by William King
Her words were slurred and her manner troubled Sardec. Her eyes looked huge and she seemed even more pale and gaunt than the Lady of the Ghouls he had encountered back in Halim. It was obvious that she was burning through a great deal of her personal power, and she was going to have to pay a dreadful price for that some time soon. He looked at the half-breed who just shrugged as if to say there was nothing he could do, which was most likely the truth.
Sardec hated this. He hated the feeling that there was nothing he could do, that he had no control over his own destiny. Matters were out of his hands, and would be until they returned to earth. He thought about Rena a lot, praying that he would get a chance to see her again, thinking long and hard about what he had seen in the great sea port of the way that Terrarch and human lived together there, wondering if such might not be the case everywhere some day.
There had been a time not so long ago when that would have seemed anathema to him. It would still seem so to many of his comrades, but he was starting to think that matters might not be so bad. He had once argued the exact opposite with Asea, and thoughts of that argument returned to him now. He wanted to say that he found himself far more in sympathy with her Scarlet ideas now than he once had been, but he did not want to disturb her concentration. Instead, seeking companionship and some conversation, he turned to Rik who huddled miserable and sick-looking in the corner of the basket, glaring at everyone with insane hatred in his eyes. Like all of them he was unshaven, and the stubble on his jaw gave him a wild feral look.
Sardec tried to tell himself that it was the long flight that was bringing out this side of the half-breed’s personality but the truth was that he had looked this way ever since he had returned to the embassy. Some of the things he mumbled to himself in his dreams were chilling.
Sardec squatted down beside him, grabbing the edge of the basket with his hook. “What happened back there?” he asked eventually then he smiled. “I seem to be making a habit of asking you that question. First the Serpent Tower, now this.”
Rik’s smile was cold and there was no hint of sanity in it. Sardec felt his flesh crawl but he continued to speak. “What trouble did you get yourself into?”
“It was Malkior. He set the Quan on me.”
“You talked with a Quan?”
“They don’t talk. They eat your mind, and while they eat your mind they digest your thoughts.” He laughed in a hideous manner. “Only I ate it. I ate it.”
Perhaps he was not laughing, perhaps he was trying not to weep. Sardec had once, to his shame, ordered Rik whipped. He had taken that whipping with as much insouciance as Sardec had ever seen. He had come out of the shadowy hell beneath Achenar with his sanity intact, and survived the destruction of the Serpent Tower seemingly unmarked. What had happened back there to do this to him? What horror had he encountered to surpass all those others?
Then he realised it was something else. Asea’s eyes were closing. The wind was starting to howl around them. It was getting colder. The sylphs were running out of control.
Sardec rose and grasped Asea by the shoulders. He shook her gently. “Wake up. Wake up!” he said urgently. Her eyes snapped open. She shook her head and seemed to realise what was happening. She muttered binding spells and the winds died down. The salamanders returned to an even glow.
“You can’t go on like this,” he said. “We need to get down from here.”
“Just a few more hours,” she said.
“You don’t have a few more hours in you. We need to get down to land. By now we must surely have outdistanced all pursuit.”
Much to his surprise she did not argue. “Very well,” she said. “When I see a suitable site I will try and put us down.”
Sardec watched the balloons burn. The landing had been rough but they had made it with only a few scrapes and bruises. The elementals had run out of control at the last, burning the baskets and silk, but not till after they had all got clear. Asea lay in the snow, surrounded by the men, covered in blankets. She seemed weary unto death. It was all right, Sardec told himself. It was her time to rest. Now it was time for him to do his job.
Looking around he could see that Weasel and the Barbarian had returned from the nearby town. “It’s Khalastrea, sir,” said Weasel. “We’re not more than twenty leagues north of Halim. There’s a small garrison here, our troops.”
Sardec remembered the town from his maps and did some swift calculations. He could commandeer some sledges and horses here if he had to. Using them and the post inns he could have them back in Halim in three days at most. They had come a long, long way in a very short time on those strange aircraft.
Sardec let out a long frosty breath of relief. They were almost back to the army. They had escaped from the impregnable city of Harven. “Shape up, lads,” he told the soldiers. “Another couple of days and we’ll be back with the regiment.”
When they gave three ragged cheers for him and Lady Asea he had to turn his head. He did not want them to suspect he was crying.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There was a discreet knock on the door of Rik’s chamber in the Palace at Halim. He lay still in the bed, luxuriating in its softness and comfort. It had been a week since they got back from Harven and he had started to recover from his ordeal. Sleep and food and some of the strange golden wine that Asea used to replenish her strength after magic had all helped. The voices were still in his head but they had sank back to a gentle murmur, omnipresent but almost unnoticeable except when he was tired or when he sought to work sorcery; then they would swell to a chorus that could almost swamp his sanity.
“Come in,” he said.
A servant in palace livery entered, bearing a silver platter on which lay a message. Just as quietly as he had entered, he withdrew to let Rik read it in privacy. The envelope was of thick expensive paper; the seal was one he did not recognise. Briefly he wondered about poison or letter curses or any of the other strange things he had heard of but decided that he most likely did not warrant such a thing. He broke the seal and studied the writing. The penmanship was lovely, the characters clearly formed in a precise hand. It said:
Lord Sardontine and his Lady wife request the pleasure your presence on the evening of the seventh day of the twelfth month. Our evening of music and conversation will begin at the eighth bell of evening.
It was signed by Lord Sardontine. Rik folded the letter up and placed it back in its envelope. He wondered why the old Terrarch wanted him at his dinner. Perhaps he was expected to sing for his supper with tales of his bravery. Or perhaps they were hoping for more gossip about their Queen or Rik’s recent trip to Harven. His instinctive response was to turn the invitation down. He had no place hobnobbing with Terrarch aristocrats. He was a former thief from the streets of Sorrow. For all the training Asea and her servants had given him, he remained so at heart. He doubted he could feel comfortable moving among such people.
When he visited Asea in her chambers, he mentioned it to her.
"You should go," she said. She was dressed once more in a gown. She still looked pale and more than a little gaunt. Their trip to Harven seemed to have been even more costly for her than it had been for him. He doubted she was getting much sleep. At night when he had passed her chambers, he had heard the sound of chanting, even through the sound deadening spells. She was preparing powerful magic. Doubtless she anticipated a struggle with Lord Malkior in the not too distant future.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because Lord Sardontine is one of those old aristocrats who likes to keep a foot in both camps. It would not hurt to get a feel for what he is saying."
"I seriously doubt that if he has any traitorous plans he is going to explain them to me over dinner."
"Sometimes you are surprisingly naive, Rik," she said and smiled. She obviously knew that would annoy him. The voices hissed disapproval in the back of his mind.
"In what way?"
"Lord Sardontine knows you are my protégé. He is simply trying to establish a d
irect line of communication."
That made a certain amount of sense. The thought of being Asea's emissary did not make him any more comfortable with the idea of going to the dinner. His encounter with Malkior and the ease with which he had been taken had left him more than a little suspicious. “I don’t like hobnobbing with the upper crust,” he said, to hide his real reason.
"All the more reason for you to do it," she said. "The only way you will feel at ease with the Aristals is if you mingle with them. I assure you there is nothing to be intimidated about."
That was easy for her to say with her millennia old bloodline and her eternal presence among the high aristocracy. He wondered if she really had the slightest idea of what it was like to be him, and decided that she did not. Still she was right in one way. Putting himself into the situation was the only way he would ever become comfortable with it, and he needed to be so if he was ever going to fulfil his ambitions in this world.
"I believe I will take your advice."
"Good. Just one thing..."
"Yes."
"It would probably be for the best if you did not mention all the training you have undergone. Let them think you enjoy a life of ease. And try not to mention our recent hair-raising escapades in Harven.” Her smile showed him that she knew he could be trusted not to bring the matter up in conversation.
"I will do my best."
"I am sure that will be more than adequate. You will be a credit to everything I have taught you."
Her smile widened a fraction. What was she up to, Rik wondered?
Lord Sardontine's mansion was near the Palace. High white walls tipped with spikes surrounded it. Burly footmen waited by the gates. The coach rumbled up the long driveway, under arches of dragon-trees. More servants waited to greet him as he descended. He felt odd, almost as nervous as he had done before infiltrating the Serpent Tower. He told himself that this would be much less dangerous but could not quite bring himself to believe it. The voices whimpered nervously in the back of his mind.
From inside came the strains of complex chamber music. He paused for a moment, breathing in the scented air. There were many blooms here of a type he had never smelled before. Apparently Lord Sardontine or his wife was a keen gardener. He took a deep breath, composed his face into the cold mask he had seen Terrarch officers wear, and strode up the steps.
A human butler showed him through the corridors and he was ushered into a finely furnished chamber. Panels embossed with golden Elder Signs covered the white painted walls. A massive chandelier full of glowglobes descended from the ceiling. A small chamber orchestra played on a raised dais. Groups of people stood around chatting in the corners. As he entered, Lady Sardontine rose from her seat and moved to greet him.
"Ah, here is the hero of the Serpent Tower," she said. Her voice was low and breathy. Her hand lingered on his arm for longer than was strictly necessary. She met his gaze boldly and with a mischievous glitter in her eye. "Come, let me introduce you."
Rik looked around the chamber for her husband but the elderly Terrarch was nowhere visible. He was moved in a whirl from group to group, bowing to the ladies and gentlemen alike, speaking in the courtly formal way Asea had impressed on him. He did his best to memorise the names, a process that was not helped by the strong liquor in the goblet Lady Sardontine pressed into his hand from a tray carried by a liveried footman.
"You do look handsome tonight," she said as they moved between groups.
"And you look extraordinarily beautiful." It seemed like the easiest thing to say. Her face brightened at the simple praise. She tilted her head to one side as she studied him. “You have changed. You seem a little more seasoned.”
“That was an interesting choice of words.”
"I heard you have added a new skill to your repertoire - you are now an aeronaut." Here it comes, thought Rik, the first few questions of the Inquisition.
This was overheard by a tall, golden-haired Terrarch in the uniform of a Captain of one of the Kharadrean regiments. "It cannot possibly compare to dragon-riding," he said, butting into the conversation.
"I am surprised you are in a position to compare," said Rik lightly. "I had thought ballooning was still a novelty."
"One does not need to wield a club to know that it cannot compare to a rapier." The Terrarch's voice had a dangerous edge. Rik wondered at the way he had so smoothly manoeuvred the conversation into talk of weapons. Would there be talk of a duel next? He doubted it; he was not the sort of person a Terrarch noble would deign to fight with.
"You have a point," Rik said, gesturing to the captain's own sword. To his surprise the Terrarch laughed, as did Lady Sardontine.
"You did well at the Serpent Tower," said the Captain. "I have heard the Queen plans to reward you."
"No reward is necessary," said Rik. "It was a privilege to serve her majesty."
He found himself falling into his pre-ordained role of suitably humble hero a little too easily for his own liking, but it seemed the best way to be. He was out of his depth here amid these glitteringly beautiful people, and he reckoned it would be wise to present them with the front they expected to see. The voices whispered that it was always best for people to see what they expected. He kept the smile on his face with an effort.
"Nonetheless," said the Captain, "far as it is from my part to second guess our Queen, I suspect that she will show truly regal gratitude."
The officer and Lady Sardontine exchanged secretive smiles and he wondered if he was being mocked, or the Queen was.
"We have not been introduced, sir?" Rik said. Lady Sardontine touched his hand intimately again.
"I am remiss in my duties as hostess, Captain Talarion, this is Rik. Rik this is Captain Talarion." They bowed to each other and the Captain helped himself to another drink from a passing tray.
"I understand you used to serve in the same unit as Lieutenant Sardec?"
Rik sensed a trap here but was uncertain how he could avoid it. Surely they all knew he had been an enlisted man, and Sardec an officer. Was Talarion reminding him of that? "That is the case," Rik said.
"I hear he fought a duel over some wench," Talarion said. His smile widened a fraction. It was like watching a sword being slowly drawn from a sheath.
"That sounds very romantic," said Lady Sardontine.
"A human wench," said Talarion. There was silence for a moment and an exchange of smirks. Talarion waited for a heartbeat and finished his attack. Rik saw it coming. "It seems that taking human lovers is all the rage in Talorea these days."
Rik looked from him to Lady Sardontine and smiled back as coldly. He held the woman's gaze as he said; "Perhaps it will become fashionable here in Halim as well. You never know."
She smiled back at him. "You never know," she said.
Seeing something pass between them, Talarion raised his eyes to the ceiling. A small pulse of what might have been anger beat on his forehead. "If you will excuse us, Captain," said Lady Sardontine, "I must introduce our young hero to my other guests."
"By all means, my dear, I can see I have wasted enough of your time already."
"Ignore the good Captain," Lady Sardontine said, once he was safely in their wake. "He is of the old school and can be something of a boor. Do not judge us all by him. Some of us in Kharadrea understand that the world is changing."
There was a note of apology in her voice, and something else, perhaps it was fear. He realised that Lady Sardontine very much wanted to stay on his good side, or more likely that of Lady Asea. Or perhaps she is simply trying to be friendly, he thought, and discounted the possibility immediately.
The voices told him that was wise.
They entered the orbit of another group. This one consisted mostly of women surrounding a tall Terrarch male so slim that he looked positively sickly, an impression reinforced by his constant coughing into a handkerchief. He was unusual in that he was not wearing a military uniform but a dress coat of heavy purple velvet, and a number of silk scarves.
>
All of them gave him glances that were quite welcoming, even the male. Introductions were made. The usual questions asked. The sickly Terrarch, by name Petron, by profession an author, by blood Lady Sardontine's brother, spoke: "I, for one, will be glad to have Kathea seated properly on the throne, and the Taloreans here. For too long Kharadrea has languished in the shadow of the Dark Empire." He paused for a moment. Rik guessed that the word shadow had a resonance for Terrarchs that it simply did not have for him, something to do with the powers that had evicted them from Al'Terra. "Now we shall see some progress. Our backward land will wake up.”
The ladies emitted small shrieks of scandalised outrage, although Rik suspected they were really quite enjoying Petron's words.
"My brother is a radical," murmured Lady Sardontine in Rik's ear. "He is a great admirer of your patron. Our father disinherited him because of his Scarlet outlook."
"My sister is doubtless informing you of the skeleton in the family closet. My father is an old tyrant. He regrets the days of the Conquest ever ended and that he can't take the whip and lash our humans to death as he used to do in the old days."
Petron smiled at Rik warmly, a thing that made him as uncomfortable as the coldness of some of the other Terrarchs. Petron was trying too hard to be friendly, to show he had no prejudice. He was not seeing Rik as himself but as a human, any human. This conversation was not about Rik, did not include him and never would. It was all about Petron, and how radical he was. Rik smiled back. He was becoming quite expert at playing the hypocrite.