All the Valdemarans had gotten the local tongue courtesy of Ponu, so at least there wouldn’t be any difficulty in being understood.
The river was just about to get too shallow even for the shallow-drafted barges, but the locals had prepared for that, building a pair of docks right at the point where the bottom of a barge would start to scrape gravel. Delia urged her mount up to the dock, and one of the locals—a handsome lad in homespun loose trews and a linen smock, with the reddest hair she had ever seen, deftly caught the rope she untied from the back of the saddle and tied up the string at the dock.
As she walked her mount away, the second string was pulled up alongside the first, and tied off to the dock and the prow of the first string.
Then the Tow-Beast pulling the third string splashed belly-deep through the water to the opposite side of the river, and another fellow waiting at the second dock caught the rope and tied the third string there.
And there was just enough room that if a fourth lot of Valdemarans decided to take up the invitation to settle here, there’d be space to wedge in a last string of barges, though they would be so tight-packed that you’d be able to easily walk from one bank of the river to the other.
As this was happening, Squire Lesley had gone to the second barge of the string, and with an apple and a cabbage was coaxing the Empress and her brood down a gangplank flung to the deck of the barge.
A murmur of admiration came from the crowd at the sight of the enormous sow, who had somehow managed to keep herself pristine in the barge, though the same could not be said of all of her piglets. She was not the only pig in the barge by any means, but she’d been given a partition for herself and her brood, while the rest milled in a herd in the rest of the barge.
“By the staff of Great Wethlen!” exclaimed a farmer who, except for his rough, brown clothing, did not look altogether unlike the Squire. “She’s magnificent! She’s a goddess incarnate! How ever did you manage to produce such a beauty?”
Squire Lesley beamed. “Now do you see why I wanted to come here?” he asked, looking up at Delia, as the piglets milled around his ankles.
“You and I, friend Less-el-lee,” said that same farmer, clapping the Squire on the shoulder. “We shall come to see if I have built you a house and an enclosure worthy of this paragon among pigs! Come! Come! And if you do not like it, then I shall slay myself in grief!”
“Hardly think that’ll be necessary, Aylar,” Lesley replied, with a gentle pat to the man’s back. And with that, they moved off, the Empress following the bribe of the apple in Lesley’s hands.
Delia felt her eyes start to sting, and turned away, signaling to the other two riders that she was going to start her trip back to the Lake. They, too, were remaining; one with a Tow-Beast, and one with a Charger, a stallion and a mare, that would provide the foundation stock for heavy horses to help with plowing, something Brandywine did not have. Those who were remaining were going to live in their barges for the next year, but start new fields of crops that would not be harmed by being sown late in the season. That and the supplies they had brought should see them all through to next spring without difficulty, and even with abundance. This village had goats, not sheep, so the sheep being brought along were a welcome addition, and as was the small herd of cattle she passed as she urged her mount into a canter. And even more welcome were the herding dogs that had accompanied their masters. This was something the locals had never had, and included a mastiff-like breed that lived with the herds it guarded day and night, and had been known to successfully fight off bears.
They’ll be all right, she told herself, as the ponderous Charger ate up the leagues between her and Crescent Lake. Isla hadn’t told her as much, but she suspected that the arrival of peaceful strangers had come as a relief and a surprise—people didn’t build palisades for defenses for no reason. And Squire Lesley, who was in charge of this group of people who were mostly local to him, had his directions.
Make sure the Valdemarans stayed welcome. When in doubt, in a disagreement, side with the locals. Start dressing like the locals, and blend in as quickly as possible. Forget the language of the Empire; translate every book they had with them into the local tongue.
Assimilate. Assimilation was survival.
And should the very worst happen, should the Empire somehow track them to this refuge, bypassing the town that would be built on the shores of the lake—well, they all already knew how that would go. Every single Valdemaran who was about to become a citizen of Brandywine agreed. The Empire always followed the same pattern when it came to things like this. There would be an initial scouting party. And that scouting party should be welcomed with a great feast, at which they would be given far too much to drink.
And then they were to be slaughtered without mercy. Or perhaps poisoned. The Empire showed no mercy; it would be given none.
When enough scouting parties failed to return from a “primitive” location like this one, the Empire generally stopped sending them, giving it up as a bad investment. The Empire wanted places to conquer that had treasure and wealth worth looting, not a bunch of farms.
That rather bloody-minded thought actually cheered Delia up somewhat.
Now . . . if only Kordas was here.
* * *
—
Kordas stared at his breakfast and tried to muster up the enthusiasm to eat it. He’d spoken to Isla and things were going well—better than well—but he still had no answers for how he was going to save all of the people of Valdemar, not just the ones willing to escape.
He also had no idea how he was going to free the vrondi once they had escaped. At least, without killing them.
“Lord Duke,” Star said, interrupting his thoughts. “The Record Keeper wants to know if you have any orders for us.”
I still can’t believe how quickly people were able to pack up what they needed and leave, he marveled. Granted, they weren’t able to take everything from their homes. Furniture had to be left behind. Still . . .
Pack up, pack up . . .
Orders for the Dolls . . .
Something dawned on him with the force of a blow, and he looked up at Star. “Could I order the two remaining Innovator mages to move to other quarters? By which I mean, both living quarters and working quarters?” he asked, slowly feeling his way.
“Yes, my Lord,” said Star. “In fact, they have been complaining for some years now that they do not like where they are. Utility mages have better quarters, and they are envious.”
“Are there better quarters available to them?” he asked.
“Yes, Lord. It is merely that no one has given the orders,” said Star. “And they no longer have the ear of the Emperor. They have produced nothing new for nearly a decade, and he no longer cares to hear from them unless they produce something akin to the pellets or the Dolls.”
The idea practically exploded in his mind. “Then tell them their request is approved. Pack up their possessions and move everything today to their new living quarters. Tell them that because their working apparatus is so delicate and needs such great care, it will take a week to move it to their new working quarters. Tell them to rest and enjoy themselves for a week. Then pack up everything except what has to do with the Dolls and move it. Then leave it all packed, tell them in a week it is ready, but that they must decide how to arrange everything in person. By then, the Regatta will be over, and it won’t matter. Take everything that has to do with the Dolls, put it on a barge, and send the barge through a Portal—”
“—to your refuge. Understood, Lord Duke.” Star seemed pleased. “The Imperial reference libraries for summonings, banishments, and field magic await load-out and transfer. The books and scrolls alone number in the thousands. The experimental equipment from the other laboratories that survived the structural collapse have been in storage and are being crated. We know they were the precursors to our imprisonment processe
s. By having your mages look through the materials, they should find a way to release us!”
“Exactly,” he said, and felt a little, a very little, relief. That was one problem out of the way.
“It shall be done today,” said Star. “The Record Keeper asks that I tell you that a Doll shall accompany the barge as well, to explain everything on the other side.”
“Good, good,” he said. And found a little appetite to eat.
“The Record Keeper reminds me that you asked about the source for magic power here, since the Imperial mages are discouraged from making pacts with Abyssal demons,” Star said after a very long pause while he revived his faint appetite. “The one below.”
Well, that killed his appetite again. But in a different way.
“I did,” he said. “But the Record Keeper never responded to me.”
“That is because the Record Keeper deemed it too dangerous. Too prone to discovery. But there is a brief window this morning, due to some unexpected demands upon the Imperial mages, when there will be no one but Dolls to note your passing. Would you still care to see this?” Star paused. “It is best seen, rather than explained.”
He shoved the tray aside and all but leapt up out of bed. “The sooner the better,” he said. “How should I dress? Just in case we run into someone unexpected.”
“This one will attend to that.” Star went to the wardrobe.
Soon he stood in front of the Portal, impatiently waiting for Star and the Record Keeper to gain access for them to this oh-so-mysterious place. Evidently not all Dolls were allowed access to it, which only made his curiosity itch the more.
Finally, Star signaled to him to hold up his bracelet to the Portal and say the words, “The Chamber of the Beast.”
The . . . Beast?
Too late now. He stepped through, into blazing red light and heat.
And realized immediately why the Record Keeper had been so reluctant to try to describe what was here.
Just to begin with, there was so much raw magic power in here that it almost scorched him until he shielded from it, and it took him longer than he liked to establish enough shielding that he was able to actually look at what he’d been brought to see.
Then, three more things had to be sorted through before he could make out anything.
The first was an ululating sound, but deep and sonorous, more felt than heard. He couldn’t figure out what it was, so finally he dismissed it to go on to the next thing standing between himself and understanding.
The second was the heat. Whatever was in the center of that room dumped heat like a young sun. In fact, it was probably the heat source that kept the entire Palace warm in the winter, provided the hot water for baths and the like, and provided cooking heat to boot. That was confirmed when he saw what could only be water-filled pipes lining all the walls of this chamber. Pumps powered by magic brought in cold water and took away hot water on a grand scale.
Then, the wards and spells guarding and binding what was in the center of the room created a kind of cage it was difficult to see through. Even with his physical eyes. There was so much power in here, with the spells that contained the mysterious object feeding on the power that the thing gave off, that, like in the cellars of Valdemar Manor, the spell-lines actually glowed physically.
So did the chained rune-plaques that surrounded it. He recognized what they were doing: they were binding something in place, but also hiding it, so that no one who was not physically in this room would be able to scry it, detect it, or see it in any manner.
Why?
But then he finally made it out.
And he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.
“This makes no sense to me,” he said aloud. “What is this thing? It looks like a lump of rock.”
“It is an Earth Elemental, Lord Duke,” Star said patiently. “One of the Greater Earth Elementals, but a young one. It was lured into a trap, captured, and hidden here a hundred years ago or more. This is the source of all magic energy used in the Palace, and most of the magical energy used by the Imperial mages.”
No.
“That’s not possible,” he said flatly. “No Greater Elemental can be coerced into providing anything. You can bind it all you like, but it will never, ever give anything up.”
“The Lord Duke is correct,” Star admitted. “But it will emit magical energy if it is wounded. It must, in order to heal.”
It took a long moment for the enormity—and the horror—of that statement to sink in.
“You mean that you bound it here—and now you are deliberately wounding it—in order to siphon off the magic it uses to heal itself?” he said in a strangled voice.
“We are not,” Star corrected, forcefully. “Humans are. This is a rare moment when there are no humans in this chamber wounding it. They have wounded it enough, and now it is healing.”
That was the sound. That was what he was hearing. The poor, damned thing had been hurt, and hurt, and hurt, and finally left to heal.
And it was crying, moaning in pain, weeping because it knew this was only going to happen again once it healed. And of course, it could do nothing about that. It couldn’t stop itself from healing, any more than he could, if he’d been slashed all over, then bandaged and left to heal.
He had thought he had plumbed the depths of Imperial depravity.
He was beginning to think, now, that he never would.
“And this is a young creature?” he choked out.
“Something like a child. Yes,” said Star.
He wanted to be sick.
“Others of its kind seek it,” Star continued. “They have for some time. They roam beneath the earth of the Empire, hunting for it. They know that the Empire has it. But thanks to the magics surrounding it—those chains and rune-plaques—they cannot find it. The nearer they come, the more the distraction. You may have felt them, from time to time—when the earth trembles for a moment. And you have seen the ongoing damage they do as they seek for their young one, in the City. That is their reaction, their frustration. Always near enough to sense, never near enough to locate.”
“This is wrong,” he managed. “I would—rather see demon pacts.”
“No, my Lord Duke,” Star replied. “You most certainly would not.”
* * *
—
Fortunately, his brooding and depression gave him all the excuse he needed to avoid going to luncheon, to Court, and to dinner, though several times during the day, Star covered the Valdemar badge on its hand, indicating that someone was scrying on him. He probably gave them pretty much what they were expecting, since all he did was sit and stare out the window, mostly not moving.
His gut reaction was I have to free it! But of all of the things he was doing, or wanted to do, this was absolutely the most impossible.
He was certain without bothering to ask that his rank as a Duke would not be enough for him to order the Dolls to free it. As for doing it in person, well . . . that was sheer insanity. The thing was surrounded most of the time by human tenders. How would he get past them? He certainly would not be able to order the Dolls to restrain them. And if he did manage to find another window when it wasn’t being tended between now and the Regatta, how would he keep it from killing him when he did free it? If he could?
I have more things to do than I have time, energy, resources, or . . . me. I have a hundred things to do, and only enough “me” to tend to fifty.
Granted, Isla and Hakkon were taking care of some of the remaining fifty. But he was the only one here.
“My Lord Duke?”
He looked up at Star, who had uncovered the badge on its hand. “My Lord Duke, it appears to this one that you are perturbed and upset.”
“I feel . . . stretched too far, thinned out over too many things, pulled so that I’m full of holes and if I take on even a little m
ore strain, I’m going to snap,” he confessed to the Doll, and by extension, to all the Dolls.
Star remained silent. Probably because the Dolls could not think of any way to help him. Or maybe the Doll just didn’t understand what he’d said. He took it for granted that they understood human emotions, human frailties, human failings—after all, they had been observing humans for decades now. But maybe they didn’t understand him. Maybe they thought he was infallible, that he’d always manage a solution.
“I can’t do everything,” he said hopelessly. “I might not be able to do even what I’ve promised. I—”
Star stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “You have several significant flaws, including that once you are convinced you are capable of one thing of a certain scale, you are equally convinced you can handle more. You do not allow for their cumulative effects upon you. You are doing what you can.” Rose brought a tea tray and poured a half-cup, then added honey and two syrups. Patiently, Rose offered the cup to Kordas, and he accepted it using both hands because he was a little shaky at the moment.
Rose said, “Thanks to you, every Doll has a talisman that will take it to the refuge. Even the Record Keeper. And the hostages will be taken there as well. And everyone in your home who is willing to go will be there as well. That is three times as much as you had thought you could do. Chance and the future are uncertain; but these things are true.”
“Yes, but—”
Star stopped him with, “We intend to empty the royal stables of horses. They will come with us.”
He stared at Star’s “face” in disbelief.
“So no matter what should betide, this much will be true. At the end of the Regatta, the Emperor will have no servants and no horses, and the entire Palace will be in disarray. No one left will know how to react. Most of the humans here scarcely know how to care for themselves.” There was no doubt of the contempt in the Doll’s voice. “And when the Palace is in disarray, what do you think the courtiers will do?”
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