Serpent's Blood

by Brian Stableford

  "What exactly are the rum ours you've heard?"

  "Dragomites are said to be moving out of the blighted hills into the southern regions of the forest. Humans are said to be moving with them actually frith them, although Phar thinks that's probably mere confusion on the part of anxious dark landers Anyhow, the dark landers are making preparations for an all-out war against the people as well as the dragomkes. If possible, Fraxinus wants to make peaceful contact before a war starts."

  "Has all this been reported to my father's ministers?" Lucrezia asked, having heard nothing of it.

  "Undoubtedly, highness," Hyry assured her.

  "Phar was unable to send a detailed report, but he has doubtless informed the governor of Khalorn of everything he has heard. The govenor will certainly include the information in his own reports."

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  One of which might reach Xandria in ten or twenty days, Lucrezia thought, and might catch a minister's attention ten or twenty days after that. Or might not.

  "I tried to impress upon my father," she said earnestly, 'that the existence of the seeds which you brought me was no trivial matter. I tried to make him see that it was of some importance to the realm that a way might now be open to the legendary lands beyond the Forest of Absolute Night. I even suggested that he should take an interest in your expedition himself- but he didn't take the suggestion seriously. I'm only a princess, you see . a mere pawn to be sacrificed in the game of diplomacy. But this is important, isn't it?

  More important than a simple experiment in witchery . . . and more important than a new trade-route. The dark landers may not be subjects of the empire, but their wars are our business nevertheless. In any case, the Navel of the World is where it all began. It's where the forefathers did their work, made their plans and issued their commandments. It's where the Pool of Life is. If the bronzes who sold you the seeds really did come from there, we don't want communication with them disrupted by dark land barbarians. "

  "Yes, highness," said the trader dutifully.

  "It seems to me that this is important. But not everyone sees things the same way. The common view is that the Lore of Genesys is just a set of pretty tales, full of ringing phrases which signify nothing. It's not surprising that the king and his ministers aren't very interested by news that there's a blight in the Dragomite Hills and that its effects have spilled over into the Forest of Absolute Night. In any case. . ."

  Hesitancy overtook her yet again.

  "You're not so sure that you want the king's agents involved in your expedition," Lucrezia guessed.

  "You don't want to have some minister's lackey or some over-polite courtier in tow, telling you what to do in the name of the crown. I don't blame you."

  "We're hoping to go farther than any man from Xandria has been for many generations," Hyry said, carefully avoiding any direct response to Lucrezia's observation.

  "We're hoping to visit places which are mentioned in the most ancient lore, but we have no reason to expect that we'll find any relics of former times.

  Even if the grains of truth contained in the old tales and romances haven't been corrupted in being handed down from generation to 101

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  generation, the

  reality, to which they refer must have decayed into dust long ago. We can't possibly guess what we might find there now .

  . but Fraxinus thinks, even so, that myth and legend offer some reason to believe that whatever is there now might be of interest to scholars and traders alike. "

  "You're not looking for incorruptible stone, then?" Lucrezia said teasingly.

  "You don't expect to happen upon the draught of longevity or any other fabled miracles?"

  "No, highness," the trader replied soberly.

  "What Carus Fraxinus is looking for is profit. I dare say that he hopes that there might be miracles- or if not miracles, wonders- but he's a hardheaded man after his own fashion. He believes that the people of today have lost much of the heritage that once was theirs, and he'd be very happy indeed were we to recover a little of that loss, but he'll gladly settle for knowledge of ordinary things if that's all there is to he had. He's not a wild-eyed treasure-hunter, highness. He's a trader."

  "That's Fraxinus," Lucrezia observed softly.

  "What about you?" Hyry Keshvara seemed rather disconcerted by the intrusion of such a personal note into the conversation. She opened her mouth automatically, perhaps to protest that she had meant to include herself in all these judgments, but then she closed it again while she thought the matter over. Lucrezia knew that she might simply be hunting for an acceptable lie, but dared to hope that she might be trying to weigh her motives m^re accurately than she had ever had cause to weigh them before. (

  Eventually, the trader said: "Perhaps I'm no more than a victim of silly pride. Were I to tread my accustomed pathways for a thousand years I should never be as rich as Fraxinus. Perhaps I lack the money-hunger of a true merchant. Your highness might not understand, but I've always taken a childish delight simply in being where no man of Xandria -- and I use the word man narrowly has ever been. I always seem to be happier in dark and dangerous places than I am when sturdy and well-maintained walls are layered about me. Perhaps I'm a barbarian at heart, or a madwoman. Either way, when Carus Fraxinus proposed that we combine forces to find a way through the Dragomite Hills my heart leapt up, because that's precisely what I had desired of him, and precisely what I hoped."

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  Having finished this speech, Keshvara seemed so profoundly discomfited that Lucrezia felt sorry for her.

  "I do understand," the princess insisted, grateful for the opportunity to do so, and to do so with passion.

  "Indeed I understand perfectly- and I wish with all my heart that I might go with you."

  Keshvara made no response to this, and Lucrezia continued after a brief hesitation.

  "My father, alas, has other plans for me. But Fraxinus shall have his map; I can promise you that, at least. As soon as the amber is delivered into my care- before, if I can contrive it- I shall demand the very best map he can draw, in triplicate. I'll send Monalen to your house as soon as it's done or to the house of Carus Fraxinus, if you're already on your way. All I ask in return is that you'll promise me faithfully that you'll come to me when your adventure is done, to tell me every detail of it-- no matter whether I'm in Xandria, or Shaminzara, or anywhere else in the known world."

  "Yes, highness," the trader said.

  "That I'll gladly do. Thank you, highness. A thousand thanks." It seemed that the vehemence of Lucrezia's speech had startled her, but she made no comment on it.

  Lucrezia would have liked to expand upon her theme, but she had no wish to torment someone she would like to be able to think of as a friend. She gave the trader permission to leave, and Keshvara accepted it with a joy which the princess tried with all her might to see as a natural relief rather than an insult.

  When Keshvara had gone, escorted by the ever-patient Dhalla, Lucrezia threw herself back upon the cushions which decked her couch, and stared at the pitted ceiling of her little room. The hour at which she usually retired to her bed for the midnight had already passed, but she didn't feel at all tired. Indeed, her head was buzzing; she had never felt so vibrantly alive and alert.

  What a prison this is! she thought fervently. And what a fine, brave woman Keshvara is! How much kinder fate would have been had my birth consigned me to her vocation, instead of the rigid duties of a princess! If only . . .

  She knew, of course, that dreaming of 'if onlys' was a waste of time but she had time enough to waste, for the present, and she was, after all, a princess. joj

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  a ndris was A light sleeper even at the best of times, and the citadel was home to so many slight noises that he continually drifted back and forth across the borders of unconsciousness while he lay on his bed.

  He was forced to shift his position constantly in the ultimately hopeless attempt to make himself comfortable upon a pallet which was too small to contain him.

  These circumstances were no more distressing now than they had been when he had first been put into the cell, but on this particular night he felt frustration building up inside him like pus in a boil.

  It might not have been so bad if he had been certain that he was waiting, but the message thrown into his cell had not given any firm indication as to when' the promised rescue attempt might take place.

  The awareness that he might be dangling in unwarranted suspense made the suspense itself that much harder to bear. ; He tried to relax by means; of all the conventional tricks, but they all failed. When he tried to rehearse his earliest and most pleasant memories of Ferentina he found that they had become flat and insipid, and that his once-beloved mother had begun to seem ineffectual and uncaring. When he tried to work up a hopeful fantasy about entering the service of a Xandrian princess, who would fall completely in love with him and launch him upon a wonderfully successful military career, the plot faltered at every step and he could not shake the suspicion that a big dagger might at any moment be plunged into his back by any one of a hundred hired assassins. When he tried to strike up a philosophical dialogue with the bugs infesting the mattress they so devastated him with their vicious logic that it was difficult to cling to the most stubbornly elementary dogma. He had no option but to wallow in his wretchedness, savouring his misery.

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  In spite of all this, however, he had to be rudely jerked from semi-slumber when his attention was caught by the sound of bolts being withdrawn from other doors in the corridor.

  Such was his mood that his first thought was: Why are they letting all the other prisoners out?

  His second was: What if the others don't want to go?

  His third was: What if I don't want to go?

  He heard muffled voices as some of the puzzled prisoners to whom release was being offered enquired as to the cause of their good fortune. Shut up, you fools! he thought, heedless of all inconsistency. Do you want to wake the jailer and bring the guard running to the door? None of the prisoners was completely stupid, though; those who spoke at all were wise enough to whisper. By the time the three bars were withdrawn from his own door Andris was up on his feet, groping for the few possessions he had been allowed to retain- which he had bundled up for convenience, just in case.

  The door opened and someone slipped in. The starlight which shone through the narrow window was just adequate to inform him that the person was slim and fairly tall by Xandrian standards, if not by his.

  He moved forward but an extended hand blocked the way. "Not this way, cousin."

  The whispering voice was female. While he paused to consider this unexpected development she hauled one of the wooden bars through the doorway and thrust it towards him, implicitly commanding him to take it. When he had done so she brought a second one through and propped it against the wall. She was obviously strong in spite of her slimness. When the third bar was inside she shut the door again.

  Having sealed them in, she laid the third bar down crosswise so that anyone who tried to open the door would have to shove hard. She took back the one Andris held, and placed it on top.

  "What. . . ?" Andris began- but the woman silenced him immediately by placing a firm forefinger against his lips. She stood on tiptoe to speak softly into his ear.

  "Listen! You may not know it, but if you don't get out now, you're dead.

  This is your only chance. The citadel guard are lying in ambush at the door we came in by. The only way out is up, along and down."

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  Andris looked upatthe ceiling, remembering the stains that had made him slightly anxious before he had got used to the height. "We can't," he muttered feebly.

  "Yes we can!" she hissed fiercely.

  "There's a cavity up there.

  Water-tanks are set in rows over the walls- there's a narrow space between them, above the middle of the ceiling. Lift me up and let me squat on your shoulders. Now, cousin! "

  Cousin? he thought, as she said the word a second time. Was it my letter to the shipmaster that has brought all this about, or that merchant to whom I told my troubles? One or other of them must have found my uncle, or some relict of him. But . . . While he thought, he hesitated, and the woman quickly became impatient.

  "Squat, idiot," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and pressing down.

  "How can I reach the ceiling unless I can climb on you?"

  How indeed? he thought. He gave in to the insistence of the hands and knelt. The woman- or was she merely a girl? -- clambered on to his shoulders with alacrity. She was heavy in spite of her relative slenderness, by virtue of being un girlishly tall, but Andris bore her weight easily enough.

  "One step right!" she instructed impatiently, as if he should have known by instinct what to do.

  Outside, the corridor was ru(l of barely suppressed whispers and noises of movement. Andris had already figured out that a prison which charged fees to its imnates might be a useful source of revenue to a prosperous city whose courts were perpetually busy, but until now he hadn't paused to wonder what effect the privilege of paying to be in jail might have on the politics of escape. It was obvious that not everyone had been forewarned of the plan of which they were now being made part, and that he was not the only one to have doubts about the best course of action. Some of the querulous voices, moreover, were rapidly escaping their users' sense of discretion. It seemed entirely possible that a fight might break out even before the alarm was raised.

  He wondered whether all the others were being told that an ambush had been laid. He also wondered why, if she knew about the ambush, the slim woman had come to save him regardless . . . and, if an ambush had been laid, why the would-be ambushers hadn't simply stopped her .

  .

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  There were too many questions, none of which was easily answerable.

  He realised that he was completely out of his depth.

  The fact that the woman wriggled somewhat as she worked on the ceiling of the cell made the task of supporting her more troublesome, but Andris stood firm, proud of his ability to do so. Had he been able to get a good look at her face and found it lovely he might have been able to derive more erotic excitement from the experience, but anxiety and ignorance combined to make that difficult.

  He didn't need to ask what the woman was doing. She was smearing on some fast-acting solvent which would soak into the ceiling, loosening its solidity as it went. It would normally require an hour or two to make stone or wood crumble by any such method, but the ceiling was made out of some unnatural substance designed for the convenience of stone masons with the appropriate tools it could be demolished in minutes. Andris imagined a heavy rank filled with water toppling from above, but the woman obviously knew what she was talking about- and common sense dictated that the middle of a ceiling would not be subjected to such a burden.

  "According to the jailer," he whispered, 'there's no way out up there. "

  "He would say that," she observed, 'wouldn't he? Squat! " She hopped down as he bent his knee, and grabbed the beam she had leaned against the wall.

  "Hold it upright," she said.

  "Get your hands
under the bottom end. When I give the word, drive it upwards with all your might. Then do what you have to do to enlarge the hole." He did as he was told, moving like an automaton. He expected her to give the signal almost immediately, but in fact she just stood still, listening. When a full minute had gone by, he said: "What are we waiting for?"

  "Rot needs time," she said tersely.

  "Better if we wait till the noise starts. Any second, pure chaos will break loose."

  As if on cue, pure chaos did indeed break loose. There was a sudden cacophony of shouted challenges, barked orders and howls of anguish, quickly supplemented by the urgent beating of an alarm-drum. Then as if the drum were merely a signal for the outbreak of further mayhem there was a series of very loud

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  explosions. There seemed to be four in all, although they were so precisely timed as almost to fuse into a single mighty roar. Their echoes multiplied around the legendary walls like a barrage of mortar-bombs.

  That must have cost a fortune! Andris thought, astounded by the economic insanity of it. It would be cheaper by far to buy out every prisoner in the jail!

  "Now!" the woman yelled. In spite of the thunderous ness of the explosions, the sudden amplification of her words from a whisper to a shout made him wince.

  He got his fingertips under the end of the beam that was sitting on the floor, and drove it upwards like a vertical battering-ram. It smashed the weakened ceiling to smithereens. Bits the size of pebbles rained down on him. It was easy to move the beam back and forth, expanding the hole. He felt the top end bump against more solid objects to either side- presumably the water-tanks carefully sited above the solid walls.

  "Are you crazy?" he said.

  "Surely you're not releasing every prisoner in the jail and blowing up the citadel just to get me out!"

  "Don't be silly," she said breathlessly, as she put a hand on his right shoulder, indicating that' he could put the beam down now. "That's Checuti's people bringing off the crime of the century. We're just a sideshow to distract the guard a diversion. You've got to go first -- I'll do my best to give you a lift."