Brokedown Palace (35 page)
Authors: Steven Brust
Brigitta stood and came over to the giant. She stroked his forehead, and, with his own garments, bound some of his lesser wounds. The blood still flowed freely from his side and his stomach, but there was little that could be done for those. László still moaned quietly on the floor.
Miklós saw that Andor’s stump had been bound and was no longer bleeding. His severed hand still lay where it had fallen. Miklós turned his eyes from it. Viktor was still as death, yet Miklós could see the slow rise and fall of his back as he breathed.
There was a thud as Vilmos let the staff fall next to him. Brigitta looked at Miklós and caught his eye. She glanced down at the giant, then back at Miklós, and shook her head.
Miklós felt a lump rise in his throat, and for a moment he couldn’t swallow. Then, with an almost desperate need to do something, he stepped between Vilmos and László, over to the branch he had taken from the tree. He looked at it, wondering whence it had come. It was plain and seemed almost to have been polished. There were no marks of twigs or leaves or other branches on it. The end where he had broken it from the tree was, impossibly, rounded and smooth.
Yet he was not then able to complete his inspection, for at that moment the Palace itself, from its very foundations, began to moan and rock back and forth, as if to match the actions of the King as he lay hurt and stunned before the tree and his brothers.
Miklós rose to his feet, but was knocked down again by the
shaking of the Palace. Brigitta sprawled over Vilmos, who seemed not to feel her weight. Miklós looked up, and he saw that the ceiling was tilting, ready to come down upon all of them. Cracks appeared in the floor and walls, and Miklós longed for the strength to reach out to Brigitta, but his knees were weak and she was too far away. He caught her eye for an eternal moment of love and anguish, but another tremor pulled her attention away.
shaking of the Palace. Brigitta sprawled over Vilmos, who seemed not to feel her weight. Miklós looked up, and he saw that the ceiling was tilting, ready to come down upon all of them. Cracks appeared in the floor and walls, and Miklós longed for the strength to reach out to Brigitta, but his knees were weak and she was too far away. He caught her eye for an eternal moment of love and anguish, but another tremor pulled her attention away.
Yet even then, Miklós’s eyes were drawn back to the staff. The one end was rounded, but the other had a peculiar shape to it. Miklós, despite the agonized tremblings of the chamber, looked closer. Yes, there was no doubt: it had been carved.
Carved into the shape of a horse’s head.
Even the eyes seemed to be there—sparkling like jewels. And as he watched, they seemed to come alive and look at him and see him.
The chamber swayed, cracked, and fell apart.
The tree shook itself and seemed to reach out in all directions. The horse’s head carved upon the staff opened its mouth then and said, “Fear nothing, master. You have done well.”
T
HE PALACE SEEMED TO VANISH AROUND THE TREE.
HE PALACE SEEMED TO VANISH AROUND THE TREE.
Freedom! it cried. All of the energy contained within it burst at once, and it grew as if in all the time since it began it had been changeless. It grew as a mountain will from a volcanic pit, or as love will when two predestined souls find each other, it seems, at that one time when they both need to.
What is this? A falling ceiling? Its roots could now support far more weight than that and not feel it; it guided the ceiling safely to the side. A crumbling floor? It cradled those who stood on it as if they were babes and it a mother with a thousand arms. A dying man? This is no time for death—this is a time for growth and renewal. Another man has lost a limb? It grieves with him but rejoices that he yet lives.
It burst upon the world around it crying, Here! Here I am!
Parapets, golden and silver in the sunlight, sprang above the River and laughed with it. Streamers flew from towers that shone white and pure. Within, corridors exploded from nothing to join rooms that were yet to be, and the circular stairways it built were
wide and comfortable, for the time for fear was past. It laughed at the world outside and dared it to join in its dance of creation.
wide and comfortable, for the time for fear was past. It laughed at the world outside and dared it to join in its dance of creation.
Castles and palaces and hovels turned from it in fear and jealousy, but it only laughed, calling, join me, join me! You have life within you, too. They turned from it for now. But they could neither destroy it nor forget it.
A birth, and a death, as if they were one thing. For if they are not, they appear too often together to be far different.
Its story is barely beginning.
Yet the story of those within is not yet done.
The Tree
M
IKLÓS LOOKED AROUND HIM, WONDERING AT THE sudden lack of motion. He recognized at once that he was inside of the area enclosed by the tree. He heard the sounds of crumbling and breaking but only as from a distance.
IKLÓS LOOKED AROUND HIM, WONDERING AT THE sudden lack of motion. He recognized at once that he was inside of the area enclosed by the tree. He heard the sounds of crumbling and breaking but only as from a distance.
Andor knelt, clutching his arm, oblivious to his surroundings. Brigitta looked around, even as Miklós did. Vilmos stirred, and, unaccountably, his bleeding had slowed, even seemed to be stopping. Viktor shook his head and blinked. Sándor was sitting up, his eyes closed, seemingly lost in thought. László stopped moving. He stared up at the ceiling and breathed deeply.
Miklós found that he was still holding on to the staff. He stared at it, and Bölk looked back at him somberly.
“What is happening, Bölk?”
“A new beginning, master.”
Miklós trembled. “How are you alive?”
“As ever. This my thirty-eighth incarnation. I am different, but then, it is always different.”
“I am glad you’re alive, Bölk. I can’t tell you how glad.”
“Thank you, master, I don’t feel so myself, but that is as it must be.”
Miklós blinked, and stared. “What do you mean
must
be?”
must
be?”
“How can I feel anything, master? You have removed my heart.”
LÁSZLÓ’S HAND HURT. HE LOOKED DOWN AND FOUND THAT he was squeezing the hilt of Állam. Next to his leg, he saw the broken, ruined blade.
He brought the hilt piece up before his eyes and saw there the ruination of the trust his fathers had had in him.
He didn’t know how he was being protected or where he was, but somehow it didn’t matter. The Palace was falling apart around him. He wondered if, in the tower high above, his parents were dying, being swept away with the tattered ruins of the building. He tried to grieve but couldn’t. They had died years before, when he had taken the kingship. It was as well if they wouldn’t live to see what he had done to it.
His eyes fell on Miklós, staring intently at that strange staff, his lips moving as if he were praying to it. What was it? It didn’t matter. Brigitta was staring around her in wonder. Brigitta! Who would have thought it? A little tavern wench, to aid in his undoing. And now, of course, she would gloat over him along with Miklós. Or perhaps they wouldn’t. That would be worse, in a way.
He pulled himself upright, then he stood. He thought to catch Sándor’s eye, but the wizard’s were closed. Was he preparing something? László looked at him closely. No; if he could do anything, he would have done so.
There was no sensation of movement, but he could still hear crumbling and falling from outside of this—what was it? Best not to know. He didn’t ever want to know.
He cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack when he spoke then said, “Miklós.”
His brother looked up and seemed startled that he was on his feet. László tossed him the hilt of Állam. Miklós caught it, then set it down. László said, “This is yours now. Do as you will with it.”
He stepped over to the green, wavering wall and was not surprised that he was able to step through it. He was not surprised to find that he was falling—in the open air, in daylight, in the real world of courtyard and crumbling walls.
He felt his ankle twist when he struck the ground and looked up in time to see some of the delicate tracings on the carved sandstone block that killed him.
BRIGITTA TOOK A STEP OVER TO MIKLÓS. HE TOOK HER HAND. “I think he’s dead,” he said.
“László?”
“Yes. I felt it.”
“I’m sorry.”
Miklós held her hand to his cheek and pressed.
She said, “What are you going to do with that?”
He looked up and saw that she was looking at the hilt of Állam. “I don’t know. Do you have any ideas? Bury it, maybe?”
She shook her head. “Use it. It is a useful symbol for now. Its power is broken, and I imagine it will rust away soon, but it isn’t worthless yet.”
“All right,” said Miklós. He realized that he felt too numb to argue about anything. It was good that someone could make a decision for him. “Did you see Vilmos? He seems better somehow.”
“Better?” She said, turning to look. When she turned back, there was puzzlement on her face. “You’re right. I don’t understand it; he was dying. I must go to him.”
Miklós nodded. He sat down cross-legged on the floor and studied the jewels on the hilt. Some of the sapphires on it were missing; they’d probably never be found. Unimportant, yet sad.
He glanced around the room once more. Vilmos sat up, even as Brigitta knelt down next to him. Then Miklós saw Andor and his eyes narrowed. He stood up quickly.
WHY IS THERE NO PAIN?
Andor studied the place he was in.
This is what I’ve been searching for
, said one part of him. But the other part stared at the bandages where his right hand used to be.
Why is there no pain?
This is what I’ve been searching for
, said one part of him. But the other part stared at the bandages where his right hand used to be.
Why is there no pain?
Maimed, by the Goddess! And now—a one-handed Prince? Doing what? He looked at those around him and felt a peculiar pride. He had done something, this time. Whatever else anyone could say about him, this time he had acted. There was that side to his wound, too. No one could ever look at him again without knowing that he had helped to save his brother’s life.
It was a strange and oddly pleasing feeling. And there was no doubt in his mind that, if he’d been whole, he could have enjoyed it. He stretched both arms out in front of him. The bandages made them almost the same length. Why was there no pain? Never mind. Accept it; it probably wouldn’t last.
Nothing of this moment would last, he realized.
He had taken his stand and done his part. From now on, he would be a useless fixture around the Palace. And with every passing year, his one useful deed would get smaller and smaller. Eventually he would return to being the parasite—now he could face it—that he had been up until now.
But now he could not go back to that.
He looked to where László had gone and suddenly understood
his oldest brother. Andor’s mind ran through all he had said and done since Miklós’s return from Faerie, and his stomach actually churned with self-disgust.
his oldest brother. Andor’s mind ran through all he had said and done since Miklós’s return from Faerie, and his stomach actually churned with self-disgust.
But only two steps away from him was a wall of green. He knew that he could follow László through. He knew that death awaited him when he did. He had always wanted to be like László, he thought ironically.
For the one moment that resolve was strong in him, he stood, faced the wall, and stepped forward.
THE TRANSITION FROM LETHARGIC TO ENERGETIC WAS ALMOST enough to shock Miklós back to lethargy. But, the crisis upon him, he knew enough to act at once.
Andor had just begun his second step, the one that would take him into the wall, when Miklós reached him. He took both of his brothers’ shoulders in his hands, dropping Állam along the way, and wrenched him backward.
“No!”
“No!”
Andor fell back and stared at him, unmoving. His eyes were dead, and his expression one of puzzlement. “Why did you stop me, Miki?” he asked in the tones of a hurt child.
“Because we need you, Andor.”
The other blinked. “For what?”
Miklós clutched him desperately, as if Andor might still tear free and throw himself outside. “Just to be. We love you. You’re our brother. We have already lost one brother, we
can’t
lose you, too. Please!”
can’t
lose you, too. Please!”
Andor shook his head. “But what will I do?”
Miklós, somehow, understood the question. “I don’t know, Andor. But it will be something useful, and it will make you happy. I promise you. I can’t know what it is yet, but there will be something.”
Andor didn’t seem convinced, but after a moment he nodded and said, “All right. I’ll try. Thank you, Miki. I love you.”
Miklós buried his head in his brother’s chest.
VILMOS TOOK GREAT GULPS OF AIR INTO HIS LUNGS AND ALMOST laughed for the sheer joy of it. He looked at Brigitta and matched her smile with his grin.
“I thought you were dying,” she said.
“Ha!”
“How do you feel?”
“Weak,” he admitted. “But good. There is no pain. I think I could lift—”
The sounds from around him. The place they were in. The tree. It was protecting them. It was protecting them from the Palace that was falling into pieces. All of it. Collapsing.
With a cry he sprang fully to his feet. He dimly heard Brigitta and Miklós calling to him, but he had no time for that. The wall before him was either solid or it was not, he couldn’t tell, but there was no time to find out. He crashed through it, and wasn’t really aware that it let him pass easily.
He landed in the courtyard and paid no attention to the maelstrom around him. He felt things brushing him, like leaves falling from a tree, and noted absently that they were boards, blocks, and beams from the Palace. He brushed them off.
He knew at once where the hole in the flooring was, but it was covered by rubble. That meant—no, he wouldn’t think about it. The floor he stood on seemed to be bending from the weight of wood and stone falling on it, but he wouldn’t think of that, either.
For a time his mind went blank. When he could think again, he stood by the hole down to the cellar, which was now cleared of blockage.
Then he was down it.
Anya and Atya chittered angrily at him and looked nervously above them as the bending planks from the ceiling slowly crushed the cage. There was no longer room for them to stand. Csecsem
and Húga crouched fearfully in the one end of their cage that hadn’t been flattened.
and Húga crouched fearfully in the one end of their cage that hadn’t been flattened.Then Vilmos saw why they had not yet been crushed: the tree roots—the very roots that he had chosen not to remove—had stretched out and covered them, protected them.
Vilmos had no time to feel relief. The roots were giving way before the awesome weight pressing down on them. Even as he watched, the ceiling collapsed a little more. He crouched down until he was under it, then bent his head so the ceiling rested on his shoulders, neck, and head. Then he pushed up.
Never, in all his years, had anything been so heavy. Vilmos had never tested his strength, so he had no knowledge of its limits; the ceiling was heavier than he had ever imagined anything could be.
It fell another notch, and Vilmos saw rather than felt his knees bend. Csecsem
emitted a cry that was either terror or pain. Vilmos felt rage build up in him, and for the first time he understood how poor László must have felt those times when his eyes had become so fiery, and his mouth had twisted into a snarl.
emitted a cry that was either terror or pain. Vilmos felt rage build up in him, and for the first time he understood how poor László must have felt those times when his eyes had become so fiery, and his mouth had twisted into a snarl.Other books
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