Sky Trillium

by Julian May

  Kadiya stared at her dish without enthusiasm, but Zondain was already eating heartily. “Dig in!” the Companion urged. “It’s actually quite tasty.”

  Jagun lifted his spoon and touched his long tongue to the contents. His yellow eyes popped out on their stalks and he spat, leaping to his feet and knocking over the table so that bowls and salka cups and the stew crock scattered onto the rotting planks of the porch. “Sacred Flower—it’s laced with yistok root! Don’t eat it!”

  Kadiya, Lummomu-Ko, and Wikit-Aa flung away their spoons and started up, reaching for their weapons. But Lord Zondain still sat on his stool, head lolling forward on his breast.

  “Poisoned!” cried the Lady of the Eyes. “Oh, the treacherous worram-scat! Lummomu, do what you can for poor Zondain, then go deal with Turmalai. You others—with me to the boat!”

  She went flying down the path, her great steel sword shining in the rain, with the Wyvilo skipper and Jagun following. The dock area was an untidy collection of rickety sheds, baled furs and hides, carelessly stacked lengths of timber, and beached watercraft. The factor’s sons were evidently aboard Wikit’s flatboat. Three other tatterdemalion Varonians guarded the gangplank, one waving a rusty saber and the other two holding long knives.

  Kadiya screamed to those aboard, “Poison! Poison! Don’t eat the food!” At the same time she swung her blade at the saber-bearer. He parried her blow clumsily, then rushed at her in an attempt to push her from the dock into the fast-flowing river. She sidestepped and thrust forth her booted foot. As the Varonian howled and lost his balance she clubbed him at the base of the neck with her heavy sword hilt. He hit the brown water with a loud splash and was swept away.

  Wikit-Aa had already disposed of his human foe, running him through with a fine blade of Zinoran steel. His muzzle opened in a hideous grin of triumph. “I’ll see what’s happening aboard!” he shouted, and leapt aboard the boat and ran to the afterdeckhouse, from which came sounds of fighting.

  Kadiya whirled around to help Jagun. He had sliced his attacker’s left leg, drawing blood, but the ruffian had backed the diminutive Nyssomu into a cul-de-sac formed by two big bales of tarenial hides. Giggling in anticipation, the human was drawing back his arm to fling his knife into Jagun’s throat when Kadiya hacked off the limb below the elbow. The Varonian fell screaming in a welter of blood.

  At that moment a human form crashed out through the starboard deckhouse window. It was one of the treacherous factor’s sons, who hit the boat’s rail, clung to it precariously for a moment, then slid screeching into the river as a knight leaned through the windowframe and swiped at him with a bloody sword. There were cheers from inside.

  Another Oathed Companion, Sir Bafrik, came to the deckhouse door and yelled, “We’ve done for the bastards, Princess! How fare you?”

  “Go up to the lodge, some of you! See if Lummomu needs assistance.” As several knights dashed away she turned back to the injured Varonian, who sat clutching his severed arm with an ashen face. “Will you die, fellow, or shall I tend to your wound?”

  “If—if you please, gracious Lady,” he moaned.

  The rain had stopped and it was nearly dark. Sir Bafrik and Sir Sainlat brought out a gore-smeared youth and flung him unceremoniously onto the dock next to the dead man, where he lay half-conscious. Young Prince Tolivar crept from the deckhouse with the Nyssomu Ralabun, both of them seeming to be dazed with terror, and surveyed the scene. Wikit-Aa gave his crewmen a few orders, then came and stood impassively with Jagun, watching Kadiya minister to the wounded man.

  She used his belt to make a tourniquet, which stanched the deadly spurting of blood. Her nearly clean kerchief served to bind the stump. “Do you have halaka resin among your stores?” she asked the patient when she had finished. “It is the only thing that will do for treating this kind of injury.”

  “I—I know not,” he whispered. “Factor Turmalai keeps all such medicaments under lock and key.”

  “If there is none I shall have to sear the stump with fire,” Kadiya warned, “or you will die of the putrid rot. On your feet, then. The skipper and I will help you up to the lodge.”

  With Jagun following, she and Wikit supported the one-armed Varonian, who was on the verge of collapse, and dragged him to the factor’s dilapidated hovel. Turmalai, alternately bellowing curses and sobbing, had been lashed to a stout wooden chair and was guarded by Lummomu and Sir Edinar. Kadiya directed the two Wyvilo to put the injured man in another room and care for him as best they could. Then she noticed for the first time that Sir Melpotis and Sir Kalepo knelt beside an improvised pallet in a corner. Lord Zondain rested there, unmoving and with features pale as wax.

  “How fares he?” Kadiya asked.

  Young Melpotis shook his head. His cheeks were wet with tears.

  Kalepo said, “Lady, our noble brother Zondain has passed safely beyond, borne into glory by the Lords of the Air.”

  “May the Triune God grant him mercy,” Kadiya whispered. For a minute she gazed down at the dead Companion. Then her blazing brown eyes lifted slowly and regarded the captive factor, who had not ceased his noisy lamentation.

  “Maggot-ridden offal,” she said, striding to confront him. “Is it your usual mode of hospitality to poison your guests?”

  Turmalai Yonz made no reply, but only continued to keen and sob wildly over his lost sons. He had seen the fight on the dock before being captured and tied up by Lummomu.

  “Tchaa!” Wikit-Aa exclaimed in contempt. “The one murderous stripling was only knocked senseless after receiving small wounds, while the other who went overboard was seen to reach shore some fifty ells downstream.”

  “My precious boys are alive?” the factor cried. “Praise be to Tesdor the Compassionate, the Life-Giving!”

  Kadiya seized a handful of the factor’s dirty hair and hauled his head erect. Her other hand held a poniard. “You are indeed blessed, you sack of woth-vomit,” she remarked conversationally. “Your misbegotten whelps have escaped death they justly deserved.” Her blade’s point pricked Turmalai’s throat. “But you will face the judgment of your god not two minutes from now unless you give me true answers to my questions.”

  The factor squirmed and gave a gargling cry.

  “Why did you poison our food?” Kadiya demanded. “Was it only for merry mischief’s sake, in order to rob us … or did you have another reason?”

  Turmalai’s eyes rolled desperately. The sharp steel at his throat drew a threadlike trickle of blood.

  “There was … an offer,” he croaked. “To all of us who dwell along the river. If we were able to capture you, dead or alive, and bring you to a certain spot before the next fullness of the Moons, there would be a reward of a thousand platinum crowns.”

  “Zoto’s Holy Heel-Spurs!” exclaimed Sir Kalepo, for the amount was literally a king’s ransom. He and his brother Melpotis left off their vigil beside their dead brother and stood with the Lady of the Eyes.

  “Who promised this extravagant largesse?” Kadiya let loose of the factor with a grimace and sheathed her dagger.

  “There was no name given,” Turmalai Yonz said sullenly. “Only the place where you were to be taken, beside the Double Cascade that lies up the River Oda, which has its confluence with the Mutar some twenty leagues downstream from here. I could not believe my good fortune when you came ashore.”

  Kadiya reached beneath her cloak and drew forth a folded piece of cloth, which she opened. “Can you read a map, qubardropping?”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  She indicated a river on the inscribed napkin. “Here is the Oda. Is this red dot the location where the reward was to be paid for us?”

  He squinted at the cloth thrust beneath his nose. “Y-yes. The very place. You were to be brought there at dawn on any day during this present moon, and those putting up the reward would be waiting.”

  “Dawn …” Kadiya gave a curt nod, then put away the chart of viaduct sites and turned to the knights. “Companions, bring Lord Zond
ain’s body down to the dock. We will build his funeral pyre with the trade goods of this pitiful assassin.”

  “No!” Turmalai Yonz cried. “I’ll be ruined!”

  “Be grateful,” Sir Kalepo retorted, “that you and your surviving people are not also serving as fuel for the flames.” He, Edinar, and Melpotis bore away the body.

  Lummomu and Wikit came out from the other room. “We found the medication,” Lummomu said, “and applied it to the rogue’s wound. There was also a bottle of fine Galanari brandy, which he consumed to the relief of his pain. He now lies senseless.”

  “You didn’t give him the last of the good stuff?” the factor wailed. Melpotis smote him on the ear and he subsided, whimpering.

  “What shall we do with this abominable creature, Lady?” Lummomu asked Kadiya.

  “Let him stay lashed to the chair until someone comes to free him. If the wounded man does not die, he will awake from his drunken stupor some time late tomorrow.”

  “And what of your desire to travel upstream?” Wikit asked. “There are skiffs here that might serve your purpose.”

  “I have changed my mind. Please return to the flatboat and make ready to cast off. Jagun and I will join you shortly.”

  Kadiya beckoned to her Nyssomu friend and he followed her out into the darkness. They went off to the side of the lodge and stood beneath the dripping branches of a large ombako tree.

  “I would like you to bespeak my sister, the White Lady,” she said to the aborigine, “and bid her Send to me.”

  “Very well,” said Jagun. His luminous eyes closed and his small body became rigid as a billet of wood as he sent out the Call in the speech without words.

  An instant later Haramis stood there, so ghostly and insubstantial that one five paces away would not have been able to discern her.

  What is it, Kadi?

  “Have you watched what took place here?”

  No, said the Archimage. I have been occupied with other matters.

  Kadiya told the tale quickly, whereupon the White Lady became very agitated. I should have anticipated this! What a fool I have been. Of course they would try to seize you after capturing poor Ani!

  “To exert pressure upon you?” Kadiya inquired grimly.

  Beyond doubt.

  “And would you surrender your talisman if Orogastus showed you Ani and me embedded in blue ice?”

  No, said the Archimage.

  Kadiya smiled. “Good! … Obviously I cannot attempt to return upriver through the shallows now, not with every lowborn mudsucker on the Great Mutar lying in wait for me, licking his chops. I shall have to go on as we planned originally, to Sobrania.”

  Not long ago I viewed the young Star Man who incited the Skritek taking ship from Taloazin in Zinora. He was bound for Sobrania as well. Whether or not the Star Guild is headquartered there, it is at least a suitable place to begin our investigation.

  “What will you do about Ani? … I had made up my mind to enter that viaduct in the Mazy Mire in search of her, whether you approved or not.”

  That will not be necessary. I have already decided to go through it myself. Pray for me, dear Kadi.

  The Sending vanished, but Kadiya stared for some time at the patch of dark foliage where the image of Haramis had been. Finally Jagun put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Farseer, they are lighting Lord Zondain’s pyre. We should be there.”

  “Yes,” she sighed. They set off for the dock together in the dreary rain. After a few moments, she said, “Jagun, are you willing to accompany me on a journey that may be far more dangerous than a sea voyage to Sobrania?”

  “You know that I am. And the five Oathed Companions will surely tell you likewise. Where are we to go?”

  “We will discuss it,” said the Lady of the Eyes, “after bidding farewell to Zondain.”

  10

  After Queen Anigel’s struggle in the chill water and subsequent plunge through the clangorous void, there was a long interval of complete silence. Then her senses began slowly to return. She lay in some sort of conveyance that moved and jolted along, feeling in many different parts of her body severe pain that ebbed and flowed, blurring the passage of time and making rational thought impossible. She was aware of green twilight through briefly opened eyelids, and spicy forest smells, and the sound of unfamiliar birds. Someone spoke to her but the words were impossible to understand. She drifted back into unconsciousness.

  Then it was night, and she heard hoofs clattering on rock in the darkness. The wagon pitched wildly, aggravating her injuries. She wept in helpless anguish until finally they came to a halt. Rough male voices mingled with the nervous whickers of steeds and draft-beasts and her own feeble sobs, muffled by blankets. Every breath she took produced a stab of pain. Her right leg would not move, nor would her left arm. Suddenly she was shocked by a thunderous explosion, and her body leapt as lesser concussions occurred and the animals shrieked in terror.

  Someone shouted a command. The wagon lurched forward once more, resuming its jarring progress. But now it seemed to her confused brain that they had departed from the natural world somehow and traveled instead through the innermost of the ten hells, for she saw through swollen eyes roaring columns of fire, orange against the night sky. Their heat was so intense that she thrashed about the wagon bed in an agony of fear, calling out brokenly for her husband.

  King Antar did not reply. All she heard was a hoarse shout: “Faster, damn you! Use your whips. Any minute it’ll rain, and that’ll be the death of us all!”

  The jouncing and tossing movement of the wagon then increased so tremendously that the pain-racked Queen fainted away, once again entering a world of formless dreams. This state continued until a light, so bright that it penetrated even her closed eyelids, flicked briefly over her face and left colored stars in its wake. She heard indistinct speech. The fire-heat was gone. She was no longer traveling but at rest upon a couch or bed indoors, quite unable to move. Then something hard and dull jabbed at one side of her throat, and once again she lost her senses.

  When she came to herself again it was daytime and very quiet. She lay betwixt sleep and waking, unsure at first whether that which she experienced was real.

  I am Anigel, she said to herself. I am Queen of Laboruwenda and I was broken and drowned, but now I am whole and alive.

  She was not certain how she knew these things, and she had no memory at all of how the drowning had come to pass. She lay flat on her back beneath a thin coverlet. Two unyielding pillows as firm as sandbags prevented her from moving her head, which was slightly elevated. Her hands and feet were also restrained in some manner but she was not uncomfortable. Deep within her abdomen there was an infinitesimal flutter and she smiled. Her babes were also alive.

  Anigel could see a low ceiling framed with ancient timbers, and the upper parts of stone walls. On her right was a casement window open to a gray sky, having coarse-woven draperies. The breeze carried a faint, pungent scent that she could not immediately identify.

  On the left-hand wall hung a large tapestry done in vivid colors. What she could see of it depicted a female hero with long red tresses, clad below the neck in exotic plate armor, poised to smite some downed foe with her sword. Tall flames, nearly the color of the woman’s hair, spewed from the rocks on either side of the combatants. In the background, the charred remains of a devastated forest made skeletal black patterns against a lurid sky that was heavy with storm clouds.

  Yes. The smell in the air was that of burnt wood, intensified by recent rain …

  Puzzled and disoriented, Anigel studied the wall-hanging for some time. It was not of woven fabric. What was it made of? What land was it intended to show? And what manner of foe was it that the heroic barbarian woman was about to dispatch? It seemed vitally important to Queen Anigel that she know these things, although she did not understand why. She cudgeled her brain until the answers came.

  Feathers. The brilliant tapestry was wrought of intricately layered feathers, and
the triumphant woman was about to slay a cringing red-bearded man of oddly familiar aspect. He wore a gaudy cloak and clutched the handle of an ornate battle-axe.

  Feathers …

  Sobrania.

  Suddenly she knew beyond any doubt that she was in that country of the far west where the weather was clement throughout most of the year and prodigal numbers of birds inhabited the fertile forests. The Land of Feathered Barbarians was a scattered collection of little kingdoms and tribes, whose self-styled “emperor,” Denombo, reigned over but did not truly rule the truculent people. But Sobrania lay thousands of leagues distant from the Mazy Mire. The only way she could have been transported there was—

  “No!” the Queen cried out. She began to fight against her restraints with all her strength, but to no avail. She was as helpless as a trussed togar lying on a poulterer’s stand.

  But why, she asked herself, did not my trillium-amber protect me as I fell into the floodwaters?

  Was it because she had failed to formulate the prayer in time—or was there some other reason? Had she lost the amulet? Had some villain taken it from her? There was no way she could tell, for the coverlet reached to her chin and she was unable to shift it, in spite of her futile struggling.

  She fell back exhausted at last and let her eyes close, trying not to weep. Anger, frustration, and fear laid siege to her, but she refused to surrender to them, taking long slow breaths in an attempt to calm herself. She tried to think who might have captured her, and for what reason, but her muddled mind gave no answer and the very attempt at thought made her head ache.

  Black Trillium, she prayed in despair, help me! Help me!

  For an instant the tripartite Flower seemed to glow behind her lowered eyelids. Then Queen Anigel slipped again into dreamless sleep.

  11

  “White Lady, all of us in your household beg of you—do not do this baneful thing!”

  Tears brimmed from the enormous inhuman eyes of Magira, Vispi chatelaine of the Archimage’s Tower. For an instant, the tall slender body of the aboriginal woman seemed to flicker and disappear, leaving only those ice-green orbs, overflowing with woe and apprehension, shining in the dimness of the Archimage’s room. Then the eyes blinked and Magira became visible once more, clad in her filmy scarlet gown with the jeweled collar. Her face was nearly human in delineation, save for the overlarge eyes and the graceful upstanding ears nearly hidden in her pale hair. She and others of her race had served Haramis zealously ever since she had assumed her white cloak of office.