Beyond

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Like an ordinary fellow with actual work to do?” he almost spat.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

  He sighed, and mounted the horse again. “I just hope they don’t invite me to stay for too long.”

  “Be boring,” she advised him. “The novelty of laughing at the country bumpkin will soon wear off, as long as you don’t make yourself into entertainment. Blank looks instead of reactions, and asking ‘Pardon, could you explain?’ They’ll soon get weary of making the explanations. And go into the fine details of horse breeding as often as possible.”

  He leaned down from the saddle and kissed her forehead. “My wise counselor,” he said. “Hakkon would advise me to break heads.”

  “I wouldn’t do that . . .” She pursed her lips. “However, if you’re given the opportunity, it wouldn’t come amiss if you could demonstrate, harmlessly, what a good shot you are.”

  That pulled him up short for a moment, but he certainly saw the wisdom of the advice. He was a good shot with the Spitter; he was a good shot with anything, just due to practice, but being known as a good shot with the Spitter might keep him out of duels. “I’ll do that,” he agreed. “And I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.”

  It was at moments like this that he was glad that his relationship with Isla was not a romantic one. She was able to see him off with equanimity; he was able to leave without desperately wondering if she would be all right. They trusted each other’s competence, and at this moment, that was more important than all the love-letters in the world.

  As the cavalcade rode off, he checked the inside-pocket of his coat to make sure he had transferred the sealed orders to it when he had changed. The crackle of parchment reassured him.

  If this was not an auspicious start, at least it was not an inauspicious one.

  The Land-Gate at the manor village was usually not much in use, since most traffic went by canal, so he was surprised to see that there was a small group waiting at it as they rode up. He was even more surprised to see that the group was headed by Lord Merrin. His already sour mood was further soured by seeing that obsequious toady’s face beneath a plumed hat.

  “Ah, Valdemar, I thought you would probably be embarking at some extremely unfashionable hour!” Merrin brayed at him, laughing at his own feeble attempts at humor. “And here you are! We’ll be coming with you at the Emperor’s request.”

  “The more, the merrier!” Kordas said, with hearty good humor he most certainly did not feel. Well if he’s been invited along, I might as well start the play-acting right now. He eased the False Gold, which towered over Merrin’s Sweetfoot palfrey, right up to Merrin’s stirrup. Alarm awoke in Merrin’s eyes, but before the man could move his gelding away, Kordas had given him a hearty back-slap as good as anything Grim could have delivered. Merrin half doubled over with an oof! as Kordas laughed. “Always good to have you along, Merrin, old man! We can show those prissy City lads what a good country fellow looks like!”

  Merrin forced a smile and a nod, but his eyes flashed with annoyance. “That’s quite a bit of baggage, Valdemar,” he said, eyes narrowing.

  Kordas shrugged. “Never know if his Imperial Highness will decide he has need of me. His stableman may need some schooling on these two Golds. Might as well come prepared. It’s not as if it’ll be hard to chuck the baggage back through the Gate if His Magnificence tells me to head back home.”

  Merrin eyed his own baggage, loaded aboard four sturdy mules. “But you didn’t bring any pack animals . . . .”

  Kordas shrugged. “A little exercise is good for the soul.”

  Merrin looked appalled, as if that was no attitude for a noble to have.

  The Land-Gate perched on a flat stone circle atop a rocky hill beside the road that led through the manor-village. As the Gate through which the representatives of the Empire would come and go, it was not the strictly utilitarian structure of stone pillars gently curving toward each other at the top that the Canal-Gates were. Instead it was a fanciful creation of metal swirls which currently framed only sky, and was just big enough for a horse and rider to pass through.

  The Gatekeeper lived in a comfortable little building at the bottom of the hill. He was not a native of the Duchy, and took none of his needs from the Duchy. In fact, Gatekeepers were rotated out weekly—most likely to prevent them from making local friends. Not once had Kordas ever seen the same Gatekeeper here twice, or at least, not that he knew of. The Gatekeepers always wore the plain red uniform of the Imperial City Guard, which made as much sense as any other origin. They were not mages, which also made sense—that would keep them from tampering with the Gates they guarded.

  Kordas dismounted from his horse and approached the Keeper, who had come out of his building and waited on the threshold for Kordas to present orders. Kordas handed him the Imperial directive; he read it without so much as a twitch of expression, handed it back, and said, “Thank you, milord Duke. Please wait here until you see the Gate open, and then you and your party may proceed through. Please do not touch the sides of the Gate itself, and be prepared for changes in altitude and temperature.”

  Which was pretty much what every Gatekeeper said.

  The Gatekeeper approached the Gate, the Gate sensed his presence and the air between the uprights shimmered and rippled and suddenly looked like a pool of water—if the water was held upright like a mirror.

  Now the Gate was receptive.

  Kordas mounted his False Gold again, and confidently approached. As the Gate sensed the magic embedded in his orders, the surface between the uprights shimmered again, and to his mingled consternation and relief, their destination appeared, framed as if it was a gigantic picture, by the ornamented metal. A gigantic version of the same sort of sugar-sculpture fantasy as the manor was based on, but much, much bigger, and hundreds of years older.

  The Imperial Palace.

  They were going straight through.

  Kordas could not remember a single time when he—or anyone else from the Duchy—had been given a straight through pass. So far as he was aware, the only people who ever had been were the Gatekeepers and the Imperial Messengers. Or Merrin, the little sneak.

  “Merrin, would you like to go first?” he asked.

  Merrin smirked, and gave his palfrey the heel, scooting the horse in under the False Gold’s nose. Kordas hadn’t paid any attention to how many people Merrin had with him until this point, but between all the servants on horseback and the four mules loaded with baggage, he must have had a dozen beasts in his packtrain. Seven servants! Does he have someone to wipe his bum for him?

  When they’d all gone through, Kordas heaved a sigh of relief, and turned his attention to his own people. “I’ll go through first, then send the Fleetfoot train, the Sweetfoot train, the Chargers, and Beltran, you bring up the rear.” He nudged his False Gold with his heel, and the patient horse went through the Gate as if he’d been doing so all his life.

  Crossing a Gate was always disorienting, at least for him. There was a moment that seemed to drag on forever, when he was suspended in utter darkness, a darkness that seemed to be empty, and yet . . .

  He sensed things out there, even if he couldn’t see them. Vast armies of things. Some he thought were humans—possibly ones passing through Gates elsewhere. Most were not. Most of these things paid him about as much heed as he’d pay a bird in the sky, or a snail on a leaf. But some . . . he got the distinct impression that, if they were aware he was there, he’d have been of some interest to them. And that these were not things he wanted to take an interest in him.

  So in that time when he was suspended between here and there, he did his best to think nothing, be nothing, and attract no attention at all.

  Then he was through, and he immediately moved to the side to make way for the rest of his group, looking about to see where they’d been dropped.

  Well, this is new.
/>
  Looming immediately before them was the Imperial Palace, wreathed in smoke. Well, that was the same; the Imperial City was always full of smoke. His nose wrinkled, and he felt a slight headache coming on. That was the same, too. They were in a vast courtyard with a half dozen of the Imperial Gates, all active, though none of the others seemed to have large parties going through them. The courtyard was paved—at least, he thought it was pavement, though the surface was textured and pebbly, and he had no idea what material it could have been made from. As the strings of horses came through, he found himself looking for the servants who should have been here to take the horses, but he couldn’t spot anyone in the distinctive red-and-purple tabards he remembered from when he’d been here as a boy.

  Merrin noticed his confusion. “What are you looking for, Valdemar?” the nobleman asked, with a kind of smirk that suggested he was in on some sort of privileged information that no one had bothered to impart to Kordas.

  “The attendants,” he replied.

  “Oh, the Emperor did away with those ages ago,” Merrin replied, the smirk growing more pronounced. “Ah, look, over there—that’s what you’re waiting for.”

  Kordas looked where Merrin was pointing, and felt his jaw dropping.

  From an entranceway that he vaguely remembered as leading to the stables came a procession of—well, they weren’t human.

  8

  The . . . things . . . wore the distinct red tabards with the purple wolf’s-head of the Imperial servants. And they walked on two legs, and had two arms. But—

  “Oh, I forgot, Valdemar. You haven’t been here in over a decade, have you?” Merrin said, the smirk apparent even in his voice. “We haven’t had human servants in the Imperial City for . . . well, years!”

  “What exactly are those things?” Kordas asked cautiously.

  “Constructs,” Merrin replied casually. “We call them ‘Dolls.’ Ever so much more efficient than humans. They don’t need rest, they don’t need food, they can’t be hurt, and if one is broken, you can just burn it and replace it.”

  “Dolls” seemed an apt description for the things. They were more or less human shaped, better constructed than a scarecrow since they had jointed limbs and actually moved with a fair amount of grace, but there was no way they could ever be mistaken for anything but what they were. They seemed to be sewn out of canvas, with a suggestion of eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but nothing like a real face. Their heads were without any sort of ornamentation. As they neared, Kordas thought there was some sort of jointed skeleton inside the padded, sexless bodies.

  “Greetings, Great Lord Merrin,” said the first one in line in a high, breathy voice. “This one is assigned to conduct you to your apartment. Will you require replacements for your human entourage?”

  There must be some sort of . . . intelligence bound inside those things. But what? Whatever it was . . . this was profoundly wrong. Everything in him revolted against this. It was, to his core, disturbing.

  Were there actual demons in there?

  Somehow he didn’t think so. Mind, I’ve never had anything to do with demons. But still, I wouldn’t think they’d be so polite.

  “I will require servants, and so will my entourage,” Merrin replied, carelessly.

  “Very good, my lord. If you and your entourage will accompany this one, your beasts will be taken to the stables, and your luggage will be brought immediately.” The Doll waited silently while Merrin and his men dismounted, then as they were led off, an entire group of Dolls emerged from a storage shelter, where they had simply hung on a rack like jackets. They removed the baggage from the mules and led the beasts back into what must be the area of the stables.

  Another of the Dolls approached Kordas. “Greetings, Great Duke Valdemar,” said the Doll, in a voice so like the first one’s that he could not have told them apart. “This one is assigned as your receiver, to conduct you to your apartment. Will you require replacements for your human entourage?”

  Kordas gave himself a mental slap to break himself out of his stupor. “These are very special horses,” he said, tentatively.

  “Yes,” the Doll replied. “Two are Valdemar Golds. They all are your Duchy’s tribute to our Glorious Emperor. All will be taken to the stables and given the best of attention, and the finest fodder. Will you require replacements for your entourage?” As it spoke, the other Dolls took the packs down from the backs of the false Golds, and waited silently for instructions.

  “All but my Herald are to return immediately to Valdemar,” he said, still not sure what the right answer was.

  “Our Glorious Emperor has given this one tokens so that they will return immediately to the Valdemar Gate.” The Doll held out a mitten-like hand; in it were six small papers with Imperial Seals. “Will you require replacements for your entourage?”

  “Are you asking if I’m going to need servants?” he asked tentatively.

  “Yes.” The Doll’s blank head made talking to it somewhat unnerving.

  “Yes, please,” he confirmed. “Lads, come get your passes back, and let the—Dolls—should I call you Dolls?—take the horses to where they belong.”

  The Valdemar stablehands dismounted somewhat reluctantly, and even more reluctantly, approached the Doll that was still holding out the passes. They huddled for a moment, and finally one of them snatched all six passes and distributed them to the others. “Are you sure you want us to leave you with that—thing—milord Duke?” asked the brave one, looking him fully in the face. The stablehand’s expression told Kordas that the fellow, though absolutely terrified of the creature, was perfectly willing to stay right here if the Duke asked him to.

  “I’m quite sure,” Kordas said firmly, as the other Dolls led the false Golds and the three strings of tribute horses to their new home. “Off with you, my lad. Be sure and tell my lady everything that you saw here, and give her my best.”

  The young fellows were clearly reluctant to leave, but even more reluctant to stay. “Very well, milord Duke,” the brave one said at last. “If you’re certain.”

  “I’m certain, and you have families you need to return to,” Kordas repeated, and deliberately turned away from them. “Now, if you would be so kind, my friend, my Herald and I would greatly appreciate being taken to our quarters.”

  But the Doll froze for a moment. “Great Lord Duke,” it said, after a moment. “This one is nothing. It cannot be a friend.”

  “You certainly are not nothing,” he said, perhaps more sharply than he had intended. “And you certainly can be a friend.”

  The Doll bowed its head briefly. “As you will,” it whispered, with an air of both uncertainty and—was it shock? “Please, come this way.”

  The Dolls had picked up Merrin’s heavy luggage as if it was nothing, and they made light work of the two packs. Kordas glanced over at Beltran; the poor fellow’s eyes were as big as plates, and he looked just as reluctant to have anything to do with the Doll as the stablehands had been.

  He patted Beltran on the shoulder. “It’s fine.”

  “No, milord,” Beltran gulped. “It’s not fine. But I will do my duty.”

  They followed the Doll up the steps of the main entrance to the Palace—two ridiculously huge doors that were at least two if not three stories tall, apparently made of solid bronze, and so perfectly balanced that he knew from being here as a child that they could be moved with a single fingertip. These stood open to the Entrance Hall.

  This was a vast, echoing chamber with no obvious entrance or exit except those doors, but the walls were lined with Gate after Gate after Gate, each one framed in the same decorative metal arcs as the one they had passed through back at the manor. People and Dolls—mostly Dolls—were coming and going through them. The Doll with Kordas approached one of the Gates and spoke.

  “The Copper Apartment,” it said. The mirror-surface of the Gate shivered, and clea
red to reveal what looked like a fine antechamber; from here Kordas saw what looked like black and white checkered marble, some very uncomfortable-looking copper-colored furniture, and copper-colored walls.

  The Doll stepped through, and Kordas and Beltran followed.

  There was no sense of disorientation, probably because they weren’t actually going that far. The little antechamber was just about big enough to hold six to eight people without crowding, so the two humans and the three Dolls fit fine. The furniture—two chairs and something that passed for a little table between them—looked just as uncomfortable up close as it had through the Gate, all strange copper curves and very little padding. The Doll opened a single copper door into the apartment proper, and stood aside for them to go in.

  They found themselves in what Kordas guessed was supposed to be a common room. It, too, had a black and white floor, a curved copper wall, uncomfortable copper furniture, and a green ceiling inlaid with copper squares. There was no sign of a fireplace, but the temperature was quite comfortable. Mage-lights in sinuous copper sconces lit the windowless room. Kordas judged that before his visit was over he was going to be very tired of copper.

  There were three doors in the half-circle of wall. The Doll went to the right-hand one and flung it open. “This will be your chamber, milord Duke,” it said, and gestured to him to enter.

  The room was shaped like the segment of a circle, which made sense if they were in a tower. The color scheme continued in this room, but the bed, at least, looked as if it wouldn’t be torture to sleep in. The bedframe was more sinuous copper, columns rising from each corner of the bed that split, curled around in tendrils, and met above the center. There was an ordinary-looking copper wardrobe, a couple of chairs and a stool, and a window in the curved outer wall, framed in more copper spirals. Of course, it might not be an actual window, but rather a magical image. Disorientation was a means of control, too. This apartment could be a mile from the actual Palace, and he might be no wiser.