by Dave Duncan
Talitha said, “After the court determines that you are a halfling, not an earthling or a starborn deformed by a curse, Fomalhaut will be asked if he’s willing to sponsor you. If he refuses, you’ll have seven days to find a sponsor. During that time, you will be housed in a reasonably comfortable jail.”
How was he supposed to find a sponsor if he was locked up? “And after the seven days? Unsponsored halflings go to the Dark Cells?”
“Sometimes, but usually they’re just humanely put down—you’re not protected by the guilt curse.” Talitha smiled. “But that won’t happen to you, because I shall be there.”
“And if Fomalhaut says yes?”
Her smile inverted into a frown. “Normally you would agree and that would be that. But Vildiar is his overlord, and he’ll want to get his claws on Saiph. He will pressure Fomalhaut to transfer the bond to him. Again, your consent is required, but if you don’t give it, you won’t have a sponsor.”
“Meaning I’ll be between the devil and the deep blue sea? An earthling expression,” he explained in response to her furrowed brow. “Between a rock and a hard place?”
“You will be between a slow death and a quick one. That is why we have to talk to the regent-heir. He is everybody’s overlord. He must take your bond and then transfer it to me. If that is agreeable to you?”
“You mean I’d have to put up with Izar all the time?”
Izar punched him in the arm.
“If that’s the hardest you can hit,” Rigel said, “I’ll have to give you lessons.”
Izar growled, bounced up and down on the couch a few times, and then shouted, “Jabbah! Bring me a chocolate mouse.”
“Wait!” Talitha said as the page moved to obey. “Izar, that was not good manners. You do not give orders to people older than yourself. And you are never to give orders to servants; you must always ask them. And Jabbah is not a servant anyway. He is an officer of the castle. So now you must apologize to him.”
A black silence descended.
Rigel rose, went over to the serving table, and politely asked Jabbah Starling if he might have a chocolate mouse—they were mouse-shaped chocolates filled with cream rather than rodents—and returned to the couch he was sharing with Izar. Then he ate the sickly thing himself, risking instant diabetes and chronic heart disease. Jabbah came over to remove his plate and offer a refill, which Rigel declined.
Izar said nothing, but looked ready to levitate his bodyguard over the balustrade and let go.
“Why,” Rigel asked, looking around the great hall, “is this the only box that is occupied?”
In her cautious, Izar-is-listening voice, Talitha said, “In Electra’s time they were usually full of the guests’ unofficial relatives. Known but not recognized, if you follow me.”
“She means bastards, gigolos, and concubines,” Izar explained.
His mother pretended not to hear. “Regent-heir Kornephoros does not approve of relationships outside of formal pairings. If he ever wore lace he would keep it very straight.”
“Grandsire wears lace?”
“No he doesn’t, Big Ears.”
“Formal pairings?” Rigel murmured. Izar had a father, still unnamed. Did Talitha have a husband? “There are also informal pairings?”
“Dozens,” Izar said. “Two a night.”
“Watch your mouth, imp!” his mother said menacingly.
“Where I come from, formal pairings involve oaths of lifelong fidelity. You can’t have those, surely?”
Talitha said, “Hardly! A formal pairing is a contract to produce and rear a child. Traditionally it is for thirteen years, but it can be renewed as often as the parties wish.”
“She’s free,” Izar said helpfully. “But she can’t pair with a halfling, so don’t get your hopes up… or anything else up for that matter.”
“Izar!”
“I am quite certain your mother will never pair with anyone again,” Rigel said. “After what happened the first time.” He caught Izar’s fist before it connected. “The next time you try to punch me, imp, I will punch you instead.”
“You insulted me!”
“You insulted your mother. That deserves several punches.”
Izar put on his hard-done-by expression. “Sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have said that. It was a vulgar remark. It’s just that I am ’stremely bored! Why can’t I go to sleep? I’ll tell my self to wake me quick when Grandsire comes.”
Talitha sighed to admit defeat. “A light doze, though. Just enough to stop your whining.”
Izar promptly swung his feet onto the arm of the couch, rested his head on Rigel’s lap, and melted like hot butter. His ears went as limp as wet tissues.
“Little devil!” his mother said. “He’s put himself out cold. You’d better waken him. Father will… Father has rigid views on manners.”
Any thousand-year-old regent-heir could be expected to have an old-fashioned outlook. “Izar! Izar! Wake up!” Rigel shook him, shook him harder, then appealed for instructions. “Do I slap him, tickle him, or send for a doctor?”
“Starling Jabbah, please bring Rigel Halfling a glass of ice water.”
But at that moment the door opened and three mile-high boys walked in. No, not boys; perennially juvenile starfolk lords—Mekbuda, Kornephoros, and Rasalhague. All three wore disk collars as well as the usual collection of amulets, and the one in the center had opalescent hair. Rigel hastily extricated himself from the pliable Izar and knelt before the regent-heir, as his companions were already doing. Saiph was tingling more strongly.
“Up, Daughter.” Kornephoros scanned the company with distaste and gestured for the pages to leave. He did not look like a man who’d been born back in the Middle Ages. He looked like a high school basketball player with an attitude problem. His collar was a golden disk of glittering chain mail that had to weigh a tonne. “Why is this creature not wearing a hat?”
“He has not yet had his status confirmed, Father. No restrictions have been placed on him.”
“That is no reason to let him run loose displaying those obscenely deformed ears. And what exactly was he doing with my grandson?”
“Being a pillow. The boy was tired and I allowed him to go to sleep.”
“Did you choose his bedding?”
“No, Father. He did.”
“Indeed? How well do you know this unsponsored half-breed?”
Izar chose that moment to yawn and stretch. “What’ch you doing down there?” he asked sleepily, when he noticed that Rigel was on his knees. “Schmoor! Grandsire!” In a whirl of stringy limbs he flopped off the couch and into a kneeling position.
“You may rise, starling,” said the basketball player. “Daughter, my lords, pray be seated. Earthling, you may stand. Now I want to hear the whole story.”
Rigel, the only one left kneeling, had no need of Saiph to warn him of danger now. He was certain that Prince Kornephoros had already heard the whole story, or a version of it—in all likelihood, it had not been a version that was very kind to him.
“Your Highness—”
“Silence. I shall hear it from my grandson. Come here, Izar, and tell me about that tweenling and how you met him.” The regent sat down and made Izar stand in front of him with his back to the onlookers.
Talitha protested, “Father, Izar is only a—”
A royal glare stopped her.
Izar was beaming. “He wears Saiph, Grandsire, the sword that killed Rukbat and King Denebola! He killed a great big bear that attacked him! See the pink lines on his tummy? He doesn’t have any magic, but he’s ever so strong. He fought the Minotaur at Alrisha…”
The more the imp enthused about his new hero, the more the regent frowned and the lower Rigel’s heart sank. The orchestra below happened to be winding up a fast and loud fandango. The two peaked together—the orchestra thundering out chords and Izar yelling over it as he described Rigel riding on the swan’s neck and fighting off dragonflies.
Both fell silent at the same mo
ment. The downstairs audience managed a lukewarm patter of applause. The upstairs audience did not.
“I see,” Kornephoros said drily. “You had an exciting time. You may sit down. No, not near the halfling. Here, by me.” He turned his prismatic eyes on Talitha. “Were you not aware that Fomalhaut had put the hybrid in the custody of Starborn Muphrid?”
She nodded. “I was there.”
“Then why did you help him escape? Have you no idea of the seriousness of the laws you were breaking? What is he to you that you would take such a risk for him?” He kept his voice low, which made his anger seem all the more menacing. Somewhere inside that virile stripling hid a desiccated husk of a thousand winters. He might not look his incredible age, but his authority sparked like a thunderstorm.
“Father, may we discuss this in private?”
“You are ashamed of your behavior? Or are you merely worried that you will incriminate yourself?”
The hard floor was making Rigel’s knees ache. Mira was shooting him warning glances, which were useless without an instruction manual explaining what they meant. Izar had suddenly realized that all was not well. Talitha was pale, but she answered her father calmly, as if she had faced such rage before.
“Neither. The halfling was nothing to me, Father. Not then. What he is now, I shall explain in a minute. I was rescuing his amulet, not him. Fomalhaut is a Vildiar underling, as you know, and Vildiar has been assembling a personal army of thugs and assassins for years. I can tell you where he gets them too. Hadar Halfling and Tarf—”
“Stop! You will not insult a prince of the realm by repeating such baseless gossip and scandal.”
“It is not baseless. Oh, Father, even I can remember when we had thirty Naos princes and princesses in the Starlands. Now we are down to three. Poor Aldhibah lost his head while hunting, apparently decapitated by a gazelle armed with a sharp ax. Dear Acubens drowned in her own bathtub although she was an excellent swimmer. Alshat bled to death while picking roses, and Vildiar actually boasted to me—”
“Stop changing the subject. We are discussing your illegal actions at Alrisha today.”
Rigel was suddenly aware that he might have bitten off considerably more than he could chew. Twenty-seven Naos murdered? Was that what she was implying?
Talitha clenched her fists in frustration. “My actions were perfectly legal. As a Naos princess, I certainly outrank Fomalhaut. It was always my intention to deliver the halfling to Canopus for a hearing, but I was not certain that Fomalhaut would do the same. I would not, and will not, let Vildiar get his hands on Saiph! However honorable the present wearer of that amulet may be, he is certainly mortal and can be sacrificed on the blood-washed altar of the prince’s ambition.”
Kornephoros sneered. “How would anyone go about stealing Saiph?”
“Easily, if you don’t care about the death toll. By sending a regiment of archers against it. Odds can become impossible even for Saiph. Vildiar’s death squad is armed with amulets too. Saiph may be the greatest, but there’s one known as Sulaphat that’s rated almost as high. Its previous wearer was cut to pieces by persons unknown about five years ago, and Sulaphat mysteriously turned up adorning the disgustingly hairy wrist of Prince Vildiar’s senior assassin, Halfling Hadar. The amulet—”
“This is wicked slander.”
“Father, Father!” she shouted. “Do you think I don’t know him? You forced me into a pairing with that turd and insisted that I endure every horrible minute of it. I know Vildiar a great deal better than you do. But let us talk about my complaint, the attempt on my life and the life of my son today. I was the only one of Muphrid Starborn’s guests traveling by swan, and those dragonflies were specifically imagined to blind it and make us crash.”
Her father was unimpressed. “What I heard was that the dragonflies were released while your swan was on the beach, with the express purpose of keeping you from abducting the unsponsored halfling. That you took off anyway was reckless to the point of attempted suicide. The person who imperiled your son’s life was you. And for what purpose? We need to know how well you know this halfling. I hear that you took him to your room.”
Talitha sprang to her feet. “Now you have spies following me around?”
“I do not, no, but you were observed fondling the half-breed.”
“I never did! You accuse me of badmouthing Vildiar, and then you spread such filthy lies about your own daughter?” Her face was flaming.
Her father smirked. “You told me a few minutes ago that you had an interest in him.”
“Izar has taken a liking to him. He impressed both of us as honorable and certainly courageous. He saved our lives today. I have appointed him as my son’s bodyguard, and I will personally sponsor him.”
“A woman? A princess sponsoring a male halfling? Can you imagine the gossip, Daughter? Whose body will he be guarding, they will ask.”
So now Rigel knew what was alarming his amulet. Talitha’s plan had collapsed.
She stamped a foot in frustration. “Father, you disgrace yourself by even thinking such thoughts, let alone vomiting them out in public. You assigned me Albireo Halfling’s bond without a thought.”
“Albireo,” the regent-heir said icily, “had been a trusted retainer for a hundred years. This cub is fresh out of the jungle. If you do not enjoy scandal, you should not provoke it with scandalous behavior.” He turned his frown on Rigel. “You are a stranger here. Do you know the punishment for tweenlings who desecrate starborn women?”
Saiph was throbbing so violently now that Rigel suspected he would find bruises on his wrist. “No, Your Highness, but if your courts are fair I have nothing to fear. My intentions and actions toward your noble daughter and grandson were, and always will be, completely honorable.” Your grandson, anyway. Your daughter’s virtue is still negotiable.
Talitha tried again. “Father, the problem is not Rigel Halfling, it is the amulet Saiph. That is a royal amulet, and you must not let it fall into the hands of Prince Vildiar! I beg you to sponsor the halfling so that the amulet remains under royal control. I believe he would make an excellent bodyguard for Izar, but that decision can wait. The important thing is to determine who controls that amulet!”
Now the truth was out. It’s not me you love, it’s my bracelet.
Kornephoros ignored her. “Who was your father?”
The change of subject threw Rigel off balance. “I have no idea, my lord. I should much like to meet him, so I could teach him some family values.”
“By which you mean seducing women and abducting young boys?”
“I mean loving one’s children, Your Highness.” It was a good retort, but it was also stupid backtalk to a ruler.
Kornephoros frowned, slit-eyed. “I think we can identify him and bring him to justice.” He turned to one of his attendants. “Recorder Mekbuda, what did you discover about the recent history of the amulet Saiph?”
Mekbuda’s disk collar was almost as large as the regent’s, but made of rubies and emeralds. “I summoned your curator, Highness. The last Saiph-bearer he knew of was Wazor Starborn, who volunteered to destroy a dragon that was ravaging the northern range of the Thuban Mountains some two hundred years ago. Queen Electra assigned him Saiph to aid him in his quest. Wazor slew the dragon but died of burns. We can assume that the amulet was returned to the royal treasury at Canopus, but that must be verified by consulting the records there.” He beamed proudly, as if he had just won a Nobel Prize for research.
The regent nodded sagaciously. “We shall do so when we take the prisoner to Canopus for his hearing. His father probably stole it. The charge sheet is filling up against that unknown starborn. Clearly he committed an act of criminal miscegenation. And he either stole a reversion staff or performed an illegal act of red-grade magic, because he hid the mule on Earth, which is another serious…” The regent turned to look back at Rigel. “You do realize that you are a mule, don’t you? Halflings are invariably infertile, which makes them attractive to star
born women of low moral character.”
Rigel had never thought of that possibility. Mule? So he was truly nothing: not a man, not an elf, and not even a fully functioning male. It might never matter, since Kornephoros obviously planned to send him to the Dark Cells or hand him over to Vildiar, but it still hurt, and the nasty old man had told him out of spite.
Talitha said, “Come, Izar. We must leave. Your grandfather is drunk.”
“Far from it,” Kornephoros said. “I am seeing more clearly now than I have in years. Your shameful behavior has opened my eyes at last. So now, Companion Rasalhague, you may open the door.”
Baby-faced Starborn Rasalhague’s collar was made of silver and pearls; he looked sweet in it.
Like so many doors in Dziban, the door at the back of the balcony didn’t lead to anything at all, just the exterior of the building. In this case, opening it was a signal. A blast of cold air swirled in, followed by four men floating up from below: two starborn in the lead, and two halflings in attendance. One of the elves was golden-haired Fomalhaut, who had rescued Rigel and Mira in the Walmart in Nanaimo. The second bore the opalescent mark of Naos and the name of Vildiar. The balcony was filling up.
Izar screamed in terror, hurtled across the room, and threw himself into Rigel’s arms. “Don’t let him take me!”
Shocked, Rigel hugged him tightly and glanced around the faces while he assessed this new disaster. Talitha looked sick, her father outraged, and Prince Vildiar contemptuously amused. Legally, no one else mattered.
But in practice the two halfling retainers might matter very much if the tone of the meeting deteriorated any further. They were dressed, obscenely, in the black uniforms of Nazi storm troopers—jackboots and riding britches, belted tunics with red swastika armbands, and high-peaked military caps. Their names were Hadar and Mintaka.
Hadar, whom Talitha had described as the leader of Vildiar’s assassins and wearer of the amulet Sulaphat, was too beefy for an elf and too tall for a human—he had to weigh a hundred and fifty kilos. His ears were wings, big even by elfin standards, their edges studded with jewels, but his jowly cheeks bore a heavy beard shadow that no starborn would ever display. His uniform was slathered with medals, insignia, and miscellaneous gold braid. He was the leading suspect in today’s attempted murder.