“Follow me, if you please, m’lady.”
“Without question.”
The princess stepped around the corner and onto the thoroughfare, followed a moment later by the rest of the women.
Rhapsody blinked in astonishment turning to delight.
The roadway was far wider than she had imagined, and passed through what appeared to be an underground village, carved from the stone of the mountain range. Houses, shops, cathedrals, even lampposts seemed to almost grow out of the stony ground, beneath smoothly carved stone bridges that spanned the tops of buildings towering in the air above them. Gardens of shade-loving plants that Rhapsody had established in her own underground flower beds in Elysian surrounded sparkling fountains and elegant statuary, all of which had an alien style to them, like the buildings and bridges, sized to a race of people built like Gyllian.
In the center of the village stood an enormous clock, formed of multicolored stone; it was surrounded by a circle of marble benches on which mothers talking to young children and elderly men drowsing were sitting, oblivious to the ticking of the metalworks of the towering timepiece with brass hands that ended in what looked like pointing fingers.
The village apparently was outside the gate; the massive stone wall that closed off the thoroughfare in the distance ahead held an imposing set of doors, taller than four human men and bound in intricate brasswork. Many levels of scaffolding held guards on both sides of the doors, behind mounted crossbows aimed over the heads of hundreds of Nain that plied the streets, shopping, bartering, arguing, and otherwise going about the business of any upworld town.
Gyllian strode deliberately down the thoroughfare, past clusters of Nain that stopped talking and stared as she walked by, with the four women hurrying to keep up behind her. As she approached the gate the streets began to fill with the noise of murmurs and whispered excitement; by the time the group arrived at the enormous wall, the sound had swelled and risen to the upper levels of the buildings lining the streets and was bouncing off the barrier, filling the square.
The guards on the ground stepped forward to meet the arriving princess, who stopped and assumed a regal stance. She relayed a series of quiet commands in a language that Rhapsody understood a few words of, recognizing it as a modernized version of the tongue that the Nain of the old world spoke. The guards exchanged wide-eyed glances of confusion, then stared at the women behind the princess, finally assenting and opening the massive doors of the gate. Rhapsody and Melisande smiled in identical pleasantry as they passed through the doorway, causing the Nain guards to blink in astonishment and shake their heads, even after the doors were beginning to close again.
Beyond the gate the vault of the ceiling above the city was even taller, the buildings grander, and the streets wider. Gyllian commandeered a carriage pulled by a quartet of donkeys from a shocked Nain driver who, after regaining his senses, drove the coach with the princess and her odd hooded companions through the streets, beaming proudly.
Behind the heavy curtains of the carriage Rhapsody took the opportunity to feed the baby again while Krinsel leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Analise took Meridion and gently patted his back while Rhapsody brushed Melisande’s hair and ran her fingers through her own shorn locks. She looked up and smiled at Gyllian, only to see the Nain princess looking back at her seriously.
“Don’t be lulled into complacency by these sights, m’lady,” she said quietly. “The Deep Kingdom has a charming exterior luster, but the vast bulk of it is martial and as cold as the stone from which it is hewn. Faedryth is as stoic and guarded a man as I’ve ever known, and runs this kingdom with a combination of the efficiency of the village clocks, and the grip of the forge hammers that shape the steel and brass that bind the doors of the gate. He is still angry with both you and the Bolg king, and he has an immortal man’s memory. I will advocate for you as best as I can, but my father’s greatest strength is not forgiveness, nor is it reasonability.”
Rhapsody nodded, watching her son’s head dip slowly against Analise’s shoulder as he drifted off to sleep again.
Finally the coach arrived at the wide stairs of the palace. The mist cloak was wrapped back around Krinsel and the sling in which Meridion was cradled was secured on her again, then the women disembarked and followed Gyllian up the stairs and into the entryway of Undervale.
The Nain princess swept past the palace guards much in the same way she had at the gate, ignoring the protestations of both soldiers and the palace staff, herding the group of her guests into the arched corridor leading to the Great Hall.
“Announce us immediately, Faelik,” she said steadily to the chamberlain, who had met them at the doors of Undervale and was struggling to keep up with her as she made her way to entrance to the Hall. She maintained an expression of serene politeness as she pushed him out of the way and pulled the tall double doors open, revealing the Great Hall.
At the end of a long aisle laid in glorious mosaic designs stood a dais atop which a heavily carved stone of black marble stood. Seated on that throne, with a look of supreme annoyance conveyed by the deepest scowl Rhapsody had ever seen, was the Nain king. He wore no crown or robes of state, but rather was attired in simple trousers tucked into sturdy boots, with a tunic belted in leather covering his upper body. He glanced at the guards standing on either side of his throne, then returned his stare to his daughter again.
“Gyllian—” The word was mostly a snarl.
The Nain princess did not blink.
“Father,” she interrupted, “please be so kind as to greet our guests, the Lady Cymrian and her retinue. She has a request to make of you, and I ask that you listen without prejudice, as I support this request wholeheartedly.”
Faedryth blinked in astonishment. He looked at the guards again. Then he directed his stare at Rhapsody, looking her up and down for a long moment. Finally he gestured impatiently for her to come forward.
Rhapsody swallowed hard. She released Melisande’s hand, which had grown clammy in her own, and smiled down at the little girl encouragingly. She stepped forward to the foot of the dais on which the Nain king’s throne was raised from the stone floor; then, in front of his astonished eyes, she sank to one knee before him.
Faedryth blinked as undisguised displeasure crawled over his face and took up residence there. He coughed, a grumbling sound that made his guards stand up even straighter.
“Leave us,” the king said to those guards in a low growl. “Now.” His eyes never left Rhapsody. The soldiers complied hurriedly, closing the enormous doors of the Great Hall behind them with an echoing slam that continued to vibrate for the span of a score of heartbeats afterward.
“For the love of God, the One, the All, get up, m’lady,” Faedryth said flatly. “Disappointed as I am in our last interaction, it is utterly inappropriate that my sovereign should kneel to me.”
“I am not here as your sovereign, Your Majesty,” Rhapsody said; she had not moved. “And, if need be, I am willing to add my second knee and even my forehead to my bow, to prostrate myself to you, if it will convince you to grant the boon I am asking of you.”
The Nain king gripped the arms of his throne even more tightly and leaned forward. He spoke softly, an undertone of anger punctuating the single word he uttered.
“Please.”
Rhapsody inhaled, then let her breath out steadily. She rose and stood in respectful silence.
“If you are not here in your capacity as Lady Cymrian, then are you here as the Lirin queen? I was under the impression that our peoples were in a fairly peaceful place as a result of your efforts at the Cymrian Council three years ago.”
“No, I am not. And yes, they are.”
“Then why are you bothering me?”
Rhapsody’s face was solemn.
“I’ve come to ask you a tremendous favor, for which I will always be in your debt if you grant it. But moreover, it is of great importance to our Alliance, and, at the risk of sounding hyperbolic, the who
le of the world.”
Faedryth’s brow darkened.
“I don’t know what ‘hyperbolic’ means, but I find it strange that my Lady would come to me, after I made a very similar request of you not that long ago, and your friend, the Bolg king, only to be rudely spurned, grotesquely insulted, and outright threatened. In fact, m’lady, if you had not come to my kingdom in my daughter’s company, you would have been sent away at the gate.” He glared pointedly at Gyllian.
“What you just said precisely meets the definition of ‘hyperbolic,’ Father,” Gyllian said dryly. “I would certainly hope that, given your age and the length of your reign, you would know better than to be rude to our Lady, though you are certainly treading dangerously close to it, if you haven’t done so already.” She bowed her head in apology to Rhapsody, then looked back at her father again. “Kindly be silent and listen to what she has to say; I would not have brought her here if I did not agree with her request. You are compromising my reputation as well as your own; mine at least still has meaning to me.”
Faedryth’s mouth dropped open. Gyllian was a woman of few words, even by Nain standards. Her speech was the longest he had ever heard her utter in her life. He closed his mouth, abashed, and gestured for the Lady Cymrian to speak.
“Sorbold is advancing in the south in open warfare, as I told you it would when you visited Ylorc,” Rhapsody said. “The holy city of Sepulvarta fell first; the western coastline in blockaded by warships, merchant vessels and a loose fleet of pirate ships. The Icemen of the Hintervold are massing for attack on the northern borders of the Middle Continent.”
“I am sure that you are very disturbed by all that. I cannot help you. I believe I made that clear when I left the Bolglands.”
“She is not asking for you to commit troops, Father,” Gyllian interrupted impatiently. “Be silent and listen to the Lady.”
“Well, what does she want, then?” Faedryth demanded. “The Bolg king manufactures decent weapons of his own, we have no foodstuffs to supplement—”
“I am here as a mother; I am asking refuge for my son,” Rhapsody said softly. “Please.”
Faedryth’s words ground to a choking halt.
“Son? Your child has been born?”
“You’re very observant these days, Father,” said Gyllian. The dryness in her voice bordered on acidic. “If you didn’t take note of the Lady Cymrian’s change of physical status, you might have noticed the three women behind us. One of them is Lady Melisande Navarne, the sister of the duke of Navarne, and therefore a visiting dignitary from Roland; even at ten years of age, she is no doubt accustomed to better manners in court.”
“Oh, not necessarily,” Melisande said. “Anborn, my godfather, is frequently at Haguefort, so I’m very used to this sort of hostile conversation.”
At the mention of his old friend, Faedryth smiled slightly.
“Another guest is Analise o Serendair, a First Generation Cymrian of the Second Fleet,” Gyllian continued sternly. “I am certain you do not wish her to return to Manosse with tales of the imbecilic and insolent treatment you are according our mutual sovereign.
“Our final guest is Krinsel, an Archon of Ylorc and the head of the Bolg council of midwives. In case you haven’t noticed, she is holding an infant in her arms.”
Faedryth rose from the great marble throne shakily.
“Why—why have you brought—a child—a royal child—to my kingdom?”
“Because I am needed in battle,” Rhapsody said quietly. “I have duties as the Iliachenva’ar; Daystar Clarion’s presence is critical to the survival of the Middle Continent. And though I would rather tear out my own heart and set it aflame, I must leave my child in the care of others I trust. They stand before you.” She swallowed hard as the Nain king’s eyes darted from woman to woman in front of him.
“I count myself among them, so you know,” Gyllian added, looking sharply at Faedryth. “It would be my honor to be of service to my sovereign and her son.”
“In addition to being an infant whose mother is in battle, my child is hunted, Faedryth,” Rhapsody continued. “The Merchant Emperor, Talquist, seeks him so that he can consume his heart. Obviously I must do everything in my power to prevent that.”
“Wait—” Faedryth stammered. “What?”
“My son is the Child of Time, about whom there are auguries and prophecies known to the emperor,” Rhapsody said, her voice breaking intermittently. “Talquist, who seeks the longevity bordering on immortality that First Generation Cymrians enjoy, has been told that eating this child’s beating heart will grant him that immortality. He has dealings with every assassin’s guild of any size across the continent, and has sent them, along with his armies, in search of this child.”
“Why—why did you not keep him in the Bolglands?” Faedryth demanded. “Canrif is the most unassailable fortress in the Known World—”
“It is not,” Rhapsody said, her voice ringing now with a Namer’s tone. “You know that Anwyn’s armies were able to assail it from without, while the Bolg were able to overrun it from within at the time of the Great War. We recently narrowly survived a breech of the Bolglands, though Achmed and Grunthor were able to repel those attacks. But Talquist will not stop there. He and his stone champion have even deeper designs on those mountains, which contain prizes that, with respect, even you do not know of, Your Majesty. One such prize, if it were to fall into his hands, would make any fear that you have of the Lightcatcher’s risk pointless, if you follow my inference.
“But my son is shielded from the emperor’s eyes, and from the tools he has for scrying. Talquist does not know that he has left the Bolglands, or to where he has been taken. Each of these women have gifts to care for him and to hide him from any eyes that seek him—as they have done from your own while standing in your very presence. His name, as far as I know, has not been discovered by Talquist or his forces; he is all but invisible in your lands. I have already parleyed with Witheragh on my way here. He has agreed to make the guardianship of your realm his priority second only to that of the Shield of the Earth from the Vault.”
Faedryth’s eyes widened. The light of the great chandelier hanging above them caught in those eyes, making them gleam ominously.
“You parleyed with Witheragh?”
“Yes.”
“And he agreed to help you?”
“Again, yes.”
“Why?” The king began to pace the dais, the great red gem at the base of the gold chain around his neck catching the light of the chandelier. “Witheragh has no concern for the needs of men, and never has. When the Molten River went dry, buried under a cone of ash, he could have relighted it with little more than a breath, but he refused, even though it meant the eventual death of the Deep Kingdom in winter. The steps I was forced to take were devastating.” Faedryth swallowed suddenly, remembering his use of the Lightforge, and the different sort of devastation that had resulted.
“My son is the great-great-grandson of Elynsynos,” Rhapsody said, her voice grave. “The Primal Lore of dragons requires them not only to not to kill each other, but to preserve their dying race, as they guard the Shield of the world from what lurks below.”
The Nain king snorted. “Balderdash. What payment did he demand of you? What did you give him? I would suspect Daystar Clarion, but you have already said you are taking it into battle.”
“Daystar Clarion does not belong to me; I am only its bearer. I could not have given it to him, even if I had wanted to—it isn’t mine to give.”
“What did you give, then? I want to know that you have not unbalanced the tribute that we routinely pay for the uneasy peace we have with him.”
Rhapsody smiled slightly.
“I did not. The gems that adorn his hide that you have paid in tribute are astounding in their beauty and value; I had nothing like that to offer him. I gave him the only thing I had that he was willing to accept—my hair.”
Faedryth’s brows shot into his hairline.
> “You gave your hair to a dragon?” he said incredulously, his eyes taking note of her missing locks. “Are you out of your mind, m’lady? Do you have any idea what sort of power he has over you now, what sort of threat he might someday be to you because of that?”
“Do you have any idea how little I care?” Rhapsody said, her voice straining with emotion. “It doesn’t matter what he does with it; it can only harm me and no one else. You don’t understand, Your Majesty; when I said that I would do anything to protect my son, I meant it literally, and stated it truly. Witheragh cannot, by virtue of the Primal Lore, harm my son or my husband. That is the only thing that matters to me. If he decides to make nefarious use of the power I have given him over me, I will gladly suffer those consequences if it means my child is safe.” Her voice broke completely, and she bowed her head.
A devouring silence filled the Great Hall.
Finally Rhapsody looked up again, and her eyes were filled with tears.
“Please, Your Majesty, help me. It is taking every bit of strength that I have to stand before you and beg you to take my son; when I leave him I will be leaving my entire heart and a large part of my soul behind with him. I had hoped, before he was born, when I was dreaming of what the Future might hold for him, to bring him here one day, to your kingdom, to learn from you. You were at one time his great-grandfather’s dear friend and collaborator in the building of the greatest nation this continent has seen in its history. Like his father, he will one day learn the deserved condemnations of Gwylliam, but it was my desire that he could learn of the good times and brave deeds of his forebear as well, from the one person who could tell him of those days with any objectivity and perspective. I don’t know if he will inherit any of Gwylliam’s knowledge of the forge, or architectural and engineering genius, but he has the potential one day to be a Namer of great power; he has already shown signs of it. He alone will have the chance to tell the tale of the Cymrians in a way that history can record accurately if he spends time learning the story from those who played a great part in it.
The Merchant Emperor (The Symphony of Ages) Page 38