Lords of Rainbow (56 page)

But he watched her with proud tragic eyes, and he said, “No! Do not come near me, O Tilirreh! I want nothing of you.”

But
Laelith
smiled. And she drew forth her hand, placing it upon his forehead.

At her touch, Elasirr felt warm lightning fill him and pierce him. He closed his eyes involuntarily, his lips parting, a breath expelled from within.

And then, the lips of the
violet
one were upon his own, and he too knew the instant of oblivion, and with it joy and peace.

But only for a moment.

For,
Laelith
stood before Ranhé now. Only, before she could do anything, Ranhé suddenly reached out with her own hands, and she took the right hand of the goddess. And then, feeling it burn within her two own, she brought it up to her lips. And she kissed the hand of
Laelith
.

“
Thank you, O
lady
,” she whispered, “for touching them both with your love!”

And when she looked up again, she saw that the eyes of
Laelith
cried. Tears like drops of dew came down the pale smooth cheeks.

Thank you, poor child
, said the voice of
her
who was love incarnate.
It is you who I will tell the last thing, the last truth.

Within Rainbow lies a paradox of the future, the present, and the past.

Let this knowledge serve you, when it comes time for the final battle. For it, the struggle, will be one both outside and within yourself. Go now, with my blessings. And may you be some day fulfilled!

And in that instant, the figure of
Laelith
blazed into an impossible light, and it seemed that the moon came hurtling down from the sky upon the garden of
violet
.

The world convulsed around them, while light sang a fierce wind song, and they began to recede, recede, and then they jumped. . . .

R
anhé opened her eyes with a shuddering breath, finding herself standing within the Circle. Around them danced
violet
light, like within the heart of a waterfall. It danced, and then receded, gently, fading. And then, they remained in the monochrome hueless gray dusk of the chamber.

The Circle broke. With it, some of the Masters staggered, having lost an inordinate amount of energy.

The Guildmaster stepped once more to the center, his face drained, and hollows beneath his eyes.

They all looked upon him. And what they saw was not hope, but rather, a madness.

“
We have seen the Tilirr,” spoke Elasirr loudly, brashly. “And they have answered our prayers. Thus, with the new knowledge given us, we attack now.”

He paused, looking at them all, and his gaze, though tired, was strong and ageless. “Now, go!” he concluded. “Go and rest and regather your strength. We will need all of it in the fight.”

At his words, the Masters began to leave the room. On the other side of the chamber, Lord Vaeste, motionless, sunken in apathy, leaned against the wall. When nearly everyone had gone, he straightened, and neared Elasirr, saying, “Why did you lie to them, Elas? Why did you tell them we have a secret knowledge of something from the Tilirr, when in truth we have nothing, and there is no hope?”

“
Because,” replied Elasirr in a whisper, regarding him closely, “I had to tell them something. To give them strength for the struggle ahead.”

“
A struggle.” Elasand laughed bitterly. “Why bother?”

“
Unlike you, Elasand-re, I don’t give up!”

And with that the Guildmaster turned and left them both, alone in the chamber.

I
t was an illusion of safety, being within the Inner City. Ranhé returned to the bedchamber where she had spent the night, and found that the door to the inner room had been shut from the inside. Elasirr must have taken his own bed to rest, at least for an hour. And thus she decided to wander and explore the compound, the endless corridors of this hidden sanctum of light.

About an hour later, Marihke Sar came upon her, with a worried expression on his face. “Everyone is looking for you, freewoman! Come along, you are wanted, there is work to do.”

He led her to one of the rooms that she had recognized, at the very entrance of the Inner City, the place they had entered first, coming here. There she saw Elasirr, dressed in plain black clothing, a dark hood over his pale hair, and a long dagger at his waist, waiting for her.

His expression was once more, like a wall. After all that had happened between them.

“
Where is my Lord Vaeste?” she asked impassively, not meeting his gaze.

“
The last time I looked, he was again sleeping in my bed. No doubt dreaming of his
violet Laelith
,” said he remotely. “He is not to be bothered, so I must instead take you.”

“
Me? Don’t you have enough minions of your own?” Her voice was tired and thus did not hide its edge.

“
You are the only other with the complete ability to work all
color
light,” said Elasirr, looking finally into her eyes. “Even if I wanted to take someone else, I have no choice, and I have no time to wait for Elas to get ahold of himself. He has fallen so low that he is now useless. And yes, we are going to
Dirvan
. And we will attempt to rescue the Regents and the other unfortunate prisoners—not in that order of priority. For, surely, no one would believe I am doing this for the filthy pigs Grelias alone.”

“
I see. Just the two of us? So, you are quite insane, Lord Guildmaster.”

But already he had turned away, and was heading toward the door that led outside to the underground catacombs.

Silently, Ranhé followed.

O
utside, the abnormal sun had begun sinking in the twilight morass of the thick dull sky. If it were a normal day, then it would still be a rather bright time, not too far from sunset. But as things stood, it was already as dark as evening, and torches had remained lit all since morning, throughout the City.

They had walked swiftly through the twisting underground passages below the City. Ranhé followed Elasirr silently. He walked, carrying a small torch, and at last the ground rose again. They stopped before a narrow stairwell, and Elasirr gave her the torch, then started to climb ahead. About twenty feet up, he pressed a release hatch, then slowly opened the ceiling, and noiselessly disappeared above. Ranhé waited for his silent hand signal, as agreed, then climbed also, first extinguishing the torch, so as not to give them away.

She emerged and found herself on a shadowed garden path, somewhere in
Dirvan.

Elasirr lowered the sewer door behind them, then stamped around lightly, beating down the earth so it did not appear so newly disturbed.

“
Why did we come out here?” whispered Ranhé. “Why not walk all the way beneath the Palace, then open a door inside the prisoners’ own chamber?”

“
Because,” hissed Elasirr, “as of two hours ago, my Palace eyes have told me, most of the trapdoors leading into the underground network near where the prisoners are being held have been discovered. Feale moves fast. Already, Qurthe are in the underground passages. Soon, they will know the way to the Inner City.”

“
Gods! Why didn’t you mention that earlier?”

Elasirr looked at her in the dim light, his face a mask. “Why should I? Every moment of hope that I leave my people, conserves our strength,” he said. “Those who need to know, know already. Those who don’t will know only if worst comes to worst.”

“
You are a strange man, my lord,” Ranhé whispered then. “Even now, I don’t know whether to believe you fully or not at all.”

“
I don’t care what you believe,” he responded. “Now, come, we have no time to waste. And if we are discovered, remember, I am merely Lord Bilhaar. And be ready to create
color
light upon my command.”

They raced like shadows through the Outer Gardens. Ranhé found it an actual challenge to keep up with him, sleek and silent, his brilliant hair tucked beneath and obscured by a dark hood.

On both sides, lush ebony growth strained forward, as they moved. Several times they had to stop, growing silent as the trees, as they heard voices of randomly patrolling dark soldiers walk past, speaking with the heavy accents in their dialect.

At some point, they passed the Tomb of the King, hidden away in a bower of dark cypress, shadows of the faint sickly sun flowing pallid against antique silver marble.

Ranhé looked back at the Tomb as they moved, and she noted how Elasirr did also, throwing an almost wistful look behind him.

And all of a sudden, he whispered, “I only wish it were a Monteyn I served, not this pale drab excuse for a ruler called Hestiam.”

“
Yes,” she responded, “I also wish. . . .”

Her words trailed off. But yet, their gazes managed to meet, for one true instant of intimate communication, remembering all that had taken place between them, all of it, if only for a moment.

The moment passed. And again they were but remote strangers, harboring only cold between them.

At the Inner Gates of the Palace, there was a blackness of guards. Their number had doubled since the last time she’d passed here, only a day ago.

They also saw bodies, abandoned to rot, lying near the gates. Bodies of those who were of this City. Some of them were but street children.

Ranhé felt a pang in her heart, thinking of the urchin who had held her horse for her, only two nights ago.

She felt Elasirr’s light touch on her arm, and her first instinct was to nearly recoil—memories of his touch, his flesh in the smothering dark.

But she steeled herself, and watched his hand gestures, as he pointed a way for her, through the remainder of the gardens, and up to the Gates.

There was a line of shadows, a pattern of relative dark through which one could walk and be unobserved, if careful. Ranhé initially thought to climb a tree, as she had done the last time, and thus jump the gates. But today the guards were positioned so that they would see any movement upon the balustrade up above, and the twilight was still bright enough everywhere else.

There was nothing else they could do but take in deep silencing breaths and simply walk forward. And thus, she stilled herself from long practice, and moved more silently than ever before, thinking thoughts of nonpresence.

I am not here . . . Nothing is here.

She was halfway across the line of dark when a Qurth soldier turned his ebony masked helmet toward her, almost by instinct. She froze, closing her eyes, turning inward somehow. And Elasirr sucked in his breath with a sudden cold fear for her, a sudden wild pang.

But then, it seemed like the woman
faded
. He looked, and saw only shadows of growing tree trunks cast against the garden floor, against a cross-section of the gravel path. Unbelievingly he stared,
knowing
she was there, and yet she was not.

Nothing is here . . . I am not . . .

Ranhé managed to cross the distance, and stilled near an overhang, against the Inner Wall itself. It was now Elasirr’s turn.

He crept forward quickly, unflinchingly. And yet, at one point there was a pause, as once again a guard felt something, and turned to stare at the very spot where Elasirr stood.

Ranhé’s temples pounded.

Not here! Nothing . . . not here . . .
her thoughts flung outward, almost concrete in their desire to blanket, to obscure.

Nothing . . . darkness
.

And suddenly, as she thought it, there was a strange previously unfelt welling of a force within her. It felt initially like the gathering warmth that resulted in
color
light.

Only, this one was a cool welling of
darkness
.

She felt it flow outward from her, gathering like a patch of black smoke in her palms. She looked down at her hands incredulously, and then, by sheer instinct, cupped it in her palm and threw it, at the same time focusing it in the direction of Elasirr.

She threw and willed it to grow and unfurl, a patch of opaque darkness, and to envelop him with its safe nonpresence.

And the dark smoke obeyed.

The Qurthe stilled for a moment, but it was obvious, even to his suspicious gaze, that there was nothing there—only dark vapor and shadows. That and the swaying growth of the garden. His attention was again distracted.

Meanwhile Elasirr stood frozen, ready for anything, blanketed by the soothing dark.

When he reached her, in the shadows at the foot of the wall, there was an intense expression in his eyes, a question. And yet he held his silence, and they continued toward the Palace.

D
eileala Grelias sat bowed upon her great, canopied bed, an empty look in her eyes. From the outside, through the great open window, she could see the dull ah-so-depressing weakling orb, the setting gray sun, veiled by the thick twilight air of the City.

Suddenly, a scratching soft noise sounded. Somewhere in back of her.