by Julian May
“In our Mazy Mire country,” Jagun said, “certain of my Folk have been the close allies of humankind for many hundreds, earning their respect and even their love. And in recent times, thanks to the three women known as the Petals of the Living Trillium, of whom my Lady is one, the ancient antagonism between humans and Folk has been much alleviated. We know now that the same blood flows in the veins of both our races, and so we strive to be true brothers and sisters even though we differ in appearance.”
“The Sobranians think differently,” Critch said, “and so do the Cadoon Folk. Why, then, are you so sure your beliefs are true?”
Jagun spent some time telling him the history of the Vanished Ones, and the great war between the Archimages and the Star Guild, and the near-destruction of the world that had resulted, and how the survivors had fared for twelves times ten hundreds until the present. When Jagun finished, Critch the Cadoon marveled at the tale—although he took a gloomy satisfaction in knowing that the world was mysteriously out of kilter, since this confirmed his own formless anxieties. Then the two aborigines stood together at the boat’s rail in silence, until Prince Tolivar came away from the bow, where he had stood alone out of earshot, and addressed them.
“I slept poorly last night,” the boy said. “I think I will go below now and turn in. It is not very amusing to watch a festival from so far away.”
“I will go with you,” Jagun said.
The Prince smiled. “There is no need.”
“All the same,” the old huntsman persisted, “we’ll go together.” He waited until the boy began to descend the companionway ladder, then followed closely behind.
Tolivar helped Jagun clear up the discarded clothing and other litter from the costuming, then climbed into one of the sailboat’s narrow forward bunks and pretended to go to sleep. The Nyssomu sat for over an hour in the boat’s tiny galley, then quietly crept back up on deck, just as the Prince had hoped he would.
None of the boat’s portholes was more than two handspans wide and the after deck hatch was dogged shut, so the only way topside was up the ladder. Tolivar was quite certain that Jagun or Critch would guard the companionway all through the night, and he was also sure that neither of them seriously expected him to attempt an escape. They thought he was still in mourning for Ralabun, and that he would keep his word not to use magic. Since they also believed that Queen Anigel was still at liberty, they would think he had no motive to go off seeking her.
Wrong, the Prince said bleakly to himself, on every count.
Sliding out of the bunk, he put on his boots, then drew the coronet out of his shirt and settled it onto his head.
Talisman, he commanded silently, tell me where Jagun has hidden the star-box.
It is within the central locker in the galley.
Tolivar then commanded the talisman to render him invisible. He secured the box, which he put into one of the bags that had held a costume, and then tied the long bundle to his back. When both bag and star-box were also made invisible, he addressed a fresh request to the coronet:
Tell me how I may put Jagun and Critch into an enchanted sleep.
Simply see them so in your mind, and order it done.
Will—will the spell harm them?
They will eventually perish of thirst and hunger unless you release them betimes, or else modify the spell.
Can I order them to sleep only until sunup?
Assuredly.
Prince Tolivar closed his eyes and imagined the two Folk lying down and drifting peacefully into unconsciousness. Then he visualized them awakening at dawn, commanded the magic, and opened his eyes.
Are they asleep?
Yes.
Venting a sigh of relief, the boy went up the ladder and onto the deck. The aborigines were curled up, one on either side of the wicker hamper filled with colored eggs. Tolivar dragged little Jagun over beside Critch and covered both of them with a tarpaulin against the chill and the possibility of rain. He looked thoughtfully at the hamper, and then took from it a net bag of the missiles, which he fastened to his belt and made invisible.
“Talisman! Tell me where my mother is now.”
The request is impertinent.
The Prince felt his heart plummet. “Is she concealed by the power of the evil Star?”
The question is impertinent.
But the Prince knew that it was so. Before, when Orogastus had wanted him to know of his mother’s jeopardy, the Sight of her was clear enough. “Well, I know how to find her,” Tolivar said to himself.
He looked up into the sky. A veil of high clouds had drawn ghostly haloes around the Three Moons, and a rising wind whined in the sailboat’s rigging, making an eerie countermelody to the distant braying of the brass bands. He had no idea how many hours there were until midnight, when he would have to meet Orogastus.
Tolivar had yet a single question to ask of his talisman—one upon which his last faint hope hung.
“Will Orogastus be able to see me, even though I am invisible?”
Yes, for you still waver in your rejection of him.
The Prince had suspected as much.
Still invisible, he went down the gangplank and onto the quay, not bothering to look out at the ships in the harbor. One of them, a very large trireme lacking the festive lighting of the other vessels, seemed to be dragging its anchor in the pallid waters and slowly drifting closer to shore.
24
The army of Orogastus rode stealthily into Brandoba early in the evening, entering a few at a time through the little-used Hunters Gate at the northeastern edge of the sprawling city. Following the Star Master’s orders, the warriors and Guildsmen melted away unobtrusively into the crowds of festival celebrants. At a designated time they were to rendezvous with the partisans of the Archduchess Naelore at the central pleasance, where—if all went well—the massed invaders would receive the command to storm the palace.
Every follower of the Star was identically costumed in a voluminous cape of glossy black plumage and an avian hood-mask with distinctive golden eyes. The single exception among the dark flock was a rather small person riding pillion behind one of the blackbirds, who wore the modest gray and white feathers of a sea-griss over a simple woolen robe.
“Stop wriggling,” Naelore said to her passenger, “or I will command my Star to sprinkle you with pain.”
“If you would just unfasten the bonds on my wrists,” Queen Anigel replied, “I could cling to the saddle skirts and would not constantly be in danger of losing my balance. It doesn’t help that the headpiece of this wretched bird costume keeps slipping over my eyes.”
The Archduchess laughed. “Release you? Not likely, witch-queen! Even deprived of your loathly Flower, you are doubtless capable of dire magic.”
“I am no witch,” Anigel said mildly, “and the Black Trillium you seem to fear so much only protects my life and cannot harm anyone.”
“Hah! Tell that to the Guildsmen who tried to remove it from your neck while you lay senseless in Castle Conflagrant. Their fingers were scorched to the bone by magical fire when they touched that cursed amulet.”
“Indeed? I did not know that my trillium-amber was capable of such a thing. I would not willingly have caused your people injury.”
“I suppose,” Naelore said in a scathing voice, “that you likewise intended no hurt to those you burnt alive during your escape across the basin of flaming geysers!”
“I regret the death of our pursuers,” Anigel said, “but they fired upon us with an ancient weapon, endangering the lives of me and my companions. It was that selfsame weapon that ignited the flammable vapors.”
“So you say,” Naelore retorted. And when Anigel would have made further expostulation, the Star Woman ordered her to be silent.
Orogastus, who had entered the city gate last of all, had been riding immediately behind the Archduchess and her prisoner. He now spurred his mount and came up beside them. His pale eyes glimmered beneath the black beak of his bird headpiece.
“I will go on ahead a short distance,” he told Naelore, “so that I may scan the throng more readily for our enemies. It is unlikely that the Star will give me Sight of Kadiya, since she is almost certainly shielded by her talisman. But I might descry others of her party if they should stray from her immediate vicinity. Keep alert, and beware any woman bearing a broken dark sword.”
The sorcerer urged his steed forward through the growing crowd, and Naelore and Anigel followed. They were soon caught up in a great river of costumed people, some on fronialback but most afoot, making their way toward the city center in advance of the fireworks display at the pleasance. Groups of musicians, moving with the mob or ensconced on balconies overlooking the streets, labored to play above the cadenced din of birdwhistles, noisemakers, and drunken singing. From time to time roisterers would smash eggs filled with glittering confetti and fungus spores, and there would be sneezes and shrieks and good-humored curses until the airborne nuisance dissipated. Orogastus and Naelore used their Star magic to fend off the nose-tickling dust, as well as to impel obstructive festivalgoers out of the way.
At length, having come within a few blocks of the imperial palace, the two sorcerers and their prisoner turned off the packed, noisy avenue onto a much quieter side street. It was lined with stately mansions all decked with bird effigies and feathered banners. Twinkling lanterns of green and gold, the heraldic colors of Sobrania, hung in the tree branches and stood atop the high outer walls of mortared stone that enclosed most of the houses. There were numbers of costumed people loitering about, but they seemed strangely subdued in demeanor, clustering in silent groups beneath the trees or sitting on the curbstone side by side. Even in the uncertain light, Anigel could see that every one of them was dressed in red feathers.
Naelore rode stiffly, holding tight to the reins and never turning to look at Anigel. It was plain that she was holding back her beast in order to keep well behind Orogastus.
Suddenly, she said, “Tell me about your sister Haramis!”
The surprised Queen began to recite the duties of the Archimage of the Land, but this was not what the Star Woman wanted to know. “Is your sister beautiful? Describe her to me.”
“Haramis is much taller than I,” Anigel said. “She has black flowing hair and silvery-blue eyes with wide pupils, in the depths of which lie minute flecks of golden fire. She is certainly beautiful, but one is more likely to take note of her commanding aspect and the aura of preternatural power that seems to enshroud her.”
“Does—does she love him, as he loves her?”
Taken aback, Anigel nonetheless knew instinctively what the other woman meant, as well as the motive behind the question. “I think Haramis wishes with all her heart and soul that she did not love Orogastus. His life-goals are utterly at odds with her own. She cannot help loving him, but she has long since renounced any hope of consummating that love.”
The Star Woman’s posture softened, as though she had been relieved of some burden. When she resumed her questioning her manner was less surly. “I know that your sister Haramis possesses the third piece of the Threefold Sceptre of Power. What does this marvelous instrument look like?”
“The Three-Winged Circle is a short wand with a kind of hoop on its end. The wings themselves are tiny, perched at the top of the hoop and enclosing a piece of trillium-amber identical to my own. Haramis wears the wand on a chain around her neck.”
“Is she able to make full use of this Circle’s magic—or is she only minimally competent with her talisman, as are the witch Kadiya and your prodigal son with theirs?”
Anigel paused momentarily before answering, wondering why the Star Woman had not put the query to Orogastus, then thinking that perhaps she had … Still, there seemed no good reason not to give reply.
“I doubt that anyone now alive truly understands the working of the Sceptre of Power. It is an artifact of the Vanished Ones, supposedly so formidable that those who invented it were ultimately afraid to use it. Taken apart, the three pieces of the Sceptre that are called talismans are much less powerful. Haramis is certainly more adept at wielding hers than is Kadiya, but her greatest magical skills are quite independent of the Winged Circle, deriving rather from her sacred and beneficent office.”
“Beneficent? But she is a tyrant, as are the Archimages of the Sea and the Sky! The Star Master says that the three of them have manipulated both humanity and the Oddling Folk from time immemorial. They oppose all scientific and social progress because it would threaten their positions of power.”
“Nonsense,” said Anigel. “I cannot speak about the Dark Man in the Moon, but both my sister Haramis and Iriane, the Archimage of the Sea, are kindly guardians who would not dream of oppressing the peoples of this world. They have made solemn vows never to use magic to harm a living soul.”
“And yet,” Naelore said, “Haramis once assembled the Sceptre and attempted to kill the Star Master with it!”
“No,” Anigel corrected her. “Haramis, Kadiya, and I used the Sceptre to turn the sorcery of Orogastus back upon him when he would have destroyed us Three and conquered our little kingdom.”
“That is not what the Master says!”
“Orogastus often bends the truth to suit his purposes.”
“He has never lied to me, nor to others of the Star Guild.”
Anigel sighed. “And has he promised that your Guild will rule the world with him if you assist him in his vainglorious schemes? I must tell you that he once tempted Haramis with the same ridiculous proposal—”
The Sobranian woman whirled about in the saddle and regarded Anigel with blazing anger. “You silly fool!” she hissed. “What do you know of the Master’s grand and noble intentions? Rule—? So he will! But not to satisfy some overarching private ambition. Rather he seeks to save the world from the hideous cataclysm toward which it hurtles, all unknowing!”
“What cataclysm? What are you talking about?”
“Unless Orogastus saves us, we are doomed. This world of ours totters on the brink of destruction, racked by mysterious internal maladies set in motion long aeons ago. The Star Master learned details of the awful peril while he was imprisoned by the Archimage of the Sky. And only the Master knows the method by which we can be saved.”
“Then why,” Anigel inquired with sweet reasonableness, “doesn’t he simply get on with this exalted work of his? Instead, he has sent out secret agents to foment sedition and discord all across the continent. He kidnapped and held hostage the legitimate rulers of six countries. And, unless I miss my guess, he is here in Brandoba tonight hoping to engineer the overthrow of Emperor Denombo, so that you can seize the Sobranian throne! If the true intent of Orogastus is the salvation of the world, why is he embarking upon a war of conquest?”
“The necessary remedy for healing the world is a drastic one,” Naelore said earnestly, “requiring much sacrifice from the population as well as the exertion of ineffable magic. Left to your own devices, you proud, ignorant rulers would never be able to control your people during the days of rebalancing. You are too cowardly, too undisciplined and selfish to do what must be done. It is necessary for an all-powerful leader to compel you.”
Anigel would have remonstrated indignantly, but Naelore swept on, speaking like one entranced. “I myself am no more than the willing servant of the Star Master. When I become Empress of Sobrania, I will do whatever he asks in order to forward his grand strategy. Later, when the work is done and the Sky Trillium shines above our land—after the Sempiternal Ice is banished forever and the Vanished Ones walk among us again—then I will share in the Master’s triumph. And perhaps I will even win his love, if the Dark Powers will it.”
Anigel was reduced to speechlessness.
The great continental ice cap somehow melted? The Vanished Ones returning? It was absurd!
But the world was out of balance in some fundamental way. Haramis had been convinced of it, citing the severe earthquakes, the widespread volcanic eruptions, and the
disastrous weather that had afflicted so many parts of the continent during recent years. However, the Archimage had never hinted that these events might be portents of planetary doom.
Or had she?
Involuntarily, the Queen’s bound hands lifted to her throat, seeking the comfort of her Black Trillium amulet. But the Flower was gone, just as Haramis was gone, and there was no one to answer her questions except herself …
Orogastus now drew up his steed at a residence with a sturdy iron gate, where the odd groups of red-garbed celebrants were especially numerous. He lifted his Star and a gatekeeper unlocked the portal. Beckoning Naelore to follow, he rode his fronial inside. The two animals moved down a short gravel track flanked by gardens, coming at last to the lighted entrance of the dwelling. Nine Sobranian men in ornate armor and blood-red feathered cloaks waited at attention beneath the portico, plumed casques tucked under their arms.
Several liveried lackeys stood apart. Orogastus dismounted and gave his fronial over to one of them, then took off his hood and cape and gave them to another. The Sobranian noblemen gasped at the sight of his exotic Star Guild armor. Waving off a third footman, the sorcerer himself assisted Naelore to alight, leaving Anigel perched on the pillion.
With a single movement, the Archduchess removed her own dark bird disguise and let it fall to the ground. She also wore the silver-and-black war regalia of the guild of sorcerers, except for the rayed helmet, but each piece of her plate armor was adorned with golden chasing and brilliants. The Star of Nerenyi Daral hung from a jeweled chain around her neck. Her flaming tresses were partially hidden by a crown of platinum and gold in the form of a bird with downswept wings, having a single gigantic emerald for a head and studded with hundreds of sparkling white and yellow diamonds. She gave her arm to the Star Master, who bowed his head respectfully and brought her forward to the waiting men.
“My Lords,” Orogastus intoned, “I present your Empress.”
The nine nobles whipped out their two-pronged swords and held them high in a salute of fealty. “Naelore!” they cried. “Long life to Her Imperial Majesty the Empress Naelore!” One by one they came forward, holding up their blades for the benison of her touch. Then the two most imposing among them brought a gorgeous feather cloak, shading from vivid scarlet at the hood and shoulders to deepest garnet color at the hem, and vested Naelore in it. When the little ceremony was over, she spoke.