by Julian May
The beautiful forms floating in their golden bubbles evoked no alternative solution, nor did her heartbroken pleas to the Black Trillium. Her own wisdom and common sense seemed to have deserted her, leaving only a void of despair.
“If I could only return to the land—to the solid ground that nourishes my personal magic! As long as I remain a prisoner here, there is no way I can reshape the awful destiny that Denby has decreed.”
Or was there?
The Dark Lord of the Firmament was an Archimage, after all, and bound by the solemnities of that office as she herself was. Neither of them could deliberately do harm to a thinking person …
She pondered a certain notion for a long time. Its success would depend upon capturing the madman’s attention, and there seemed only one hope of doing that. She went to the Grotto of Memory in the Garden Moon and settled down on the bench in front of the shining world globe, praying in silence. After many hours a sindona consoler appeared, a being having the form of a woman dressed in a golden tunic, with a body as smooth and hard as ivory, yet able in some miraculous way to move as gracefully as a human being. The thing was kind and solicitous, exhorting Haramis to return to her apartment, partake of supper, and go to sleep.
But she refused. “If you would really console me,” she told the living statue, “tell Denby to grant me release from these Moons. Let me return to the land so that I may resume my duties, guiding the people who live there. Otherwise I will stay here in this grotto, neither eating nor drinking, until I pass safely beyond. And my death will be Denby’s fault for having kept me unjustly imprisoned.”
The sindona bowed its gold-coiffed head. “I will tell the Archimage of the Firmament what you have said.” It went away through a viaduct at the rear of the small cave, which Haramis had not noticed before.
She maintained her vigil for three days more, growing weaker and weaker from her fast and suffering a burning thirst. At last, lying prone upon the mossy cave floor, she heard the Dark Man call her name reproachfully.
She raised her head and spoke in a frail whisper. “You are too early, Dark Man. I am not yet dead, and the talisman you covet is still bonded to me.”
“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” Denby’s voice quavered with injured innocence.
She hauled herself up to a sitting position. “Can we not be honest with each other? It is plain that you intend to keep me captive until I turn the Three-Winged Circle over to you—or until I die, and its bonding to my soul dissolves. Why else would you have brought me here?”
His purplish lips twitched into a sly smile. “Perhaps to get to know you better … perhaps to teach you a thing or two about saving the world! It is not easy for a madman to know his own motives.”
She deliberately averted her face, as from a revolting spectacle. “I do not believe you are mad at all. You are only old and mortally tired, and perversely determined to see the end of the dire game that you and your Archimagical colleagues started so long ago.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I found the account in your library—the one that Orogastus also read. For twelve thousand years you have manipulated the destiny of Folk and humankind as well, attempting vainly to undo the disaster you wrought during the war of enchantment. Perhaps you had the best interests of the world in mind at the beginning. But latterly, I think you became impatient. Your meddling became more reckless and capricious, with the result that the original world imbalance—which had been slowly healing—worsened drastically. And now the planet is doomed to be enveloped entirely in ice, and your arrogant tinkering is responsible.”
He spoke calmly. “You are correct in all save your last statement.”
With difficulty she climbed to her feet and confronted him. “Binah and Iriane did not understand that you were the reason for the world’s fresh deterioration. Those two Archimages were genuinely selfless and benevolent. Under their plan, the Three Petals of the Living Trillium would have resurrected the Sceptre of Power and effected a great healing. They believed that the calamitous natural events that would attend the restoration of the lost balance might be abated by the loving influence of the Flower.”
Denby made an offhand gesture. “Their scheme seemed worth a try.”
“But you only pretended to agree with them,” Haramis accused. “You had already engendered a quicker, more drastic solution—and its name was Orogastus! You have embraced the dark philosophy of the Star, that would compel free souls to bow to a despot, supposedly for their own good.”
“If one waits upon the Triune,” the old man said coldly, “one may wait indefinitely. I have waited twelve thousand years. I can wait no longer.”
Haramis eyed him with sudden understanding. “You are dying.”
“Yes. And before I go, I will either see the balance restored, or see an ending! You and your precious sisters served my purposes by finding the lost pieces of the Sceptre. Powerful as I am, I was unable to do that. The talismans had been concealed by the sindona, so that no human would ever again use them as tools of aggression. When the Flower’s magic led you to them, I was quite surprised. I had intended for Orogastus to use the Cynosure of the Star Guild to hunt the talismans down. Instead, I had to use the Cynosure to save him from you.”
“We only defended ourselves against his evil magic—”
“Enough of this nattering! Why should I justify myself to a young upstart? You and your sisters are as cowardly as the original College of Archimagi. Their solution to the first world imbalance was to command the people to flee into the outer firmament! Since you are also afraid to use the Sceptre, you are irrelevant. Only Orogastus matters now.”
“My sisters and I did not fully understand the nature of our destiny nor that of the talismans. Given time, we might well have seen that the Sceptre is the world’s only hope, and found a way to use it safely.”
“Time!” barked the old man contemptuously. “There is no time! Orogastus now has the Burning Eye and the Three-Headed Monster. He must be given the third piece of the Sceptre at once—and he must use it. The earthquakes that herald the end have already begun. Soon the continental crust will fracture in a thousand places. Newborn volcanoes will belch forth their dust, darkening the sun and poisoning the frozen sea for all time. Only the Sempiternal Ice will endure!”
Having made this awful pronouncement, he faltered, seeming to be overcome with a profound weariness. He waved one gnarled hand feebly, and two Sentinels of the Mortal Dictum appeared from the viaduct inside the grotto. The living statues with their crown-helms and belts of shining blue and green scales stood side by side, serene and deadly, with golden skulls tucked beneath their left arms.
“Haramis,” Denby whispered, “give me the Three-Winged Circle. Command it to rest harmlessly in my hands and I will set you free at once, so that you may rescue your sisters Anigel and Kadiya. Refuse me and they will both meet an atrocious death.”
She rose again to her feet, touching the trillium-amber of her talisman, which hung on its chain at her neck. “No. I think you are bluffing.”
“Am I? See for yourself.”
He stepped up to the world globe and touched it. The geographical features vanished and the globe became a great scrysphere filled with pearly vapor. The mist congealed into images, and Haramis saw a dismal chamber containing many instruments of torture. Chained to one wall and sitting in a pile of straw was Kadiya, her face blank with hopelessness. She was watching as a squad of laughing guards headed by a Star Man dragged in four unconscious prisoners. One was a redheaded individual unknown to Haramis, another was King Ledavardis of Raktum, the third was Prince Tolivar, and the last was Anigel herself, whose dirty garments were half torn from her body. The villain wearing the Star dropped the Queen roughly upon the straw and began fastening rusty manacles to her wrists.
Haramis cried out in horror, and the vision within the globe was instantly extinguished.
“They are in Sobrania,” Denby said without emotion, “captives of the new E
mpress, Naelore, who seized the throne of that country after personally decapitating her brother Denombo. You should know that tomorrow morning your sisters and their companions will be tortured to death … unless Orogastus has your talisman in hand by sunrise.”
“He—he would never do such a thing!” Haramis asserted. “Not even for the Three-Winged Circle.”
“Perhaps not,” the Archimage of the Firmament conceded. “But I assure you that the lovely Naelore will do so with enthusiasm, now that a mysterious magical voice has planted the notion in her mind. The Empress is most vexed because Orogastus neither attended her coronation nor otherwise assisted in the consolidation of her power following the coup. Instead, he closeted himself in a room of the imperial palace with the two talismans. His purpose is to refamiliarize himself with their operation … so that he may find you.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“To—to compel me to surrender my talisman to him?”
“Not even that. The besotted imbecile would merely bespeak you sweetly, to continue his futile attempts to convert you to his point of view through what he thinks of as logic. And love.” Denby gave a snort of derision. “Faugh—he is a disappointment! A sentimental fool who must be goaded back onto the correct path of action. The Empress Naelore will see to it—with my help.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
The old man began to laugh uncontrollably, and only when his mirth trailed away into a coughing spasm did he regain control of himself. “Oh, it’s such a delicious irony. Naelore has an unrequited passion for Orogastus, just as he has for you, my dear! The Empress has already presented her beloved sorcerer with Kadiya’s talisman. Poor woman—she was so crestfallen at his aloof response. She thinks now that if she were able to give him your talisman as well, Orogastus would be more grateful. Especially if such gratitude were a condition of her bestowing the gift … as the mysterious voice in her ear suggests.”
“You vile manipulator!” Haramis cried out in loathing. “Must you treat everyone like a game-piece?”
“Evidently, yes. It’s very tedious.” He held out his brown hand. “‘The Circle. Give it to me now, or take responsibility for the final conquest of the Ice.”
“You arrogant bully!” she cried. “I don’t believe that Orogastus is the world’s only hope—and I think that you yourself also have doubts. You are so proud and so consumed with guilt that you refuse to give consideration to any solution but your own!”
“Give me the Circle,” he repeated, “or I will command the sentinels to take it from you. As you well know, they are able to kill.”
“You would violate your Archimage’s oath?” she asked him steadily, already knowing the answer.
He said, “Don’t be silly. I would do whatever is needful.”
Abruptly, Haramis rushed at the old man with arms stiffly outstretched, giving him a sharp push that sent him staggering back into the arms of the sentinels, squeaking with surprise. Before he could act to stop her, she darted into the grotto’s interior and said, “Viaduct system, activate!” She stepped through the black circle and disappeared.
“You shall not defy me!” Denby screamed. “Not like she did!” He limped to the viaduct and entered it, calling out to the two sindona to follow.
He had programmed this magical portal to open into his own study in the Dark Man’s Moon. When he emerged he saw Haramis striding toward a round door beside the big observation window. It was the same one he had bade her beware of when they first met, six days earlier. He shouted, “Stop!”
“My trillium-amber will open any lock,” she said, turning to face him. “Even this one.” She lifted the wand, and the golden droplet nestled amidst the wings glowed in response.
“Don’t!” he wailed, standing frozen between the two sentinels. “That hatch is a relic of the Days of Vanishing and opens now into the airless void between the Moons. We will both die if you open it, and the talisman will be lost forever!”
“Then so be it,” Haramis said. “At least your diabolical game will end. Let our world meet whatever fate that the Triune intends—not one that you dictate.”
“Stop her!” Denby shrilled to the sentinels.
Before Haramis could command the door to open, the right arms of the sindona whipped up, their fingers pointing directly at her. She saw two beams of near-invisible light lance out, stop a scant handspan away, and reflect back as her trillium-amber flared. A stunning explosion rocked the room. Blinded and coughing in a sudden cloud of dust, she fell against the closed hatch, clapping her hands to her face in an instinctive gesture of protection. She expected instant death; the sentinels should have blasted her body to ashes, leaving only her seared cranium intact. But instead she heard a great clatter, as though a devastating hailstorm assaulted the room. Finally there was silence, broken only by a faint bubbling moan.
Lowering her hands, she saw through the dust that the study was in ruins, except for a small area immediately surrounding her. The leather chairs had been shredded, the desk and table and sideboard reduced to kindling, the bookshelves toppled and smashed, the ancient scientific instruments battered into shapeless, twisted metal. On the floor were deep piles of sharp ivory-colored fragments, mingled with colored bits of blue and green mosaic. A single undamaged golden skull had rolled to her feet.
He lay half-buried in the rubble, bleeding from a hundred wounds. Haramis went to him and knelt, lifting his head. There were no recognizable features within the mask of dusty gore save for his mouth.
“I will call a consoler,” she began, “one of the sindona healers—”
“Too late.” The words were barely discernible. “The Black Trillium … I might have known … older than the College, older than the Star … Three Petals to wield and the Sky Archimage to guide, if you wish it, Haramis … love is permissible, devotion is not … I only wanted to save it … the poor world.”
“I know.” She cradled him in her arms. The droplet of amber was dazzling bright. “Tell me how I may return.”
“Nerenyi’s … viaduct.” The two words were forced out with his last breath. Then Denby Varcour, last hero of the Vanished Ones and Archimage of the Firmament, passed safely beyond.
She summoned one of the sindona consolers to effect her own healing from the ordeal of the fasting. It was necessarily incomplete, for what she most needed was restful sleep; but afterward she was able to eat and drink and don her white tunic and trousers and her cloak of office in preparation for departure. When she left her apartment, she was astonished to find a throng of other living statues waiting in the lobby outside. There were seventeen servers, twelve bearers, five messengers, another consoler, and twenty-two sentinels.
“These servants are ready,” said the consoler who had attended her, “to obey you without question now that the Archimage of the Firmament is no more.”
“Will you show to me the operation of the viaduct transport system,” Haramis asked, “so that I may choose my destination upon entering?”
One of the messenger sindona stepped forward. “I can do that readily, Archimage, provided that you use a viaduct capable of being programmed. Some systems have a fixed routing. It will require some twenty hours of study for you to learn the programming process.”
“So long?” Haramis exclaimed in dismay. “But I must rescue my poor sisters and the others before the sun rises in the land of Sobrania!”
“The viaduct within the chamber of Nerenyi Daral is one of those that is fixed,” the messenger said. “It will transport you to the place where you wish to go if you simply step into it. Furthermore, if you take me with you when you travel, I will be able to reprogram other viaducts according to your commands.”
“Thanks be to the Flower!” She gave a great sigh of relief and thought hard for a moment. Then she said, “All of you save this one messenger wait here until I order you to attend me.” The gently smiling heads nodded in compliance. “You,” Haramis said to the chosen sindona, “lead me at once
to the viaduct of Nerenyi Daral.”
29
The magical portal opened into a small grove of trees. When Haramis emerged into the open, followed by the messenger, she found a dirt road paralleling a bluff beside the sea. The Three Moons shone overhead, framed by racing clouds, and a brisk wind blowing in from the water carried a few preliminary drops of rain. There were glimpses of lightning out to sea, and a faint muttering of thunder. The country round about was rocky and desolate, except for a darkened small villa fashioned of white stone situated on a promontory across the road. Below the house on either side were pebble beaches pounded by waves that were oddly luminescent and sluggish.
“Exactly where are we?” Haramis asked her Three-Winged Circle. The sindona messenger had known only that the viaduct opened in Sobrania.
This is the former villa of the Empress Naelore, said the talisman. It lies three and one-quarter leagues south of the capital city of Brandoba.
“Does anyone abide here?”
It has been abandoned for two years, since Naelore and her chief steward Tazor joined the Star Guild.
Haramis nodded in satisfaction and said to the sindona at her side, “Then we will take possession.”
Commanding her talisman to shield the house from the oversight of Orogastus or any other enemy, she unlocked the door and went inside. The place was musty and drear, with a few pieces of simple furniture remaining. The sitting room overlooked the sea, and on one side was a vista of Brandoba up the coast. Fires seemed to be burning in several parts of the city, for the clouds over it were tinged with baleful crimson and orange. There was also a peculiar intermittent red glow in the eastern sky that was too irregular to be the light of dawn.
Haramis studied the scene for a few minutes, sore perplexed, then lifted her talisman. “Why is Brandoba burning?”
Fires were started during the riots that accompanied the invasion by Orogastus.
She put more questions to the Circle until she had obtained a full picture of the successful coup and the way in which Kadiya, Anigel, and the others had been captured. It now lacked three hours until sunrise. The capital city was under the control of Naelore’s loyalists and the Star Guild. Denombo, his nobles, and most of the imperial guard had been slaughtered, and many thousands of ordinary people had died in the rioting, which had now almost completely subsided. There was no organized opposition to the conquerors. The new Empress had been hastily crowned, and subordinate kings and tribal chieftains of Sobrania who had been in the city for the Festival of the Birds were tripping over one another in their eagerness to acclaim her.