Read Into The Dark Flame (Book 4) Online
Authors: Martin Ash
At that meeting with Pader Luminis, Radius had, out of sheer caprice, feigned ignorance of the Queen's identity. She had demanded his dismissal from the chamber but, intrigued by what he had already heard, Radius had not actually left the apartment. Closing the outer door with deliberate emphasis, he had lingered for some moments undetected in the dark. Hence, fearful, his heart in his mouth, he had heard the Queen and his venerable master talk of Enchantment and its gods, and the True Sept's creed in respect of the so-named Legendary Child.
Eventually Radius's fear had overcome any earlier sense of derring-do. He knew he was hearing forbidden things, things that would land him in terrible trouble should he be discovered. So he had slipped silently from the apartment some time before the Queen made her departure.
Even so, in its own way much of what Radius had to say had proved illuminating.
Radius also told of a meeting between Pader Luminis and King Leth. The boy spoke as if relieved to unburden himself, as though what he had heard had seethed and churned within him ever since, building to a dangerous pressure and ever seeking an outlet. And now Fectur provided that outlet.
The King had come to Pader's rooms, Radius said, only days ago. He too had been gravely agitated, and seemed to think that something dreadful might happen to him. They had spoken about King Leth's talks with Grey Venger, then the King had asked a great boon of Pader. Radius was ignorant of the nature of the boon, for at that point King Leth had asked Pader to accompany him to his private apartments.
Fectur had pounced eagerly at this mention of Leth and Grey Venger, but Radius's powers of precise recall were sadly limited. He reported snippets of information regarding the True Sept and the Legendary Child, but plainly the bulk of it had passed over his head. Still, there was something there, and quite obviously it had been kept most deliberately from Fectur's ears.
Even more recently, the very day prior to her departure, Radius had overheard further snatches of conversation between the Queen and Pader Luminis. Again he had been dismissed, but had lingered secretly as before, intrigued and terrified. And now came the thunderbolt: Queen Issul discussing with Pader the fact that that she had been to Enchantment! That she was now bound to return there!
Every time he considered this, Fectur experienced a surge of complex emotion in his breast. How could Issul have found a way into that forbidden land? Radius said she had not made this clear. But she had confided to Pader that she sought something called 'The Soul of the Orb', which resided somewhere within Enchantment. And she had spoken of a blue casket and a god-creature named Orbelon who resided within it.
And as if all this were not revelation enough, it appeared that the fate of the vanished King and the darling little prince and princess were also bound up in Issul's quest, as much as was the fate of Enchantment's Reach itself.
So both Issul and Pader Luminis knew what had happened to the King, after all.
And all of it had been kept from the Spectre!
Fectur steamed silently. It galled. Oh, how it galled. He recalled again how he had caught Issul and the cursed conjuror, heads together in Leth's study. Surely then, it was this blue casket that they had been discussing, which Issul clutched hidden to her breast.
'No one must know of this!'
'I swore as much to Leth. He bade me warn you, or whomsoever I passed it on to: its existence must always remain a secret.'
Well, it was a secret no longer. Fectur itched and burned, almost bursting from his skin as he fought the urge to ride out now in pursuit of the Queen and her precious cargo. More than a day and a half had passed since her departure; he would not find her. And so much still demanded his personal attention here in Enchantment's Reach. He could only trust that Gordallith would do his job well and that a report would soon be forthcoming.
*
In addition to all else, Radius had confirmed that Issul and Pader Luminis had made arrangements for Grey Venger's removal from Enchantment's Reach. The old woman too. She was called Arene. Radius took her to be a mystic or clairvoyant of some description, but could furnish nothing more about her.
Finally, at Fectur's urging, Radius, his cheeks aflame, had described how the two had planned the Lord High
Invigilate's humiliation in the Special Assembly.
Fectur closed his eyes. There would be a reckoning for this. Oh yes, that much he promised himself.
But in the meantime, how was he to make the best of all he had learned?
To begin with Fectur considered the possibility that the information Radius had passed on might be dissimulation. Not on Radius's part. No, the boy had been far too scared to tell anything but the truth. But could Issul and the magician have concocted this fantastic tale deliberately to mislead, knowing that the boy would pass it on?
The more he considered this the more he was inclined to dismiss it. No, it all rang true. Looking back, everything fell into place; all - or almost all - the unanswered questions. He would proceed cautiously, but in the belief that he was not misinformed.
Next he thought of Radius. The boy's knowledge made him a serious risk. Was it wise to let him live?
For the time being, all things considered, Fectur decided that it was. The boy had privileged, trusted access to Pader Luminis. He had useful ears. He might still remember more details of what he had already reported. It would be a pity to lose such a unique and valuable source just yet. If the necessity arose he could be disposed of with little trouble.
Then Fectur gave his attention to the Queen's quest, but resolved that to mull any further over it just now would be time wasted. He had acted with foresight, after all. The machinery was in position. Until he heard from Gordallith there was little more he could do. Except . . .
Hmmm, the bodyguard, Kol, who was now assigned to Pader Luminis, had travelled back with the Queen from wherever she had been after leaving Lastmeadow. His knowledge could prove very useful.
At this point in his musings Fectur was interrupted by a curt knock upon his door. An officer of his Security Cadre entered, halted before Fectur's desk and saluted. 'The prisoner is below, sir.'
'Any problems?' Fectur enquired.
'None. There will be some minor repercussions, almost certainly, but nothing we aren't prepared for.'
'No identities?'
'We carried nothing. Of course, fingers will point after an abduction like this. But our accusers will never dare to raise their voices without sure evidence.'
'Good. Let us see if those fingers can be made to point elsewhere.'
'I will attend to it.'
'His chamber has been prepared?'
'Just as you specified, my lord.'
'Then I think I will go down and pay my respects.'
Fectur descended via the numerous stairways that let into the grim, lightless bowels of the Ministry of Realm Security. Here, in the chill dungeons, he passed along narrow aisles, ignoring the cries that came to him from the honeycomb of tiny cells on either side, seeing nothing of the desperate prisoners huddled within. He came at length to a locked door outside which a sentry stood guard. At Fectur's nod the sentry unlocked the door and the Lord High Invigilate entered.
He stood in a dank, windowless cell which was illumined by a single torch on a bracket beside the door. The walls were of cold, rough stone, streaked with damp. Filthy straw littered the floor. A trestle-table had
been set against one wall, a number of metal instruments arranged neatly upon its surface. Beneath the table was a three-legged wooden stool.
Against the opposite wall a man was spreadeagled, naked. His wrists and ankles were restrained by iron clamps attached by small lengths of chain, bolted to the wall. Over his mouth was a thick soiled gag, tied at the back of his head.
Fectur stood before him and surveyed him for long moments without uttering a word. The man was aged in his late twenties, athletically built, though with signs of an incipient paunch. A mass of dark hair complemented a thick, trimmed beard, and a cloud of hair upon his broad chest. He looked up briefly and stared Fectur in the eye. A latticework of faint purple lines upon his eyes revealed indeterminate otherborn origins; he was no doubt a hybrid of two or more of the various races that had made Enchantment's Reach their home over the centuries. He met Fectur's gaze long enough to make plain his contempt, then let his head hang again.
Fectur took a few moments to consider, then stepped forward and punched the man hard in the solar plexus. The air rushed from the prisoner's lungs in a loud blast, constricted by his gag. He writhed against his chains, striving against his agony to draw breath again. Fectur went to the table, and from the instruments there selected a pair of small, wide-bladed shears. He tested the action a couple of times, enjoying the clean smooth sound of the metal blades caressing. Then he stepped across to the prisoner, pulled aside his hair and snipped off the top of his left ear.
The man vented a muffled roar and yanked helplessly against his chains. Fectur stepped back to the table and replaced the shears.
'Just so the terms of our conversation are properly understood.'
When the man's noise had subsided Fectur took up the shears again. The prisoner recoiled, straining against his chains, desperate sounds coming from behind the gag as his tormentor stepped close.
'Relax, man.' Fectur brought the shears up and sliced through the gag. 'Now, let's have a little chat, shall we?'
He pulled out the stool and sat down, his arms folded upon his chest. 'I have no taste for this, you know.'
The prisoner eyed him silently through glassy, narrowed, pain-racked eyes.
'Truly, I do only what is required,' Fectur continued. 'So, it is in your hands from here on. Now, do you want to start, or shall I?'
The prisoner spoke between his teeth. 'What is it that you want of me?'
'Oh, I think you know the answer to that,' said Fectur. 'And I will have the information I seek. Be sure of that, Iklar. Be very sure.'
He paused, letting his words work to their greatest effect. Iklar, naked and so vulnerable, his neck and breast slick with the blood running from his mutilated ear, dropped his gaze.
Fectur said, 'But let us proceed methodically. You will recall, a matter of less than a moon's passing ago, you were approached one evening in the Tavern of the Veiled Light in Overlip by a young woman, far from unattractive. She bade you carry a message to the outlawed leader of the True Sept, Grey Venger. This you duly did. You do not deny this, do you, Iklar?'
Iklar hesitated.
'Oh come, now,' said Fectur. 'Do not make me resort to cruder means. You do know where you are, don't you?'
Iklar's gaze flickered across the table and its contents. He closed his eyes and nodded.
'Aye. What you say is true.'
'Very good. Now, tell me what happened next.'
'I delivered the message as it was passed to me. But why do you ask this? It is well known that Grey Venger responded. He met, with King Leth himself, in Overlip, and later went voluntarily to the Palace.'
'Quite so. And now he is abroad, a prisoner of the Queen.'
Iklar's brow furrowed.
'It is true. Believe it or don't. I care not.'
'What of the King's promise?'
'What of it? Let us say that in regard to Grey Venger, the Crown and the Legendary Child, things have changed. Now, you will tell me how you contacted Venger.'
'I have never had access to Grey Venger. I merely delivered the message to another.'
Fectur took up the shears, stood, and approached him. 'Tell me only the truth, Iklar. If I have as much as a hint that you lie I will take off your nose, then your lips, then. . .' he traced a line down the man's neck and breast with the points of the shears, then circled the nipple. He stood back. 'Do you understand? And it would be only a beginning.'
'I do not lie!' insisted Iklar. 'I am a messenger, nothing more.
‘The first stage in a channel, well-known to you and to the Crown. After me there would be others, three or more, before the channel touched the heart of the True Sept.'
Fectur knew it to be true. After the True Sept went quite literally underground he had expended much time and effort trying to reach its inner core. Frustratingly, the trail ended always at the Veiled Light. Surveillance teams had made Iklar their target, yet never had they discovered the moment when a message was passed, or whom it was passed to. Any of a hundred or more persons with whom Iklar mingled could have been the next link in the chain to the True Sept's heart. Fectur had wished for a purge of Overlip, but knew it to be impractical. So dense and intricate was that warren - it was another world, one which all the wiles of the Spectre could not penetrate.
'Yet the channel remains in place?'
'It did until an hour ago, when your men arrested me. That was reckless, my lord. I am nothing.'