Sung in Blood

by Glen Cook

  Rider strolled toward the Citadel. The sun was into its westward plunge. About time he sought an audience with the King. The man needed to know, to prepare for the storm. And Rider hoped for his blessing in his assumption of the Protector's role.

  He decided he'd better get himself a chariot. All this walking and running—even he was subject to cumulative fatigue.

  But first, before anything—even before seeing the King-be had to restore the web. When an enemy could bring a pirate airship within a few hundred yards undetected, the situation was desperate.

  Just how tired he had become, and thus unalert, was demonstrated when he reached his father's laboratory. He failed to notice the pop-seeds scattered in the hall. His feet stirred a rapid-fire racket.

  The door swung inward. "Rider!" Chaz said. "We've got company."

  He saw the golden-skinned woman in the doorway to the library. She saw him for the first time. Her eyes widened.

  "You catch him?" Greystone asked.

  "Yes. It was Vlazos."

  "And?"

  "He died before he could say much."

  "Oh."

  Rider heard the hollow sound in Greystone's voice. "No. Not me. His confederates. With a strangulation spell. They fled in an airship."

  Greystone looked properly astounded.

  "Yes. First order of business now is to restore the web. Where are the others?"

  Chaz explained about Emerald.

  "I told them to stay here. Well. I suppose they have to learn the hard way."

  IX

  Emerald shambled along with his hands in his pockets, grinning and whistling. He had made clowns of those guys again. Too bad he had not had men enough to ambush them. Ten or fifteen guys with crossbows waiting behind the illusory wall. They wouldn't have known what hit them. But he had no men now, because the Master and that Vlazos fool insisted Rider's gang be taken alive. That damned Vlazos better find some local talent.

  Someone stepped into his path. Emerald halted, lifted his gaze ... and squawked.

  Preacher grinned.

  Emerald looked around wildly.

  The other three closed in. Spud was next nearest, about twenty feet away, popping a fist into a palm meaningfully.

  The gnarly man was quick! Preacher just had time for a startled squeak. Then he was in the air, flailing toward Spud. Emerald put on speed. More than a touch of panic drove him. He did not know what to do. There was no provision in the plan for his not being able to shake his pursuers. The wall of illusion should have worked.

  It was a failed plan anyway. Not all Rider's men had left the Citadel.

  The Master would know what to do. But he could not run to the Master. That would lead these men to him.

  He grimaced. Then grinned. He would lead them away from the Master. Wear them down, till the Master became disturbed by his failure to report and investigated.

  Soup gasped, "Are we going to keep this up all day? Or are we going to catch him?" He stopped at a chandler's shop. The others paused. As long as Su-Cha could sniff Emerald's trail they would not lose him. "Let's get organized. He isn't going to lead us anywhere. If he gets too tired and scared he might try picking us off. We've got to capture him."

  "How you figure on doing that?" Su-Cha demanded. "Preacher and Spud already blew it."

  "Buy some rope. Rope him like a steer, bind him up, and carry him back to the Citadel."

  Su-Cha cackled. "Great. Get it! Reams or bales or bundles or whatever rope comes in. A mile of it! We'll turn him into a human cocoon."

  Three minutes later they were on the trail again, armed with coils of light line. Fifteen minutes later they had Emerald surrounded.

  The gnarly man saw their intent. He darted this way and that. A wicked knife sprang into his hand. He feinted toward Preacher, rushed Spud.

  Hands and feet flashed. The knife flickered away. Spud and Emerald rolled over and over, grunting and yelling. Su-Cha pranced around them, trying to slip a noose over Emerald's head. Soup got one on an ankle and pulled.

  Preacher looped an arm, took off. Emerald stretched out, cursing and flailing. Spud thumped his head a few times. Soup got another rope on. The four of them began baling the gnarly man.

  All this took place on a busy street. Passersby pretended blindness. Shasesserre was that kind of city still, centuries after Jehrke began trying to turn it around.

  "In ho, in ho," Soup laughed as he and Spud hoisted their prisoner. "Off to gaol for you, friend. Let's somebody find a wagon. This sucker's pants are full of lead."

  Preacher hired a rickshaw. Emerald rode. The others ran alongside, laughing and clowning.

  Chaz answered the laboratory door. He grinned when he saw Emerald, but held a finger to his lips. "Keep it down. Rider is mending the web."

  Soup and Preacher plopped Emerald down under the open window, where he could look at the Protector and contemplate his fate. They joined the crowd in the library, where Rider had spread his father's extra web charts atop a table fifteen feet long and five wide. Rider neither welcomed them nor upbraided them for leaving the Citadel. He gave them jobs to do.

  Hours passed. The sun dropped to within two diameters of the horizon. The rope divers were just a few stages short of the tower's top. Rider finally rose, sighing wearily. "That's enough for now. We'll put the final touches on after we finish this business."

  "Got you a present, Rider," Su-Cha crowed. He pranced around, made smoke come out his ears. "In the laboratory."

  Rider followed the imp to the other room.

  Emerald sat where he had been dumped.

  "He's the one who did the deed," Su-Cha said. "It was him on the tower last night."

  "Cool one," Chaz remarked. "If he can sleep now."

  Rider darted forward, afraid he had lost another prisoner. But Emerald was asleep. "There would have been a tug on the web," he told himself. He closed his eyes, allowed his being to flow out the web's strands, and the web to fill him. He sensed every magic within five miles of the Rock. Each was legitimate. He could detect nothing of Kralj Odehnal.

  "Get the gag off him," Rider said. "Untie him. Let him get some circulation back. There's nowhere he can go."

  Emerald cursed them roundly. He crawled to his feet, stood unsteadily. Then he spotted Caracene.

  Unintelligible words whipped back and forth. They got hot. Emerald was angry, accusing; Caracene bitter and defensive. Emerald became increasingly pale. He began to shake.

  "Are you ready to talk to us?" Rider asked.

  Emerald spat on the floor.

  "I guess that means a truth-drawing. Greystone, Spud, set it up." Rider followed Emerald's gaze to his father's body. Something would have to be done.

  "Hey!"

  "Grab him!"

  "Su-Cha! ... "

  Rider whirled as Emerald's feet went over the window sill. The imp clung to one, desperately trying to catch Chaz's hand. He failed.

  Emerald made not one sound as he plunged to his death.

  Su-Cha, who was in no danger, did enough screeching for eight fall victims.

  Rider elbowed his way to the window. He did not watch Emerald hit the Rock. He searched the Plaza for an island of reaction to Emerald's fall. He spied none. The gnarly man had done it on his own.

  "Hey!" Greystone shouted. "The witch is getting away!"

  Rider turned. Caracene had slipped out while they were distracted. His helpers rushed to the door. "Let her go," he said. "We can find her when we want."

  "Huh?"

  "Su-Cha?" Chaz asked.

  "The web. I marked her while we were in the library. Greystone, you keep track. Maybe she'll run to Odehnal. The rest of you stay here. And stay alert. I'll be back in time to give out the rope-diving prizes."

  "Where you going?" Soup asked.

  "To see the King. Not a task I'll enjoy, I'm sure."

  As he departed he heard Chaz and Greystone pick up their argument about Caracene. Chaz was of the opinion that he was in love, and that Caracene was not unmo
ved by his own manly attributes. Greystone was of the opinion that Chaz had a head full of feathers. The others seconded his view.

  X

  "His Majesty is at dinner," a chamberlain told Rider. "Then he must prepare to join your father for the ceremonies. I suggest you return at a more normal time." He scowled blackly. Few men dared that with Ride-Master Jehrke.

  "It's about the ceremonies. There's been a change of plan. I'm giving the medals in my father's stead."

  The chamberlain's scowl deepened. "Even so ... "

  Rider glanced at the nearby guards. They fought smirks. Not everyone appreciated his family's special status.

  "Meghan, I am tired, upset, and short on patience. I have to see the King. I'll walk through you or over you if you make me." Was the chamberlain part of the conspiracy? Doubtful. The man was doing his job as he saw it, with a touch of officious spite.

  "What is the nature? ... "

  "If I wanted you to know I would have told you."

  The chamberlain spun angrily, slammed a door in Rider's face. Rider was more irked with himself than with Meghan. He should not let his control slip like that. He stepped to the door, giving the guards a look that made them decide he was invisible. A tiny spell broke the bolt.

  The King was a spare man in his thirties, tall and dark of hair and complexion, and new to the Shasesserren crown. His coffee eyes flashed fire as he shoved away from a table shared with two other men. Rider noted that both were trustworthy functionaries.

  The King said, " This runs in the family. I tolerate your father's lack of manners and respect because he serves a purpose. But you're not Jehrke Victorious, Ride-Master. Tell me why you shouldn't be flogged out of here."

  Rider's patience remained thin. "I'll give you two reasons. One is, I wouldn't let you. As my father would not. The other is that Jehrke is dead. I've taken over for him."

  Absolute, deadly silence. Mouths worked but nothing came out.

  "He was murdered before dawn, at the order of Khev Vlazos, by an assassin serving the sorcerer Kralj Odehnal. Vlazos, the assassin, and most of Odehnal's men have been dispatched. Odehnal remains at large, as do Vlazos' fellow conspirators. The web was damaged severely but has been restored. All is peaceful in Shasesserre—at the moment. I expect a wave of assassinations—reaching even the royal household—was planned for tonight. These attempts may go forward despite what I've done to inhibit Odehnal. End of report, except to note that an unlicensed airship is in the hands of the conspirators."

  "Jehrke dead," one of the ministers breathed. "The gods forfend! Every barbarian on our borders will try to plunder the provinces."

  The King noted, "We have more to fear from home-grown pillagers. They'll get the news first."

  "What can we do?"

  Rider said, "Do nothing. Nothing has changed except that I stand in my father's stead."

  "Oh, no," the King countered. "Never again will any one man exercise that much power."

  "Are you saying my father abused his?"

  "Hardly. But ... "

  "He did tend to be a check on royal excess? Yes. I know.

  Though he seldom intervened even in your predecessors' blackest villainies." The King glowered.

  King Belledon was accounted a good ruler, but had held the throne only a year. Some of Shasesserre's most terrible monarchs had entered their reigns auspiciously.

  "There will be no more Protector," the King said. "The office dies with the man."

  Rider had anticipated this exchange. Good or evil, no monarch willingly accepted a potential check on his power. "There never was such an office. As you know. 'Protector' is an honorific bestowed by popular acclaim. No one appointed Jehrke. He did what was necessary for Shasesserre. As I will do. I have trained for the task since birth. I hope to achieve as much as Jehrke did."

  The King went livid. "You defy me?"

  Calmly, "Of course. As my father did you and every king before you." He raised a forestalling hand. "Save your outrage, your pride. Think about it when you're calm. Ask the people their wishes."

  "The wishes of shopkeepers are of no consequence."

  "That attitude is what makes shopkeepers and tradesmen hail a Jehrke Protector. I have done my duty to the state by giving warning. I'm going to get ready for the awards ceremony now."

  The King stared at Rider, exasperated. "Like father, like son," he said. "Where are you going, Konstantin?"

  "My people need to be alerted. I must tell ... "

  "No one. You will tell no one, on your life. Rider at least sees the ramifications of Jehrke's death, if he is so vain as to arrogate his father's place."

  The other man present, a greyhair whose role was informal and advisory, said, "There should be no announcement. Let Rider take over. There will be speculation but slight inclination toward adventurism and chaos. A formal announcement would unleash the hounds of fear Jehrke kept chained."

  The King grumbled something.

  "You have your enemies, Belledon. Are they more restrained by the numbers of your soldiers or by the Protector's approval of your reign? Has any ruler he approved been found by an assassin? How many of the Bad Kings died natural deaths?"

  "It is something to consider, Your Majesty," Konstantin observed.

  The older man said, "You are a king, Belledon. Not a god. Never forget your oath. You serve Shasesserre. The city does not serve you."

  The King continued to grumble, but admitted the truth. It was just such moments the old man was supposed to get him through.

  Rider returned to his father's laboratory, thinking he had to get used to it being his. "Everyone's still here?" he asked in mock surprise. "I'm amazed."

  "Yeah," Chaz grumbled.

  Spud said, "Rider, have you decided what to do about your father? Can't put it off much longer."

  "Yes. It's grisly, but ... A pattern of spells of stasis and preservation, and leave him where he died. As his own memorial. And as a reminder to us that we're mortal. That we can't let our vigilance slip."

  Chaz leaned out the window, tossed something. Rider asked, "What are you doing?"

  "Throwing pop seeds at Su-Cha. He's down there waiting to see if anybody comes for that Emerald."

  Spud snickered. "He's been doing it since you left."

  Rider looked outside. There were torches on the uppermost platform of the diving tower. The crowd was noisy and restless. "Almost time to go down. Chaz, I want you, Soup, and Preacher to follow me. This would be a good time for our enemies to express their displeasure with us."

  "Right."

  "Spud, you stay and back up Greystone and Su-Cha."

  "Hey! How come I have to miss out?"

  Rider tended not to hear such protests. He stepped into the library, where Greystone was perched on a massive oak throne of a chair. It served as the heart of the web for those who, unlike Rider, were unable to make themselves part of it.

  "Greystone. What have we got?"

  "She's stopped moving." He tapped the map on the table with a pointer. "One of these tenements."

  "Right against the river. Heart of the Protte rookery. Not a good place for a woman alone. Fifty thousand foreign sailors and not a ghost of law."

  "But a good place for a foreigner to disappear."

  "A most excellent place. We'll go down in the morning."

  "Why not tonight?"

  "These ceremonies. And we're tired. When we're tired we make mistakes. We'll rest. Odehnal will wait."

  Rider moved on through the library. Beyond lay a vast suite of rooms he and his father had used from time to time. There he would find apparel appropriate to the awards ceremony. He told Spud, "We'll refurbish these rooms so we can hole up here comfortably."

  "Our lives are going to change, aren't they?"

  "They have already. It'll be a long time before we comprehend how much."

  XI

  There was a band to precede the King, and guards in flashy uniforms with ostrich plumes atop their helmets. In a tradition which a
ntedated the celebration of Jehrke Victorious, the King scattered tiny, specially struck silver coins.

  "Helps clear the way," he told Rider, who walked beside him. Citizens scrambled wildly as a dozen coins arced into the crowd.

  "Cynical attitude."

  "Only a cynic and pessimist will survive wearing the crown."

  "Or a stoic?"

  "My father was a stoic. A very patient stoic. He got a foot of steel stuck into his gizzard. Philosophy means nothing to a dagger." The King seemed more companionable than earlier. Was that a good sign or bad?

  As the procession neared the tower, where the medalists waited, onlookers began to murmur about the Protector's absence. Rider was not universally known. But he was recognized by some. His presence fueled speculation.

  Shasesserre was a wild and rowdy city. More so on festival days. Fifteen minutes passed before there was order sufficient for the King to speak. He did so at length, dulling the edge of the crowd. He passed the stage to Rider without explaining his presence. Rider presented the victors' laurels with amusing asides and humorous observations, and no more explanation. He finished swiftly, yielded the rostrum to the organizers of the contests.

  "So your assassins turned out specters," Belledon said as they pushed through the crowd. "I wonder if half what you've told me isn't imagination."

  "We'll see." During his presentation he had felt a tug at the web, just a tiny vibration. Someone learning that the web had been made sound. The deaths of Emerald and Vlazos had not ended the game.

  The attack came as the party passed behind an arm of the Rock and started up the incline to the Citadel gate. The King's guards were feeling safe.

  A horde of waterfront villains poured out of the dark cracks in the Rock, howling in a dozen languages. Odehnal seemed to have cleared the rookeries. In an instant the guards were all locked in struggle. More thugs swept toward Rider and the King.

  Rider's men charged into the fray, falling on the villains from behind.

  Rider dipped into pockets, spoke words of power rapidly. He scattered a handful of small black marbles. Smoke and stench boiled out of them. He shoved the King toward the densest smoke, called his men to join him.