by David Drake
The lanterns hanging from brackets on either side still burned, but pre-dawn light, entering through the rose window in the pediment over the entrance, dimmed them. At the back was a pierced bronze screen which could be opened to display the tall statue of the Lady. Sharina hadn't been in this temple before; she wondered whether the image would be an old one of painted wood or if that had been replaced by a gold and ivory masterpiece. How ready had the pirate chiefs been to spend their looted wealth on the Queen of Heaven? There were half a dozen priests in the nave. Three with swords had been running toward the entrance when the soldiers appeared: javelins sent them sprawling on the mosaic floor without an order. Sharina already knew that Prester and Pont taught their men always to use missiles when that was an option: it wasn't as heroic as wading in hand to hand, but it did the job and saved the right kind of lives-your own and your buddies'.
The remaining priests were unarmed, an old man with wild white hair and two young aides. They halted when they saw the troops. The old man raised his hands in the air and cried, "Sacrilege! Sacrilege!" "We want prisoners!" Sharina said as she sprinted toward them. Burne sprang from her bosom and hunched over the floor even faster than she did. The nave was easily a hundred feet long, and the soldiers' hobnailed boots skidded dangerously on the polished stone. The priests started back toward the wicket in the bronze screen. Sharina closed on the old man. One of the aides threw himself at her. She swatted him across the forehead with the square back edge of the Pewle knife; the heavy steel rang, knocking the priest to the floor, stunned and bloodied. The old man flung his arms out and pitched onto his face with a gabbling cry. Burne jumped clear of his legs. The remaining priest ran through the wicket into the sanctum. Sharina was only a hand's-breadth behind him. The screen was perforated, but it shadowed the interior. For a moment Sharina couldn't identify the dark mass crouching where the image of the Lady should have been. It started toward her. It was black and the size of an ox, and it was a scorpion.
Sharina retreated through the wicket. "Get back!" she screamed. "It's a scorpion! Get-" The bronze screen ripped open. The scorpion, its huge pincers high, stepped over the ruin and into the nave. Its claws clacked on the mosaic floor. *** Ilna watched the leading apes push in single file between two clumps of evening olive, then fade away. It was as though night had fallen and shadows had swallowed them. Perrin walked after them and also vanished; the stiff, upslanting olive stems closed behind the youth's body, but that body was no longer in the waking world. Ilna made a sour face and followed. She hadn't known what to expect, and now that it was happening she wasn't any wiser. She ducked instead of spreading her arms to keep the olive from slapping her cheeks. She had to keep both hands on her pattern to be able to open it instantly. Her skin prickled. She was behind Perrin again. The liveried apes led them down a track toward a sprawling mansion a furlong away at the base of the hills. For as far as she could see to either side, there were planting mounds between shallow irrigation ditches. On them grew crocuses in purple profusion, and occasional pistachio trees. Widely scattered among the rows were apes bending to pick the flowers and toss them into baskets. Ilna stopped. She started to count the laborers, then realized it was a hopeless task. The whole broad valley was a single field. There were more tens of tens of apes visible than there were sheep in the borough where she'd grown up. Perrine, Ingens, and the remaining pair of apes walked out of the air behind her. There was nothing to see where they appeared except the rows of plantings stretching into the misty distance. The princess was leading Ingens by the hand. Ilna wasn't sure he even noticed that they weren't in the world where the gong hung. "You see, Mistress Ilna?" Prince Perrin said, turning with a welcoming smile. "We are at peace here in our valley, because we've withdrawn from your world. No one can threaten us, and we threaten no one." "Except the flowers," said his sister with a pleasant giggle. She waved her free hand across the purple expanse. "But they grow back from the bulbs and we tend them, so I don't think they grudge us their pollen." Ilna stepped two rows away and laid her rolled cloak in the ditch; it was dry at the moment, though when her feet disturbed the stony soil she noticed that the undersides of flat pebbles were wet. They must run the water at night.
The others walked past, putting Ilna's body between them and the cloak. She knelt and looked closely at a crocus to explain why she was delaying here. Ilna had never been interested in flowers. Their bright colors didn't fade, which was impressive; but they couldn't be transferred to cloth either, and besides-she preferred earth tones and neutrals. People didn't appreciate how pleasing neutrals could be until they'd seen a garment Ilna'd woven solely from gray shades. The crocus petals pleased her well enough, but the yellow and deep red pistils from which the spice came thread by tiny thread were garish and intrusive even by themselves. In combination with the purple flowers- Ilna smiled-broadly, for her. Feydra, her aunt by marriage, would have found the yellow/red/purple combination attractive. There might be a more damning comment about the flower than that a fat, cloth-headed slattern would have liked it, but that would do. "Aren't they lovely?" Prince Perrin said, kneeling across the mound from Ilna.
He smiled. "I was just thinking how much you remind me of a crocus, mistress, with your grace and beauty." Ilna looked at him without expression. She might have gotten angry at his attempts to make himself agreeable, but he was so remarkably clumsy at it that she was on the verge of laughing instead. In a mild voice she said, "My colors are more muted, I believe." She stood, fluffing her tunics slightly, and picked up the rolled cloak. As she'd expected, the bundle was lighter now. She didn't look back to call attention to Usun, though she doubted that even she could've found the little hunter if he'd had a few moments to conceal himself. "Shall we go?" she said. "Of course," said Perrin. He seemed to have no expressions but a half-smile and a smile, though it seemed to her that a hint of fear underlay the jollity. He offered his arm. "May I take your hand, mistress?" he said. Ilna glowered. "Certainly not," she said, returning to the track by stepping from ditch to ditch in two long strides. Ingens and Perrine were in close conversation a few paces beyond. They broke apart as Ilna approached; the secretary with a look of embarrassment, the princess turning her face away. "Our father will be so pleased to see you both!" Perrine said brightly as she and Ingens led the way toward the house. The sprawling mansion of stuccoed brick was probably no more than one story high, but a tall false front over the central section made it look more imposing. The pillars of the full-length colonnade were each of three twisted strands supporting arches, and the roofline had curlicues that suggested battlements but served no purpose but decoration. Which meant no purpose at all, so far as Ilna was concerned. Well, her taste rarely jibed with that of other people. More apes in livery were holding open the valves of the front door. They were of fruitwood, carved in a pattern of acanthus vines growing through a lattice. The design was a trifle florid for Ilna, but it had been well executed and she liked the shades within the russet wood. The field hands hadn't looked up as the entourage passed. Ilna wondered what they-and the attendants-thought of the human beings they labored for. They seemed completely placid, but not even sheep were really spiritless if you knew them well. Sheep generally had unpleasant personalities. Well, so did human beings, in Ilna's experience. A middle-aged man with a worn face stepped onto the porch. He bore an obvious family resemblance to the twins. "Father," Perrine called. "We're back with Master Ingens.
You remember me telling you about him? Oh, I'm so happy!" "And this is Mistress Ilna, father," said the prince. "She's even more wonderful than I'd thought when we saw her through the glass." The older man bowed, then rose with his hands extended; that seemed to be the fashion among these people. Ilna was uncomfortable with the idea of being embraced by strangers, though this time the distance made it symbolic. "Ilna and Ingens, I'm King Perus," he said. "We're honored by your visit. I've had refreshments laid out, and I hope you'll be able to stay with us for a few days to see every part of our little kingdom." "Oh, fat
her!" said the princess, leading Ingens up the two broad steps to the porch. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if they could stay with us always? That would be marvelous!" "We've come to find Master Hervir and return with him," said Ilna harshly. "If you'll please bring him out, we won't trouble you further." "But mistress…,"
Perus said, turning his palms up in apparent consternation. "Hervir was only with us for a few hours, and that was weeks ago." "I thought if we brought Ilna to the valley," said Perrin, "and showed her everything, then she could be sure Hervir is no longer here." "It's understandable," his sister added sadly. "Things are so terrible in the outer world that even decent people-" "Wonderful people!" Perrin put in. "-like Ingens and Mistress Ilna have to doubt the word of those they meet." "Well, at the very least," said Perus, gesturing toward the open door with both hands, "do take refreshment with us. As I'm sure you've noticed, though one's mind perceives the journey from your world to ours as merely a blink of time, your body is aware that much greater effort was required." "Thank you," said Ingens, bowing to Perus as he followed Perrine into the house. "I'm indeed hungry and thirsty. And very tired as well." "Mistress?" said the prince.
"Please, whatever you wish will be granted. But at least do us the courtesy of letting us try to demonstrate our valley's innocence."
Ilna grimaced again. She'd come to find out where Hervir was. Buried under a pistachio tree, might well be the answer, but she had no evidence even of that as yet. Further, shewas hungry and thirsty. And tired. The sun was low over the western end of the valley, and her weariness was as great as if she'd been walking the whole time from morning when they entered the grove till the evening which was falling here. "Yes, thank you," Ilna said, forcing herself to be polite. She was here by her own decision, not because the prince and his family had forced her. She mounted the steps and walked briskly into the building, again ignoring Perrin's offered arm. A broad hallway pierced the middle of the house, drawing a breeze from the hills. The archways opening off the main hall were open also; the walls above were a filigree of fine masonry, joined by tiles with swirling designs in blue and white. The patterns weren't writing in any form Ilna had seen before, but she was sure they had meaning. She smiled wryly.
Everything had meaning. Everything was part of a pattern, if you were only wise enough to recognize it. She was better at that than most people were, but she didn't pretend that she was very good. "We have wines and a light repast waiting in the arbor," said Perus, following them down the hall. His silk slippers whispered on the cool flooring, making no more sound than Ilna's bare soles did. At least the floor was tile, not stone. Apes, all of them silent and wearing livery, waited or cleaned in some of the rooms she passed. Occasionally one happened to look in her direction, but even then they didn't appear to register the presence of a visitor. The arbor was a frame of braided pillars and brick arches covering a grassy lawn. The broad leaves of the grape vines planted at the base of each pillar shaded the ground, but many tiny droplets of sunlight leaked through. When Ilna looked up, she could see the hills rising steeply only a stone's throw away.
In the center of the lawn was a low table. Instead of chairs, cushions had been laid along both sides and at the far end; apes waited behind each of the five places. Fruit and nutmeats waited on platters, and in a water-filled tub of brass and copper stood a tall earthenware jug.
Ilna looked more closely at the tub. Chips of ice floated in the water. "We bring ice down from the peaks to make sherbets and cool our wines," said King Perus, noticing Ilna's surprise. "Mistress Ilna?" said Perrin. He lifted the wine-thief, a deep-bellied ladle with a long vertical handle, from the narrow throat of the jug. "Allow me to serve you myself." He filled a goblet, then handed it to her with a bow. "Our finest vintage," he said, "for the most lovely woman ever to enter our valley." Ilna frowned. Ingens was frowning also, she noticed, though no doubt-and the thought brought a hard smile back to her lips-for different reasons. She sipped as Perrine showed the secretary how to recline alongside her on the cushions. The first touch of the wine seemed all right-too thick and too strong, but wine was normally diluted for drinking in those parts of the Isles where it was the usual beverage. Ilna swallowed. Before she took a second sip she noticed the aftertaste of the first and grimaced. She put the goblet on the table and said, "I'm sorry, I don't have a taste for wines. Do you have ale? I'm not-" What did she mean to say? I'm not rich? I'm a poor orphan who drank stale beer most of the time but water often because she couldn't afford anything better. Though nobody in Barca's Hamlet had drunk wine. "Ale?" said Perus. "Why, no, we don't brew any kind of beer in the valley." "Water, then," said Ilna. She was beginning to become irritated. She'd never have demanded something rare or expensive for her meals, but it ought to be possible to get something simple even in a palace. "I'm so embarrassed, Mistress Ilna," Perrine said. She'd taken a filled goblet from an ape and was holding it for Ingens as he drank. "You see, the water here isn't safe. Our servants, I'm afraid, aren't very fastidious about their natural functions." "We have other wines, Ilna," the prince said with a worried expression. "Perhaps you'd like a white?" Now shewas irritated. She took the goblet waiting at Perrin's place and scooped it full of melt water from the brass tub. "I trustthis is safe?" she said, then drank deeply before her hosts managed a reply. "Well, yes, if that's what you want, Ilna," the prince said after an exchange of silent looks with the rest of his family. "Whatever you like, of course." "Thank you," Ilna said, refilling the goblet. "And if you don't mind, I'll sit instead of lying down. I've never learned to eat one-handed on my side, and I have no desire to make myself foolish in front of you." "Of course, mistress," Perus said. He sounded gracious, but he had the look of a man who'd been kicked in the stomach. "Our only wish is for you to be comfortable here." "And to convince you of our good intentions," Perrin said with his usual smile. "We'll do anything we can to achieve that." As Ilna sat primly, Ingens said,
"Well, I must say I like your wine very much, King Perus. I don't believe I've ever drunk a finer one." He glared across the table at Ilna as an ape refilled his goblet. She ignored him and took a pear from the tray before her. "Try this plum, Ilna," the prince said, plucking one from another tray. He took out a knife with a tiny gold blade and added, "Here, I'll peel it for you. I think you'll find it amazingly sweet." "Thank you," Ilna said, making an effort to prevent the words from accurately reflecting her thoughts at the moment. Could they notleave her alone?"This pear is delicious." Indeed, it was. So was the hard-boiled egg whose yolk had been ground with spices before being returned to the cup of its white. The ape serving her was silent and alert, bringing bowls of water to cleanse her fingers between courses. Rose petals floated in them. The lace table covering and the napkins which followed the finger bowls were linen. Their quality was as good as anything Ilna had seen that she hadn't woven herself. As for the food-food wasn't important to her, but craftsmanship was. The cooks in this valley were as skilled as the weavers. The base of all the dishes was mutton, rice, and lentils, but the spices turned what might have been simple fare into remarkable works of art. The prince kept offering her dainties. Ilna kept refusing, as politely as one could be in the situation. Perrin was trying to use her courtesy as a way to bully her to his will, which of course made her more coldly certain in her refusals. Ilna smiled. She was treating it as a game, she supposed. If she stopped feeling that it was a game, she'd snatch the pattern from her sleeve and display it. She hadn't picked out the knots. Apes hung lanterns whose parchment screens had been dyed in attractive pastels. The sun had dropped below the rim of the mountains and the sky had faded enough for stars to appear. The constellations weren't familiar to her. The servants brought pistachios, shelled and arranged in swirling patterns on their silver trays. As they carried them away after the guests had eaten, King Perus said, "I've had rooms prepared for you. It wouldn't be entirely safe to return to your own world after sunset, though of course you're welcome to do so if you prefer." "Oh, I hope you'll stay," said Perrine, coverin
g one of the secretary's hands with her own. "Oh, please stay, Ingens." "Of course!" Ingens said. He'd drunk a fair amount. There was a challenge in his tone as he went on, "It's my duty to stay until we find Hervir.
Isn't that true, Mistress Ilna?" Ilna looked at him. This wasn't a game any more, but that meant it was even more important that she not lose her temper. "Yes, I suppose it is," she said evenly. "For tonight, at least." "Then allow me to conduct you to your room, Ilna," said the prince as he hopped to his feet. Ilna rose, ignoring the offered hand, as usual. "Yes," she said, "I'm ready to sleep." The room she'd been given was off a cross-hall, midway down the palace's right wing. Rugs and cushions were arranged for a bed; she'd certainly slept on worse. Perrin, as expected, tried to delay her at the door.
Also as expected, she dismissed him without difficulty. The full moon shone through the row of windows just below the roofline. Ilna glanced at it, then used a tripod table to wedge the door. It wouldn't hold long, but it would awaken her. She left a lamp burning. She'd sleep with a pattern bunched in her left fist. Any person who saw it would wish that they were being disemboweled with hooked irons, becausethat would eventually be over. Ilna smiled grimly as she lay down. Of course, she could be completely wrong about the danger here. And perhaps one day pigs would fly.