Vengeance ttr-1

by Ian Irvine

  The whole room was buzzing now. Lady Ricinus’s red fingernails were gouging varnish from the arms of her chair. Was this the chancellor’s revenge — the Honouring to be a public humiliation? From the gleeful faces of the nobility, they hoped so.

  Hildy paused, looked around the gathering and, after a dramatic pause, said, ‘But I was wrong.’

  Heads turned. People whispered among themselves. The chancellor rose halfway from his chair, his famous composure lost for a few seconds, before settling back, tight-lipped. What was going on? Had Lady Ricinus won after all? Rix prayed that she had not. Any such victory would be a travesty. And yet, for the sake of his house …

  Hildy opened a flat leather case, withdrew a ragged, dirty piece of parchment, and held it up.

  ‘For two thousand years it has been held that our founding hero, Axil Grandys, died without issue, despite that he was renowned as a vigorous and lusty man.’

  She paused for a full minute, until the whispers died away.

  ‘This document proves otherwise. This parchment shows that Axil Grandys fathered a daughter, Mythilda, and acknowledged her before his disappearance. And Mythilda’s line, it has been proven to my satisfaction, runs unbroken all the way to the present time. To the father of Lord Ricinus, and therefore to his son, Rixium Ricinus.’

  ‘Bastards sprung from bastards, back to the beginning of time,’ sneered a red-faced nobleman on Rix’s left.

  Rix was not inclined to disagree.

  ‘House Ricinus,’ said Abbess Hildy, taking a sheaf of documents from the case, ‘has always been seen as the lowliest, its lord and lady as greedy upstarts. But no more. Should these papers pass the final test, Ricinus will take its place among those houses who can trace their line all the way back to the founding fathers.’

  She bowed to Lord and Lady Ricinus.

  ‘I present the documents for authentication,’ said Abbess Hildy, handing the stunned chancellor the parchment and the other papers.

  And Rix knew, from the smile on his mother’s face, that the critical document was a forgery. It would be a masterful one, doubtless written on two thousand-year-old parchment in ink equally ancient. And the monumental bribes she had been paying for the past three years, that had almost emptied their treasury, had been to smooth its passage to authentication and her house’s rise to the top.

  The chancellor rubbed the parchment between his fingers, held it up to the glow from a brazier behind them, then raised it to his horn-like nose.

  ‘It looks authentic,’ he said reluctantly, sourly, and handed it to the chief magian. ‘Though I can scarcely believe it is.’

  The chief magian probed the parchment with the heel of his staff, and then with the tip, and passed an object like an ivory-rimmed spectible over it.

  ‘This parchment is ancient,’ said the chief magian, a tubby, balding little fellow with tiny feet and hands, after some minutes of increasingly frustrated magery. ‘So ancient that it was not made in this land. It came, no doubt about it, on the First Fleet from our lost homeland of Thanneron, now crushed beneath the ice that draws ever closer to our own fair isle.’

  ‘Damn the parchment!’ snarled the chancellor. ‘It’s the writing that matters. When was it written?’

  The chief magian studied the parchment again. A tap of his staff made the writing glow leaf green, then flesh pink and finally indigo.

  Rix held his breath. Part of him yearned for it to be authentic, and for the legitimacy that would bring his house. Another part prayed that Lady Ricinus would not get away with so monstrous a lie.

  ‘This ink flowed from the nib two thousand years ago,’ said the chief magian.

  ‘My Lady Ricinus,’ said the chancellor with a vulture’s smile. ‘We cannot fault the critical document, therefore House Ricinus’s claim can not be challenged. Welcome to the First Circle, House Ricinus.’

  He extended his hand, though from the look on his face the chancellor would sooner have cut it off than shake hers, or Lord Ricinus’s.

  Rix had to admire his mother’s cunning. She had neutralised the chancellor’s threat to bring down their house unless they delivered him Tali, for not even he had the power to topple a house of the First Circle for so minor a reason. But why hadn’t he acted on the treason? Because Lady Ricinus was far more use to him alive than dead? Or was this just the first move in a deadly game between them?

  ‘Lady Ricinus,’ the chancellor continued, ‘before we began the Honouring, you mentioned two matters of moment. What is the other?’

  For a second, Lady Ricinus’s poise failed her, and her triumphant smile revealed her lack of breeding. Then the sickening false humility was back.

  ‘My beloved Lord, Ricinus, is unwell.’ She extended a hand to him. Lord Ricinus lurched across the stage and flopped his pulpy hand into her bony one.

  ‘He was savagely struck down by the escaped Pale slave just days ago,’ said Lady Ricinus, ‘and our healer fears my lord’s remaining days are few. Lord Ricinus regrets that he is unable to discharge his duties, either as a husband,’ several nobles tittered, ‘or as the head of House Ricinus. Therefore he begs to be released as lord, that he may spend — ’

  ‘It is customary for the lord of a noble house to be released from his duties only by death,’ said the chancellor.

  ‘An earlier release is not unheard of,’ said Lady Ricinus. ‘I can cite the precedents.’

  ‘I’m sure your notaries have documented every instance.’ The chancellor turned to Rix’s father. ‘Lord Ricinus, do you solemnly declare that you are no longer fit to discharge your duties as lord of your house?’

  ‘I declare it,’ said Rix’s father. ‘Where’s my drink?’

  The nobles muttered in outrage. Lady Ricinus ground her heel into Lord Ricinus’s instep.

  ‘In these extraordinary circumstances,’ scowled the chancellor, ‘I will approve the abdication of the present Lord Ricinus.’ Then he smiled vengefully. ‘And installation of the new lord, Lord Rixium Ricinus.’

  Rix nearly fell against the stage. Lady Ricinus staggered and clutched at her lord. Her mouth opened and closed, then she slipped a new mask over the old. Clearly, she had expected that the stewardship of House Ricinus would be given to her for her lifetime. It was a reasonable expectation, since a third of the noble houses were led by women, but her vulgar birth was a fatal flaw.

  ‘Thank you, Chancellor,’ she said with a cracked smile. ‘I will do my duty as steward until — ’

  The chancellor looked down at Rix, who knew he had forgotten nor forgiven nothing. What game was he playing now?

  ‘Rixium will be installed as lord immediately,’ said the chancellor.

  ‘But he is not yet of age.’

  ‘He defeated a caitsthe with his bare hands, did he not?’

  Several mature ladies, who must have heard the story, tittered. A trio of young eligibles eyed Rix boldly and inflated their assets.

  ‘He also took the war to the enemy,’ said the chancellor, ‘and rescued a Pale who has given us priceless intelligence about Cython.’

  Lady Ricinus knew when she was defeated. ‘Rixium, Lord of Ricinus, come up.’ She extended her hand towards her son.

  ‘Not yet he isn’t,’ growled the chancellor. ‘First, we finish the Honouring.’

  Rix took his place between his mother and father, barely able to keep his throbbing head upright, and afraid he was going to throw up again. This was monstrous, a travesty.

  ‘May I see your sword, Lord Rixium?’ said the chancellor politely, as though nothing had ever happened between them.

  Rix handed it to him. The chancellor studied it for a moment, then passed it to the chief magian, who ran his little fingers along the worn inscription, causing multi-coloured auras to flicker around it. Momentarily the words stood out, black against the bluish metal — Heroes must fight to preserve the race. The chief magian started, then mimed several words.

  The chancellor nodded and took the sword. ‘Search the archives,’ he sa
id softly. ‘Find a test.’

  The chief magian resumed his seat. The chancellor’s mouth hardened. He looked Rix up and down, then handed the sword back.

  What was that all about? Rix’s restless gaze passed across the audience and he noticed Tobry at the back of the hall. And there, clutching his arm, as Pale as if she’d had the word painted on her forehead, was Tali. She was gazing up into Tobry’s eyes, quivering with suppressed emotion, and his eyes were locked on hers. What was she doing here?

  Rix started, then realised that his mother had fixed on the small girl in the blue gown and the mouse mask.

  ‘Lord Rixium,’ she said softly. ‘You have no idea how sweet my revenge is going to be.’

  CHAPTER 91

  Can this unexpected boon outweigh the disastrous loss?

  Lyf had been floating in the Abysm for a day, evaluating hundreds of possibilities, each a branch of the unknowable future. I have a body! he exulted. I’m free! Or at least, the framework of a body, ugly, misshapen and clumsy though it was. With flesh stripped from the facinore and the power stolen from the gifted child he would soon complete his body, and no longer would he be bound to the place of his death.

  Lyf had discovered how to create a body for himself seven hundred years ago, and ever since he had fought and schemed and struggled to glean the power for it. And had failed every time.

  Then those foolhardy intruders had brought the Pale child to his caverns, bearing within her a gift neither she nor they understood, one he had not realised he could feed on until the moment she had hurled that golden globe. Truly, fate was unknowable. He had always discounted luck and serendipity, but he should have made allowance for them — chance had given him in a moment what centuries of planning could not. He would not make that mistake again.

  But could this prize outweigh the loss of The Consolation of Vengeance?

  The balance was poised. If his enemies learned to read the iron book it would reveal almost the entirety of his plan. But could they read it? He had written it in an ancient script that had never been common, and the enemy had burnt most of Cythe’s books at the end of the war. Lyf doubted that any books survived in this script, save in his own library, yet if there were, Hightspall’s scholars might decipher the iron book in time. That would be a dreadful setback, though he could recover from it. Thankfully he had not yet written the ending.

  But the theft raised another possibility, one that was terrifying. That they might understand the magery of the book, obtain a measure of alkoyl and write their own ending, one he had no way of knowing about or dealing with.

  That possibility could not be allowed. His armies must encircle Caulderon so tightly that a flea could not escape. At the same time, he must set his traps from within.

  First, allow Deroe to discover that the host of the master pearl was on her way to the cellar, and to believe that with her pearl he could break the possession for good. Deroe would follow her, carrying the three stolen pearls that never left his side.

  Next, using Rix’s heatstone, tighten the compulsion on him and bring him to the cellar to kill the magian and cut the pearl from Tali’s head. Lyf’s new body, even when complete, would not have the dexterity to remove it safely. Then Lyf would take the pearl, kill his remaining enemies and rise in triumph as his armies broke into Caulderon.

  Last, recover the iron book and write the true ending. Then the real war could begin.

  CHAPTER 92

  Lord Ricinus swayed on his feet while the chancellor praised his staggering gift of the Third Army, studiously avoiding mention of his personal attributes or character. The Honouring medal was fixed to Lord Ricinus’s chest, the official artist completed his sketches and the chancellor beckoned Rix forward.

  ‘Would you unveil your portrait, Lord Rixium?’

  Lady Ricinus was glowing now. This night was the culmination of two decades’ dreams and schemes and, despite several scares and stumbles, it was going well.

  The crated portrait rested on a wooden frame behind them, high enough for the audience to see it over the heads of the dignitaries. Lady Ricinus drew Rix’s ancient blade and handed it to him, hilt first.

  As he rose, pain speared through his skull and he stumbled, for his head felt worse than when he had roused on the tower roof. The audience must have thought he was tipsy but everyone smiled indulgently — he was soon to be the lord of a house of the First Circle, after all, and many of them had daughters.

  With the titane blade Rix cut the sealing wax and the bonding cords, and lifted the front of the box away. Behind it, the portrait was concealed by grey silk.

  ‘With a flourish,’ said Lady Ricinus.

  Rix forced himself to bow to his father, his mother and the chancellor. He took hold of one end of the silk and turned to the assembled nobility.

  ‘Father,’ he began, choking on his own hypocrisy. ‘Father, with this portrait I reveal the true man behind the mask. With all — with all my art I honour you …’

  With a single heave, he tore the silk away to expose the portrait he never wanted to see again.

  The nobles stared, open-mouthed.

  Lady Ricinus throttled a gasp.

  Lord Ricinus’s red eyes bulged. Bubbles popped from his nostrils and he let out the squeal of a pig being slaughtered.

  The chancellor smiled.

  Rix spun around, focused on the image and it was as though he had been smashed in the face with it. His knees buckled. It wasn’t the portrait; the crate held his frenzied depiction of the murder in the cellar. How had it ended up here?

  His blood froze — had he, in a drunken rage after he’d seen the killers’ faces, swapped this painting for his father’s portrait? Did he secretly long to destroy the family and the house without which he was nothing? But why do it this way? Why not accuse them openly? Was he such a coward? Rix could not believe that, even blind drunk, he could have committed such a betrayal. Nonetheless, shame scalded him.

  A clamour broke out at the front, a hundred people talking at once. Those at the back, too far away to see clearly, were whispering and crying to their neighbours, desperate to hear the scandal. From the corner of one eye Rix saw Tobry urging Tali towards the door, but she stood firm. She had waited ten years to see the killers’ faces.

  ‘What is this?’ said the chancellor in a low voice, beckoning the justiciar and the high constable behind his back.

  ‘The stupid boy has crated up the wrong painting.’ Lady Ricinus, as always, was the first to recover her poise. ‘It’s one of his nightmares; he’s always painting them. I’ll have the portrait brought down immediately.’ She gestured to her attendants. ‘Take this to the furnaces.’ Then, to the chancellor, ‘I told you he’s not fit to be lord — ’

  ‘Be silent!’ said the chancellor, silkily. ‘Rixium Ricinus, did you paint this abomination?’

  Rix’s throat was so dry he could barely croak. ‘Yes, Chancellor.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last night, after I finished the portrait of Father.’

  ‘Then why is this picture here in its place?’

  ‘I can’t say,’ Rix gasped. The room was boiling, his head whirling, the air almost too thick to breathe. ‘I–I was drunk. After I saw what I’d painted, I went to the top of my tower — to jump! — but I fell and knocked myself out. It appears I lay there unconscious all day.’

  ‘Why have you portrayed your mother and father, whom any dutiful son would honour, as vile murderers?’

  The truth was screaming at Rix but he could not utter it. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Really?’ The chancellor’s voice went low and deadly. He gestured to the right side of the painting. ‘And what is this black object in your mother’s golden tongs?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Rix lied. ‘It … just came to me.’

  The chancellor’s eyes glowed. He had his teeth in Lady Ricinus’s throat and, whatever explanations she put up, he would never let go.

  ‘Chief Magian,’ said the chancellor, ‘
would you come here?’

  The dumpy little man hurried across, examined the object in question, then straightened up, his mouth curling in disgust. ‘I believe it is an ebony pearl, Lord Chancellor.’

  ‘For the benefit of Lord Rixium and our noble audience, what is an ebony pearl?’

  ‘A nuclix. A sorcerous talisman of prodigious power. A forbidden object, my lord.’

  ‘Forbidden?’ said the chancellor.

  ‘Indeed. I have never seen one. It is rumoured that there are only four in existence, that only five can exist.’

  ‘And these would have a high value?’

  ‘Beyond price,’ said the chief magian.

  ‘How far beyond price?’

  ‘A single ebony pearl would be worth as much as this palace and everything in it.’

  A stir ran through the audience.

  ‘This palace, which House Ricinus bought for cash a hundred years ago,’ said the chancellor. ‘Tell us more.’

  ‘With two such pearls, even a minor magian’s powers would exceed my own. With four, all the magians of Hightspall together. If one man should also get the fifth, the master pearl — ’

  ‘If you’ve never seen one, how do you know about them?’

  ‘From a parchment written by an obscure magian half a century ago.’

  ‘And they’re only known from this source?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where do they come from?’

  ‘It’s said they’re cultured within the heads of Pale girls and grown there over many years, before harvesting after the girl comes of age.’

  Rix’s mouth went dry. This was a deadly moment. If the chancellor saw a connection between the one and the master pearl, he would not scruple to cut it out of Tali.

  The chancellor’s disgust was unfeigned. ‘Cultured? In the heads of living girls?’

  ‘Just so.’

  ‘To harvest a pearl, would it be necessary to kill the girl?’

  ‘Ebony pearls must be extracted while the host is alive, then stored in her warm, uncongealed blood for several days. After her head has been cut open and the pearl gouged out, and enough blood taken, how could she survive?’