by Martin Ash
Professor Ractoban extended an arm and allowed his fingertips to tentatively caress the stone. ‘Cold,’ he murmured. ‘So cold.’
‘It seems to pulse,’ observed Prince Enlos, blinking. ‘The dark areas… do they move, or am I imagining things?’
Ractoban fixed his gaze upon Sildemund. He put his hand to his brow and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them they held a slightly glazed look. He turned to Prince Enlos.
‘This is an object of exceptional rarity, that much I can tell you.’
‘Tell Master Sildemund, not me,’ said the Prince. ‘It’s his property.’
‘Quite. Well, I can say little else at present. I will have to conduct some research before I can divulge more. Even then, I’m not sure that I will be able to tell you much.’
Sildemund nodded. Enlos addressed Kemorlin. ‘And you, revered Master of Mysteries? What have you to say? It’s not like you to remain so quiet.’
Kemorlin stroked his long beard. ‘I too confess myself at a loss, at least for the present.’
‘What? The great Kemorlin, who has dedicated his entire life to mysteries such as this, you can tell us nothing?’
Kemorlin pressed his beard to his chest, a flash of vexation crossing his features. Ignoring the sarcasm, he said, ‘It has emanations, of that I am in no doubt.’
‘Emanations?’
‘Of an unwholesome kind. Do you not sense it, Prince Enlos? Perhaps you lack sensitivity. But does no one else feel it? There is something extraordinary about this stone. I sense it may be an effectuary of sorts, but I can say no more than that at this time.’
Prince Enlos eyed him sceptically. ‘It is unpleasant to gaze upon, I will grant you that. But this is disappointing. Can you not be more definite? What of its origin? Its value? Are Dharsoul’s – nay, Darch’s – two self-professed most knowledgeable intellects so willing to admit defeat?’
‘Like the learned Professor, I believe that with sufficient study I might discover more,’ Kemorlin replied. ‘Though the prospect has no great appeal.’
‘Well, you are uninspiring. Both of you. For this, no doubt, you would under ordinary circumstances have already exacted an enormous fee. I’m not impressed. Professor Ractoban, is something the matter?’
Ractoban had taken himself off to one side and had sunk onto a chair. He had turned very pale.
‘Forgive me, sire.’ One hand rested shakily upon his brow. ‘I have come over a little faint.’
‘Are you ill?’
‘I think not. I will be well in a moment.’
‘Take some water. It may help.’ Enlos nodded to Gully, who quickly filled a goblet with water and delivered it to the ailing professor.
‘Now,’ said Enlos after a moment, turning back to Kemorlin, ‘what of this? Are we to send Master Sildemund away unsatisfied? It is a sorry thing. And I confess, I too will be disappointed. This extraordinary object, unpleasing as it is to the eye, yet fascinates me. I would love to know more about it.’
Kemorlin was silent, staring at the stone. Presently he said, in a low voice with just a hint of pique, ‘It costs me dear to admit this, sire – as you will appreciate in due course – but I take into account your high regard for your two friends here, and the importance you place on this elusive information. So I will say it. There is one other person who may be – ahem! – more adequately informed than I in regard to this object.’
‘There is?’ Enlos raised a sceptical eyebrow, but his expression appeared mocking. ‘To whom to you refer, great Master of Mysteries?’
Kemorlin squeezed his beard. ‘It is one who is already here, within the Palace.’
‘Do you play games, sir? To whom specifically do you refer?’
‘Must I speak that name, sire? Can you not divine it?’
‘Divine it? It is you, not I, who are the mage, Master Kemorlin. You the majestic delver into the Arcane, the skilled Walker of Paths Others May Not Tread. I have no perception of your thoughts.’
Kemorlin made a gesture of annoyance. He tilted his head to indicate the other persons in the chamber. ‘You yourself may not wish it spoken aloud.’
‘If you are reluctant to speak it out loud, I have two ears, into either of which words may be whispered. Whisper, then, before my patience cracks.’
Kemorlin stepped close and put his lips to the royal ear. Prince Enlos’s expression became thoughtful. He glanced aside at Kemorlin. ‘You believe this to be so?’
Kemorlin shrugged. ‘Possibly this… person may know nothing more than I or the Professor. But – and it embarrasses me to say it – if anyone is able to tell us more, it will be he – as you were surely already aware.
Enlos nodded, concealing a wry smile. ‘Then I shall send for him immediately.’
He snapped his fingers. An attendant came forward, receive instruction, and withdrew. Enlos turned back to Ractoban. ‘Professor, how are you now?’
‘A little better, thank you, sire.’ Ractoban remained slumped in his seat, but his pallor held less of the ghost. He turned his eyes mistrustfully to Sildemund’s stone resting on the table, then away again. ‘I do apologise. It came so suddenly. It has never happened before.’
‘Oh, tut! No apology is necessary.’
‘It is a darkly intriguing thing.’ Kemorlin was examining the stone again, but keeping a distance and refraining from touching it.
Prince Enlos moved up beside the table. ‘I cannot say that I am charmed by it. See how the red shifts to puce and purple. And the pale tendrils upon its surface. And again, as I observe, I could almost swear that the black fades and shifts in slow waves across the surface.’ He shook his head and looked up. ‘Well, it has certainly caught our imaginations, has it not?’
‘It was purchased from a foreign trader, you say?’ queried Kemorlin to Sildemund. ‘Do you have his name?’
‘Alas, no. The transaction was made by my father. I wasn’t present.’
He was aware that Gully watched him. He felt his cheeks grow hot. He would have given anything to be away from there just then. How he wished he had not mentioned his unsuccessful day to the Prince!
Prince Enlos had moved to the other end of the dining table and was pouring watered-wine into his goblet. He offered the pitcher to the others, but all declined.
Moments passed. Conversation was intermittent. It seemed to Sildemund that the atmosphere was growing more charged, but each strove to pretend otherwise. And then came a sudden loud rap at the door.
‘Come!’ called the Prince.
The door opened and an officer of the Palace Guard entered, saluted, and beckoned to an unseen party in the corridor outside. A man stepped in, youthful, olive-skinned and well attired in baggy blue breeches and a puff-sleeved shirt of deeper blue decorated with purple lozenges. Sildemund recognized him immediately. He was the foreigner he had encountered briefly in the corridor the previous evening.
The newcomer swept in with some panache. He paused before Prince Enlos, doffed his cap and performed a deep bow.
‘Prince Enlos, good eve. I apologize for my state of undress, but when your messenger arrived I was attending to my toilet, and as the summons appeared urgent I had little time to prepare. I simply threw myself into the first outfit that came to hand. Accept me as I am, therefore, or banish me temporarily, that I might make myself more fitting company for a royal sire!’
‘You are perfectly presentable as you are,’ said Enlos drily. He eyed the newcomer as if unsure of what to make of him. At the door three guards had entered and fanned out, hands on sabre-hilts.
The stranger looked about him. His eyes fell upon Kemorlin. ‘Ah, good Kemorlin. It’s been a long time. How are you? Still struggling to understand the basics of magic? Your abilities have developed at least a little, I hope?’
Kemorlin scowled and muttered something incomprehensible. Prince Enlos’s eyes shone with amusement. The newcomer saw Ractoban. ‘Professor! Greetings! You look unwell. Can I be of assistance?’
Ractoban
shook his head. The newcomer let his gaze settle briefly upon Sildemund and Gully, nodded politely, then turned back to Prince Enlos. ‘Have I been summoned into your august presence for a particular reason, my lord? I trust you’ve not invited me to pick over the leavings of the splendid banquet I see spread upon the table here? Alas, I’ve already dined. A most palatable repast, prepared by your own palace chefs, I understand.’
‘No,’ said Prince Enlos a trifle tersely. ‘You are here for a reason. At Master Kemorlin’s recommendation, I might add.’
The newcomer turned to Kemorlin, smiling. ‘Really? How kind. How gracious.’
‘But first, perhaps you might like to introduce yourself, for not everyone here has made your acquaintance.’
‘Certainly.’ The man turned to Sildemund and Gully. ‘My name is Dinbig. Ronbas Dinbig.’
Sildemund’s look was blank. The man’s bearing was impressive, but the name meant nothing.
Prince Enlos poured cordial into a goblet, which he now handed to his new guest. ‘Master Dinbig is from Khimmur, in the north. He is currently sojourning here within the Palace.’
‘Sojourning? Sojourning?’ echoed Dinbig. He accepted the drink. ‘It is not an entirely accurate term, considering that my liberty is more than a little restricted.’
‘You are free to come and go as you please,’ said Prince Enlos.
‘Providing I remain within my chambers.’
‘You have the freedom of much of the wing.’
‘As long as I stay in close proximity to my guards. It’s a form of freedom to which I am unaccustomed, and not enamoured.’
‘Ah well, we shall see what is to be seen. In the meantime, I have as you rightly surmised, called you here for a purpose. Look, sir, if you will, at this unusual object resting here upon the table. Cast your eye over it and give us your view.’
The Khimmurian stepped forward, setting aside his wine and twiddling ringed fingers fastidiously. His eyes rested on the stone. ‘This is an uncommon object.’
‘Pick it up, feel it, if you wish,’ Enlos said.
‘I would prefer to ascertain a little more about it first.’
He posed the inevitable question as to the stone’s origin, and Sildemund uncomfortably repeated his story. Dinbig scrutinized him alertly and Sildemund somehow knew himself exposed.
Dinbig returned his attention to the stone. His light air departed him as he concentrated fully upon the task. His features took on a grave cast. After a few moments he murmured, ‘There is great suffering associated with this thing.’
‘What do you mean? How can you tell?’ enquired Enlos.
‘I mean, the stone is connected with pain. It carries an aura of corruption, of death and decay. It has baleful associations. Even now it emanates something powerful and quite unsettling.’ He straightened. ‘How can I tell? I am Zan-Chassin!’
He pronounced these last words with deliberate emphasis. Sildemund gave a start. Zan-Chassin? He had never before met one of the renowned sorcerer-shamans of Khimmur. They were shadowy figures, respected and in many cased greatly feared. *
‘Can you tell us more?’ said Enlos. ‘Kemorlin has already said virtually as much.’
‘Give me a little time alone in meditation, Prince Enlos, and I’ll be able to tell you more.’
Enlos nodded. ‘Very good.’
‘It will cost you, of course.’
Enlos opened his mouth to respond, his expression indignant. But at that moment there came another loud knock upon the door.
An under-chamberlain entered. ‘Sire, Her Venerated Majesty Queen Lermeone will bestow her presence in half an hour.’
Enlos gave a nod and addressed his guests. ‘Master Sildemund, Gully, return now to your apartment if you would attend The Presence. An official will come for you there. Master Kemorlin, Professor Ractoban, I thank you for attending so promptly. You may go now, but further efforts on your parts to discover anything you can of this stone would be appreciated. If you are weak, Ractoban, a carriage can be provided.’
Neither man could conceal their astonishment and indeed, indignation, that the visitors were to be accorded an audience with the Queen. They appeared nonplussed, but Ractoban managed to splutter, ‘Thank you, my lord. I have my own.’
‘Very good. Master Dinbig, you will be escorted back to your chambers. Apply yourself to your meditations. I would wish to learn more about this enigmatic stone before the night is out.’
All bowed to the Prince and left for their individual destinations.
XI
As they returned to their apartment Sildemund could barely contain himself. The idea of being presented to the Queen filled him with trepidation and awe. Simultaneously, he experienced grave misgivings, an irrepressible feeling of dread.
It was the red stone. Meglan – and his father – had been right. Almost everyone who laid eyes on it was adversely affected in some way. Kemorlin had detected something unwholesome, a subtle emanation or aura. The flamboyant Khimmurian, Ronbas Dinbig, the Zan-Chassin sorcerer, had instantly and unsettlingly reinforced this, associating the stone with death and corruption. Professor Ractoban had all but collapsed moments after inspecting it. Zakobar had collapsed, and subsequently died!
Picadus… Edric…
Sildemund’s mind raced, back to Volm the day before his father had dispatched him to Dharsoul. He recalled the strange disturbance at the taverna in which Dervad had been stabbed in the hand by a stranger apparently seeking Master Atturio. And Atturio himself had been knocked to the ground as a direct result of that fracas.
Was the incident also linked to the stone?
Sildemund felt panic beginning to rise. The stone must surely possess malign properties!
He fought his fear, thinking again: But what of me? I’ve had adventures, yes, and come perilously close to death. But I was rescued by Prince Enlos, no less! And now I dine with royalty. Dignitaries, scholars, master arcanists are summoned to render their services to me without charge. No, this is good fortune. There is a mystery about this stone, that is certain, but I’ve not suffered, nor Gully. A glut of misfortune has descended upon others, but it must be coincidence, for were the stone to affect one, surely it would affect all?
Moderately calmed by his thoughts, he followed Gully into the suite of chambers in which they were lodged. Picadus was on his bed, half sitting, with a look both befuddled and morose. ‘’s‘appnin?’
Gully strode over to him and shoved him back. ‘Lie down and return to sleep, you dog-mannered thug. It’s the middle of the night.’
Knowing no better, Picadus did as he was told.
New garments had been laid out for them. This was formal attire: crisp white trousers and tunics with braided loops and studs, and white cloth sandals.
‘Are we to change into these to attend the Queen, Gully?’ Sildemund asked.
Gully, already stripping, nodded. ‘That would be my guess.’
As he dressed, Sildemund said, ‘Gully, when I returned from fetching the stone I caught the end of a heated conversation. You were talking about the Revenants of Claine, weren’t you?’
‘Not I,’ said Gully. ‘Master Kemorlin raised the matter with Prince Enlos, remarking that he had seen more of them in the city recently.’
‘I noticed some today. Remember, we stopped and tried to listen to one? I thought they were forbidden to leave Garsh?’
‘For generations they’ve been incarcerated there. Garsh has become almost an independent state, so I believe. Now it appears some are free, roaming at will in Darch as well as Tulmua.’
‘Why were they incarcerated?’
Gully shrugged and shook his head. ‘It happened long before my time.’
‘You say they claim knowledge of a great secret.’
‘So it’s said.’
‘Do you know what it is?’
Gully grinned. ‘If I knew, it would not be a secret, would it?’
‘But what are they, Gully? Are they magicians? A priestly sect?
Do they have a known message, a creed? Who, or what, is Claine?’
‘Truly, I know little of them, Sil. Until we encountered the problems at the border three weeks ago, I’d barely heard mention of them for many years.’
‘Then what was said tonight? From what I saw and heard, there was disagreement.’
‘Of sorts. Kemorlin seems unhappy at the knowledge that the Revenants are free in the city. Professor Ractoban also expressed concern. Prince Enlos was uncomfortable with the subject. He seems especially uneasy with Master Kemorlin. But little was said, I suspect because of my presence.’
‘Prince Enlos was returning from Garsh when he saved us from the bandits.’
Gully nodded, fastening the studs of his tunic.
‘And when you asked him then about Garsh, he declined to speak about it. Then yesterday, one of the women in the crowd, a Revenant, rushed out at him as we entered the city. What do you think it’s all about?’
‘I don’t know, and I don’t enquire. Such matters are of state, Sil. They are not the business of the likes of you or me.’
Sildemund was pensive for a moment. Then, ‘The Khimmurian sorcerer is a curious fellow. What do you make of him?’
‘Aye, he’s a mystery. I don’t know what to think. His position is ambiguous, that much is sure.’
‘Do you know much of the Zan-Chassin?’
‘Little. People, when they speak of them, do so in guarded voices. Their reputation is-‘
He got no further. The door opened and a palace official entered: stiff, formal, in a uniform of vermilion satin, with a brimless hat of the same hue, bound with streamers of deep primrose. He surveyed the two of them with a haughty expression, his lips puckered.
‘I am Quidpin, Senior Under-Assistant to the Sacred Fellowship of the Supreme Haruspices of the Royal House of Her August Majesty, Queen Lermeone. I am to escort you to the Hall of Receiving. I was informed you are three.’
‘Two,’ replied Gully. ‘Our companion is regrettably too unwell to attend.’
‘As you wish.’ Quidpin swivelled upon his heel and made for the corridor with a swift, prim step, seeming to walk almost upon his toes. Sildemund grabbed his satchel containing the stone, and with Gully followed the Senior Under-Assistant from the chamber.’