Faces of Deception

by Troy Denning

  The guards answered in the same language, pointing across the courtyard to the gates where the hired elephant that had carried Atreus inland stood waiting with its driver. As Squall Duchess’s captain had promised, the mere fact that Atreus had an ogre bodyguard and traveled in such luxury marked him as a man of consequence.

  “I have a letter of introduction from my own liege, King Korox of Erlkazar,” Atreus said. From inside his cloak he withdrew a folded parchment that Heartwarder Julienne had procured from the king’s sister, Princess Dijara. Atreus bowed, displaying the unbroken wax on its royal seal. “I am Atreus Eleint of Rivenshield, in Barony Ahlarkhem of Erlkazar.”

  Though the Mar showed no sign of understanding Atreus, he accepted the letter and examined the seal, narrowing his eyes at the royal crown pressed into the golden wax. He glanced at the golden brocades in Atreus’s cape, then bowed.

  “I am Jyotish, chamberlain to Queen Rosalind,” said the Mar, now speaking an archaic form of Realmspeak known as Thorass. The language was so outdated and heavily accented that Atreus had to guess some words from the context of others. “I will arrange an audience with Her Radiance.”

  Jyotish returned the letter and stepped aside, waving Atreus toward a huge pair of mahogany doors. As they started up the stairs, the sentries quickly crossed their glaives in front of Yago. The ogre scowled, then jerked the weapons from the guards’ hands and tossed them into the courtyard. The guards cried out and reached for the swords, and Jyotish whirled on Atreus.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I go where Atreus goes,” Yago said, paying no attention to the sword tips now pointed in his direction. “I’m his bodyguard.”

  “Bodyguards are not permitted in the Grand Audience Chamber.” Jyotish spoke directly to Atreus, as though demanding that he bring his pet under control. “No man may take his own guards into the queen’s presence.”

  Atreus nodded. “Of course. I should have thought of that myself.” He turned to Yago and said, “Why don’t you wait here?”

  A growl of displeasure rumbled deep in Yago’s throat, but he was too good a soldier to argue the matter in front of others. He stepped back into the courtyard. “Give a yell if you need me.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” said Atreus. “There’s no reason to expect trouble.”

  “That’s when it’s most dangerous.” Yago snarled down at Jyotish, displaying his orange fangs, then spread his feet and folded his arms. “I’ll be listening.”

  Jyotish scowled at the ogre’s not-so-subtle warning, then turned to lead the way into the palace. As he opened the mahogany doors he quietly asked, “Is your bodyguard always so unruly?”

  “Unruly?” Atreus raised his brow, genuinely surprised. “That’s not unruly. Not for an ogre.”

  He stepped through the doorway into a dark, many-pillared room full of droning voices and sweet-smelling smoke. The lower walls were decorated with floral patterns of gold filigree on deep red lacquer. The upper parts were covered with brilliant frescoes depicting charging war elephants and strange, golemlike warriors. Tiny, shaven-headed Mar priests sat in apses along the walls, rocking back and forth and chanting in gravelly voices while toothless old women squatted on the floor chattering incessantly and spinning yarn with their fingers. Children ran about laughing and chasing each other, paying so little attention to where they were going that one of them crashed into Atreus at a dead sprint.

  The little girl landed at Atreus’s feet still yelling and giggling, then suddenly fell silent when she noticed how one set of the stranger’s toes turned inward. As her eyes ran up his bowed legs to his thick midsection, she scowled and began to scoot backward across the floor. Her gaze continued to rise toward his gruesome visage, and Atreus knew what was about to happen. He could only stand and watch as the girl’s mouth fell open.

  “Ysdar!” she bawled, pointing at him. “Ysdaaaaar!”

  The room fell instantly silent and all eyes turned in Atreus’s direction. Knowing he would only make the situation worse by reaching out to comfort the child, Atreus spread his hands at his side and tried a smile.

  The girl’s wail became a shriek. She leaped to her feet and disappeared screaming into the chamber’s dark recesses. Jyotish stared at Atreus in horror, then stepped aside and began to click and prattle in the strange language of his people. The other Mar backed away, clapping their hands and jabbering admonitions Atreus did not understand, save for the occasional reference to “Ysdar.” He could only shake his head and smile.

  After a moment, a handsome young Mar with satyrlike ears and a cultured bearing stepped out of the crowd. Attired in cotton trousers and a silk tunic, he was dressed more in the manner of Faerûn than that of the Utter East. He started chattering at his fellows and waving them back.

  When the tumult finally began to subside, he turned to Atreus and said, “Honored Guest, it is better if you keep your teeth hidden.” This Mar’s Realmspeak was modern, tinged with a Sembian accent, and—unlike Jyotish’s—easy to understand. “The Mar are a backward and superstitious people who already think you one of Ysdar’s fiends. There is no need to encourage them in this silliness.”

  “Encourage them?”

  “By implying you want to eat them.” The Mar flashed a pearly grin and tapped his bright teeth. “This means you are hungry.”

  Atreus brought his lips together. “Please apologize for me. Tell them I am an ignorant foreigner who is not hungry at all.”

  The Mar spoke first to Jyotish, then to his jabbering fellows. Jyotish nodded, and the crowd stopped hissing and clapping, though they continued to warily eye the stranger’s hideous face.

  Atreus’s savior bowed to him. “Honored sir, allow me to introduce myself. I am Rishi Saubhari, a bahrana only recently come to Edenvale myself.”

  A bahrana was a member of the Mar upper class. Atreus did not yet grasp the subtle differences of appearance between bahranas and the lower class taroks, but after coming ashore in the Utter East, he had quickly learned what a grave insult it was to ask a bahrana to do a tarok’s work.

  “In his wisdom, the esteemed Jyotish senses that you have need of a companion familiar with our customs,” said Rishi. “He asks that I serve you in this capacity, if you will have me.”

  “What a relief that would be,” Atreus said, then gestured at his face. “As you can see, it’s hard enough for me to make a good impression.”

  Rishi’s expression remained unreadable. “I do not see why that should be.” He drew closer and spoke in a quieter tone. “But we do have need to discuss compensation.”

  “Have no fear,” Atreus replied, jangling his heavy purse. “You’ll be well paid.”

  Rishi’s eyes lit up. “A blessing on you, sir!” He took Atreus’s arm and started forward as he spoke. “Shall we attend to the queen?”

  The sea of Mar divided before the procession, shaking tassels at the ugly foreigner and softly murmuring about Ysdar.

  Atreus leaned down to speak quietly to Rishi. “What is this ‘Ysdar’?”

  “Pay no attention to those heathens!” Rishi lowered his voice and spoke in a confidential tone. “The Mar of Edenvale are superstitious fools who would not know a devil of Ysdar if they saw one.”

  “All the same, I would like to know why they fear me,” insisted Atreus.

  “Very well.” Rishi cast a meaningful glance at Atreus’s purse. “But you must remember I am only doing as you command.”

  “Your truthfulness will be rewarded.”

  “Then as you wish,” said Rishi. “According to legend, Ysdar is a devil from another world, an ancient evil unleashed many ages ago when the Lords of the Five Kingdoms weakened his prison.”

  Rishi was speaking of the Bloodforge Wars, of course. No traveler to the Utter East could escape hearing about the ancient carnage, for the wars were more a part of the region’s history than the Ten Days of Eleint were part of Tethyr’s. Shortly after conquering the Utter East, the Lords of the Five Kingdoms
discovered the bloodforges, ancient war machines capable of manufacturing whole armies of magic golems. Unrestrained by the expense of raising and maintaining armies, the lords went mad with battle-lust, nearly destroying their lands and their peoples. To make matters worse, the lords did not realize that a horde of antediluvian horrors had lain trapped beneath the land so long they had vanished from memory. Every use of the bloodforges weakened the mystical bonds of their prison, and the creatures soon began to overrun the Five Kingdoms. Eventually, the lords realized their folly and struck a bargain not to use the terrible war machines, but the damage had already been done. According to rumor, the land had been filled with slime-smeared monsters and slithering horrors ever since.

  “Ysdar is one of the Forgotten Ones?”

  Rishi nodded. “The King of the Forgotten Ones, if the myths are to be believed.” He glanced away, then added more quietly, “It is said his face is so ugly that anyone who looks upon it goes mad … though this is in no way a reflection on your honored person.”

  “Of course it is,” Atreus replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Edenvale is no different than my own home. When people see ugly, they think evil.”

  The golden faces and black hair of the Mar began to give way to the creamier visages of the Ffolk, who stood conversing quietly in small groups of three and four. In many ways, the Ffolk still resembled their conquering ancestors. They were larger than the Mar and lighter of complexion, with pale eyes and square, western jaws. Though they had long ago exchanged the heavy furs and dreary wool of the Moonshae Isles for the bright cotton and colorful silks more suited to the Utter East’s sweltering climate, they still preferred tight trousers and snug tunics to the billowing fashions of the Mar.

  At the far end of the chamber stood a large enclosure surrounded by red velvet drapes, through which the Royal Warden was ushering a sporadic stream of haughty-looking supplicants, Ffolk and Mar alike. More often than not, the petitioners looked content as they departed, a sign that the queen considered herself duty bound to serve her people as much as they served her. Atreus hoped her sense of fairness would extend to foreigners.

  As they approached, the warden raised a hand and spoke quietly to Rishi and Jyotish in Thorass, all the while frowning and stealing glances at Atreus. Jyotish said something about a hired elephant and a royal letter, while Rishi spoke in rapid Maran and plucked at his own tunic.

  Finally, the stony-eyed warden gave a reluctant nod, and Rishi removed his silk shirt and held it up before Atreus. Though such behavior would have scandalized any royal court in the west, no one in the Paradise Mahal paid the Mar’s shirtless chest the slightest attention.

  “If you would be so kind as to bow down,” said Rishi. “No disrespect is meant, but Queen Rosalind is not well, and the Royal Warden fears your singular appearance might prove too much of a shock.”

  Atreus hesitated. “I understand, but covering my face is a sacrilege to my goddess.”

  “Which goddess?” Jyotish demanded, scowling.

  Atreus steeled himself to answer. “Sune Firehair.”

  “The western Goddess of Beauty?” asked Jyotish.

  When Atreus nodded, the chamberlain exchanged glances with the Royal Warden. They broke into fits of snickering, and even Rishi had to bite his cheeks and turn away.

  Atreus felt the angry heat rising to his cheeks. “One need not be beautiful to worship beauty.”

  “That is so,” said the Royal Warden, for the first time speaking directly to Atreus. “It is also so that Queen Rosalind is not well. She cannot be shocked.”

  Rishi opened his shirt again and held it up before Atreus. “This is the only way to see Queen Rosalind. If it is important, Sune will understand.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Atreus said. He would be the first to admit that the goddess had been thinking of someone else when she admonished her worshipers to display their faces. “I would not want to cause Queen Rosalind any discomfort”

  Atreus allowed Rishi to drape the shirt over his head, then arranged the neck hole so that he could see his feet and spare himself the embarrassment of stumbling. The cloth smelled of curry and cinnamon, which Mar bodies seemed to exude the way westerners did sweat.

  The Royal Warden pulled a curtain aside, and Jyotish led the way through the gap into the velvety enclosure. A soft droning drifted down from above. Rishi guided Atreus up the stairs of a huge dais, grasping his hand and locking fingers in a manner that would have seemed far too intimate in Erlkazar. A cool breeze wafted down from a window somewhere above, and a bright rectangle of light began to blush through Atreus’s makeshift hood. When they reached the top of the dais they stopped and took their place at the end of a short line of supplicants. Through the neck hole of Rishi’s shirt, Atreus saw half a dozen of the petitioners turn to gape at his makeshift hood and whisper hushed speculations about its purpose.

  It took only a few moments before a woman said, “What is all this?” Though her voice was reedy and frail, the murmuring supplicants fell instantly silent. “Why is that man wearing a hood?”

  Jyotish bowed contritely and started to apologize for the disruption, but he was quickly interrupted by Rishi.

  “Honored Queen of Brilliance, the man you inquire after has journeyed from the other side of the world to bask in your radiance.” Rishi pulled Atreus toward the head of the line. “He is a most unusual fellow, unfamiliar with our customs and therefore in need of my humble assistance.”

  Through his narrow view hole, Atreus saw that they were approaching a huge bed with mahogany corner posts and a silken canopy. Spread across the mattress was an embroidered spread depicting six golden cranes wading through a reed pool. In the bed lay a small woman with honey-colored hair, ice-blue eyes, and a gaunt face as jaundiced as that of any goblin. The hands folded across her lap were almost skeletal, and her heavy crown, studded with rubies and diamonds, rested on a satin pillow at her side.

  The queen regarded Rishi coldly. “And you are?”

  “Rishi Saubhari, Radiance, a bahrana ginger-prince from the Free Cities.” Rishi stopped two paces from the bed, where a handsome Ffolk man in a plain golden crown stood flanked by six guards. “It was not so very long ago that I myself was presented to Your Brilliance and the Royal Husband.”

  Still clasping Atreus’s hand, he bowed first to the bedridden queen, then to the man with the golden crown. Atreus was about to do likewise when Jyotish scurried up and hurled himself to the floor.

  “This is not my doing!” The chamberlain spoke so rapidly that Atreus could barely decipher his thick accent. “I could not stop them!”

  Rishi turned toward Jyotish. “We were meant to wait?” He allowed his jaw to drop in a purely artificial expression of surprise. “The queen did not summon us forward? Apologies! Apologies many and profuse! Then I was much mistaken in the impression that she wished to meet this man—this man who has journeyed many months across land and sea all the way from the parched wastes of the far side of the world, and only so he might bask in the divine radiance of Edenvale’s queen.”

  Rishi tugged sharply on Atreus’s hand.

  Taking the hint, Atreus bowed first to the queen, then to her husband. “Please excuse the interruption,” he said, feeling rather clownish with Rishi’s shirt draped over his head. “It was not my intention to disturb your court.”

  Rishi finally released Atreus’s hand. “Allow me to present Atreus Eleint, a noble prince of Erlkazar—”

  “Loyal citizen!” Atreus corrected, horrified. In Erlkazar, such a gross misrepresentation could cost a man his tongue. “I am not even a lord.”

  Rishi continued without missing a beat. “Our honored traveler is a man of no small consequence, bearing a royal letter of introduction from the King of Erlkazar himself.”

  Queen Rosalind shifted her gaze to Atreus, then spoke to him in Realmspeak as modern as Rishi’s. “Is this true?”

  “I have it here, Your Majesty.” Moving slowly so as not to alarm
the queen’s bodyguards, Atreus reached into his cape and withdrew the parchment. “It is from His Royal Highness, King Korox of Erlkazar.”

  Atreus held out the letter, expecting someone to take it from him and break the seal for Queen Rosalind, as was the custom in western lands. The action drew an astonished groan from Jyotish and stony silence from the queen’s retinue. Atreus tipped his head back and saw that he was pushing the letter toward the Royal Husband.

  “What are you doing?” Rishi hissed. “You must present the letter to Her Radiance, not her husband!”

  “I beg your pardon.” Atreus stepped to the edge of the queen’s bed and offered the parchment to her. “In my own land, one does not approach the king—er, monarch—directly.”

  Rosalind’s voice grew as icy as it was frail. “Yes, I am aware that customs differ in the west.”

  With great effort, she lifted her hand to accept the letter. Atreus placed the parchment in her shaking palm. She passed it to the Royal Husband, then let her arm fall to the bed before dragging her hand back to her lap. Atreus suddenly felt thankful to the warden for insisting that he cover his hideous face. The last thing he wanted was to scare the poor woman to death.

  The Royal Husband broke King Korox’s seal, then turned to Rosalind and read in a deep voice free of accent.

  “Greetings and Good Tidings to Her Royal Majesty Rosalind, Most Radiant Queen of the Great Land of Edenvale.

  “We hope that this missive finds you as well as we are in Erlkazar. Be it known that the explorer bearing this letter, Atreus Eleint, is a man of no small ability and a particular friend of ours. We ask that you grant him every courtesy due a man of high station and help him along his way. We eagerly await our chance to repay you in good kind.

  “With high regards, His Royal Majesty Korox.”

  No sooner had the Royal Husband finished reading than Rosalind looked to Atreus. “Well, explorer, how can we help you and make your king happy with us?”

  Atreus could not help smiling behind his makeshift hood, for it had not occurred to him that he was an explorer until he heard Korox’s letter. “I am planning a journey into the Yehimal Mountains. Any assistance you can provide by way of a guide and porters would be greatly appreciated. I will, of course, pay all the necessary expenses.”