King of Swords (The Starfolk)

by Dave Duncan

  “Forget your royal blood, halfling. This is not a fairy tale. Starborn women do not bear halflings to humans. Look for a male starborn who spends too much time in the livestock barns.”

  For instance Prince Vildiar? Rigel made a vulgar noise.

  Halfway along one of the wide palace streets, Talitha turned through an open doorway into a small, bright room overlooking the sea. The walls of massive stone were inscribed from roof to floor with the strange Rongo-rongo script, all inlaid in bright colors, but the only furnishings were a brilliantly colored rug and a low table under the window. On the rug sat Wasat Halfling, cross-legged, poring over a scroll. He looked up with his crooked-tooth smile.

  “Your Highness! What a welcome honor!” He rolled up the parchment and prepared to rise. Again Rigel offered a strong young hand to lift him. He bowed to Talitha. “It has been a long time since you came to beg amulets off of me, Highness.” He hesitated, then beamed and said, “Fifteen years, maybe?”

  She smiled. “A lot more than that, I think. Halfling Rigel says you have something to cover his ears?”

  “Oh, yes. Let us go and see…” He stepped over to the wall alongside the door and placed his palm flat against a mural depicting another door. The fake door faded away instantly, leaving a gap. The two adjacent openings led into completely different places. He stepped back and bowed again to let Talitha lead the way through the portal.

  “One!” said a voice.

  Rigel followed.

  “Two!” The speaker was a black statue of Anubis the jackal god standing just inside the door. “Three!” it announced as Wasat entered after them.

  Talitha said, “This is Miaplacidus, the royal treasury and archive. It’s a great place to swim too.”

  Miaplacidus was an oasis, a small lake of very blue water surrounded by sand that stretched away in all directions until it met a cloudless blue sky. The air was pleasurably cold on the skin after the sultry warmth of Canopus, although the sun hung almost directly overhead, spilling tarry patches of shadow under the motionless fronds of the palm trees. In among these trees, on the nearer side of a small lake, stood a cluster of small white buildings. The freestanding doorframe that Anubis was guarding led back to the room in the palace.

  “Personally, I find Miaplacidus a bit chilly,” Wasat confessed, shuffling along in his sandals. “I keep a warm coat here for days when I must spend a lot of time here. But the starfolk like it.”

  So did Rigel. He stared uneasily at the blank horizon. “What would happen if you just walked away?”

  “You would walk until you dropped,” Talitha said. “Size is easy enough to imagine. It’s convincing detail that’s difficult. Whoever first created this place just imagined desert going on forever and that’s what you’d find.”

  The buildings, Rigel now saw, were unroofed enclosures. “It never rains in Miaplacidus?”

  “Why should it?” Wasat led the way, pointing as he went. “Those over there are full of books—over-full, I’m afraid. I keep meaning to ask His Highness to imagine another enclosure for me. Those two store all the reversion staffs Her Majesty managed to confiscate… of course, His Highness has continued her policies. These are full of jewelry amulets. Weapons…” He had arrived at his destination, a structure comprising a sand floor surrounded by four walls of shelves. “This is the garment store.” The shelves were laden with steel and bronze armor, hats, shoes, and folded clothing of every color and texture imaginable. Everything was sparkling clean, as if the inventor had never imagined dust.

  “All of these are magic?”

  “Each one is an amulet,” the curator said proudly. “It was your suggestion that Saiph could be used to track you, halfling, that—”

  “Please call me Rigel.”

  “Rigel. You were wrong to think that Saiph could be tracked, but your question reminded me of that helmet, Meissa.” He smiled shyly, pointing up to the topmost shelf. “If you would be so kind? Meissa is not as famous as Saiph, but it does have a history, and several celebrated warriors have worn both. When you arrived I was comparing their histories to—”

  Rigel lifted it down, as requested. “You expect me to go around wearing this?” Meissa was a bowl of hammered bronze, which was a reasonable enough thing for a helmet to be, but a peak on the crown supported a metal arc, which in turn held a cockscomb of stiff white horsehair. It would extend from above the wearer’s eyes to the nape of his neck.

  Wasat stroked the fringe. “This is called a brush. It was used to distinguish officers.”

  “Greek?” Talitha said.

  “Very ancient Greek,” the curator agreed happily. “And the Romans used them too. The originals would have covered the face more, with a nosepiece and cheek pieces, but they probably had some like this for ceremonial wear. I have seen many replicas of Greek art showing heroes wearing helmets like this.”

  “And what else?” Talitha inquired with an innocence worthy of Izar.

  Wasat smirked. “Nothing else. Meissa is technically interesting, because it was obviously not made for a starborn. The archives are vague on—”

  Rigel drew in all the air his lungs would hold. “There is absolutely no way—”

  “Rubbish,” Talitha said. “You’ll look good in it. Put it on.”

  Rigel had sworn to obey her orders. “It’s too small,” he grumbled. It wasn’t, of course. It would fit anyone. It was not even heavy, and when the curator directed him to a silver mirror, he had to admit that it was striking. Mardi Gras stuff, but striking nonetheless. It made him twenty centimeters taller and no one would be able to see his deformed human ears; they would be too busy laughing themselves to death at the great white crest bristling over his head.

  Talitha clapped her hands. “Wonderful! He will be a credit to my household. What does it do?”

  Oh, what a man would do for love…

  Wasat showed his crooked teeth again. “It makes the wearer invisible to other magic. People’s eyes will still see him, but he cannot be tracked or detected by magic after he activates this. Booby traps or magical guardians will not be alerted.”

  “I never heard of such a device! In fact I would have sworn that it was impossible.”

  “It is very rare,” the curator agreed. “We have records of only two others like it, and both seem to have been lost or destroyed.”

  “He activates it by saying its name, I assume?”

  “Of course. But do not forget, young Rigel, that your friends will not be able to find you either. If Starling Izar needed you in an emergency, for instance, he would not be able to summon you. You deactivate it by taking it off your head for a moment. Meissa is probably the finest defensive amulet in existence, which is why it has so often been combined with Saiph in the past.”

  “I can see fifty hats and helmets on your shelves, Wasat Halfling,” Rigel said suspiciously. “Why do I need one as rare and precious as this?”

  The old man looked at him as if he was a simpleton. “Because Saiph is the most precious amulet of all. It is like the queen on a chessboard, powerful and therefore vulnerable to attack. It will defend you, but you must defend it! Meissa is an added protection.”

  That did make sense, unfortunately. An aircraft carrier needed an escort of lesser ships to protect it. “It is an invitation to ridicule,” Rigel said, removing the stupid thing. “Izar would laugh himself to death. I will not—”

  “Yes you will,” his sponsor said. “You will wear that helmet in public from now on. That is an order. Thank you, Wasat. What other amulets does he need?”

  Rigel replaced the helmet, turned back to the mirror, and invoked Saiph. He lunged at his reflection. Not bad, he had to admit. Sword and helmet did go well together, and he would much rather frighten people out of his way than kill them. On the other hand, what better equipment for an assassin than stealth armor? Had Talitha planned this somehow? No matter. He was her retainer and must obey.

  He trotted after the others and caught up as they arrived at an enclo
sure whose shelves bore hundreds of wooden boxes, each one carved or inlaid or otherwise decorated. Wasat began opening and closing lids.

  “A levitation ring, for Dziban. Doesn’t work anywhere else and it has to go on a finger. I think everything else we can handle with ear studs. They’ll clip into the side of the helmet’s brush holder. Very convenient—” he chuckled “—for us poor halflings who don’t have proper ears! As you can see, I wear my collection on the neckband of my robe.”

  Rigel’s suspicions were clamoring like fire alarms. “I heard you testify in court, Wasat, that you released amulets from the treasury only on the regent-heir’s instructions. Has he given you permission to load me up like this?”

  “Mm?” The archivist was poking through a box of gems. “I said ‘royal instructions,’ I believe. Her Highness’s word is good enough for now. I’ll have her father countersign the list the next time I go to Dziban. Message stud, one to promote healing, antivenom…”

  Baffled, Rigel clipped each one to the crest of the helmet.

  “Fire protection?” Talitha said.

  “Of course! Here. This shields you from fireballs, maybe even up to red grade, but don’t challenge Prince Vildiar himself!” The old man cackled, clearly enjoying himself as he handed over amulet after amulet. “Coagulant spells to staunch bleeding—that’s another very rare one, we only have two in the treasury at the moment—stamina booster, a light for night work—put that near the front… and a fire-thrower. That’s another that must go on a finger.”

  Talitha said, “Remember that fire is useful against things like dragonflies or vampires, but most starfolk carry defenses against that type of magic.”

  “These amulets are from the royal collection, my lady,” Wasat protested. “They are the very best available.”

  “I shan’t remember a quarter of this!” Rigel complained.

  Talitha smiled. “We have lots of time to teach you. I’m sure Izar will be happy to assist.”

  “I’m sure he’ll see to it that I burn down a palace or two.”

  “Very likely. I’ll have more amulets to give you when we get home. Keys to various places.” Her smile was for him alone. It might not mean as much as Rigel hoped it did, but she did seem to be enjoying herself.

  “Four!” said Anubis. Wasat hurried to the doorway to see who had entered the oasis.

  “There you are!” cried a raucous voice. “Trying to hide from me? How stupid.” A bird the size of a turkey landed on top of the wall. It would have resembled a very bedraggled crow had it not had a miniature human head and chest. In pictures Rigel had seen, harpies had always been female, with human breasts. This one was male, with a straggly mustache and protruding front teeth. It looked as ugly as it sounded.

  “Speak your message and then go,” the curator said. “And don’t try to steal anything this time.”

  The harpy screeched and spat, ruffling up its feathers. “Steal? Me? That is a foul lie and I wouldn’t carry a message to a filthy old half-breed like you if the queen herself—”

  “Speak!” Talitha commanded.

  The harpy shrank itself back to size. “If I must,” it said sulkily. “From Kornephoros the Useless, regent-heir of the Starlands, to his hot-titty daughter, Talitha the Slut: Tell her to stop pawing that latest stud mongrel lover of hers and get her fat ass to the Dolphin Room right now or I’ll whip her butt.”

  “Harpy, tell my father I’m coming. Go!”

  “Screw yourself,” the harpy muttered and launched with a mad flapping of wings.

  Wasat watched from the doorway to make sure it made no detours before it passed by Anubis, which called out, “Three!”

  “Charming,” Rigel said. “Reminds me of an Internet flaming.”

  “A what?” Talitha asked, heading for the gate.

  “Never mind. Thank you, Wasat Halfling, for all the invaluable amulets. Are you certain that the regent will approve all these?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will, lad. Don’t worry about it. Come and see me again sometime.”

  Talitha went out and Anubis said, “Two!”

  Rigel rounded on the curator. “So who did put Saiph on the baby’s wrist?”

  The old man halted. “You heard my testimony on the Star of—”

  “And you evaded the question. In fact you managed that interrogation so cleverly that I suspect you were using some sort of counter-magic. Who put Saiph on the baby’s wrist?”

  Wasat shook his head, looking shrunken and flabby and so pathetic that Rigel’s suspicions about defensive magic were reinforced. How could anyone so decrepit and pathetic be entrusted with such treasures?

  “You testified,” Rigel persisted, “that Saiph would fit any size of wrist, but we were talking about a newborn baby! My wrists would have been no bigger than my thumbs are now. Why would any mage make an amulet that’s capable of equipping a newborn with a sword? Yet you dared to say it was possible on the Star without ever having seen it tested on a baby?”

  “Do not ask me to betray confidences, lad!”

  “I am asking you. I have a right to know how I was wronged!”

  The old man just shook his head in mute misery.

  “Three!” said Anubis.

  Talitha had returned through the portal. “Halfling Rigel!”

  “Coming, my lady!” Rigel ran to her, remembering to duck his helmet under the lintel.

  “Two!” Anubis said. “One.”

  Chapter 23

  The Dolphin Room was probably classified as a small and intimate meeting chamber, but it was as wide as a furniture store and as high as a church. Vast unglazed windows looked down on sails in the postcard harbor, and the walls were ablaze with bright, colorful inscriptions and frescoes, none of which seemed to have anything to do with dolphins. Near the center the regent-heir was slumped into an exquisitely delicate gilded-wood chair, looking as if he had just been thrashed within an inch of his life. Queen Electra strode back and forth across the room bellowing insults at him.

  Electra was a large woman, tall even for a starborn, unusually heavyset and full-breasted. Her wide collar of office seemed to be made of diamonds the size of sugar cubes, and it flashed and sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow. Even she, greatest of the starfolk, went barefoot and wore no garment other than a moon-cloth wrap. She could get away with it, because she showed little more than one percent of her eighteen centuries. She could also swear like a goosed marine.

  She did not look in the least like Mira Silvas.

  She stopped her pacing when she saw Talitha folding into a deep bow, which Rigel thought it wise to copy. By the time he straightened up, Talitha was racing across the room with outstretched arms, shouting, “Electra! Electra!”

  Electra smiled and embraced her. Together they indulged in just as many hugs, kisses, and Darlings! as earthling women were prone to do after a long separation. Rigel stepped back against a wall and tried to blend into the frescoes, feeling certain that he would be evicted very shortly.

  The queen knew he was there, though, and after a few minutes she looked his way, smiled at his helmet, and said, “That is the youth who bears Saiph?”

  “Halfling Rigel, ma’am,” Talitha said. “May I present him? He would be greatly honored.”

  “Later, dear. Wherever did you get that hat for him?”

  “From Wasat.”

  “Wasat! How is the old boy?”

  “Aging, I am afraid. Halflings…” Talitha stopped, and then shrugged.

  Electra nodded understandingly. “To business, then, and we can talk frankly until Zozma gets here. I have been away for far too long, I admit. Now I return to discover that my realm is literally falling apart, and a serial killer is trying to seize my throne. And nothing has been done about it! All thanks to this starborn sponge.” She glared down at Kornephoros, who glowered back resentfully.

  Rigel had just realized that what he had thought to be a royal collar of diamonds on her was nothing of the sort. It was part of her, a collar o
f fire. It pulsed and twinkled like a rainbow aurora, shrinking at times up around her neck, at others spreading down to her breasts and lapping her upper arms, never still, constantly changing color. There, obviously, was the genuine mark of Naos and the model on which all the collars of office were based.

  “There were thirty-two Naos when I left,” Her Starry Majesty continued, her voice like a trumpet of doom. “And now there are three. Three! The rest, I understand, have been murdered. Sit down, my dear.” She gestured to a pair of elegant chairs and callously took the one that left her back turned to the regent-heir.

  “Perhaps not all, ma’am,” Talitha said. “Four or five seemed to be genuine accidents. Another six or seven probably just… faded.”

  “Hastened on their way by the bloodbath, I have no doubt. So you have had only seventeen murders, give or take a few. How relieved I am to hear it. And I understand that you were paired with the monster?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The queen snorted like a dyspeptic camel. “You agreed?”

  “Reluctantly.”

  “Stars, you must have been still only a child!”

  “Um… thirty-five, ma’am,” Talitha said quietly, not looking at Rigel.

  But Electra did, and raised an eyebrow. Rigel was busily calculating that Talitha could not be very much over fifty even now, a mere babe by starfolk standards. Why did that seem better than, say, three hundred? He wondered why he had not been ordered out of the room yet. How long before the first hints that he should go and assassinate Vildiar?

  “That is absolutely disgusting! Greatson Kornephoros, tell me why you let that ghastly killer steal your daughter from her cradle?” Electra asked without even turning to look at him.

  “Because,” the regent-heap mumbled, “he argued that the realm was getting dangerously short of Naos, and since both he and Talitha bore the mark, there was a good chance that their offspring would too. Izar is starting to turn already.”

  “Excellent! Now we just need another five centuries for him to grow up. Was that all? No reason beyond that bit of nonsense?”