“The people of the nation of Sorbold, which had been under Cymrian dominion during the days of Anwyn and Gwylliam, were, out of old habit, adherents to the Patrician faith, one of the two religions established on this continent when the misbegotten interlopers came. The previous Patriarch was, like all his forebears, the impotent head of that artificial religion, but nonetheless harmless. He died, by the way, at the Lady Cymrian’s coronation as the Lirin queen, just as he came before her to offer his blessing. Your fears about her, and those of your wife, are well-placed, Beliac. The Patriarch died in her arms, and by her hand. She is said to have accepted his smiling blessing, then ripped the very life from him where he stood. She then sang him a brief but lovely dirge, dropped his body to the ground, and continued on with her receiving line of admirers as he lay there.” He swallowed his amusement at the look of horror in Beliac’s eyes.
“Constantin, who replaced him upon his death, was an apostate, a twisted, evil man in league with Lord Gwydion and his witch wife. He took the ring of the Patriarchy and immediately began creating abominations, beasts of hideous nature and voracious appetites, which he used the power of his office to animate, along with a vast array of other monsters. Trust me when I tell you that this so-called holy city was one of the most perverted, corrupt, murderous places in the Known World under his dominion. You cannot even begin to imagine the depravity that was undertaken in what had once been sacred cathedrals, particularly the one in Sepulvarta. It took the better part of three weeks to scald the semen of the supposedly celibate Patriarch and the blood of uncounted virgins off the altar of the basilica.”
“Gods,” Beliac murmured.
“In short, once he had amassed an army of monstrous beasts and men without conscience, he turned to the south and attacked the villages in the piedmont of Sorbold, innocent towns that served the outposts of the Sorbold army, burning seven of them to the ground in night raids, killing every man, woman, child, and farm animal. He had manipulated the lore of the elements in twisted, demonic ways, so the fire burned, uncontained, until everything it touched was rendered into ashes.
“What else could I do? We struck back, and, having both Right and military superiority on our side, we prevailed, at great cost, of course, but we drove the beasts back and destroyed them, then set about cleansing the city of its apostasy. Even the clerics that once served the Patriarch were part of the conspiracy, so they have been put to resanctifying the various buildings and shrines as they can. Most are repentant, but there are still a few holdouts who are in secret league with the Lord and Lady Cymrian; we are ferreting them out as they can be identified.”
“That is a terrible story,” the Diviner said dryly.
Talquist’s stomach roiled in shock. He thought he had been convincing in his lie, but the grand scope of it might have been too much to seem possible. He opened his mouth, but as he did the Diviner continued his thought.
“I knew that the selection of Gwydion of Manosse would lead to disaster; it appears we in the Hintervold are not the only victims of his depravity and appalling greed.”
“No, indeed,” Talquist said, secretly relieved. “But, as you can see, the Sorbold army has greater military might, as well as the Creator’s blessing. It is fortuitous that we three are old friends and new allies, gentlemen. That is very possibly the only hope for the continent.
“Now, if you will return to the carriage, I will show you what we are doing to try and set things to right within what one day soon will actually be a true holy city.”
21
GURGUS PEAK, YLORC
True to his word, each day when he was finished with gathering the stray prayers that had been offered up the chain using Gurgus Peak and the Lightcatcher, Constantin spent time with Rhapsody, instructing her in the lore of remembering the face of light.
The process was meditative and required silence and introspection, so there was only a small amount of time she could work with the Patriarch while Meridion was sleeping. She found that her musical study and Naming lore had a synchronicity to the science he was imparting to her, so that connecting the musical understanding she had developed over a lifetime to the lessons made her understanding clearer.
The first memory she had chosen to study was that of a moment in the forest of Gwynwood, in the course of her early travels with Ashe, back when they were still suspicious of one another, but falling in love nonetheless. He had brought her to a deeply hidden glen near a waterfall, where crabapple trees had been blooming, great boughs heavy with pink flowers. The woods had been rich with the scent of recent rain, and the sunlight through the leaves was so dense, so heavy, that she had unconsciously held out her hands, hoping to catch it. It was one of the sweetest memories she had of the man she missed beyond measure, coupled with a very strong memory of light, so she worked on the lore repeatedly until one day she had opened her eyes in the dank darkness of the interior of the mountain to find herself bathed in the perfect golden luminescence of that day, with dusty streams of sunshine raining heavily down on her. The feel of the wind on her face, the sweet odor of the blossoms, the singing of the birds.
She was there.
But only for a moment.
After that experience, the loneliness and loss of her husband’s presence grew more poignant and unbearable each day. Rhapsody had been struggling against the sadness from the beginning of their separation, but the intensity of the memory now made the pain almost too deep to bear. With her work on the calibration of the Lightcatcher almost complete, she suggested one night that she try it out.
“I think the blue element of the spectrum is ready to be tested,” she said that night at supper to Achmed and Grunthor while the Patriarch was offering his prayers in Gurgus Peak.
Achmed was buttering a roll.
“What makes you think so?”
“All of the musical matches have been accurate, and the diamond that Constantin has been blessing to hold the sunlight seems to be full.”
“And where do you propose to scry?”
“Into Highmeadow,” Rhapsody said. “It’s friendly territory, rather than making the attempt into a hostile area first. I’m not certain if the pool of light that the blue section of the glass dome utilizes works both ways, or just from the perspective of the person doing the scrying.”
Achmed shook his head in disagreement. “What if someone else is there? You won’t know it until you have already summoned the light. I think you should try a forest glade or perhaps a seacoast first.”
“If you wish. But I would like to try and reach Ashe if I can. We need to let him know that the titan is the voluntary host of the F’dor that Rath was trying to kill.”
“Oi agree with ’Is Majesty,” said Grunthor seriously. “Prolly should test it out where no one is likely to be at first.”
“How’s this for a compromise?” Rhapsody said, folding her napkin and rising from the table with Meridion in the crook of her arm. “We can use the direct power of the sun in the morning, and aim for a place that’s likely to be empty and harmless. But later tonight, I may want to see if the diamond really is storing the light, and give it a try when it’s dark. Jalasee, the Sea Mage ambassador you are so fond of, Achmed, tried to explain to me at the Winter Carnival about baptism in the light of stars, so that a Namer or someone who understands the lore can carry the light around inside himself or herself. I think all of this lore is related. So if Omet will help me, I will give it a try in the dark tonight. Then at least we will know if the diamond is working or if I’m just wasting my time talking to a useless rock.”
“Well, either way it will duplicate the experience of your being with Ashe,” Achmed said, rising from the table and tossing his napkin on his chair. He left the room, leaving Grunthor and Rhapsody looking at each other with the same quizzical expression on their faces.
* * *
An hour or so later, Rhapsody came into the darkness of Gurgus Peak with Meridion and a nervous Omet in tow.
The instrument
ality was much more mysterious-looking in the dark, with a circle of light glowing on the altar and the starlight through the glass dome above the only illumination.
“I think I should be able to activate it by myself,” Rhapsody said to Omet, who nodded. “But I don’t know if the diamond has any power stored in it at all, so I won’t even try the wheel; I’ll just sing. Can you be ready just in case?”
“Certainly.”
Rhapsody drew the bundle in her arms closer. She kissed the baby’s soft curls, then smiled at him.
“Let us go see your papa, shall we?”
The infant’s blue eyes regarded her thoughtfully. Then he cooed at her almost convincingly enough to make her believe that he understood.
22
IN THE STUDY OFF THE MAIN LIBRARY, HIGHMEADOW
Ashe had fallen, with the aid of a decanter of not particularly good brandy, into a restless sleep at his desk, his grizzled cheek resting on the growing piles of battlefield communiqués. His exhaustion had denied him any chance at the sleep of a normal man, and instead had caused him to sink quickly into the recesses of draconic slumber, from which he always had to struggle to awaken. He was deep in despairing, alcohol-tinged dreams when a blue light appeared in the corner of his study.
My love.
The words, though spoken softly, carried an unmistakable ring of deep familiarity.
With great difficulty, Ashe lifted his head.
The waves of light at first had a similar appearance to those that ran down the blade of Kirsdarke when in his hand. After a moment within those waves he could make out an image of Rhapsody, translucent, clutching a bundle close to her chest and smiling at him uncertainly.
Unlike the other times Portia had taken her form, or caused whatever manipulation the demon had been capable of, the picture of his wife was clad not in a nightdress or a revealing gown, but in simple molecloth trousers, boots, and a linen shirt. Her hair was bound back in a black ribbon, rather than tumbling over her shoulders as it had in the mirages the demon had tormented him with.
But the choice to present her as she often dressed was clever; whatever demonic hand was manipulating him again had caused his heart to leap at the simple image of the woman he loved, in spite of how clearly he knew she was an illusion. Now it was also tantalizing him with the suggestion of Meridion’s presence as well.
The few working parts of his human brain collapsed under the weight of his fury.
“What are you doing here?” the dragon’s voice demanded.
The image of Rhapsody blinked. Then she smiled even more uncertainly. When she spoke, her voice echoed hollowly, as if she were far away.
I’ve brought your son to see you. He misses you almost as much as I do.
Ashe’s hand, outstretched beneath his head a moment before, clutched at the inkwell and a blotter on his desk, sending the objects scattering. Then he rose from the desk and seized the hilt of his sword, dragging it from its scabbard in its own waves of blue light.
And made his way around the desk toward the image in the light, murder in his eyes.
Guttural sounds issued forth from his throat, draconic curses of the highest intensity of hate.
“You misbegotten monster, you damned whore, I cannot believe you’ve come back,” he snarled.
* * *
In the slice of blue light raining down from above her, Rhapsody blinked again, her face slack in shock. Then, as the image of her rampaging husband gained speed, barreling down on her and Meridion, she grasped the hilt of her own sword.
Daystar Clarion whispered forth from its scabbard, blazing in lapping tongues of flame rippling up its blade, which she held as far away from the bundle in her arms as she could. Then she took in a ragged breath and spoke a command with the ringing tone of a Namer.
“Gwydion ap Llauron, stop.”
Against his will, Ashe lurched to a halt.
They stood, frozen either in the shock of having drawn on each other, or that of being dragged to an involuntary standstill in the midst of crossing the room. Then slowly, quietly, Rhapsody spoke aloud again, her eyes fiercely fixed on her husband, her words addressed to another.
“Omet,” she said without breaking her gaze away, “take the baby.”
The young glass artisan, who was staring in horror at what he was witnessing, stood stock-still for a moment. Then he nervously crossed to the edge of the pool of blue light, took the child from Rhapsody’s left arm as she remained drawn with her right, and carried him out of the light pool as quickly as he could.
Rhapsody’s eyes were still fixed on her panting, struggling husband. As soon as Meridion was no longer in the light, her expression changed from one of shock and horror to one of incredible sadness.
“My poor, dear love—my poor love,” she said softly. “Ashe—do you not recognize me?”
I know who you are, the draconic voice whispered furiously in return. You filthy, manipulative bitch. How dare you return to this place? Did you think I would not recognize you in another form?
Tears sprang to Rhapsody’s eyes, not from the insult or threat of violence, but at the delirium in the eyes of the man with whom she shared a soul. She had felt his sanity begin to fray and crumble even before she had left their lands, but the immense depth of madness mirrored in his eyes tore at her heart.
“Who am I, then?” she whispered. “Tell me.”
Ashe struggled angrily in the bonds of her Naming lore, with such hatred on his face that the tears that had formed in her eyes spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. You are the demon who clung to the serving maid, Portia, before whatever found her in the woods mercifully crushed the life out of her, he said. You unspeakable miscreant—how dare you come to me in my wife’s aspect again?
Rhapsody stared at him a moment more. Then she sheathed her sword and looked him over. He was unkempt; his hair had apparently not been cut since she left, and it curled around his ears and almost down to his shoulders, glistening with sweat. His beard had begun to grow in from lack of attention, and he had obviously slept in his clothes, though for how long was not clear. He was trembling in agitation, the sword in his frozen hand twitching as he did, sending wild pulses of blue light around the study’s walls and ceiling.
Across the mammoth room in which she actually stood, Meridion squeaked unhappily in Omet’s arms.
Ashe’s eyes grew wilder at the sound.
Rhapsody inhaled slowly, trying to keep her face as placid as she could, and her voice as steady. Whatever unknown bedevilment of the mind was tormenting her husband had him riled into believing she was not who she appeared to be, it was clear. She struggled to smile at him, and when she spoke, her words were calm, steady, almost playful.
“You know, beloved, as I’ve told you before, you really should shave off that beard, it’s awful.”
Ashe froze. The wildness remained in his eyes, but the anger abated somewhat.
Rhapsody stood still and waited, watching him carefully. The phrase she had uttered was something she had said to him years before, during his time of hiding, in the course of the first long journey they had undertaken together, still suspicious of one another. Just before they had parted ways, he had asked her to tarry a moment, then had pulled down his hood to reveal his face to her for the first time. The import of the moment had not been lost on her at the time; she understood both the risk that he was taking if she was not who she claimed to be, and his status a hunted man. The vulnerability and longing in his eyes had gone straight to her heart then, as it did now. She had lightened the moment with the joke about his beard.
It was impossible to imagine that anyone else would have known and understood the reference now.
Rhapsody? he whispered. The soprano, alto, tenor and bass tones of the dragon’s voice were gone, replaced by a trembling all-too-human baritone.
The tears running down her face, blurring her vision, threatened to blind her.
“Yes, my love,” she said quietly.
Are yo
u—are you really here?
“Not in the flesh, no,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “We are in the testing stage of our project, so while I physically remain in Ylorc, I am able to come to you this way, to see into Highmeadow—it’s my home, and half of my soul is there, so it was fairly easy to scry into your study. But this is really me, not some affectation of a demon—by the star I swear it.” She exhaled as the madness seemed to abate in his eyes.
And—do you—still love me?
She swallowed the knot in her throat. Like her use of the reference to his beard, he was undertaking a similar countersign to see if she answered it as she should if she was genuine. The question had always been one of gentle teasing and reassurance, but her answer had been the same each time he had asked it. The pain in his voice now made the tears fall faster.
She summoned a smile through them.
“Always,” she said.
Ashe bowed his head. When he looked up again, relief had replaced the despair that had been on his face a moment before. He exhaled, and Rhapsody could hear the clutching pain give way in the sound of his breath. She signaled for Omet’s return and dismissed the Naming command, freeing Ashe from his invisible bonds.
“If you will put away your sword, we can try this once more,” she said, taking the baby into her arms and walking toward the edge of the blue light closest to Ashe. “You once promised that you would never draw on me again, but I will assume that you have not broken your word as you thought I was someone else.” She held the child up in front of his father.
Are you certain he’s—he’s not in any danger—being in this light? Ashe asked haltingly. He quickly sheathed Kirsdarke and came to the blue light pool’s edge.
“As certain as I can be,” she replied. “I don’t have long to be with you—and I have much I need to tell you. But first things first—Meridion wants to see his papa.”
The Merchant Emperor (The Symphony of Ages) Page 20