by David Drake
The gates were open. The twenty-odd horsemen who'd ridden on ahead to prepare for Sharina's arrival were talking volubly to one another within, still mounted. Sharina's escort was a company Waldron had brought from Volita. They'd originally been cavalry but had converted to infantry when Prince Garric refused to take horses when he sailed west across the Inner Sea. They'd remounted as soon as they returned to Ornifal and were revelling in the experience.
The mausoleum was designed to receive royal parties as large or larger than Sharina's. Immediately inside the gate was a cobbled plaza. A flagstone path curved through the vineyard and up the mound; along it were statues of the dukes interred here. Stronghand, at the end of the line, was a powerful man whose features showed determination and a hint of cruelty.
A husky, grizzled civilian in his sixties stood at the door of the house, talking easily with the officer who commanded the troops. From a gable window, a much younger woman suckling an infant peered at the soldiers in obvious concern.
The carriage swung around in the plaza. Sharina reached for the doorlatch but the postillion had already jumped off his horse to forestall her; a second servant was handing Tenoctris out on the other side. The civilian stepped forward and bowed deeply, watched intently by the squad of Blood Eagles who'd dismounted as soon as the carriage stopped.
"Your highness," he said as he rose from his practiced bow, "I'm Master Madder. Madder the Master Gardener, if you'll allow me. Please accept this gift from your new ancestors."
He handed Ascor a squat, narrow-necked bottle with a black glaze. "The finest wine on Ornifal," Madder said proudly. "That was laid down fifty-one years ago, when your adoptive grandfather Valence II took the throne!"
"I'd like that, if you don't mind," Tenoctris said unexpectedly. Ascor looked at her, then to Sharina-who nodded. If the wizard was making sense of this, she was in a better place than Sharina. Ascor gave her the wine bottle with a bow of deference.
"I've kept the burial precincts of the bor-Torials for forty-two years," Madder continued, "through good times and the recent lean years as well. I want to express my joy, mygreat joy, that you and your royal brother are making the tomb of your adoptive family your own!"
"Ah…," said Sharina, taken completely aback. There was no doubt Madder's enthusiasm was real: the only time she'd seen a happier expression was on a young wife holding her firstborn. "That is, my brother hasn't made a final decision on our… ah."
She cleared her throat. "Master Madder," she resumed, forcing her mind back into the track it'd been following during the whole drive from the palace. "Lady Tenoctris-"
Sharina nodded toward the wizard, safely out of the vehicle. The servant was holding her satchel. She smiled brightly to Madder.
"-and I would like to view the burial chamber of Valence Stronghand. Will you guide us there, please."
A habit of polite deference almost twisted Sharina's words into a question: "Might we see his tomb?" for example. In fact it didn't matter what the gardener's feelings were, and anything but a flat statement would dishonestly imply that Madder had a choice. Sharina'd arrived with a company of soldiers and the needs of the kingdom to tend to.
"I'd like to determine whether someone has worked a contagion spell," Tenoctris explained, smiling again, "connecting the person posing as Stronghand's son with Stronghand himself. I'm not very powerful, so I'd like to be as close as possible to one terminus of the spell. If there's a spell, that is."
Sharina cringed inside, thinking about how nervous wizardry made most ordinary people. Tenoctris was an unworldly person, a scholar rather than a public figure. Though she knew intellectually that people were squeamish, she had a tendency to explain things that might better have gone unsaid.
Madder merely nodded approvingly. "Yes indeed," he said. "Tombs draw wizards, always have, and where in the Isles is there a finer tomb than the Mausoleum of the bor-Torials? Why, if I had a copper for every wizard I've chased out of here over the years, I'd be a wealthy man."
"Well, you're not chasing Lady Tenoctris out," said Ascor firmly. "And if you don't watch your tongue, you'll find it hard chasing anything because your legs'll be broken. Get moving, fellow!"
"What?" Madder said in surprise. "Oh, of course, of course."
The gardener bowed again, to Tenoctris and then a second time to Sharina. "I didn't mean you, your highness and milady," he explained. "Why, you're family, of course. My, my, I'll be happy to show you. That is, you'd like me to lead?"
"If you would," Sharina said mildly, amused at Ascor's puzzled expression. He and the gardener had been talking at cross purposes, but they were obviously both enthusiastic about helping Sharina do anything she wanted.
Madder trotted off along the path through the vineyard. "I remember Lady Indra," he said over his shoulder with a chuckle. "She was a cousin of the Stronghand's wife, I believe, back when I was still an apprentice. Every week she'd arrive with a different wizard. Once there was a Dalopan with a bone through his nose, if you can imagine that. Mad about horse racing, Lady Indra was, and no hand at all at picking horses."
He shook his head reminiscently. "No hand at picking wizards to help her either, it seemed," he added. "But that never stopped her trying."
Sharina looked about her as she followed the gardener. The plantings were very extensive, at least half an acre of grapes and olives. A workman pruning the lower limbs of an olive tree with a billhook paused and stared at the procession-a squad of soldiers; Madder, the two women, and the Blood Eagles; and the rest of the troops-then hurriedly lowered his eyes and went back to work. Madder was used to royalty visiting the mausoleum, but the younger staff obviously were not.
"I'm surprised at the type of plantings, Master Madder," Sharina called to the man stumping along in front of her. "I'd have expected the tomb to be landscaped, but with flowers and funerary shrubs, yews and myrtle and the like. This is a working vineyard."
"Oh, by the Lady, yes, your highness!" Madder said cheerfully. "You're from the west, aren't you? Haft, I believe? I've heard they do things different there, but on Ornifal we like our tombs to pay for their own upkeep. Our vintage is famous. What doesn't go for libations-or went in the days the family visited regularly, as I hope you'll do now that you're here-we sell for the staff's pay and the supplies we need."
They'd reached the point the path began to curve up the mound proper. Lires put a hand on the gardener's shoulder and slowed him with a significant nod at Tenoctris, who was showing signs of strain.
The path curved as it climbed. Masonry arches were set into the mound. The doors hanging in the first two were of iron with a patina of rust; the third was iron-strapped wood. Cypress, Sharina thought, but even so decay had eaten into the lower edge of the panel. The bronze nameplate was too corroded to read.
"The twins Attistus and Porra," Madder said, noticing Sharina's interest. "And both of Porra's wives, I believe, though I'd have to check the records on that. They were cousins of the reigning duke, that was Valbrun, but he adopted them as his heirs."
The gardener chuckled. "Teaches you humility, this job does," he went on. "Both of them died before Valbrun. It was his own son Valtor who succeeded. Yes sir, humble!"
"My experience," Tenoctris said in a cheerful tone, "is that life by itself is sufficient to do that. The more I learn, the more wonderful and complex the universe beyond what I know becomes."
"That pleases you, Tenoctris," Sharina said; there was no mistaking the tone of the other woman's voice. "Why? I mean, you're pleased at your ignorance, that's what you're saying, isn't it?"
Tenoctris laughed. "Yes indeed, dear," she said. "That means I'll never run out of things to learn, you see. That would be quite an awful business, don't you think?"
Sharina laughed also. "I never thought about it," she said. "I suppose I never thought there was any risk of it happening."
They were more than halfway up the side of the mound. When Sharina glanced outward, she found herself looking over the tops of cy
presses planted on the level ground at the base. They were at the back of the tomb, with a view to the east toward the gymnasium built by a victorious general of several generations earlier. Men were running and vaulting in the courtyard, while a larger number lounged under the porticoes built on three sides of the open area. The two-story building forming the entrance had been faced with colored marble, but many slabs had cracked off without being replaced.
"The next alcove is Stronghand's," the gardener said, looking over his shoulder toward the women. "I remember his funeral. My, that was a wonderful day. A splendid pageant!"
"This one's been broken open," called the file-closer who commanded the leading squad of soldiers. He and his men drew their swords, the long cavalry blades they'd retained when the regiment officially became infantry. "Woo-ie! She 's been dead a while, I guess!"
"What!" Madder cried. "No, that can't be!"
The gardener pushed through the troops, oblivious of the risk that he'd slice himself on a bare blade. He gave a wordless cry, threw his hands in the air, and fell to his knees.
The Blood Eagles locked shields in front of Sharina and Tenoctris. "Let me by!" the old wizard said. She tapped the rim of Ascor's helmet with the bamboo sliver she'd taken from her sleeve. "In Wisdom'sname, sir, you're preventing me from doing the one thing that may be of service!"
"Captain Ascor," Sharina said in a tone of aristocratic command. "You and Trooper Lires will please escort us to the alcove immediately."
"All right, soldiers!" Ascor snapped, placing his right hand on a horseman's shoulder and shifting him sideways. "Out of the way of her highness. Now!"
With the pair of Blood Eagles preceding them, Sharina and Tenoctris entered the burial alcove. The walls were covered with slabs of marble, probably a veneer over brick or concrete. Benches faced one another along the sidewalls; on each was a bronze coffin.
The old wizard frowned and half turned. "Please," she said in what for her was a peevish tone. "Don't block the light."
"You heard the lady!" Ascor snarled. In all likelihood the soldiers shuffling for a look inside hadn't heard Tenoctris, but they certainly heard Ascor. "Move it backnow so her highness can see what's going on!"
Sharina felt a moment's surprise that the spectators outside really did back away so that sufficient light penetrated the alcove. She'd been thinking in terms of what would've happened back in Barca's Hamlet-basically nothing, except those in back would've shoved forward harder. These men were disciplined soldiers.
Both coffins been wrenched open; the lids lay askew, half-blocking the already narrow aisle between the benches. The one on the right held a woman. The bronze must have fitted tightly enough to slow decay in the decades since her burial: dried flesh and even some of the skin clothed the skull, pulling the jaws open as if to scream. Her hair had continued to grow for a time after death but without the normal pigment; it formed a red-gold mass.
The other coffin was empty. Tenoctris touched the velvet lining with the bamboo sliver, her lips pursed in an expression of bright interest.
"Oh, this is terrible!" said Madder, who'd entered behind the women. "How could this have happened?"
"Yes, I was wondering the same thing," said Tenoctris. "There must have been a good deal of noise, even though this alcove is on the opposite side of the mound from your dwelling. Could the persons who did this have climbed over the wall, do you think?"
"No," said the gardener forcefully. "No. Not without our noticing it, I mean."
He grimaced. "I'll admit it's been months since me or the staff have been up the mound proper," he said. "Some of the oleander needs pruning bad, I saw that on the way up and I apologize. But the vineyard we work on daily, and the tracks'd show up in the dirt if nothing else. They must'veflown in-oh!"
"Go on, Master Madder," Tenoctris said. "Did you see something flying over the mausoleum?"
"No, no, it's not that," Madder said, kneading his forehead with callused fingers as though squeezing the thoughts into line. "Only a month ago-no, I'm a liar, longer than that, it must be near two, and at the dark of the moon. We all had dreams, me and the mistress and the three boys who sleep in the shed too. And in the morning, the gates were unlocked."
"What do you mean by dreams?" Tenoctris said. She touched the satchel Sharina had taken from the servant when they started up the mound, but she moved her hand away immediately.
"Bad dreams," Madder said. "I can't tell you more than that-and I wouldn't if I could, they werebad."
He rubbed his forehead again and shrugged. "We searched, I don't mean we didn't," he said. "We get plenty people trying to climb the walls and steal fruit, you bet, and they don't try again after they heal from the first beating. But nothing was gone-"
He looked up sharply. "I could tell, you know," he added belligerently. "You may think I couldn't, but I know my crop!"
"I'm sure you do," Tenoctris said calmly. "But you didn't go up to the tombs themselves?"
"No, milady," Madder said with another scowl of inward-directed anger. "No, I surely didn't. It's not like foreign parts, you know-there's nothing in the coffins but the bodies."
"Yes, of course," Tenoctris agreed. "The wealth of the dead, like their temporal power, remains with their heirs."
She smiled, but her face had the look of someone viewing a future which held a great deal of difficulty. "The trouble is," Tenoctris continued, "that there's other kinds of power than that granted by money and political position. It would appear that a wizard with the ability to cast a spell of deep sleep was looking for Stronghand's body in order to get additional power. And it would seem that he's gotten it."
***
"You'll be well paid for this," Garric said to the pair of servants who'd just given him and Liane their outer clothes. He took the rear pair of handles of the handbarrow heaped with used bedding.
The young male servant blinked and swallowed, looking terrified. Garric didn't suppose the fellow was afraid of anything in particular, but he was obviously concerned that anything so unusual meant some formless disaster was waiting to pounce. The middle-aged female sniffed and said, "I hope I know my duty well enough to do it without thinking your highness needs to pay me extra!"
"Even so," said Liane, taking the front handles. She unlatched the door and stepped into the hallway, her head bowed.
It was drizzling outside, so the servants'd had an excuse to raise the hoods of their short gray capes. The guards had still checked them when they came down the hall with clean bedding-but they wouldn't, Garric hoped, bother to do that again when the servants left.
Garric pulled the door to behind him as he followed Liane out. A three-wick lamp hung over the doorway. It was placed to illuminate the faces of people coming from either direction down the hallway, while those beneath it remained in shadow.
The guards were discussing the upcoming wrestling match between a Blood Eagle file closer and a Blaise armsman from Lord Rosen's regiment. They didn't pay any attention to the servants leaving the royal apartments and shuffling down the hall.
"What they oughta do," one of the Blood Eagles said as Garric and Liane rounded the corner at the slow pace of tired servants, "is let us fight the local talent with training swords. That'd show'em what's what!"
"That'd be the quickest way to start a for-real war, at any rate," said the ghost of King Carus, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "And I wouldn't be surprised if Gyganes-"
Carus knew all the Blood Eagles by name, as well as virtually every other soldier in the royal army whose name Garric had heard even once. It was an ability Garric doubted he'd have been able to equal if he'd made it his life's work.
"-knew that just as well as I do. Of course, we can't have common soldiers deciding policy for the kingdom, and it's nice that the ruler isn't spoiling for a fight either. The way I was when I was king."
Grinning along with his ancestor, Garric said to Liane in a low voice, "It's a pretty pass when the fellow who's supposed to be running the kingdom
has to sneak out of his room or he wouldn't be allowed to go."
They walked more briskly now that they were out of sight of the guards. These corridors made do with a lamp at each corner, and those would burn down by morning.
"I'mnot sure you should go," said Liane. "My agent certainly thinks the business is dangerous, and he's not easily alarmed."
"If there's wizardry involved…," Garric said. "And there is, Dipsas is a wizard and what else'd she be doing in the vaults under the palace? If there's wizardry, then nobody's more fit than you and me to judge what's going on. Except for Tenoctris, of course, and if she were here I'd insist on going with her or sending Cashel."
"I'm not disagreeing," Liane said, looking over her shoulder to smile at him. "I'm just saying that I understand why others might."
She paused by a door covered by a swatch of age-rotted tapestry nailed to the jamb and transom. "This is the room," she said, then tapped twice on the wood-with the ivory hilt of the little dagger Garric had seen her kill with, he realized.
The door swung outward, frame and all. There was no light inside. "Watch the hole!" an unfamiliar male voice whispered. "Half the floor's gone in here, that's why they closed it."
Liane slipped in, elbowing the door wider: they couldn't leave the load of washing out in the hall without attracting attention. Garric followed, closing the panel behind him. The shutter of a dark-lantern scraped open. The light of the single candle behind a lens of thin horn blazed like a burst of sunlight.
"Who's he?" the voice demanded; a sharp-featured youth in the bleached-white tunic of Earl Wildulf's palace servants, Garric saw. "You weren't supposed to bring anybody. Anybody!"
"You know who I am," Garric said. "Now tell us where Dipsas and the Countess go at night."
The room contained a broken bedframe and a litter of smaller objects, but it wasn't completely filled with junk the way the suite turned over to Garric had been. The floor, concrete poured over a lattice of withies, had sagged when a supporting beam gave way; half the slab had then collapsed into the darkness beneath. The response of whoever was in charge of palace maintenance at the time had been to close the room instead of trying to repair it.