grab him. Rithard felt himself hurled into the air, and came down hard enough on Caelwen's mailed shoulder to knock the wind from his lungs. He wheezed in protest, but it was useless. He was in no shape to aid or resist.

  “Keep quiet! I'm saving your life, damn you!”

  Caelwen had set Rithard on his own two feet once they'd navigated the stairs. The drunken fool was weaving badly, but at least he was quick enough about it. Caelwen slammed open the front door of the hospital and froze. “Mei.” Thirty seconds more. That's all I needed, but it's not to be.

  Fifteen cobblestone stairs below, Davron and his contingent of men were just arriving. Caelwen counted six armed men in addition to his old master. They quickly spread into a wedge, Davron at the point, but drew no weapons.

  “Stay here,” Caelwen told Rithard. “You're like as not to fall down the stairs and break your neck, and I'm no fan of irony.”

  Rithard nodded his compliance, though Caelwen had his doubts how long Rithard's promise would last, with no one here to mind him. Best to get this done quickly, then.

  As Caelwen jogged down the stairs to meet his harriers, Davron snapped a salute, and Caelwen returned it out of reflex.

  “Caelwen, be a good lad and surrender your prisoner. Let's not make this difficult.”

  This was no good. Everything Caelwen knew about fighting, he had learned from the man who now stood against him. “That wasn't the agreement.”

  “I made no agreement. Tasinalta can issue all the commands she wants, but without our support, they're farts in the wind.” Davron lowered his hand to his sword hilt, still not taking hold of it, but communicating his clear intent. “Surrender my prisoner.”

  Caelwen answered him through clenched teeth, “You know I can't do that.”

  Davron had the look of having eaten something unpleasant. “Honor, eh?”

  Caelwen nodded. “You're the one who taught me that silly notion.”