Faery Lands Forlorn

by Dave Duncan

  The butterflies took flight again. "Presented to who . . . whom?"

  "His Omnipotence Warlock Olybino, my dear! Warden of the East" Kade began exuding copious ladylike excitement. "There is news of Krasnegar! Not all good news, I'm afraid, but now the imperor knows what has been happening, and the Four do, of course, even if the capital itself has not officially been informed—mundanely informed, that is—or so her Majesty tells me. Just think, Inos, you and I, here in faraway Zark, know things about Krasnegar that even the Senate in Hub hasn't heard yet!"

  That had been true ever since they arrived. Inos listened with half an ear to the preliminaries, while running her mind's eye over the possibilities. Surely the warlock would not be coming here? So she must be going to Hub.

  Escape from Zark!

  Why did that prospect make her feel so uneasy? It should be good news!

  Kade was at last getting to the point.

  ". . . Hub yet, not by post, but apparently there is a sorcerer somewhere in northwest Julgistro, and he, or perhaps she, reported what was going on to one of the wardens, Witch Bright Water, because that area is within her sector. She's North, you see? So the Four met with the imperor." Kade lowered her voice and glanced around. "His Imperial Majesty is very upset! It's never happened before in the history of the Impire, the sultana says."

  "What hasn't?" Inos inquired sweetly.

  "Goblins, dear! They've burned Pondague and they're raiding over the pass! Raiding inside the Impire!"

  "Good for them!"

  The odious Proconsul Yggingi had not only taught the goblins how to ravage, he had moved the entire Pondague garrison to Krasnegar. He had left the door unbarred.

  "And of course the imperor . . . Inos? Inos, did you say—"

  "The goblins want revenge, Aunt. Wouldn't you? If you'd been burned and pillaged?"

  Kade blinked uncertainly. "I suppose so. I hope they don't do any serious damage!"

  "I expect they'll try. Now, what of Krasnegar?"

  "Well, no real change, dear. No signs of the jotnar yet. The ice is not out of the bay yet."

  "And what exactly is the sultana planning for tonight?"

  A faint hesitation . . . Kade gazed for a moment at the other bay, the harbor of Arakkaran, a bay that would never know ice.

  "Just a meeting with Warlock Olybino, dear, to discuss how you may be restored to your throne."

  Kade was clearly holding back now, and yet what she had said was enough to stir the tiny hairs on Inos's arms. "What is there to discuss? He has two thousand men in the town, doesn't he? The warlock of the east controls the legions, doesn't he? He need do no more than send me back there with a letter to Tribune Oshinkono. Need he?"

  "That wouldn't solve everything," Kade said firmly.

  No, of course it wouldn't. Not with Kalkor and his raiders due any day, a population divided and perhaps disloyal, a queen who could certainly not be trusted to choose herself a husband.

  Now it was Inos who scowled out at the exotic city below her, the waving palms, the moon wakening to silver as day retreated in somber tones of mauve. She ought to be enjoying this adventure at the far end of the world. She ought to be excited at the thought of accompanying the sorceress to great Hub itself, to play the royal role, a queen making a state visit. Or at least she ought to be sighing for the safety and comfort and peace of Kinvale. But instead she was merely very homesick for dowdy little Krasnegar—Krasnegar as it used to be, without invading imps and the looming threat of Nordland. Without sorcery!

  Father dead. Rap dead. Possibly many others dead now, if there had been fighting. But it was Krasnegar that stuck to her heart. Like a molasses sandwich. Rap would have said.

  "A visit to Hub?" Inos mused. No more need to fret about Azak and Kar and family men. That should be exciting—why wasn't it?

  "Isn't it wonderful?" Kade enthused. "I have dreamed all my life of visiting the capital, as you know, dear. And you are very fortunate to have a powerful sorceress like her Majesty to act on your behalf like this!"

  Again a wrong note. Inos peered hard at her so-cheerful aunt.

  "What gown will you be wearing?"

  A momentary flicker of worry crossed her aunt's face and disappeared. "I'm not invited. Just you."

  So that was what Kade was hiding!

  Inos turned and hugged her, tightly. "I'm not going anywhere without you, Aunt! Absolutely not! After all, you are my chancellor and chamberlain, and so on!"

  Kade gave an almost imperceptible sigh. "That's very kind of you, dear, but of course you must be guided by her Majesty."

  Meaning that a mundane could not resist a sorceress. Whatever Rasha wanted, Inos would have no choice but to comply. Why was Kade not included in the invitation?

  Inos released her, suddenly remembering that she was not in a state for closeness, not even polite company. She must certainty wash up and make herself presentable before she was presented to a warlock.

  Kalkor the fearsome thane of dark . . . Foronod the factor . . . imps and jotnar . . . even the imperor himself . . . none of those mattered now. If the wardens wanted Inos to be queen of Krasnegar, then she would be queen of Krasnegar.

  And if they refused to support her, then nothing in the world would help.

  4

  At the third hour of the night, Inos draped her revealing gown in a voluminous cloak, covered her face, and set off across the palace grounds, escorted by four grim family men. They were all fierce, husky types bedecked with things for slashing, stabbing, or throwing; one bore a battle-ax slung on his back. They looked collectively capable of dismembering an Imperial legion, but when they came to the entry to the sorceress's quarters, they stepped aside to let Inos pass without even trying to conceal their relief that they need not accompany her farther.

  She acknowledged their salutes with a regal nod, lifted her skirts, and started to climb the long stone staircase, her heavy train rustling over the treads behind her. She went quickly, so that she could attribute the thumping of her heart to exertion. At the top, she paused to discard the cloak, then set off along the wide corridor, her progress lighted by the restless flames of torches in golden sconces. She must have come this way on her first day, but she had no memory of doing so.

  The voluminous samite gown was heavy and awkward, and yet a comforting reminder of similar, lesser gowns she had worn at Kinvale. She felt much more assured in it than she would have been in a Zarkian chaddar.

  This was not a game, she reminded herself. This was not like calling on the fearsome Ekka, dowager dragon of Kinvale. This was politics, an affair of war and death.

  But how to deal with the sinister Rasha? Kade had reported what little information she had been able to glean about the sorceress. Rasha had been the only daughter of poor fisherfolk in a tiny coastal village. At twelve she had been married off. Sold had been the word she had used to Inos herself, that first day, and a poor family with seven sons and one daughter had probably needed money to feed those more-valuable sons. Small wonder that Sultana Rasha hated men!

  Her life had undoubtedly been hard and horrible in ways that Inos could not imagine, and yet somehow she had gained occult power. Now she was effectively ruler of a kingdom and could negotiate with warlocks. There was a great mystery there.

  The corridor was barred eventually by massive double doors of metalwork and carven wood, inlaid with bright-fired jewels. Inos paused, irresolute. Should she knock or try to enter? Nestling amid writhing serpents and clawed reptilian monsters, the centerpiece of each great flap was a hideous demonic face with ivory tusks and eyes of some bright yellow stone that gleamed ominously in the wavering light. Inos reached for one golden handle, and the two faces sprang into life. Four eyes rolled around to regard her. She froze.

  Lips of mahogany writhed over sycamore fangs, and a sepulchral voice boomed from the face on the left. "State your name and business!"

  Kade had warned her, but it was a moment before she found her voice. "I am Queen Inosolan of Krasnega
r."

  The faces faded back into inanimate carvings, and the doors creaked open on their own.

  She blinked, momentarily blinded by light that seemed as bright as noon. Then her eyes adjusted, and she blinked again. This was the same great circular bedchamber she had seen before, but now the jumble of ugly furniture and grotesque statuary had been removed.

  Filmy draperies still floated around the same enormous four-poster bed at the far side, but everything else had changed. The wide expanse of mosaic floor was no longer concealed by rugs. Chairs and tables were few and elegant, vulgar clutter had been replaced by restrained good taste, and the tapestries on the walls now depicted landscapes or demure rural merrymaking. Inos recognized Angilki's touch, even if at secondhand. Now she knew what Kade had been up to in her days with the sultana.

  The moon hung beyond the windows, but its rays were drowned in a flood of what seemed to be sunlight streaming down the central stairwell. Rasha was not present and must therefore be waiting in the upper room. Determined that a queen would not be intimidated, Inos raised her chin in defiance and set off toward the stair. She heard a gentle thump as the doors closed behind her.

  Climbing purposefully, she looked up and saw that the white dome itself was the source of the light, blazing as if the sun were directly overhead and shining through the stone. Evil-begotten sorcery! Her curving path brought her within sight of the top, and it was flanked by the basalt panther and the glittery gray wolf, their front paws hooked over the uppermost step, their shiny amber eyes fixed upon her. They continued to watch as she approached and passed between them, but they remained statues.

  Kade had been busy in the upper chamber also, transforming cluttered ugliness into elegance, letting the intrinsic beauty of the great circular space speak for itself. A few simple divans and tables assisted, and did not argue. Inos was impressed, thinking that the duke of Kinvale himself would have been hard put to do better, even with the same occult resources. She could see evidences of sorcery: a potted palm whose fronds were writhing more than the usual breeze could account for, a bronze bust that represented a different person every time she looked at it, a device like a blue birdcage that buzzed and hummed. She decided to ignore those.

  Three windows imprisoned stars and moonlight within their darkened arches, while the fourth was obscured by the jeweled drapery of Rasha's magic casement. Inos turned away quickly, oppressed by a sudden jolt of memory. Automatically she glanced over to the big looking glass in its silver frame—the glass that had told her of Rap's death. Now it was reflecting a distant image of Inos herself, her fine gown of pale green, her golden hair piled high and seeming strangely alien in Arakkaran now, even to her.

  A tall girl was standing near it, waiting in solitary grandeur. Inos took a deep breath and walked toward her.

  It was Rasha, but so transformed as to be barely recognizable. She seemed little older than Inos herself, but now she was using youth and beauty to depict ice-maiden innocence instead of voluptuous seduction. The high-prowed djinn nose seemed somehow less conspicuous but no less arrogant; thick rosewood-colored hair was piled high and pinned with gems; her gown was a luxurious miracle of yew-green silk, patterned in scrolls of a million tiny rubies. When selecting a style for Inos's gown, Kade had apparently held back from the extremes of Hub's current fashion, but Rasha had not. Her scanty lace bodice did nothing to conceal the jutting curves of large and shapely breasts, nor their hot djinn coloring.

  Inos could not imagine herself ever appearing in public like that—not in Hub, nor Kinvale, nor Arakkaran.

  She can inflame any man to madness, Azak had said. Would men prefer this challenge of haughty majesty or the previous brazen inducement? That might depend on the man, of course, and either would be effective. Much less allure than this had reduced Rap to a babbling jelly.

  Inos stopped and curtsied.

  Rasha nodded approvingly. "It suits you to perfection, child. You are a great beauty." She had lost her harsh Zarkian accent.

  At a loss for words, Inos curtsied again and then blurted, "I shall not be noticed beside yourself, ma'am."

  Rasha registered faint amusement. "I certainly hope not! You know why I summoned you this evening?"

  "To call on the warlock of the east, I understand." Inos wished her mouth was not so shamefully dry, wished she dare clasp her hands to restrain their need to tremble.

  "Oh, hardly!" Rasha's laugh was a genteel tinkle, not the raucous mockery she had used before. "I would not fall into that trap! No, his Omnipotence will be calling on us!"

  So Inos need not demand that Kade be summoned to accompany her! A deluge of relief told her how tense she had been at the prospect of arguing with the sorceress. That discovery annoyed her.

  Rasha continued her calculating inspection of Inos. "However, he may send a votary in his place. As long as whoever comes is male, you will impress him, in that splendid Imperial-style costume." There was more than a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

  Inos curtsied again.

  Rasha sneered. "Think you can impress a warlock, do you?"

  Well . . . yes! Inos was a far more genuine queen than this upstart slattern before her. She had been trained to wear finery and converse with cultivated gentlemen.

  "I repeat, your Majesty, that he will not even see me in your company."

  "That depends. If he materializes fully he will. That is why I arranged for your gown—your beauty is mundane and genuine, mine only occult artifice. Even if Olybino does appear in person, he will probably send only a projection of himself, and in that case his ability to penetrate my glamour will be very limited. He will also be harmless." She shrugged perfect shoulders. "It works both ways, of course. I hardly expect him to reveal his true appearance. What good is sorcery, if it will not nurture vanity?

  "Come," she said, and led the way across to a pair of divans, upholstered in ivory silk and set at an angle to each other. "Don't be too proud, child. Warlocks are accustomed to gratifying their whims. If you do too good a job of impressing him, you may find yourself . . . surprisingly eager to accommodate his wishes, shall we say?" She laughed softly, but her eyes were mocking Inos's shock. "Do sit, though. We have a little time to kill. Wine?"

  "Er . . . thank you." Inos sat and fussed at arranging her train, but eventually she forced herself to lift her chin and look across and meet the sultana's scornful gaze.

  "Your Majesty, I behaved very badly the last time I was in this room. I did not thank you for rescuing me from the imps. Truly I am grateful and I apologize again for my discourtesy."

  A slight movement of Rasha's lip seemed to convey more than a whole shrug might have done. "You were overwrought, and besotted by a man. Girls are subject to such fits of insanity. I hope you have recovered by now?"

  "I shall never forget Rap. What he did for—"

  "Your aunt told me. Whatever he did, he did for one reason only. Everything men do is aimed at possessing and using women!"

  In Zark that might be more true than Inos had first thought. Rather than argue, she just smiled.

  "You don't believe me?" The sorceress stretched out a hand and cupped the crystal goblet that stood on the table beside her. There was another on the table beside Inos, who had not previously noticed even the tables.

  "You have much to learn, child," Rasha said. "Now I must warn you of something." She stabbed a stiletto fingernail toward a small rectangular rug. "Our visitor tonight will appear there."

  Inos might have guessed that, for the mat was so positioned that anyone standing on it would be facing the two women, putting the three of them in a logical triangular grouping. She wondered why no chair had been provided; that seemed very inhospitable.

  It was a curious mat, patterned in metallic tones of gold and silver and fiery copper, but as thin as paint. Even the knife-edge joints in the smooth mosaic floor seemed to show through to its surface, yet Inos could imagine that this strange carpet was not resting on the floor at all, but was somehow suspended above it
, and the shiny spirals in the metallic surface went round and round while a faint, high note like a distant viol—

  She jumped.

  Rasha had snapped her fingers. "Don't look too hard at the mat, Inosolan. It's powerful stuff for a mundane."

  "Er . . . yes. Thank you." Shakily Inos took a mouthful of wine, still aware of a faint singing in her ears. The patterns seemed to have daubed themselves on her eyes, dancing faintly in the air between her and anything she looked at.

  "They're known in the trade as welcome mats," Rasha remarked. "So much power tends to leak a little. As I said, our guest will materialize there. There could be danger."

  "Danger?"

  "Yes, danger. And not just to your precious virtue, either!"

  Why did she keep raising the stakes? Of course there were old tales of sorcerer wars and battles where occult powers had been loosed, but Inos had never paid them much heed.

  "The sorcerous rarely trust one another." Rasha lowered her long dark lashes, and for a moment looked as untrustworthy as could be imagined. "Olybino may attempt a strike at me."

  "Oh?" Inos wondered darkly which team she should be cheering.

  "He may seek to lay a loyalty spell upon me. The wardens are particularly fond of that abomination—I expect they all do it. Of course, I might prove to be the stronger, and then he would be mine." Rasha smiled in thoughtful silence and sipped her wine.

  Inos debated which question to ask first. Apparently she was expected to ask something. "Is there any way of . . . Can you judge in advance who—"

  "Who's stronger? Not usually. It would require extensive intelligence work, and of course a sorcerer will normally seek to invoke the aid of his votaries. Battles between sorcerers can mushroom into occult wars with dozens involved on each side. That was what destroyed Shing Pol, and Lutant. Even the water in the harbor boiled at Lutant, so they say . . . I'm sure Olybino has been around long enough to have collected quite a few votaries."