Heritage Of The Xandim

by Maggie Furey

  The public audience was the aspect of ruling that Tiolani liked least. Every tenth day she was forced to follow Hellorin’s custom of hearing the petitions of any who had a favour to ask or a dispute that needed settling. She dressed in all her finery. To make herself a little taller, she used a minor version of her father’s glamourie spell, whereby he could make himself grow to a towering height. She even used magic to make her voice louder and more resonant, but nothing she did seemed to make up for her want of confidence. She was afraid she’d betray her lack of experience every time she opened her mouth. She hated having to make decisions on the spot in front of a crowd of courtiers, and she lived in constant dread of exposing herself to derision and scorn.

  Today, in particular, she was beginning to wonder whether she had made a serious error. Ferimon’s sources had told her that Ambaron, representing the interests of the small group of Hemifae traders who dwelt in the city, had been complaining about the restrictions she had placed on the movements of her subjects, but she’d expected him to request a private meeting to raise his grievances. Instead, however, he had apparently decided to corner her by raising his issues before the entire Phaerie Court, and there was no escaping a very public confrontation.

  Tiolani sighed. ‘Speak, Ambaron.’ She tried in vain to keep from revealing her dislike of him in her voice. The trader had taken after the human side of his heritage in appearance. With his brown hair, stocky build and blunt, rounded features, he looked like a slave who had dressed up in his master’s finery, and Tiolani was ill-disposed to look kindly on anything that resembled a human.

  From the expression on Ambaron’s face, the dislike was mutual, and his bow was a great deal more perfunctory than was required - especially from a Hemifae - to show respect for a ruler. When he spoke, he assumed a ponderous, didactic tone, as though he were speaking to a child. ‘Lady Tiolani,’ he began, ‘as you doubtless know, it is the custom of the traders to travel each summer to the Wizard city of Tyrineld, where we trade moonmoth silk and gems from the mountains for the forged tools and weapons of metal that we cannot produce, and for the fruit and herbs requiring a warmer climate, that we cannot grow ourselves in this northern realm. This year, you have placed a ban on any Phaerie travelling outside their own lands - but surely you did not mean that restriction to apply to merchants? Would you truly deprive your subjects of the luxuries and necessities from the south in this way?’

  Curse this miserable half-blood! In suggesting that she was deliberately depriving her subjects, he had placed her in an impossible position. Frantically she looked to Ferimon, who stood in his usual place, to one side of the throne. Usually his expression would tell her how she should proceed, but today, he simply looked thunderous, which wasn’t much help. Nor did he reply to her frantic query in mindspeech.

  Tiolani gazed around the throne room for inspiration. The imposing and beautiful hall was built of pale-coloured stone, its roof supported by a double row of great pillars carved to resemble trees, with the branches fanning out to provide the vaulting of the ceiling. Massive windows of stained glass pierced the walls at regular intervals, and behind the throne was a massive rose window in multicoloured hues that took up most of the wall, and filled the room with jewelled light. The richly clad courtiers who were in attendance, standing or sitting in scattered groups, were all looking up at Tiolani expectantly. She was the cynosure of every eye in the room.

  She could think of no other way to respond, save with bluntness. ‘The restrictions apply equally to all my subjects. Why should the traders be the exception?’

  ‘But Lady,’ the trader protested, ‘what about the new weapons we need? How will our miners and farmers manage without tools? What about wine? Or herbs for seasonings and medicine? Or the good oil from the olive, which we use for so many purposes?’

  Tiolani sat up straight on the throne. If she let herself be bullied over this matter, she would never manage to claw back the respect - albeit grudging - that she had managed to win herself so far. ‘I thought I had made myself clear on this point,’ she told the trader. ‘I do not wish the Magefolk, particularly the Wizards, to know that the Forest Lord is wounded and currently unable to rule. They may decide to take the opportunity to encroach upon our borders, and following the ambush in the forest, the Phaerie are in no condition to fight a war over territory.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘The Wizards may decide that it will be easy to take advantage of a young, inexperienced girl. They would be wrong, but I would rather not risk the lives of my people to teach them that lesson.’

  Ambaron glared at her. ‘Are you suggesting that we traders would give away secrets to the Wizards?’

  Hellorin’s daughter met his glare with a stony look of her own. ‘Frankly, I’m not prepared to take the risk.’

  ‘But Lady, our livelihoods—’

  ‘Enough!’ Tiolani struck the armrest of the throne with her fist. ‘You have heard my decision.’

  The trader stood his ground, his own temper clearly beginning to rise. ‘My Lady, this is ridiculous. You cannot make such a law—’

  Utterly incensed, she leapt to her feet. ‘I am the ruler here. Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do.’

  Ambaron’s face went white. ‘With respect, Lady, you are not the ruler here. You are merely acting in his stead. Wounded or not, Hellorin still rules the Phaerie - or do you know something that the rest of us do not?’ Even as the words left his mouth, Tiolani saw his expression turn to one of dismay. In the heat of the moment, he had gone further than he had intended, and spoken words he had never meant to utter aloud.

  There was a moment’s deathly hush, then a buzz of horrified talk swept through the court as the implications of Ambaron’s remark struck home. What was worse, the trader was closer to the truth than he knew. So many times of late, Tiolani had found herself thinking how much more pleasant it was to rule than be ruled, and how convenient it would be if her father could remain out of the way for a little longer, and leave the field clear for her.

  Tiolani’s guilt focused her anger into a solitary diamond point. She found herself thinking very coldly and clearly, without a trace of emotion. There was only one punishment for such sedition. Time seemed to stretch as she remembered her father standing at bay in the forest clearing, pierced through and through by the arrows of the rebels, calling down the wrath of the heavens on those who had slain his son. Then, all at once, she knew exactly what he had done, and how he had accomplished it. True, it would be more difficult to accomplish within the hall, but nothing was beyond the new Lady of the Phaerie. Summoning the Old Magic to her bidding, she called upon the powers of the lightning.

  As she lifted her hand, Ambaron must have seen his death in her eyes. He backed away from her, his face contorted with terror. ‘Lady, please. Nooooo . . .’

  Tiolani opened her hand and unleashed a single, searing bolt that came out of nowhere and wrapped itself, sizzling and crackling, around the merchant’s writhing form. He crumpled and fell - and suddenly the lightning was gone, leaving nothing but a vile odour of burning flesh, and on the floor, a blackened, smouldering lump that no longer resembled a Phaerie.

  Tiolani swept the crowd with burning eyes, and felt them quail before her as her voice rang out through the hall. ‘Let all take heed,’ she said. ‘So perish those who would speak treason.’

  20

  DHAGON

  The death of the trader ended the morning’s business. The fearful crowd, aghast at the smoking remains of Ambaron, cleared the room with amazing speed. Ferimon watched them go, and exulted. Tiolani sank down upon her throne and sat, expressionless as a statue, her face so white that it looked as though it had been carved from alabaster. Ferimon glanced across at Varna, and beckoned her with a tilt of his head. She hurried to join them as he insinuated his hand beneath Tiolani’s elbow and led her from the room, with the warriors of the Lady’s bodyguard grouped around them.

  As they passed through the corridors of the palace, ev
eryone melted out of their way. When they reached her suite, he stationed guards in front of her doorway. ‘See that the Lady Tiolani is not disturbed,’ he ordered, as he and Varna accompanied her inside and closed the door behind them.

  Once she reached the sanctuary of her own rooms, Tiolani walked across to the window and stood in silence, staring out. Ferimon and Varna exchanged an anxious look, but Tiolani had a surprise for them. Before they had time to speak to her, she turned, staring through them with a cold, blank expression. ‘Why are you two still here? I do not recall asking for company.’ Her tone of voice was different from any she had used before: firmer, stronger, ringing with confidence. For once Ferimon found himself floundering, unsure of what to say. ‘But . . . but Lady,’ he stammered, ‘we were concerned - we wanted to make sure you were all right.’

  ‘Of course I am all right,’ Tiolani said icily. ‘Why should I not be?’

  ‘But my dearest Lady, I was afraid you were feeling bad about Ambaron’s death.’

  ‘As was I,’ Varna added quickly.

  Tiolani shrugged. ‘You idiots. All I feel is rage, not remorse. How dare that half-blood trader accuse me of keeping Hellorin imprisoned out of time, so I could rule the Phaerie.’ Her voice had turned to a snarl, and a cruel little smile curved her lips. ‘But I soon corrected that. And you know, it finally made me realise that I have not been taking a strong enough hand with these insolent courtiers, or with my father’s advisors. I won’t make that mistake again.’

  A shiver passed through Ferimon. He had done his work almost too well. He looked into her face and saw a familiar expression - the same one she had worn when she came back from the Wild Hunt, exulting in the bloodshed and slaughter. Had the horrors she’d experienced during the ambush that had killed her brother twisted her mind in some way? He was beginning to wonder. But no matter what had happened months ago in the forest, today had been a turning point for Tiolani. She had grown up, and proved she was her father’s daughter. She had finally come to understand the extent of the power she possessed - and to revel in it.

  Tiolani, in the meantime, had sat down before her mirror and was brushing her hair, as cool and unconcerned as if she had just returned from a morning stroll in the garden. ‘Varna, you may go now. Send for some food, Ferimon, will you? I’m starving.’

  ‘Yes, my Lady.’ Her face tight with anger, Varna swung around in a swirl of skirts and marched out. Ferimon opened his mouth, closed it again, and quickly sent a message in mindspeech to the kitchens, requesting all the Lady Tiolani’s favourite delicacies. Today it definitely seemed wise to stay on her good side.

  After the events of the morning, Tiolani had been surprised to find herself hungry, but when the food arrived, she devoured hot soup, cold roast peacock and a big bowl of glossy, sweet cherries as though she had not seen food for a week. While she had permitted Ferimon to stay and eat with her, she was glad he had the good sense to remain silent unless she spoke to him first. Her actions that day had given her a great deal to think about, and the repercussions - both for herself and for those she ruled - were likely to be far-reaching indeed.

  Hellorin’s daughter was feeling very proud of herself. She had executed that perfidious trader using her own magical powers, just as her father might have done. Her subjects had been given a long-overdue demonstration that, just like the Forest Lord, she was not to be defied or thwarted - especially not by some filthy half-blood, first cousin to those animals who had killed her brother. How sweet and fitting it would be to remove their taint from the Phaerie race . . .

  ‘Whose taint?’ Ferimon’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  Tiolani realised that she must have spoken the last part of her musings aloud. ‘The Hemifae, naturally.’ She reached into the cut-crystal bowl and selected another cherry, which looked like a drop of blood between her fingers. ‘It was a mistake on my father’s part to let them infiltrate our race. They twine like strangling briars into every aspect of Phaerie lives. Why should they own mines and farms, be in positions of power, wealth and privilege? They are no better than the human animals that spawned them.’

  She saw Ferimon’s eyes widen slightly in alarm, and exulted in her own sense of power. ‘But my love,’ he said carefully, ‘the Hemifae were spawned, as you call it, by the Phaerie, too.’

  ‘Their Phaerie blood is corrupted by human taint,’ Tiolani snapped back, ‘and that makes them just as bad as those filthy mortal scum. The hybrids are no better than slaves, yet they move among us in positions of authority, dressed in finery as though they believe themselves fit to be real Phaerie.’ She clenched her fingers, stained blood-red with cherry juice, into a fist and smashed it down on the table. ‘The Hemifae are an abomination, corrupting the purity of our race. Every trace of them should be cleansed from this world.’

  ‘But Lady,’ Ferimon said, still using that careful, coaxing voice, ‘the Hemifae are our civilisation, or at least the greater part of it. They are our artisans, artists and architects, our agriculturists and traders. The humans might work our farms and our mines, but the Hemifae run them. It is they who decide what should be planted and when. They direct the mining operations by deep-sensing the whereabouts of gold and gem deposits, and they train and coordinate the cutters, setters and polishers. Hemifae design the jewellery, and the clothing that we make from moonmoth silk - which, incidentally, they produce. They are the ones who take these articles out into the world, and trade with the Wizards for the necessities, luxuries and delicacies that otherwise we could not obtain. The Hemifae train our horses. They—’

  ‘Enough!’ Again, Tiolani struck the table with her fist. How dare he speak to her as if she were still a child? ‘Do not presume to lecture me, Ferimon. I know exactly what the Hemifae do. And I can see that it is only due to the laziness and indolence of the pure-blooded Phaerie that they have been allowed to gain such a stranglehold. Once, before the half-breeds grew so numerous, there were Phaerie who fulfilled all the functions that the Hemifae have now taken as their own, and we are perfectly capable of doing so again. My people may not possess many of these skills now, but they can learn - and they must. Then the Hemifae can be removed—’

  ‘Lady, before you continue with your most interesting plans for the Hemifae, you should know that they are the least of your problems.’

  The voice was strange to her. Even as Tiolani spun around, Ferimon vanished from sight, imprisoned within a silvery orb that enclosed him completely. Though she would have been willing to swear that there had been no one else in the room, a white-haired figure dressed in grey stepped out from the shadows in the corner. ‘Now,’ he said, in a voice that was iron and granite. ‘That should take care of the minion. There is no reason why he should hear what I am about to say to you - in fact, when he is released, he will have no recollection that I was here at all.’

  Tiolani was pleased to note that the intruder had the attenuated form of a true-blooded Phaerie. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he said, as though she had spoken her thoughts aloud. ‘Both my father and mother were pure-blood Phaerie, though it cost my mother her life to bear me. You will also notice,’ he added with a chilling smile, ‘that I have no compunction whatsoever about picking the most private thoughts from a poorly guarded mind, no matter what the person’s rank. You would be well advised to work on your shielding, my Lady. I could never extract the faintest whisper of a thought from your father.’ His eyes were what frightened her most. A strange, pale, silvery grey, they were stony and flat, reflecting rather than revealing, and utterly pitiless.

  Not even during the ambush by the ferals had Tiolani been so afraid. Reacting from pure instinct, she lifted her hand in a blur of speed and hurled a sizzling bolt of lightning. But the stranger was faster. Even as she moved to attack, he had struck first. She saw the dazzle of the spell coming towards her - then it neutralised her own magic and enveloped her in a wave of icy cold that penetrated both her body and her mind, paralysing her limbs and slowing her thoughts.

&
nbsp; With a sinking certainty, Tiolani realised that the interloper could only have one identity: he must be one of the Chahiri, the select, secret group of spies and assassins that Hellorin had formed long ago to be his eyes and ears - and when necessary his killers - in the world beyond the Phaerie realm. There were rumours that their services could be contracted by a private individual if the rewards were high enough, and by any standards, Ambaron had been very wealthy. Had his family hired this killer to avenge his death?

  Again came the thin, mirthless smile that struck utter fear into Tiolani’s heart. ‘Not even close,’ he said. ‘Though you do have my profession correct. I am one of the Chahiri - in fact, I am their leader. You may call me Dhagon. Though I do occasionally permit my underlings to accept private contracts, I answer to your father alone. Until now, only he has known of my existence and, because he is still alive, I would have remained in secret, unknown to you - save that I am forced to reveal myself in order to bring you a warning. Danger is approaching. You must be on your guard.’

  Tiolani, hypnotised by the gaze of those pale eyes, beckoned him to a seat by her side. ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  He slid into place beside her as silently as a shadow. ‘I am head of a spy network that Lord Hellorin seeded throughout the dominions of the Magefolk,’ he told her. ‘I managed to place an agent in Tyrineld who, for the last two years, has sent information about the Wizardfolk and their activities directly to me; and thence, to your father. Information from that agent has just come into my hands, and brought me here to disclose my identity and warn you in person. Lord Hellorin trusts no one but me to coordinate the activities of his spy network, and as I am now unable to make contact with him, I must come directly to you with my information, for the responsibility for the realm currently rests in your hands.’