Lords of Rainbow

by Vera Nazarian

  The colors did not mix. Rather, their boundaries ended abruptly, as though invisible barriers stood to separate them.

  The orbs illuminated the crowd variously. It was as though clouds floated, obscuring momentarily the sun, transforming things for a given instant, and then again, shadows crawled upon the world below. Forms flickered, were seen black and then as orange, then a few steps away, red. Here, a woman’s tiara glowed with green fire as soon as an orb-bearer passed near, while next to her a man stood still in black and gray monochrome pallor, with only hueless torchlight to sculpt his form.

  Ranhé took her eyes off the marvelous distraction of colors, and glanced momentarily toward the west wall, where the Regents sat. She was thus one of the few who noticed the strange reaction of the dark giant who sat next to Hestiam.

  Lord Vorn appeared to have experienced terror. Immobile as always, yet his fathomless eyes narrowed into slits, to shield themselves from the color light, and he appeared to have stopped breathing when one of the orbs passed him, illuminating the right side of his body with blue. When the orb’s glow left him, Ranhé saw his other hand slowly rise, as though to wipe the glow off him, as though it were a physical thing.

  From somewhere in the crowd, two intense eyes followed that involuntary gesture of Vorn, eyes belonging to a man with pale radiant sun-hair.

  The orbs converged upon the Bride and Groom, who stood with joined hands. The red orb-bearer paused behind the Bride, for that was the Family color of Beis, while the orange orb shone in back of Harlian Daqua. The priest took the orb that was violet and, holding it high above their heads, pronounced, in the name of Eroh that the ceremony was completed.

  “May the lady of Violet bless and guide you also!” said Preinad Olvan. “For, while Eroh inflames your body with passion and brings fertility to your line, Laelith fills your soul with warmth and affection, and She is the one who eventually seals your bond. Take this orb and walk together outside the Temple, as you will always walk from now on.”

  All parted to make way, while Lixa and Harlian held the violet orb before them and walked through the Temple. As they passed the Regents, they paused, kneeling before the Chairs.

  “Congratulations,” said Hestiam, bathed in the violet radiance of the orb. “May you have much joy.” His voice was bland, while the gold circlet about his head glittered brightly, and the jewels of his embroidered tunic shone like suns.

  “Your Grace, I thank you for everything,” began Harlian, glancing up soullessly at Hestiam and Deileala.

  “I thank you,” echoed Lixa softly.

  “No need, my dears,” said Deileala with a soft condescending smile. The violet glow danced about her face and ivory throat.

  Next to Hestiam, Lord Vorn, stonelike, drew back from the nearness of the orb, and yet he watched Deileala as she was transformed by the light. In that instant, she turned and looked at Vorn directly, and smiled again, with her lips only.

  “What did you think of the Ceremony, Lord Vorn?” she said. “How does it compare with your own native land’s Weddings?”

  “It is—different,” answered Vorn, his voice a distant rumble of thunder. Hestiam nearly jumped at the sound of it.

  “Well then, go on,” said Hestiam hurriedly to the newlyweds. He had a sudden urge to get out also, to run from this dark one’s side. “Go on ahead, back to the Palace. We will continue to celebrate your Wedding all day. And Daqua, try not to get killed before your wedding night.”

  Harlian and Lixa again bowed, and then proceeded outside where the crowds chanted with cooling enthusiasm, “Brawl! Brawl!”

  Deileala laughed disdainfully. “Well! It doesn’t look like there will be first blood after all. Before we came here I placed my own wager—on Lirr.” And she threw a mocking glance at the Chancellor.

  Within the Temple, the crowd was shifting expectantly, waiting for the Regents to leave also.

  Deileala rose, followed by Hestiam and young Lissean, and eventually their dark guest. She turned to glance about the expectant crowd, her eyes stopping upon the Families of the Bride and Groom that waited still, in a semicircle. There, her gaze encountered the clear eyes of the Lord Vaeste, at which a single pang, a shiver took hold of her. And because of that, Deileala turned away and again looked directly at Lord Vorn, smiling at him with a silent invitation. The dark man met her gaze, unblinking.

  Outside, it was growing lighter by the minute, and the sky was pale gray like milk.

  “On to Dirvan, then,” said Hestiam, looking sideways at Vorn. His sister meanwhile, came to the dark giant’s side, and offered her soft bejeweled hand to him.

  “Escort me, my lord,” she said loudly to Vorn, so that everyone in the Temple heard her.

  Lord Vorn paused for an instant only, looking down intently at the beautiful vision before him. Deileala fearlessly returned his gaze, innocently uplifted her face toward his stonelike grim darkness. She was teasing, playing with night. . . .

  And then Vorn took her small sweet hand in his great swarthy one, and to her surprise, brought it to his lips.

  Deileala started inwardly at the touch of his lips upon her. Another odd pang shot through her, for she never expected his lips to be so warm upon her fingers.

  Vorn escorted Deileala outside, followed by Hestiam and Lissean. When the last of the Grelias had exited, people began leaving.

  The Families involved in the Wedding remained at the foot of the goddess, with the priest. Dame Beis, the Bride’s mother, had begun to sob uncontrollably all of a sudden, and they were trying to console and congratulate her at the same time. Harlian’s closest kin stood to gather Dame Molhveth Beis to them, for she was now also kin.

  Amid all this tumult, Elasand threw several glances around the crowd, seeming to look for someone, and then turned to Ranhé, saying, “Wait here. I’ll return shortly.”

  “But my lord, I must accompany you!” began Ranhé. “What purpose do I serve if you go everywhere without me—”

  He never heard her. He quickly made his way through the crowd, soon to disappear.

  What purpose do I serve indeed, she thought, if you still cannot trust me, Elasand-re? How long will it be before I am in your full confidence?

  And so Ranhé remained. She watched the Temple empty, and already servant-priests began to sweep the mirror-polished floors all about them. Feeling like an idiot, she finally walked outside, trailing after Dame Molhveth Beis and a couple others of the Wedding party.

  Outside, it was early morning. She watched numerous carriages getting ready to depart the Sacred Quarter to Dirvan. Everywhere, the first rays of the sun licked the precious metal crests of the Noble Ten—Circle of Beis, Spiral Shell of Daqua, Triangle of Khirmoel, Eye of Caexis, Scales of Olvan, Three Crescents of Lirr, Ship of Prada, Sun of Vaeste. Visibly missing was the Regents’ Double-Headed Lioness of Grelias, for the Regents’ magnificent carriage had long since driven away.

  And there is one more symbol that would be missing always, thought Ranhé, the ancient Winged Bird that is Royal Monteyn.

  A few steps away, Ranhé watched a group of vulture nobles surround a glittering beautiful creature that was Carliserall Lirr, as the Phoenix was ascending the Lirr carriage together with Uncle Rollen, the Chancellor.

  She had seen Rollen Lirr before, and noted how much older and tired he appeared now, and how forced was his thin smile in the gray light of morning. It did not help at all that snickering lascivious male gazes undressed his brother’s strange child Carliserall right before his nose. And that the Phoenix did not seem to mind, but smiled radiantly at them all, and flirted desperately. Maybe it was the end of the world for all of them.

  At that moment, Ranhé’s gaze was drawn to a tall figure rapidly approaching the Lirr carriage. The person was disguised from head to toe in a pale shimmering fabric, head and face hooded, with only two slits to mark the eyes in the material.

  The disguised stranger had appeared out of nowhere, striding quickly. Chancellor Lirr, about to enter the c
arriage, stopped suddenly, and turned toward the approaching figure. At which point, Carliserall’s admirers instantly dispersed.

  Next to Ranhé, Dame Beis blew her nose into her handkerchief, and forgetting even the nature of her maternal grief, suddenly pointed in the direction of the Lirr party. “Ah! Look!” she mumbled to some Daqua noblewomen. “Am I mistaken or is that man the Guildmaster of the Light Guild himself?”

  “Oh, indeed!” a noblewoman responded.

  “He does wear the shimmering Robe in public.”

  And Ranhé remembered what she had heard of the strange Guildmaster of the Light Guild, and of the mysterious appearances that he was known to put in.

  For, impossible as it might be, no one knew the true identity of the Guildmaster of the most powerful Guild of the City. He always went completely disguised in public, and his appearances were rare. Indeed, he appeared only when his presence was unavoidably required by the Regents.

  It was rumored in some circles that the Guildmaster was none other than the Regent himself, masquerading for the sake of a great jest. Others swore it had to be one of the other nobles at Court, possibly even the Chancellor.

  Only now, here he was, meeting openly with Chancellor Lirr, which effectively made it impossible.

  “Where’s Elas?” said Dame Beis then, throwing a troubled gaze at people who were still strangers to her, the Daqua. “Where is that boy? Where is my nephew Elasand?”

  “I believe, madam, he will be here shortly,” said Ranhé.

  “Ah, it’s you!” Dame Beis glanced at Ranhé, happy to see a familiar face. “Needn’t you be with him at all times?”

  Ranhé smiled at the older woman. “Indeed. But I was instructed to stay here with you. Don’t worry, he will return soon.”

  She glanced to see the figures of Chancellor Lirr and the disguised man still conversing next to the Lirr carriage.

  “I just hate it when he disappears like that!” Dame Beis began to complain. “Now that Lixa is gone, what if something happened to him, what—”

  Ranhé observed that the hooded man handed something to the Chancellor. She noted that even his hands were disguised by dark gloves. But the gloves could not hide the fact that the hands were large and well shaped.

  And then the hooded man turned away and quickly strode in the direction of the Temple. He disappeared around the corner, and the early sun of morning shimmered for an instant longer in the place where he’d been. Lirr watched him, then entered the carriage where Carliserall awaited. The Lirr carriage departed.

  “I suppose we must be off to Dirvan also,” a Daqua kinswoman said to Dame Beis several moments later.

  “Not without me,” said a bright masculine voice. Ranhé turned, finding herself looking into the familiar eyes of Elasand Vaeste.

  “Elasand! Where have you been?” bemoaned Dame Beis angrily.

  But he ignored his aunt and looked at Ranhé intently. At first, she could not read the nature of his expression.

  “I checked within the Temple of Eroh, and you weren’t there,” said Elasand. “Why did you not wait for me?”

  “My Lord Vaeste,” said Ranhé. “Was this a test of how well-trained I am to do your bidding? If so, then I apologize. Since the Temple attendants were sweeping the floor about me, it made sense to wait for you out here. Again, I ask for your pardon that I’m not as yet such a well-trained dog.”

  She expected anything from him other than laughter.

  “Well said!” Elasand grinned at her. “Actually, I’m glad my bodyguard can make valid decisions without me.” And then, mercurial, he grew serious. “Only, I expect that in the truly important matters, you will in the future take my commands exactly as given.”

  Ranhé smiled and inclined her head in a small bow. “In the future I promise to act the loyal dog to the bone.”

  “Enough, Elas!” interrupted Dame Beis, getting into the Beis carriage. “We must hurry to Dirvan! Lixa must see me at her side. Come, my boy.”

  Elasand bowed respectfully, and offered his hand to assist his aunt. He turned to Ranhé momentarily, and she was surprised to see him wink at her in mischief.

  “On to the Palace, then,” said Elas to his aunt. “The rotting Hole of Gold awaits us.”

  And again turning to Ranhé, he glanced steadily into her eyes. “And you, my loyal dog, must once again protect me from its gilded dross.”

  This time, he did not smile.

  CHAPTER 11

  The sun rode high over Tronaelend-Lis, sculpting the shapes of the City into areas of dark contrast and flaming light. At high noon, the City stood fully formed, an anemone blossom of grizzled shadows and spiked black towers. Through it had ridden the cavalcade of noble guests, heading toward Dirvan.

  Ordinary denizens of Tronaelend-Lis watched in curiosity the endless parade of carriages that rattled along the Fringes Thoroughfare, the speeding horsemen splendidly attired, the veiled Chairs carrying mysterious ladies of high rank. The stream of traffic flowed across the hundred bridges of the Arata, converging upon the gilded heart of the City. Street urchins watched the activity below from their perches in the ebony foliage of the trees, from tops of stone fences, from flat house roofs of pale limestone. It was discussed everywhere how the Wedding Ceremony of Beis and Daqua occurred without bloodshed despite the taunt of Khirmoel, and how the Regents had made it into a splendid banquet day. Gossip also mentioned a mysterious dark guest whom the Grelias now entertained at the Palace, and there were rumors that this Wedding was done more in his honor than as a favor to the two noble Families involved.

  At the Palace, three halls were outfitted for the festivities, including the great Hall of the Throne where the frescoes sang to the eye in different colors, and hued forms virtually leaped off the walls. Here was to be dancing and wild music.

  In the Hall of Waters, fountains splashed and streams curved in convoluted rivulets past blooming hothouse plants and rock formations, and rain fell from the artful vessels atop columns of marble, hiding within them complex hydraulic pumps. The sound of the endless waters formed a soft perpetual cadence. In the middle a long great table was installed, where all would dine and toast the Bride and Groom and the Regents.

  The Hall of Waters opened upon a smaller adjacent chamber, aptly named the Hall of Dreams. After the feasting, the guests would be directed here to partake in elaborate games, including a miniature indoor labyrinth constructed from ingenious woven partitions of wicker and flowers—Hestiam’s own idea. Musicians were positioned in secret niches all around the chamber, and instructed to play sinuous soft music on reed and gitarah. And as the evening would advance into metallic twilight, color orbs would bloom forth like moons to add a fantastic quality to the affair.

  Many wondrous things took place in the Hall of Dreams. It was a place for breathless games of chase, with squealing ladies and panting courtiers, that often ended in orgiastic debauchery. At other times, it was a place of absolute silence, while adult men and women stifled giggles and tiptoed around some unlucky randomly picked individual with a silk veil tied around the eyes as he or she stumbled blindly in search of anyone and anything that moved. In the end, the blind one was poked and prodded and tickled and caressed. And if they happened to be smooth-bodied and pleasing, the Regent himself would take over the teasing, taking full advantage of the piquant situation.

  Children’s games, all. And yet, each one began innocently but ended on a twist of the obscene. And because Hestiam Grelias had artistic pretensions, his lascivious patronage extended to dance troupes and masques in which he often performed himself.

  These performances were held right here in the Hall of Dreams, and depending on the nature of the piece, elaborate sets were built to reflect fantastic or mythological settings. On more than one occasion, specially constructed stages were filled with water. These pools were surrounded with structures of fire, and color orbs were sunk to the bottom to fill the waters with magic. The eerie orblight served to illuminate silhouettes of beautiful nud
e acrobats engaged in aquatic frolics, while the Regent and his guests viewed their floating forms, appearing to fly through the burning waters.

  For the occasion of the Wedding of Beis and Daqua, Grelias had decided—owing to short notice—to make things simple. Hestiam had been in no mood for frolic or fancy while the dark storm-cloud called Lord Vorn loomed in the back of his thoughts. He had seemed so disoriented the night before when Deileala had posed the question that the Regentrix, seeing his inability, took everything upon herself. The nature of this wedding-night celebration was to be completely hers.

  “Your Grace,” said Elasand very softly, with a light inclination of his head. “It is by my authority that my bodyguard remains at my side, even upon this occasion.”

  “I see no harm in that,” Hestiam began absentmindedly, overlooking Lord Vaeste and his androgynous guard from the perch of his gray gilded seat. Next to him, Deileala reclined upon a similar contrivance of filigree metal, inundated with silk pillows.

  This was their favorite seat in all of the Palace, the Hall of Dreams. Next to Deileala, on a lesser footstool, sat a supple youth, Linnec, her current favorite. He wore hardly anything but a gossamer-thin satin tunic, akin to his mistress who—if it was possible—wore even less.

  On the other side of Hestiam stood the empty seat of the guest of honor. Vorn had apparently excused himself, claiming the need for rest, and was to join them later. Hestiam periodically stared at that seat, sideways, practicing inconspicuous glances. He was practicing a means of avoiding the very place where later would repose his guest.

  The Hall was only half-full. This was the lazy time just after noon, when most had eaten, but before the grand dinner time. Guests from all the City were gradually pouring in, a steady stream of nobility, while the formal festivities had not yet commenced.

  The Bride and Groom, both pale like the sunlight and yet similarly brightly attired, sat in two special chairs at the foot of the Regents. Lixa still wore her Wedding Dress, and her makeup remained without flaw, despite the heat of the day—as though it had been applied upon a corpse. Next to her, Harlian sat frozen, speechless, vying with his new wife for the greater deathliness. Neither looked at the other, nor at the exorbitant gifts that were piled before them upon a special table—gifts from the Grelias and a variety of well-wishers of all ranks.