Darkness Weaves (4 page)

It was into this same hidden chamber on a night some thirty years ago that Pellin Othrin, then Monarch of Pellin, carried a screaming and naked girl--and though she was his teenaged cousin, Wehrle, no man dared interfere. What they did there no man ever learned for at dawn Wehrle crawled forth half-lifeless and with madness in her staring eyes. Pellin Othrin was silent as to what had transpired, nor did any man dare inquire. Not long after, Lyrde, Othrin's wife, who had borne him no children, fell strangely ill and died. While the ashes of her pyre were yet warm, Othrin announced that he would make Wehrle his new queen. Some wondered that he would wed the unfortunate girl, for they knew Othrin had no germ of pity in his heart. Nor could they understand why Othrin slew the physician and nurse who attended the birth of their daughter a few months later, for the child was perfect in every way.

This daughter was Efrel. Wehrle's madness grew deeper after Efrel's birth, so that at times she had to be restrained from attacking the child. Pellin Othrin placed his wife in private chambers with attendants constantly on guard against her rages. When Efrel was old enough to leave her mother's breast, she was given over to a nurse, and afterward no more was said of Wehrle, nor did any man ask. As Efrel grew from infancy, Othrin kept her by his side and gave personal attention to every detail of her education--in statecraft and in the secret delvings of the Pellin lords.

One night Pellin Othrin was found strangled in his chambers, though no outcry had been heard. His guards could not explain how the assassin had slipped past them, nor guess what strangler's cord had circled their lord's body with livid red stigmata, nor yet account for the seaweed that hung in his beard.

His sudden death left Pellin without male heir, but there was precedent in Pellin's long history when the island had been ruled by a woman. And Pellin Othrin had taught his daughter well. Thus Efrel ascended the ancient throne of Pellin as Queen. It was not to be long before she would be Empress as well.

Of Efrel it is said that she pursued the study of demonology and the black arts with a passion beyond that of any of her unhallowed ancestors. Perhaps she was spurred on by the desire to rekindle the ancient glory of the House of Pellin, which was inexorably drifting toward obscurity within the growing Empire. Possibly she caught ways to revitalize the anemic blood of her line, whose heirs were fewer and sicklier with each generation, and the madness that haunted the House of Pellin grew stronger apace.

Then again, there is a persistent rumor that Efrel is only half human--that her real father was not Pellin Othrin, but a demon of his conjuration, who had lain with Wehrle on that night when sanity was driven from her. Certainly there is some little to be offered in defense of this whispered theory. It might explain Efrel's obsessive interest in sorcery and other arcane researches, for one thing. And further, it might account for her inhuman beauty--or for her vitality that is like a weed to the anemic blooms that others of her line resemble. Perhaps her unnatural parentage gave her power to inflame Netisten Maril, who in his late thirties was as cold and unapproachable a man as ever.

Netisten Maril saw Efrel for the first time when she was presented to him at court one day. She moved gracefully in a clinging swirl of a gown pieced from the opalescent scales of blind sea-snakes dredged from the Sorn-Ellyn. When introductions were effected by their servants as court etiquette prescribed, the seductress explained to Maril that she had come from Pellin to pay her respects to him and to remain for a while in the Imperial Court, such being the privilege of one of royal lineage. From that moment Maril thought of little else but Efrel, for her exotic beauty and her aura of mystery (and perhaps her glamour) had thoroughly conquered his long .slumbering passions. Rekindled after so long, they blazed anew with pent-up fire--and it was evident to all that Thovnos would very soon have a new queen.

To be sure, the turn of events dismayed Leyan, as well as many others, who foretold that there could be nothing but misfortune from a union with ill-famed Pellin. But Maril was totally in love with this pale-skinned beauty of midnight tresses and eyes so dark they shone like onyx. Even those who hated the court's newest star granted that her beauty transcended in every particular that of any other woman of their experience--including M'Cori, who under Leyan's shelter was advancing in the Imperial Court as an ingenue of uncommon loveliness. And objections to the Emperor's imminent marriage were effectively hushed when Maril ordered a trusted advisor beheaded after becoming enraged at his well-meant advice.

So they were married, and the Empire settled back to make the best of the new situation. However, to her chagrin, Efrel soon discovered that although she had won into Maril's bed, she could not insinuate herself onto his throne. For Maril was a man of strong will who kept the affairs of his personal life unmixed with affairs of the Empire. Thus Efrel found her ambitions of ruling behind the throne stillborn for all her wiles and secret glamour, and the many nobility she had brought as entourage remained without influence or important position.

And as time went by, Efrel felt even her hold on Maril's affections loosening--for strong passions too often exhaust the spirit and burn out quickly. But more important, despite Maril's enthusiastic efforts, he was unable to get Efrel pregnant. Again a male heir eluded him, and this renewed frustration blighted his passion for her. Of his own virility there could be no question; it must then be Efrel who was barren. In his dark moods perhaps Maril remembered the old rumors concerning Efrel's inhuman parentage--for it is common that hybrids are sterile. Angrily he severed all but the most formal relations with his wife.

Despairing of realizing her ambitions with Maril, Efrel then turned to intrigue. Seeking out Leyan, she easily seduced him with her ready beauty--and with the promise to aid Leyan in his bid for the Imperial throne. For if Netisten Maril died without male heir, Leyan would be his successor. The idea had, of course, often occurred to Leyan, but he was well aware of his half-brother's careful measures to prevent assassination, and that he would be the obvious culprit in the event of success. But many a man has lost all caution in a woman's embrace, and so it was with Leyan.

The two conspired to murder Netisten Maril with a slow-acting poison of Efrel's devising, whose certain toxins would mimic a natural illness. Any resistance at court to Leyan's succession they would quell with an army secretly loyal to them. The plot was well underway, and several of the nobility had sworn allegiance to Leyan in return for promised rewards under his reign. Then disaster struck the conspirators.

Maril had always been on the alert for conspiracy, especially from his half-brother. He had taken extensive precautions, and his spy system was more effective than either Efrel or Leyan had realized. Thus Maril learned of the plot before it could mature. One night he surprised the two together in Efrel's bedchamber and announced to them that all who had entered into conspiracy with them were being arrested even at that moment.

Leyan came out from the sheets with time to draw his sword, if not draw on his pants, before Maril's guards could intervene. But Maril with characteristic rashness ordered his men not to interfere and welcomed his brother's attack. Then followed a desperate bit of swordplay--for Leyan might still win an empire should he win this duel, and the only alternative was certain death. For what those who watched swore was fully half an hour, though exaggeration is understandable, these two seasoned veterans fought--each skilled from constant training and hardened from many campaigns. Leyan was judged to be the better swordsman, but Maril, I think by design, had confronted his brother while he was groggy from wine and recent loveplay. Further, Leyan was naked, and Maril wore mail.

Gradually Maril forced him back, slowly wearing down his frantic defenses, parrying his superior swords-play with growing confidence. A small cut here, a barely parried thrust there--slashes that mail would turn and bare flesh could not. Finally Leyan moved a heartbeat too slow to counter the deceptive slash of Maril's powerful sword arm. His brother's blade clove through his side, and down toppled Leyan--his final curses strangled by the blood that filled sundered lungs. His fate was the easiest of the conspirators.
Efrel then tried suicide, it is said--but the guards were too swift and stopped her dagger short of her breast. Maril left her beside the corpse under close guard--there to ponder the fate that would await her with the new day.

At dawn Maril sent out criers to tell Thovnosten's populace of the aborted conspiracy--and to summon them to the execution at noon. The people flocked to the central square, eager for the spectacle and the promised food and drink given in celebration of their loyalty to Netisten Maril. Peddlers, hawkers, and vendors descended like vultures from the cloudless sky.

Efrel arrived clad in her most splendid gown and jewelry. Those with memories for such things recognized it as the gown she wore when first she bewitched Maril. She was enthroned at the side of Netisten Maril as usual, but instead of ladies-in-waiting, there were guards to see to her comfort. Then while Efrel watched, the six lords who had sworn allegiance to Leyan were led out and bound to frames erected during the night. After attention had been given to their tongues with red-hot pincers and to their limbs with iron rods, their families and servants were brought out. Slowly, without breaking the neck--so to prolong the agony--every man, woman, and child of them was hanged before the lords' eyes. And once they had witnessed the deaths of all their households, the conspirators were cunningly impaled and hung like spitted steers over slow fires. A ghastly penalty, but such is the punishment just laws demand for conspiracy against our lawful government.

Throughout the long afternoon--for it was near dusk when the last lord had died--Efrel had been forced to watch the gruesome spectacle--her torture made worse because she was still treated with every show of respect. What must have passed through her mind only the gods know. She knew Maril to be without pity--a man overruled by his volcanic emotions. She knew that mercy was not to be hoped for. But perhaps mingled with dread anticipation there was a scrap of hope that Maril might deal mercifully with one whom he once had loved. Foolish hope, if hope there was.

When the last gruesome carcass had ceased to writhe, and the crowd shuffled with boredom, awaiting a finale worthy of their long attention, Maril turned to Efrel.

"For you, Efrel--deceptive whore with serpent's kisses--I have devised a less common death. One that suits your animal lusts and noble blood. I've found a consort equal to your gentle character and pristine morals." As she shrank in fear from the rage that twisted his face and choked his voice, Maril signed to his guard.

Then several strong slaves came into the square. They led a fiercely heaving wild bull. To restrain the animal called for all their sweaty effort, for it was driven mad with pain and drugs. More so were those who held Efrel compelled to exert all their strength--for the girl had become frenzied at the sight of her fate.

They carried the struggling girl, beautiful despite her terror in all her exquisite finery, into the square. There they cuffed her wrists to two long silver chains that were fastened to a collar about the bull's neck. A section of the crowd was moved aside, and the bull and the Empress were led into a narrow street leading through the city and beyond the gates.

As she saw the hopelessness of her plight, Efrel's terror gave way to venomous fury. She cursed Netisten Maril and vowed vengeance in a manner that chilled the souls of those already sated with torture. She swore by strange gods that she would return to bring red flames and utter ruin to all Thovnos, to wrest from Maril his throne and all that was his. Maril only laughed at her and signaled the slaves to release the bull.
With a last shriek of inhuman hatred, Efrel was jerked from her feet and dragged across the paving as the maddened bull plunged away. The enraged beast plummeted down the winding, cobbled streets as it sought to find the freedom of its native meadows--pounding headlong past walls and buildings and taunting creatures, past tenements and hovels and paving that gave way to dirt. It never gave a thought to the slight burden that bounced and smacked behind its hooves--a mewing, broken thing that left a trail of blood and scraped flesh upon the rough pavement over which it passed.

"The whore leaves us with her new consort!" roared Maril. "There'll be little of the bride left for the groom by the time he carries her past our walls--but I wish him better luck with it! Let her serpent's carcass lie unburied wherever it chances to fall--and let no man again speak her name to me!" With that Netisten Maril contrived to dismiss the matter from his thoughts.

Better would it have been for Maril had he first made certain of her death. A number of Efrel's loyal retainers had eluded Maril's wrath. They caught the bull as it reached the twilight-hung outskirts of the city, and there they killed it and stopped its flight. Although they did this seeking only to recover their queen's body for proper burial, they discovered to their utter astonishment that the mutilated body still lived!

Again the half-human, half-demon parentage seems to apply--for surely only an inhuman vitality could survive such an ordeal. Yet, live she did--for the Pellinites immediately bore her to the ship they had hidden in a secret cove and set sail for their homeland. Fearing relentless pursuit should Maril learn that Efrel still lived, all were sworn to secrecy--agreeing to say no more than that they had reclaimed their queen's corpse. And all human logic would suspect nothing further.

This was nearly two years ago. In this time Efrel has recovered--thanks to her unnatural vitality and to the skill of the court physicians. But she is no longer a woman of unearthly beauty--only a hideously mutilated wreck of humanity that hides from the sight of men. Life is held in her ruined body only by an all-consuming lust for vengeance upon Netisten Maril and all that is his. In her hidden chambers within Dan-Legeh, Efrel spins her web of vengeance, and only a trusted elite are privy to her commands.