by John Marco
When they reached the hill, she noticed the pine trees lining the roadway, great guardians that loomed over them and cast crooked shadows in the feeble light. Beneath them the gray gravel of the path crunched under the steady pressure of horses' hooves, and the rain was cold and steady. Lorla glimpsed the castle gates through the mist. They were high up on the hill now, with the fitful ocean far below. Two sentries stood at the entrance, their bodies encased in ugly black armor, their faces hidden behind reptilian helmets. In their fists were bladed halberds. Lorla looked up at the towering castle. There was a distinct list to the structure, as if it were waiting to topple. Gargoyles perched on the high ledges, spouting rain water, and a bloom of rubbery lichens grew from the mortar, turning the red brick yellow. The riveted wooden gates were closed up tight. Both guardians fixed their stern gazes at the riders. Daevn rode forward, his hand raised in friendship.
"We are from Goth," he called to the men. "I am Daevn of the Walled City, here to see your duke."
The sentries nodded. "Dismount," one of them ordered. He stepped forward while his brother opened the gate. Daevn got down from his horse, bidding Lorla to do the same. The guardian took the reins of his mount and stared at Lorla, who wasn't sure yet if she trusted him.
"Come on, Lorla," urged Daevn. "Get down so we can go inside."
Lorla got down from Phantom's back and handed the pony over to the armored man, who looked at her questioningly. She hurried to Daevn's side. The other guardian had opened the gates, letting loose a flood of orange torchlight. It was all the encouragement Lorla needed. She entered and found herself in a huge chamber of gray stone, where armored men strutted with sidearms and laughed amongst themselves. A few women moved through the halls in the distance. When they noticed Lorla they paused to regard her, apparently struck to have a child in their midst.
"Wait here," ordered the guardian. "I will tell Duke Enli you've arrived."
"He's expecting us, I think," said Daevn. He looked around the vast chamber. "We could use a place to sit and rest."
"The duke will be down quickly, I'm sure," said the soldier. "He'll see to your needs himself. Just wait here."
Daevn and Lorla watched the soldier go, stung by his gruffness but grateful to be out of the rain. Lorla gravitated toward one of the giant torches on the wall, reaching high to warm her hands. She pulled off her drenched mittens and massaged her fingers. Her joints were stiff, her fingertips blue. She felt cold water drip from her hair and trickle down her neck, and hoped that the duke could get her fresh clothes. She slid her soiled cloak off her small shoulders and felt its surprising, water-logged weight. Daevn was nearby, talking to the soldiers. They were peculiar-looking men, she decided, but she liked their fancy helmets. Forged into the likenesses of dragon heads, each bore engravings like scales and two obsidian gems for eyes. Their armor was spiked and black, like the legionnaires of Nar, but bulkier and more noisy. Lorla watched them clank around, fascinated by the sound.
"Lorla?"
Lorla jumped when she heard her name. Coming down the hallway was a tall, thin man with dirty hair and a wide smile. He wasn't dressed like a soldier but instead wore a warm cape of wolf's fur around his shoulders. He headed toward her, one hand outstretched. Daevn stepped between them.
"Are you the duke?" he asked rudely.
The man grinned at Daevn but did not answer. He craned to look over Daevn's shoulder at Lorla. "Lorla, yes?" he asked. "How are you, child?"
"Fine, sir," said Lorla. She looked him up and down. He had a nice face. Daevn cleared his throat noisily. The man regarded him.
"Yes, the bodyguard. Welcome, both of you."
"The name's Daevn," said Daevn coldly. "From Goth. Are you Duke Enli?"
"No, I'm not," said the man. "My name is Faren. I'm one of the duke's servants. I've come to collect you both. The duke is very pleased you're here. He would like to see you both at once."
"Can we have something to drink?" asked Lorla anxiously. "Some hot tea?"
"What are all the soldiers for?" asked Daevn. "Is there some trouble?"
Faren walked past Daevn, ignoring him. He bent down to one knee to be at Lorla's level. "Tea we have aplenty, dear Lorla. And fresh milk, too. I can have the maids bring you some if you want."
Lorla tried not to cringe. Milk was for babies. "Just the tea, please," she said. "If you don't mind."
"Whatever you want," said Faren. His smile was impossibly broad. "Come. Let's get you out of those wet things and into something warm." He put out his hand for Lorla. When she didn't take it, his smile dimmed.
"Where is the duke?" asked Daevn.
"I will take you to him. This way, please."
Lorla shot Daevn a questioning glance, but the big man only shrugged. They followed Faren out of the great chamber, past kitchens filled with fine odors. Another grand hall greeted them, this one with many doors of dull oak. One of the doors was open. Through the entrance Lorla saw the dancing shadows of a burning fire. The smell of crackling alder drew her forward. Faren stopped at the threshold, bidding Lorla to enter.
"This is the duke's sitting room. Please go in. The duke will be joining you very soon."
Lorla walked inside, drawn like an insect to the blazing hearth. It was the most comfortable room she'd ever seen, with bookcases full of manuscripts and big, cushy chairs of worn leather. The room smelled of age and expensive tobacco. On one of the small tables a pipe rested, its bowl full of ashes. But the most dominant feature of all was the portrait over the hearth, a huge oil painting of two young men, each the mirror image of the other. They were on horseback, both dressed in resplendent armor, their heads naked and their swords dangling at their sides. It was a magnificent painting.
"Wait here please, Lorla," said Faren. "The duke will be here shortly. Meanwhile I'll have a maid bring you that tea you wanted, and some biscuits, eh?"
"Thank you," said Lorla.
"I'd like some tea too," said Daevn sourly. "If it's not too much trouble."
Faren said, "Actually, Sir Daevn, the duke would like to speak to you alone first. If you would follow me, please?"
"Daevn?" asked Lorla, alarmed.
"It's all right, girl," said Daevn. "Stay here; I'll be back with the duke. Enjoy your tea and biscuits." Daevn looked at Faren. "You got some clothes for the girl? She's soaked to the bone."
"Of course," said Faren. "Lorla, make yourself at home. I'll get you some dry clothes."
Lorla said a soft good-bye, then turned her attention to the marvelous room. There were trinkets on the tables, some old rings with clouded gems, and dozens of dusty books, enough to occupy a hundred years. Lorla loved to read. She had gone through all the books and manuscripts in the labs--at least the ones she had been allowed to read--and she had devoured Lokken's library. She wondered if Duke Enli would let her read his books, or if he'd be stingy and keep them to himself. On one of the large chairs she found a small scarlet blanket. When she touched it the fabric sang of warmth. It was supple, like the leather of the chair, and Lorla put it to her face, burying her nose and sniffing it. The blanket held all the perfumes of the room. Shivering, Lorla stripped off her drenched clothes and dropped them to the floor. Quickly she jumped into the chair, and her small body seemed to vanish in its embrace. The leather cushion creaked as she sank into it. She covered herself with the blanket and surveyed the room from her new vantage. Once again the painting over the hearth seized her attention. Lorla stared at it for a long time. She liked the horses, but she wasn't sure about the men.
Soon a maid arrived and set down a teakettle on the table next to Lorla. Noticing the pile of wet clothes on the floor, the woman assured Lorla she would bring some dry garments. Cheerily she poured Lorla a cup of tea and placed it in her small hands, then waved a plate of sweet-smelling biscuits beneath her nose. Lorla chose the biggest one and put it in her mouth, holding it between her teeth as she warmed her hands on the teacup. The maid left with a smile, leaving Lorla once again to puzzle over the portra
it. She was getting warm quickly, and it felt good. A drowsy mood fell over her, making her eyelids droop. She watched the portrait as her eyes fell closed. . . .
"You like that picture?" boomed a voice.
Lorla snapped awake, so suddenly the cup in her hands jostled tea over the rim. She looked down at the stained blanket sheepishly, then up at the man in the threshold. It wasn't Faren, but a much broader man, big through the shoulders, with jet hair and a shiny black beard. He had a stern face and eyes that smoldered when he stared. Now he stared at Lorla.
"I'm sorry," Lorla offered. She set down the cup and jumped out of the chair, keeping the blanket wrapped about her naked body. Suddenly she was embarrassed. "I ruined the blanket."
"It's just a blanket," said the man. He stepped into the chamber and closed the door behind him. All at once a strange silence enveloped them. Lorla inspected the man.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I am Duke Enli, Master of Red Tower." He tried to smile but managed only a crooked grin. "Your host. For now."
Duke Enli came closer, looking over Lorla. His beard glowed in the hearth's orange light and the many rings on his fingers twinkled. Like Faren, he wore a cape to shield him from the cold, a long garment trimmed in crimson and fastened around his throat with a golden broach--a shiny, fanged dragon's head. The duke had big hands that he spread toward Lorla in welcome.
"Little Lorla," he said. "I'm glad you made it safely. I've been waiting for you. And this weather had me concerned."
Lorla nodded. "It was cold."
"Cold?" laughed the duke. "This is not cold, girl. To me, this is like summer. But yes, you look wretched. Faren has ordered clothes for you, and there's a warm bed waiting."
"Thank you, sir."
The duke looked down at her, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "How old are you?" he asked. "Seven? Eight?"
"Almost sixteen," said Lorla indignantly. The duke's eyes widened.
"Sixteen? God almighty, you don't look a day over eight. I swear, not a day." He dropped down to inspect her more closely, running one of his big fingers over her cheek as if she were a house pet. "Remarkable," he chuckled. "Truly remarkable."
"Duke Enli, where is Daevn?" asked Lorla.
"Ah, well . . ." Enli retracted his finger and attempted another smile. "Daevn is resting now, Lorla. I actually wanted to speak to you alone."
"Alone? But Faren said--"
"I know," interrupted the duke. He gestured toward the chair. "Sit down, Lorla."
Lorla did as the duke asked, keeping a cautious eye on him. He was quiet for a long time, contemplative, and sighed as he took his pipe from the table. He stuck it between his teeth and took a seat in one of the other chairs. As he chewed on his pipe he watched her, fascinated. Lorla could read his incredulity.
Something special, she told herself.
"I don't want you to worry about Daevn," said Enli finally. "He brought you here, and for that I'm grateful. But his business is done; I'll be sending him away."
Lorla grimaced. "Duke Enli, I'm not sure I trust you."
Enli laughed. "Great God, you don't talk like an eight-year-old, do you? You're as suspicious as your master." He took the pipe out of his mouth and pointed it at her. "I see now why Biagio wants you. You're a beauty, aren't you? And smart."
"Thank you," replied Lorla dryly. She wasn't sure it was a compliment.
"What about your eyes? Why aren't they blue?"
"I don't know," said Lorla. "Should they be?"
"How much do you know about yourself, girl? How much have they told you?"
The question vexed Lorla. She didn't really have memories, just fractured bits. Ghosts mostly, and feelings.
"I am sixteen and I look eight," she said. "I get cold even when it's warm. I remember Duke Lokken perfectly. I liked it in Goth. More than that, I can't speak of. The labs were a secret place."
Enli's smile was evil. "Oh, yes. I've heard about Bovadin's war labs. And your parents? What were they like?"
"I don't know. I don't remember. Is this important?"
"No, I don't suppose it is," said Enli. "What is important is what you and I are about to do, little Lorla. What we're going to do will shape the destiny of the Empire forever." He leaned forward in his chair and his voice dipped to a conspiratorial whisper. "How does that make you feel?"
"All right," replied Lorla. She didn't feel anything, and wondered why. She wanted to please the Master. That was all. "I'm here to do the Master's bidding," she said. "I was told you would help me. You will explain it to me, won't you?"
"Oh, yes," said the duke. "Tell me something, Lorla. Have you ever met Biagio?"
"No, sir."
"And yet he is your master? You don't doubt that?"
"No, sir," said Lorla, surprised by the question. "He is the Master."
"Yes," Enli sighed. "Of course." He seemed to withdraw into himself. "You're perfect," he murmured. "Purely perfect . . ."
"Duke Enli, will I be able to read these books? I mean, may I?"
"If you wish," said Enli. "You will be staying here for a little while. You should make yourself at home. I have things to do before I take you to Nar."
"Nar? I'm going to Nar?"
"Not right away. There are things I need to work out first. It will be a few weeks yet. But yes, you will be going to Nar with me."
Lorla leaned back in her chair, astounded at the news. She hadn't seen the Black City in over a year, not since leaving the lab to go live with Lokken. And she had never actually experienced Nar. There had been few windows in the labs. Windows were for the older people, the workers. Lorla's mind raced. What great things did the Master want from her?
"I haven't been to Nar in a long time," she said dreamily. "Not since going to Goth. I will like this."
Duke Enli scowled. "It will be difficult, Lorla. What Biagio wants of you is no trifle. You must be absolutely dedicated. Do you understand that?"
"Of course I do," Lorla shot back. "I know what I am, Duke Enli. I'm something very special."
"You certainly are," said Enli. "I saw you looking at the painting when I came in. Do you know who those two men are?"
"Yes," replied Lorla. She looked again at the portrait, searching for a resemblance. "Which one is you?"
"On the left. Not that it really matters. My brother is still my perfect twin, even today." Enli's lips twisted in disgust as he examined the portrait. "Eneas has a scar on his cheek. Look closely, you'll see it. That's the only difference between us. That and the Renaissance."
"Your brother lives in a castle too; that's what Duke Lokken told me. Is it red, like this one?"
"No," said Enli. "Eneas lives in the Gray Tower, just across the channel. You can see it from some of the other rooms. We rule the forks of Dragon's Beak separately. We always have, really, even when Arkus was alive." The duke looked at Lorla sharply. "You know who Arkus is, don't you?"
It was a silly question. Lorla cleared her throat dramatically. "Arkus of Nar, Arkus the Great. Arkus, founder of the Black Renaissance. The Beast of Goss, the Plague of Criisia. The Conqueror--"
"All right," Enli barked, putting his hands to his ears. "I meant no insult, girl. Just wondering who--or what--I'm dealing with in you. But you must get a lot of that, eh? People underestimating you?"
"I suppose," said Lorla. "I'm not what I seem." She looked again at the painting. "How old are you there, you and your brother?"
"Twenty," said Enli. "I remember because our mother had that picture commissioned for her birthday. She wanted something of us together." The duke sighed. "We didn't hate each other then."
"You hate your brother?" asked Lorla. "Really?"
"Hell, yes," said Enli. "For a girl who knows so much you astound me with ignorance. Everyone in Nar knows about the twin dukes of Dragon's Beak."
Lorla frowned. "I don't."
"Well, I'm not going to explain it to you. It's a private matter, and it has no bearing on your mission with Herrith." Enli stopped hi
mself. "Herrith, the bishop. You know of him, don't you?"
Lorla nodded. "The bishop is why the Master sent me to Goth," she answered. "When Emperor Arkus died, I had to flee the labs. The Master sent me to Duke Lokken for protection. But he flew the flag of old Nar and was killed." Lorla regarded Enli sharply. "He didn't fly the Light of God. Like you do."
"The Light of God is an abomination," said the duke. "And I don't fly it out of loyalty. It is all part of something greater, Lorla."
"What?"
"I will tell you. Soon. And you will have your revenge against the bishop for chasing you from Nar. You more than any of us will have a hand in Herrith's comeuppance. Believe what I tell you and do as I say, and you will make your master very proud. But you have to be patient, all right? I have business with my brother first."
"Your brother?" Lorla asked, puzzled. "But Duke Lokken said you would help me. Your business with your brother; will it interfere with the Master's plans forme?"
"Not even a wee bit," the duke assured her. "For you see, the plans are really one and the same." Enli got out of his chair and went over to Lorla. Kneeling down beside her, he took her hand and looked into her eyes. "Lorla, you have to trust me. What we're going to do together will be the marvel of the Empire. And when your master returns to Nar, we will both be rewarded. The Master might make you a queen! Would you like that, Lorla?"
He was talking to her like a little child, and it irked her. Still, she rolled the idea over in her mind. Being a queen might be wonderful. Maybe it would make her desirable to men, even. And maybe she could have a family of her own.
"A queen," she sighed. "Yes, if the Master lets me, I would like that."
Enli squeezed her hand and smiled. "Then you shall have it, little Lorla. You and I, we shall take back the Empire for Biagio. You and I will resurrect the Black Renaissance, and not even Herrith's foul God will stop us."