The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition)

by Dusk Peterson

  I reached for my tunic at the bottom of the bed, then paused. The tunic was black. On its sleeve was the familiar sign of a mountain shielded by a sword. I looked at Carle, who was still crouched inches from me, dim in the moonlight, but not so dim that I could mistake the color of his uniform. He merely raised his eyebrows at me.

  I scrambled into my clothes, trying to think through the haze of my sleepiness. No point in asking how Carle had been able to get hold of our old uniforms; he had contacts everywhere in the camp. The question was why we were disguising ourselves this time as border mountain patrol guards.

  I checked that my thigh-blade was secure in its pocket, then took my belt from Carle's hand and knotted it round my waist. He had a sheathed sword awaiting me to hook to the belt. As he opened the flap of the tent, I saw that he too was openly armed, as though we had never been made spies.

  The army camp was asleep. Only a few scattered guards remained awake; Carle, who knew the patterns of their patrolling, deftly guided us around them. We were headed, I saw, toward the northern inner gate of the palace.

  Suddenly I had the feeling that this was not a mission I should be on. "Carle," I whispered, "I really don't think we should—"

  "Don't you trust me?" he whispered back, arching one eyebrow.

  There was only one answer to that question, of course, so I shut my mouth. We reached the guard-post of the inner gate, whose guards were watching our approach oh-so-idly, with their hands not-so-idly resting on their sword-hilts. Two of the guards, I noticed with a sinking heart, had spears.

  However, those guards allowed us to come within speaking distance before they lowered their spears crosswise to bar our way through the gate. Carle said not a word; he merely held up a piece of paper, folded four times in the manner of Emorian letters. As he did so, I caught a glimpse of it: it was blank of everything but a seal impressed upon black wax.

  The lieutenant of the watch glanced at the seal no more than a second before shouting an order. The spears were raised, and we walked through the gate. The lieutenant asked, "Would you like an honor escort, sublieutenant?" He looked at Carle rather at me; the colored hems of our old tunics showed our former ranks.

  Carle declined with a courteous word, and we continued on our way, climbing the hill toward the palace. I waited until we were well out of earshot before I said furiously, "Carle, that was nothing but Quentin's latest letter to us. It must be a death-sentence crime to lie your way past the palace guards like that."

  "Did I lie?" Carle looked cheerful. "It's not my fault if other men make incorrect assumptions. Anyway, you needn't worry – it's only a flogging offense for you, and then only once you've entered the palace."

  He had not, I noticed, indicated what the penalty would be for him if we were discovered. I opened my mouth to protest further, and then let it hang open. I had just seen what we were approaching.

  Even in the dawn hours, the palace was brightly lit from the flames that shone upon it. The light danced upon what I had never seen from outside the wall: carvings in the marble. Carvings of men fighting, judging, embracing, feasting, drinking, gambling, dancing, and, I swear, sitting down to play Law Links. All of the glories of Emor's peace were there, etched in figures so real that it seemed they would walk out of the palace's marble at any moment.

  I did not realize that I had stopped until I felt Carle's hand on my shoulder. "Happy birthday, Adrian," he said.

  I could not speak, nor even turn my eyes from the carvings. After a moment, Carle added, "Arpeshian artists. Enslaved, no doubt, but they served their art nonetheless. I hope they were granted their freedom afterwards. . . . Well, come. We need to be inside before the day's first hour."

  He did not say why. I continued forward, trailing behind Carle now, thinking more and more that, all other considerations aside, I did not deserve to enter this place. Besides, I told myself with some relief, it was doubtful I would be able to enter. Carle had managed to fool the lieutenant of the watch at the northern inner gate, but there would be more stringent scrutiny of us at the northern entrance to the palace, which lay ahead.

  But Carle did not go that way. Instead, he veered to the left, following along the side of the palace as we made our way past the carved figures. They were growing more archaic in tone now, and as I scrutinized them, I realized that the artists had set out to tell the tale of Emor's history. Here was the Battle of Mountain Heights, which had widened the empire. Here was the civil war of Emor's early history. And here, at the very beginning—

  But I did not see how the artists had chosen to depict the first Chara, for just before that point in the carvings came a set of steps leading down to a dark doorway that I might easily have missed if I had not still been following Carle. There were no guards at the door; I wondered whether the door led to one of the underground furnaces that were said to heat the palace.

  Carle tried the door, found that it was unlocked, and swept it open with one arm. He stepped inside—

  —and stopped immediately. A blade touched his throat.

  A sword was at my heart, and a second one had slid between my hand and my sheathed sword, though I had barely made it over the threshold. A voice, cool and dark with humor, said, "Visitors, gentlemen? Or have you come to stay with us?"

  Whatever this place was, I gathered that it was not the sort of place which normally received visitors. Carle cleared his throat, which was rather brave of him, considering that a dagger tip still lay upon it. "Our apologies," he said. "We were told to come in by way of the north entrance. I take it we have entered through the wrong door?"

  The passageway beyond the door was as black as the Jackal's fur. All I could see in the wavering torchlight was my captors – two young guards with determined looks on their faces – and the speaker: a lieutenant who held his blade against Carle with such ease that I guessed he was not unfamiliar with the use of sharp instruments. I glanced round at the darkness again, feeling my uneasiness increase.

  The lieutenant, for his part, was taking in our appearances. He snapped the fingers of his free hand, and the guards lowered their swords, though they remained watchful. The lieutenant lowered his own blade but did not sheathe it. "Credentials," he said crisply.

  Carle silently showed the letter, and then, at the lieutenant's gesture, handed it over. The lieutenant held it up to the light and scrutinized it for a long moment as I felt sweat trickle down the back of my neck. I could hear the faint sound of moans now, further down in the dark passage, and my nose was twitching from unpleasant smells.

  "Well," said the lieutenant finally, "if you are a forger, then you are a good one. And I dare not break this particular seal to check the contents of the letter. My congratulations, sir. If you are a spy, you are a spy of high skill."

  Carle bowed silently, as though he had been granted a genuine compliment, as indeed he had.

  "I suppose," said the lieutenant, still with that dark humor that seemed to characterize his profession, "that you have an urgent need to see the Chara." He cocked his head at Carle, and I found myself wondering which of the cells beyond us were reserved for potential assassins.

  "No, sir," said Carle firmly. "Basil son of Orson."

  "Indeed? You are creative in your pursuits. —Innis. Cedron." The lieutenant turned his attention to the guards. "Give these men an honor escort to the council chamber. Stay until they are received by the council. You will forgive me," he added, "if I do not escort you there myself. I have work to do this morning." He fingered his dagger.

  Carle cleared his throat. I did not think he did so this time out of acting. "My thanks," he said briefly.

  The lieutenant gave him a brief smile. "Perhaps we shall meet again."

  "Perhaps not." Carle's voice was expressionless.

  The torturer laughed then and waved us past, escorted by the guards. As we left, I looked back and saw that the torturer was watching us, as though memorizing our appearances.

  That is how we managed to break into the Chara'
s palace, the most heavily guarded building in all the world.

  o—o—o

  The main guard at the door of the council chamber was a subcaptain, but he barely glanced at the letter Carle held up before saying, "I fear that the High Lord's clerk is not available this morning, sublieutenant. He has been called into an early-morning meeting of the council."

  "Oh?" replied Carle in so bland a voice that it took all my training not to look sharply at him. "We will wait for him in his office, then."

  I held my breath, but the subcaptain, who was standing in front of two copper doors that reached halfway to the sky, merely barked an order at a guard in front of a much smaller door to the left of the council chamber's entrance; this door was so dull-looking in appearance that I had missed seeing it. Our escort guards from the dungeon, relieved of their burden, turned away, and I felt something that had been tight around my throat loosen somewhat.

  I took a final glance down the corridor we had been walking. It was filled with people and sunlight, being lit from above by windows high in the wall, next to the arched ceiling. Nobody seemed to be taking notice of us. Why should they, when this corridor was filled with high-ranked army officials? It was a mercy that we hadn't stepped into the path of Captain Radley.

  The corridor made the palace look like an extension of the army camp. I wondered where the civilian palace officials dwelled.

  I discovered the answer in the next moment, as Carle and I entered the narrow passage running alongside the council chamber. We had to squeeze our way past a man carrying a large stack of books, another man carrying a map so large that it threatened to drown us, a third man juggling various papers in his hands as though deciding which ones to drop, and a large group of boys, all with ink-stained hands, standing in a group and discussing loudly the probable reasons for today's council chamber meeting.

  I wonder how the Great Council managed to think amidst all this chaos. Then I realized that the passage did not run immediately next to the chamber; a set of rooms separated the corridor from the chamber. I caught a glimpse of one such room as someone slipped through its doorway: it was filled with men sitting at desks, making calculations with abacuses and occasionally jotting down the results on slates or paper. None of the men spoke a word as they worked.

  "Carle," I whispered, "how are we going to find the clerk's office?"

  Carle looked at me the same way he had the first time he tried to teach me to memorize the complex clauses of the Law of Grave Iniquity. "The clerk's office? Don't be silly. That will soon be filled with those chattering boys we just passed. Undergoing an inquisition by a trained torturer is easy in comparison to being quizzed by a room full of boys. They'd have our names, ranks, and lineages within half a minute. —Ah, here we are."

  Without pausing, he swept open a door that was ajar. I stepped in and found myself in a cubbyhole of a chamber, barely large enough to accommodate a desk and chair that were set against the far wall. Light poured in from the skylight above, onto a stack of books on the desk. An inkwell, papers, and pen stood ready at hand. I went over to inspect them.

  "These have recently been used," I reported as Carle closed the door to the corridor. "The ink is barely dry."

  "If its owner returns, we can easily explain our presence," Carle said serenely. "This is one of several study chambers, used by any palace official or guest who visits the council for research purposes. We, of course, are here to research the origins of the border mountain patrol, and we were accidentally assigned the wrong room." He was busy moving back the chair to the middle of the chamber. I saw him inspect the corridor door as he did so, obviously wondering whether he could block the entrance, but the door was so old-fashioned that it had a hinged panel toward the top. The panel had no latch we could tie closed, and it was too high up to block with the chair, so there was no point in trying to block the rest of the door.

  As I came forward to help Carle move the desk, I said, "You do the best pre-mission scouting of anyone I know."

  Carle flashed me a smile. "Pre-mission scouting of the Chara's palace? Don't be ridiculous. The army officials and palace officials are as closed-mouthed as a Koretian god about the layout of the palace. They wouldn't have told me anything about this place."

  "But then . . ."

  "I had Myles write to Neville and ask. Myles told Neville that he was planning a visit to the Great Council – he was vague about when. There are advantages to having a baron's heir as one's childhood friend. Myles says that he hopes you have a very exciting birthday, and that if you're caught and flogged, he'll never forgive me."

  Evidently, Carle had not revealed to Myles that his own punishment if we were caught was likely to be far worse. I opened my mouth to voice my misgivings, and then closed it again as Carle stepped toward to what had been half-hidden behind the desk we had just moved: a door.

  He opened it a crack. Light laughter entered the room like a scented breeze. The laughter subsided quickly, and I heard a man speak, authority cloaking his tone. I could not quite catch the words that he spoke.

  Carle was peering through the crack in the doorway with as much concentration as though he had just sighted the Jackal. I silently made my way up to him and tapped his arm to remind him that I still existed.

  He took his gaze away from the scene long enough to whisper in my ear: "They're all there. All thirty council members. The High Lord is closest to us, at the head of the table. He's the one speaking." He peered at the scene again, widening the door's gap so that he could look further down the chamber. I saw the moment when the blood drained from his face.

  "The Chara?" It took all my effort to speak the words.

  Carle nodded but did not move. I remembered my wine oath and did not draw my dagger to force him out of the way.

  Perhaps he remembered his own oath, for after a moment, he shook his head, like a man who has been stunned and is returning to his senses. "You watch now," he whispered to me. "The Chara is at the far end of the table, next to the lowest-ranking lords. He looks quite ordinary in appearance; I wouldn't have recognized him if I hadn't given my oath to him when I became a patrol guard." He stepped back, and I began to step forward, my heart beating a rhythm through my entire body.

  Then Carle abruptly shut the door. Before I could scream in anguish, I heard Carle say, in a voice of forced cheerfulness, "Well, fancy meeting you here."

  I turned to look. Neville stood in the doorway to the passage.

  o—o—o

  I could have cursed myself then – cursed myself and Carle too, for not thinking of this possibility. "This is one of several study chambers, used by any palace official or guest who visits the council for research purposes," Carle had said. Any palace official – such as Neville, of course. Neville had told Myles about the chamber he himself worked in when he visited the council.

  For a moment, Neville merely stared at us. He was holding a book, the book he had no doubt gone to fetch for his work. He looked very much like the summoners' clerk that he was. Then his face cleared. He stepped inside, closed the doors, and said sharply, "What are you doing here?"

  "Spying," Carle replied blandly.

  Neville responded by groaning. "You fools. Don't you two know that it's a death offense for men such as yourselves to enter the palace? Even if you were still an army official, Carle, it would death for you to persuade Adrian to enter here, since he was under your care."

  Carle said nothing. I could not say what he was thinking. Myself, I was wondering whether the dark torturer we had met in the dungeon below the palace would be brought into such matters.

  Neville groaned again and laid his book down. "Fools," he repeated. "How did you sneak in here, anyway?"

  "Through the dungeon," Carle replied. "It is a weak point in the palace's defense. You should alert the captain of the palace guard to that fact."

  "I should— For love of the Chara, will you listen to yourself? Your trial will be all the alert that the palace guard needs. And once you made y
our way through the dungeon, how did you find this place?"

  This time Carle kept quiet. After a minute, Neville's mouth twisted. "I see. So I'm as much a fool as you are. I should have remembered your Peaktop connections. Did Myles know that you—? No, never mind." He waved away the question. "You have to get out of here quickly – and it won't be through the dungeon. It's not as easy to leave there as it is to enter." He sighed heavily. "I'll have to try to smuggle you out through the east entrance, I suppose. If you walk behind me, the guards may assume that you're my guests."

  "That is kind of you." Carle's voice was grave. "And it is generous of you to be speaking to us."

  For the first time, Neville hesitated. His eyes slid away, and he cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. Whatever you've done in the past, you don't deserve to receive a Slave's Death for a mere prank – and since the world hasn't ended, I'll assume that you have not sold your loyalty to one of Emor's enemies. Therefore, this must be a prank." His voice was firm, but his gaze flicked toward Carle as he spoke.