Mother of Daemons

by David Hair

  He pulled her hands from him and sat her down, then left her there and found Oryn Levis, waiting outside with Rolven Sulpeter. ‘It’s an old ploy, the impersonator,’ Solon reminded them. ‘Lyra’s just a woman surrounded by cowards. We shouldn’t judge her by our standards. But let’s be discreet: we’ve got an army out there who think we’re holding the real queen. Let them carry on thinking that.’

  ‘When do we move on Pallas?’ Lord Sulpeter asked. ‘My legions are still a few days to the south.’

  How long will I need to find her? If Setallius had Lyra hidden, it could take weeks – time he didn’t have. That decided him. ‘We’ll move tomorrow, take control of the Bastion, purge her people and restore the empire.’

  And after being paraded from a few balconies, ‘Queen’ Brunelda can be tucked away while I decide what to do with her. Maybe I’ll even declare the ‘real’ Lyra an imposter and watch the empire reform around me.

  ‘Find Basia de Sirou,’ he snapped. ‘She’ll know where the real Lyra is.’

  Pallas

  Five days earlier

  Lyra turned and left the Royal Council room, swallowing a lump in her throat. Dirklan took her arm as Basia closed the doors and followed. ‘Did I sound too final?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘I don’t think they guessed,’ he replied. ‘Come, we have a lot to do. I’ll meet you at second bell after sunset, all right? That’s just under two hours.’

  He hurried away, leaving Lyra and Basia by the stairs to her suite. The bodyguard was quiet and withdrawn, clearly unhappy, but knowing her arguments would fall on deaf ears. They ate in silence, serving themselves while Nita was off having her hair cut and dyed.

  ‘Well,’ Lyra said to Basia, ‘let’s get started.’

  Basia helped her dress in close-fitting breeches, a padded leather jerkin and leather boots. Her sword-belt had two dagger-sized scabbards, one bearing Papercut, her precious argenstael stiletto. ‘All hail the deadly Letter-Opener,’ Basia intoned solemnly as she buckled it closed.

  Lyra felt very strange, weighed down by the weight of the jerkin, which had chainmail sandwiched between the leather layers. She added a wool-lined steel cap and a thick scarf, a heavy fur-lined cloak and the odd-looking glass discs set in moulded leather Basia handed her.

  ‘They’re eye-glasses, to protect your vision while flying,’ she said. ‘The Noories came up with them – we’ve been wiping our eyes or using weird gnostic spells for centuries while they show up and solve the problem right away, the bastards.’

  ‘A lesson for us all,’ Lyra noted, looking in the mirror at the stranger staring back: a blonde adventuress with the weird eye-glasses pushed up over her forehead.

  A knock on the door announced Brigeda, leading a white-faced, amazed Nita – only this Nita now wore Lyra’s favourite Corani green gown and had the royal circlet set on her newly blonde locks. She had clearly been weeping, although whether for joy or sorrow wasn’t clear.

  Lyra clapped her hands in applause, then took the girl’s hands. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ she said warmly. ‘Basia will protect you, and so will Exilium and all his men. You’ll be safe as can be.’

  Which may not be very safe at all, she thought guiltily; this part of the plan gave her the most misgivings. I will never forgive myself if she’s hurt or killed.

  Nita stammered, ‘I st-still d-don’t un-understand . . .’

  ‘I have to go away,’ Lyra told her, ‘to stop a very bad man.’ That was the most they could tell her, for if she was taken, they knew she would quickly confess anything she knew. She hugged the girl and promised, ‘You’ll manage. No one will suspect.’

  ‘But Lord Solon—’

  ‘Will perish outside our walls, as will Duke Garod. Have faith, dear Nita.’

  The girl nodded meekly. She had agreed with her usual undemonstrative courage.

  Basia was no happier at being left behind. Lyra’s absence is easy to conceal, Dirklan had argued, but you’re distinctive. Where you are, people assume Lyra is – so you’re staying. He was right, and in any case, he was her boss, but she was still resentful.

  ‘Don’ ye worry, Majesty,’ Brigeda told Lyra now. ‘I’ll look after these girls an’ see ’em right.’ Along with Basia, she and Patcheart, the three of them the spymaster’s ablest lieutenants, knew the truth.

  Nita fetched Rildan and Lyra spent her remaining time cradling her son, smothering him in kisses and weeping until his nightdress was soaked. Finally, and yet far too soon, the second night bell rang. It was dark outside and she could hear the wind moaning.

  Patcheart knocked on her balcony door. ‘It’s time,’ he called softly.

  Lyra took Rildan to the nursery and hugged him one last time, upsetting him because he didn’t understand why she was crying, so her last sight of him was bawling in Nita’s arms.

  At the top of the stairs, she turned to Brigeda. ‘I hope that this will be resolved swiftly,’ she said. ‘I don’t want Nita in peril for a second longer than necessary.’

  ‘You won’t want to miss us lopping off Takky’s big ’ead,’ Brigeda chuckled darkly, before blurting, ‘You look after ol’ One-Eye, yer Majesty, okay? He’s a good boss.’

  The idea of her looking after her father was comical, but Lyra promised, ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ Brigeda said seriously. ‘Five years gone, I wouldna hae given a copper for you lasting six weeks, but ’ere we are, right enough. You probably don’ give a shit what some ol’ saffy thinks, but I reckon ye’re awright.’

  Lyra blushed, and patting Brigeda’s heavy right arm, said, ‘Thank you . . . Briggy.’

  ‘Majesty,’ she said, tugging a forelock. ‘Hate these emotional partings,’ she added drily. ‘Get off wi’ ye, now.’

  Lyra followed Patcheart down the stairs into her garden, her eyes streaming.

  She paused to drink at her pool and beg Aradea for her aid, then made her way to the lawn at the far end where two winged beasts paced, ready for travel. The wyvern, almost identical to Basia’s, was hissing at the small team of Volsai strapping packs to its saddle harness, but Pearl had been waiting quietly, until she caught sight of Lyra, when she whinnied impatiently.

  ‘Hello, Pooty-Girl – all set?’ she murmured as she checked the saddlebags; everything looked to be in place, as far as she could tell. She could still feel the tears on her face, but she was catching Pearl’s mood and was suddenly eager to begin.

  Dirklan strode into the clearing, his eye gleaming with some kind of protective spell; he disdained the Easterners’ eye-glasses. ‘The others are in the air,’ he said tersely. ‘Sooner begun, the sooner done.’ But he paused to touch Lyra’s arm. ‘Are you all right, Daughter?’

  She nodded mutely, wiping her eyes.

  ‘I’m proud of you,’ he told her. ‘It takes courage to step away.’

  ‘To be honest, it’s a relief. Frankel was right: ruling is best left to the willing.’

  ‘I disagree: often, the best rulers are those who take power reluctantly. You’ve served your people well, no matter what others might say. But if you’re the only one who can stop Naxius, then we have to go and do it.’

  ‘I still can’t quite believe that you’re letting me,’ she confessed.

  Her father smiled crookedly. ‘I do think saving the entire world is a little more important than just saving Pallas.’ He tapped her arm. ‘Mind you, if this Valdyr is wrong about all this, I’ll string him up by the scrotum.’

  Lyra blanched. ‘He’s not wrong, Father.’

  ‘He’d better not be.’ He reached out and tucked a stray lock into her cap. ‘To be honest, I’m not sorry we’ll miss the fighting here. These mass battles aren’t my style: I’m far happier sneaking around than facing an armoured mage-knight full-on. I’m far too old for all that carry-on.’

  He turned to his wyvern. ‘This is Domitia,’ he said. ‘She’s from the same brood as Basia’s Vasingex: faster than a venator, with fiery breath and a temper to match.’
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  The wyvern hissed at him, but held still as he climbed into the saddle. Lyra turned to Pearl and mounted, then lowered her eye-glasses.

  A moment before Domitia’s wings thrashed and she leaped into the air, Lyra waved to Patcheart, then touched Pearl’s flanks and the pegasus-construct eased from a trot to a canter and then leaped up, her wings spreading to catch the wind. Beating hard, they skimmed over the walls and swept upwards.

  Lyra turned her head and caught a glimpse of Nita, with Rildan in her arms, standing with Basia on her balcony. Coramore was with them, risen from her sickbed to wave goodbye. Lyra lifted her arm, wishing them every good fortune, then she faced forward and concentrated on the mission as her eyes began to sting again.

  We’re off, she thought. Farewell, Queen and Empress. I never wanted to be you anyway. She’d loved the Fey Tales growing up. The faery Stardancer had been her idol: with her mortal lover Rynholt she slew the Widowmaker and saved the kingdom. That old dream made this moment feel a little surreal, as if she’d stepped out of Urte and straight into Aradea’s realm.

  Perhaps I have. But I’ll come back, she silently promised Rildan. I swear I will.

  Pearl followed Domitia to where five more beasts, all durable venators, circled. Two had riders, Rhune and Sarunia, Ventian scouts in Dirklan’s service; the other three were laden with baggage. The Ventians were brother and sister – or maybe husband and wife; Lyra wasn’t entirely clear on that – and they’d protected her before.

  Lyra took one last look at Pallas glimmering below her, dark except for the lights around the plazas and churches and taverns, and prayed silently, Dear Kore, protect Basia and Exilium, and especially Nita.

  Then Dirklan shouted and pointed south and they all banked, then went streaking across the sky together and suddenly exhilaration replaced fear. Finally, after so much chasing of shadows and reacting to unseen dangers, they knew their real enemy – his name, his purpose, and where to start looking for him.

  It’s started, she thought. The Quest of the Stardancer has finally begun.

  25

  Stronger Together

  On Brotherhood

  I speak now of Brotherhood – but do not limit what I say to just the male gender. By Brotherhood, I mean that all people are one, united by a bond that transcends kinship, nation, religion or even friendship – though it can encompass any or all of these things. It’s the banding together of the like-minded in common cause, for mutual protection and achievement. We possess few finer instincts.

  ANTONIN MEIROS, HEBUSALIM 696

  East Midrea

  Martrois 936

  Valdyr Sarkany groaned as Ogre began ascending yet another tortuous goat-trail. It had been a long day in the saddle and Ogre’s gait was more akin to Gricoama’s lope, nowhere near as comfortable as a horse. By now his body was begging for respite. How Ogre felt, he had no idea, for in beast form he couldn’t speak.

  Ahead of them, the wolf sniffed about, alert as any scout. Since their journey through the Elétfa, Gricoama’s awareness of his surroundings had become positively preternatural – no one was going to be taking them by surprise.

  Between us, perhaps we’ll manage to evade both armies’ patrols in Augenheim Pass, he hoped, perhaps a little optimistically.

  They’d abandoned the heavily settled lowlands soon after leaving Mollachia; there were too many patrols from both the Imperial Army south of them and the Earl of Midrea’s men, who were also in the field.

  Midrea lacked the stark beauty of Mollachia: the hills were lower, the thawing ground muddy, the thick forests full of short deciduous trees with none of the towering majesty of his own lands. The ruined farmsteads everywhere suggested men had tried – and failed – to cultivate the land. But it was warmer than his mountainous homeland and spring was already evident in the green buds and the bleating of new-born animals. They’d raided one lonely farm and stolen two lambs last night; he’d felt a guilty about that, but only a little. Midreans have plenty, he’d reasoned. They won’t miss them.

  Ogre made a grunting sound as he topped the difficult climb; he was holding up to the arduous task he’d set himself, but that morning, they’d agreed they would all walk the following day. They were five days out of Hegikaro.

  Valdyr hadn’t heard anything from Nara, although he’d largely stayed out of the dwyma himself, for he’d had an uneasy feeling that someone was hunting him in the aether.

  Nara’s decision to stay in the north hurt, but he couldn’t blame her. We’ll do this ourselves, Ogre and I – and perhaps Waqar and Tarita will join us? We’ll have to be enough.

  When they descended from the small ridge they found a dell with a tiny stream, a bank to shelter under and a poorly covered fire-pit. Someone had camped here, but some days ago, by his reckoning. Valdyr threw his leg over Ogre’s back and slid to the ground, wincing as his numbed legs took his weight.

  ‘That’s enough,’ he groaned. ‘We’ll rest here tonight.’

  Ogre sloughed his beast form in an impressively fluid release of gnostic energy, straightening painfully as the saddle and baggage dropped past his waist and clattered to the ground around him. He immediately cast about for his clothing; Valdyr had discovered that Ogre was sensitive about his man-made body, though he couldn’t quite stop himself gawking the first time. Constructs were rare curiosities, especially humanoid ones. Ogre was eight feet tall when he stood straight and his hefty frame had been getting increasingly leaner as the journey burned any fat away, revealing formidable muscles. His manhood was concealed by thick black hair, but his scrotum was the size of a man’s fist. Altogether, he made Valdyr – six foot and well-built – feel puny. Ogre was an alarming sight, despite his gentle and surprisingly erudite nature.

  Realising he’d been staring, Valdyr belatedly averted his eyes and instead studied the campsite. ‘A mounted patrol was here four days ago, by the state of the dung. These tracks are old and the fire-pit’s cold. I think we can risk one night.’ He paused as Gricoama appeared, his tail was wagging. ‘Gricoama thinks we’re alone too,’ he added.

  Ogre had just finished dressing when something shrieked overhead. They all looked skywards to see a large winged shape circling far above – then it peeled off and they realised it was speeding down towards them.

  ‘Rukka,’ Valdyr cursed, ‘under the trees – quickly.’

  He raced to the dropped baggage and grabbed what he could, Ogre hot on his heels collecting the rest. They scrambled into the undergrowth, Gricoama behind them, backing up and growling like the rearguard of an army at bay.

  ‘Shhh,’ he hissed at the wolf. ‘Quickly, come.’

  They’d barely made the cover of the trees when they heard wings thumping and a dark shadow fell over the dell. They pressed themselves flat to the ground, but Valdyr could clearly see their hasty passage, the torn aside vines and disturbed vegetation. Anyone with eyes would see the signs too . . .

  If we need to run, we’ll have to ditch our gear. He tentatively reached for the dwyma, wandering if he could unleash anything in time. There was nothing in the serene grey clouds above to work with, but perhaps this forest contained something?

  But it was too late: his throat tightened as a winged beast touched down, some kind of reptilian bird with large hind legs and a whip-like tail with a wicked spur at the point, wings formed of spines and membrane and a large, long-nosed head with ridges and tiny horns. A sinister grey-robed figure slipped from his mount’s saddle, kindling pale-blue gnostic shields as he did so.

  Then another, utterly different shape swept down: a gleaming white horse with pearlescent wings, ridden by a young man. It reared as it landed, looking more like someone’s coat of arms than anything. Valdyr watched as he fumbled with some straps, then dismounted, groaning as his legs took his weight, clutching at the saddle to steady himself. He was clothed in bulky furs and his eyes were concealed behind strange glass discs.

  Then he lifted the discs from his eyes and Valdyr saw the shape of the face and h
is heart lurched.

  Although she surely couldn’t see him in the near dark, she turned unerringly to him, calling, ‘Valdyr? It’s me – Nara.’

  A pulse of emotive energy welled up inside him, a sudden lifting of anxiety that made his heart hammer. ‘Nara?’ he gasped. Ogre grunted in surprise, but Gricoama was wagging his tail as Valdyr rose from concealment and strode towards her, his arms opening to embrace her before he could even consider whether that was too forward.

  She came to meet him, a broad smile opening her face up, and he swept her into a thankful bear-hug, lifted her off his feet and held her, his face buried in her hair as he inhaled her, finding that she felt and smelled and sounded exactly as she had when they’d met in the dwyma. That told him that this was real, that she was real, and her grip around his chest was just as tight.

  It felt magical.

  ‘Nara, Nara,’ he couldn’t stop saying, as if she were the answer to everything. Maybe she is. He remembered the way it had felt when they’d called down storms together, how powerful they were in unison. She had been the first woman since the breeding-houses who didn’t scare him, or dredge up horrible memories.

  It occurred to him that he was perhaps a little in love.

  But she’s a noble of Pallas . . . don’t be foolish, he chided himself, finally remembering his dignity enough to lower her back to the ground. He looked down at her face, upturned and flushed and looking as joyful as he felt. He wished he had the courage to kiss her . . .

  . . . and then he found that he did. His mouth closed on hers before he had the chance to think about it – and although she stiffened for a moment, she melted into him, the taste just as his senses recalled from their one stolen kiss inside the dwyma.

  He waited for the old familiar guilt and panic to rise – but Asiv was dead and, like grave-goods, all his old weakness and self-loathing had been buried with him. He felt nothing but exhilaration and possibilities—