by William King
Malkior still looked like his portrait. He wore a deep purple tunic and dress britches instead of armour but Rik could tell this was the Terrarch in the painting. The artist had accentuated the leanness and good looks, the aggressive intelligent gaze. He had glossed over the scars and the mole on the chin and missed out the warm smile completely. The painting caught the aura of power that hung over Malkior but not the ease and friendliness that went with it. Rik looked at the Terrarch, hoping that the surge of interest and dislike that he felt was not immediately obvious to everyone.
Malkior bowed to Asea and kissed her hand. He showed no tension despite the fact that their nations were at war. She responded easily, and although Rik knew with certainty that she hated, feared and loathed the Sardean, he would never have guessed it from her expression. She looked delighted by his attention. Rik had long ago learned that while the face might lie, body language did not, and yet he could detect none of the subtle signs of animosity he would have expected to see in the way she moved or held herself. It would seem that Asea had mastered the art of concealing even those. It was a thing worth being reminded of. His patron was an extremely gifted liar.
“So you are the hero of the Serpent Tower,” said Malkior as they bowed to each other.
“Hero is too strong a word,” said Rik. He had to force himself to keep his tone casual. Was this Terrarch his father? Had he really killed his mother? Rik wanted to grab Malkior by his furred collar and slap some answers from him. He forced his shoulders to untense, and his hands to relax. It would not do to assault a high noble of Sardea at this reception, much as he might like to.
“I know many people who are simply dying to talk to you about it.” Rik smiled at the man, wondering what was going on behind those kind brown eyes. If Sardec’s suspicions were correct, Malkior’s statement held at least one double meaning.
“Perhaps you can introduce us, and I will do what I can to aid their understanding.”
“That’s a very generous offer, and I am sure I will take you up on it.” Malkior’s words seemed perfectly sincere, and yet Rik felt as if he had just been subtly threatened. He told himself it was his imagination, but he was sure that it was not.
Malkior smiled. “My daughter speaks very highly of you.”
“You have talked to her recently?”
“Before she went to Halim.”
“You have heard from her since the robbery? You have had a letter, perhaps?”
“I have,” said Malkior easily. “And I would like to thank you, Lady Asea for taking such an interest in the case.”
“It disturbs me that I could not find out anything,” said Asea. “It was almost like the Shadowblood were involved.”
“Come now, my dear, let us talk of more pleasant things. We left such darkness behind us on Al’Terra.”
Asea looked at him and smiled very coldly. “I have my doubts about that,” she said.
Malkior raised an eyebrow. “If you have suspicions, I must take them very seriously. Perhaps we should talk about them in a more private place.”
“I look forward to it,” said Asea. “We have much to discuss.”
“Such as?”
“We can talk about that in private. Did you know that Rik hails from Sorrow? A city with which you are more than a little familiar.” A subtle, mask-like quality came over Malkior’s face. Or was that Rik’s imagination?
“The last time I was there must be twenty years ago…”
“Nineteen. Just before Rik here was born. Just after too.”
Malkior inclined his head and studied Rik with more care than he had before. “It’s a small world,” he said.
“His mother was murdered, you know. In quite a spectacular fashion.”
Malkior looked at her now. If he was getting Asea’s message, he gave no sign. “I am sure the subject must be more than a little distasteful to our young friend here.”
“He’s not entirely an orphan. I have spent considerable effort locating his father, and I think I may have found him.” Rik felt oddly embarrassed and uncomfortable. The way they were talking made him feel like an object, a thing that was not there. He wanted to tell them both to stop it, but kept his mouth firmly shut and his attention focused.
“As always, the depth of your philanthropy is a source of astonishment to me, my Lady.”
“Thanatomantic rituals were involved in his mother’s death.”
“Harven is a place tolerant to sorcery, but I would not say things like that too loudly even here, Asea.”
“I am sorry if you find the subject distasteful.”
“Just because there is no Inquisition here does not mean there are no prejudices. I am concerned for your safety. Even in Harven there are some...zealots… who object to these matters being even mentioned. Secret brotherhoods are everywhere, as I am sure you are aware. Some of them have great power.”
“I believe the Terrarch who killed Rik’s mother perpetrated other atrocities.”
“Fascinating. You must let me know when you catch up with him.”
“You will be the first to know when I do.”
“I look forward to that day. Now I must not monopolise your time,” he said. “I can see that there others here simply dying to have a chat with you.”
They smiled like old friends, bowed and parted. “You came a long way to have that conversation, didn’t you?” said Rik softly.
“You have no idea how far, Rik,” Asea replied. He thought he noticed some strain in her voice, even if none appeared on her face.
There was eating. There was music. There was conversation. The whole time Rik felt as if he were under observation, in some subtle inhuman way. He felt as if someone was looking at him, but every time he turned to see, there was no one there.
A steady flow of the very wealthy and very powerful, both Terrarch and human, drifted into Asea’s orbit all evening. They were curious and they wanted to talk. Rik sensed that the merchant princes were unsettled. There was at once aggression and deference in the way they spoke to Asea, as if they both resented and feared her. Rik began to fear for her. It was clear that the Councillors of Harven were far more used to causing fear than suffering it. They obviously resented anyone capable of making them afraid, and the resentment of the powerful was something to be scared of.
If any of this made any impression on Asea, she gave no sign of it. She smiled pleasantly and made small talk, accepted and offered invitations, listened to gossip, asked about trade, engaged in conversations about the minutiae of small points of sorcery, spoke of the siege of Halim easily, fluently and well. She looked stunning in her furs and her evening gown. Her be-gemmed Elder Signs looked like jewellery. Her smile was warm and friendly, and more than once he saw speculative, resentful, envious looks aimed in his direction. Obviously the tale that he was her lover had circulated here.
Not for the first time he wondered what it would be like if that were true. What would it be like to bed his patron? Interesting, was his suspicion, but he was unlikely ever to find out the answer, nor did he want to. The difference in power in their relationship did nothing for his sexual appetite. Quite the contrary, it diminished it. It came to him in a sudden flash of insight that he actually preferred it that way. His relationships with women, the intimate ones with Sabena, and with Rena, had been unhappy, tormenting things that had caused him a great deal of pain. He was not ready to entangle himself again. Whatever the strangeness of his relationship with the sorceress, he was comfortable with it. He felt threatened by Asea on many levels, but the fear of intimacy was not one of those levels. The possibility of it simply did not arise.
As he watched Asea closely, he noticed one thing. Her answers always appeared open, sincere and complete, except when she was asked about what had happened at the Serpent Tower. These questions she parried easily, dismissed and deflected in such a way that no one could take any offence. The more she avoided the subject, the more curious people became. It was undoubtedly a question that a great deal o
f those present took a great interest in.
Rik found himself facing a small, squat, white-haired man, in fur-trimmed sorcerer’s robes. His ugly face was lined. His eyes twinkled benevolently, and he had a smile that would have put the most suspicious Sorrow street thief at ease. Rik raised his guard instantly.
“I envy you,” said the man. His smile widened a trifle. Rik found himself disliking the stranger and trusting him even less.
“Why?”
The man gestured in the direction of Asea, caught Rik’s glance, laughed and shrugged. “I don’t mean like that. I am too old to be smitten by beauty although she certainly has it in abundance. I mean I envy you your chance to talk to her.”
Rik thought he understood. “You are a sorcerer.”
The man nodded as if he approved of Rik’s perceptiveness. “And she is the sorceress of all sorceresses. I have many questions she could answer if she had a mind.”
“Why don’t you ask her them?” The man touched his forehead and then his heart. It was a quick gesture that must have had some significance unknown to Rik. “As you may have noticed I am a human, and the First do not share their secrets with humans.”
Rik almost said that he was in a position to know differently but stopped himself. It was probably exactly what this man wanted to know. He was clever and he was oblique. The fact that he was talking to Rik while most present concentrated on Asea showed that.
“I did not catch your name,” Rik said.
“I am Alaryn.”
“I am Rik - pleased to make your acquaintance. I must confess I was surprised by the number of human sorcerers present this evening.”
“Harven has always been a safe haven for us against the prejudices of the masses, and dare I say it, the feudal aristocracy. The Quan prefer to deal with us, and so we have always enjoyed their protection.”
“Why is that?”
“There were human priests who dealt with them before the coming of the Terrarchs. Many of us have a greater knowledge of the old rituals, and less prejudice against the habits of the Elder Race.”
“You do not fear madness? Forgive me but I have always been told that humans were not made for sorcery.”
Alaryn smiled. “I mean no offence but perhaps you should ask yourself who benefits from putting that interpretation on affairs.”
“You are saying that it is one way the Terrarchs keep humans in their place. I have heard that said before, but I have also seen human sorcerers go mad.” It had happened to the Old Witch in Sorrow, and many of the other dabblers in the Thieves Quarter.
“You have lived an interesting life. Many weaker minds are smashed by using the Art and the Power, and in this, alas, humans are significantly weaker than the Terrarchs. That does not mean madness is inevitable. If the proper precautions are taken, and the proper rituals are observed, and if a human does not attempt to fly too high or draw on powers beyond his capabilities, he can live a relatively normal life and even become prosperous.” Alaryn tapped his chest significantly. He certainly sounded sane enough. “And I flatter myself that there are areas in which we have even greater gifts than the Terrarchs.”
“You interest me,” said Rik. “In what areas would those be?”
“Dealing with the Elder Races would be the obvious place to start.” Rik looked closer and noticed the Kraken image that dangled from the man’s neck. He had taken it for an Elder Sign at first, but now he knew it was something else.
Rik thought of Zarahel, the priest of Uran Ultar - he had been a human, and he had summoned a demon god. This did not seem to be the time of the place to discuss things however. Instead he said; “It is said that there were human sorcerers in ancient times before the coming of the Terrarchs.”
“They made the mistake of fighting against the Conquest. That may be why so many of them were cleansed.”
Even in liberal Talorea that was not a thought a human would have spoken out loud where a Terrarch might hear. Things really were different here.
“You do not have the Inquisition here in Harven?”
“The Quan would not allow it. We practise tolerance. It is good for trade.”
Rik felt as if he was missing something here. Were the gestures Alaryn kept making those associated with one of the Brotherhoods, those ancient secret societies that still lurked in the shadows of civilisation? Some were cults dedicated to ancient demon gods, others, it was said, to the pursuit of knowledge and equality between human and Terrarch. Still others were arms of foreign policy of the Dark Empire.
“The Quan enjoy a great deal of power here.”
“Say rather influence. They need us. We need them. Always we seek accommodation, and to keep the other party happy. That too is good for trade.”
“I can understand how the city needs the Elder Race. What I do not understand is what they get from you.”
“We provide them with raw material they cannot get for themselves. We act as their intermediaries on the surface.”
Rik thought of the darker tales he had heard, of human sacrifice and the devouring of souls. It seemed undiplomatic to mention them. “Have you ever seen one, a Quan I mean?” he said, to fill the gap in the conversation.
“I am an Intercessor. I have talked with them. I have swum with them. I have visited their city.”
“Is that possible?”
“There are magical engines that make it possible - great bubbles propelled by magic that let a man pass through the water.”
“Bubbles - would they not burst?”
“They are not like air bubbles in water, more like translucent integuments spun by the Quan.”
“I would not have thought they could hold enough air.”
“By strange alchemy, the integument extracts it from the water. I confess I do not know exactly how.”
“That is mighty and wonderful magic.”
“The Terrarchs are not the only source of powerful sorcery in this world, friend Rik. It is something to keep in mind on your travels.” Alaryn smiled and Rik wondered whether he had just been given a subtle warning. Was he supposed to carry this tale to Asea, or to think about it himself?
“I have heard that the Quan are very agitated these days.”
“You are well informed for a newcomer to the city. Indeed they are. Recent developments on the surface have upset them greatly. I believe you yourself had some involvement in them.”
“The destruction of the Serpent Tower, you mean?” Rik felt as if they had suddenly reached the point that Alaryn had been trying to get to all along.
“The very same.”
“Why is that of interest to them? The Tower was a long way from the sea.”
“The Tower was the mightiest citadel of an Elder Race left on the surface of our world, or so I am told.” He paused, giving Rik time to wonder exactly who had told him. “Of course, its destruction is of interest to the Quan. At the height of their power, a long time ago, it was something the Quan would have struggled to achieve, and yet you and your mistress somehow managed it...”
He paused, and his silence was an invitation for Rik to pick up the thread of the conversation. Instinct and training warned him against it. As a young thief in the streets of Sorrow he had learned that information was a commodity of great value to the right people, and the secret of what had happened in the Serpent Tower was obviously of interest to many people in this city of merchants. He decided to test the water.
“I would imagine the information about how that happened might be worth a great deal to the right people.”
“You imagine correctly, Rik. It is of enormous value. There are people who would kill to acquire it.” Almost by accident his gaze rested on Lord Malkior. The Sardean stood amid a group of Terrarch merchants, who all laughed at some jest of his. Almost as if he sensed them looking at him, he turned and his gaze met Rik’s. He raised his glass in a mocking toast and returned to his conversation.
“A most dangerous Terrarch,” said Alaryn. “They say he has the ear of the Q
ueen Empress.”
“What brings him here at this particular time?”
“He is buying influence on the Council, trying to get it to take the Sardean side in your war.”
“Do you think he will succeed?”
Alaryn smiled. “I would say that too is information that would be of great value to the right people.”
“I am sure you are correct.”
“The world is changing, Rik. When the world changes, policy must change too. That is a maxim that we live by here. We all must.”
Sardec found himself standing with a Terrarch even more gaudily garbed than the local merchants. The insignia on his epaulettes marked him as being from the island realm of Selenea, part of its navy, he would have guessed.
“An interesting party,” Sardec said politely.
The Selenean surveyed the gathering coldly. “Smells of fish,” he said eventually.
He had the high Terrarch’s contempt for trade, which was odd, since his homeland was famously a place of traders. Sardec’s father had always told him the Selenean Terrarchs were funny that way, claiming to despise trade even as they took the vast majority of their revenues from it. He had never particularly cared for the Seleneans despite the fact they were traditional Talorean allies against the Valonians to the West.
“You are not enjoying this?”
“My dear Lieutenant, I have not enjoyed a single moment since I first set foot in this barbarous place three years ago.”
“Your patience in enduring such suffering is admirable.” Sardec allowed a hint of mockery to show in his voice. The Selenean’s smile said that he got the joke and did not mind the mockery.
“When Queen and country call, what else can one do? I can see you are a Terrarch who understands the meaning of duty.” His gaze lingered on Sardec’s hook. Sardec noticed that the speaker’s sleeve was empty. It looked like he too had taken his share of wounds in the name of duty.