Queen of Demons (50 page)
Authors: David Drake
The second pond was fed by a pair of streams running from pink tracery fountains which poured water out of dozens of holes. Ilna could follow the pattern which the pink strands wove among themselves, but she doubted that anyone else in Barca's Hamletâand perhaps anyone else in the worldâcould have done so.
She smiled grimly. Wherever “the world” she meant by the term was, it wasn't here. And she very much doubted that the Garden was really a part of any world, even the one into which the wizards had flung her and themselves.
At the pond's edge grew a wrist-thick vine which sprouted translucent growths like pea pods the size of human beings. Several of the People of Beauty stood nude near one of the pods; with them but clothed in a red silk robe was another man.
“Halphemos!” Ilna called, louder than she'd meant to. Ever since she awakened she'd been suppressing the fear that she was alone in this place.
The youth stood and turned with a beatific smile. “Ilna!” he called. “Come and look what they're doing for Cerix!”
Ilna lengthened her stride. Her companions kept up with her effortlessly. It was worse than when Ilna walked with long-limbed, free-striding Sharina on the beach at Barca's Hamlet. These really
were
the People of Beautyâand of grace, and of kindness, and apparently of all manner of other desirable attributes that Ilna was too honest to claim for herself.
were
the People of Beautyâand of grace, and of kindness, and apparently of all manner of other desirable attributes that Ilna was too honest to claim for herself.
Halphemos gestured toward the pod. The People of Beauty with him moved aside to afford Ilna a clear view. Though the sky was growing darker, the structures from which the water poured were suffused with a soft pink glow that lighted the meadow around them.
Ilna bent to look into the pod. A man floated inside with his eyes closed. For a moment Ilna didn't recognize
him, though Cerix's face should have been familiar enough.
him, though Cerix's face should have been familiar enough.
Cerix didn't have legs, though. This man did: hairless and the same color as the light itself, but unquestionably legs.
Without speaking, Ilna looked up at Halphemos.
“Isn't it wonderful?” Halphemos cried while the People of Beauty looked on with indulgent smiles. “They're giving him back his legs! He'll be normal again!”
Ilna nodded to show that she was listening. She was trying to organize her thoughts, trying to find the pattern; and the pattern wasn't there.
In the pond, a gloriously blond mermaid cavorted with another creature that was half-fish. The upper parts of the second form were insectile, a chitinous carapace and a head with great multifaceted eyes.
“Yes,” Ilna said at last. “Our hosts appear to be very skillful. They cleaned my garments better than I could have done myself.”
Her comment probably sounded inane to anyone who didn't know her well. Anyone who
did
know Ilna's fierce pride in her own skills would see how deep was her praise.
did
know Ilna's fierce pride in her own skills would see how deep was her praise.
She gestured Halphemos to follow, wondering if the People of Beauty would fall into step. They, as tactful as they were lovely, turned their backs and murmured among themselves in soft, cultured voices. The youth, puzzled but too cheerful to object, walked along the margin of the pond with her.
“I came around sooner than you did, mistress,” Halphemos said apologetically. “I'm afraid you must have been doing most of the work during the last hour or more, even though you're ⦠I mean, I'm bigger than you.”
Ilna waved her hand in disinterest. Lights glimmered in the depths of the pond. Tiny human forms rode fish that looked like swollen bladders. They glowed in a variety of pastel colors.
“I don't think this garden is real,” she said bluntly. “Or the people who live here.”
“But ⦠?” Halphemos said. He pinched the flesh of his arm, then offered his hand to Ilna. “Touch me,” he said. “I'm real and you are too.”
Ilna squeezed the youth's hand perfunctorily and released it. “I dare say we are,” she said. “But what we see around us ⦔
Above them a creature like a vast winged fish floated across the starlit sky. Trills of laughter drifted down from the riders on its back.
“Halphemos,” she said, “I think we're in a hallucination. Your friend's hallucination. His delirium is so strong that he's woven a dream of paradise around all three of us. It's almost the only thing that could fit the pattern.”
“But ⦠,” Halphemos said. They were nearing one of the streams which fed the pond. They slowed slightly. “What do you think should we do, mistress?”
Ilna shrugged. “We set out to find my brother,” she said. “I can't tell you what to do, but I intend to keep looking until I find him; or I die. And I won't find Cashel here.”
“Yes, I see that,” Halphemos said. A lizard with three heads swam down the stream into the pond, singing multipart harmony as its tail oared from side to side.
Halphemos straightened with a firmer expression. He turned on his heel, forcing Ilna to turn with him. “You said that us living in Cerix's hallucinations was almost the only explanation,” he said. “What are the other possibilities?”
“There's one,” Ilna said. She smiled faintly. “That we're dead. That my brain is drying out on the bottom of a sea older than time, and this place is the last thought that goes through it.”
Black and white swallows in equal numbers traced a
curving line across the sky. They chittered merrily. Halphemos looked up at them as he walked.
curving line across the sky. They chittered merrily. Halphemos looked up at them as he walked.
“I see,” he said at last. The pod had opened and Cerix, waving enthusiastically, was getting out.
T
he banners of the two heralds riding at the head of the procession bore the black eagle of Ornifal, but against a blue ground instead of the red of the present royal line. The soldiers, a mixture of armed retainers provided by all five conspirators, wore tabards with the same device.
he banners of the two heralds riding at the head of the procession bore the black eagle of Ornifal, but against a blue ground instead of the red of the present royal line. The soldiers, a mixture of armed retainers provided by all five conspirators, wore tabards with the same device.
“King Carus!” the crowds cheered as they saw Garric. “Long live Carus!”
At the back of Garric's mind, a normally cheerful presence glowered at the flags. Garric turned to Liane, being carried in a sedan chair which put her head almost level with him on horseback, and said, “We ought to use the Gold Ring of the Old Kingdom. It symbolized both the diadem of kingship and the whole circuit of the Isles, not just one island.”
Liane looked at him. “Did it?” she said. “I didn't know that. Where did you learn it?”
Garric coughed. “I think it's in Aldebrand's
Dinner Party,
” he muttered.
Dinner Party,
” he muttered.
It probably was somewhere in Aldebrand's massive collection of bits and pieces of information from the literature of the Old Kingdomâwhich had fallen four hundred years before Aldebrand compiled it in the form of conversation at a dinner party of savants of the former age. Because Aldebrand had the run of the vast temple
library at Wist on Cordin, long-since burned and dispersed, he provided information which had survived nowhere else. Unfortunately Aldebrand was also a superstitious fool and a careless copyist, so his information was as likely as not to be wrong.
library at Wist on Cordin, long-since burned and dispersed, he provided information which had survived nowhere else. Unfortunately Aldebrand was also a superstitious fool and a careless copyist, so his information was as likely as not to be wrong.
In truth, Garric had learned about the Gold Ring while watching a priestess of the Lady instruct Carus in the spiritual underpinnings of kingship a decade before Carus donned the diadem. Had anybody tried to teach Valence about kingship? If all being King of the Isles meant was privileges and politics, alliances and bribes ⦠who could expect anything better than the upheaval and injustice of the present day?
“But you know better
,” a voice whispered through the ages.
,” a voice whispered through the ages.
The crowd had been cheering all the way from the queen's mansion in the center of the city. Many of the people who'd seen the procession passing had fallen in behind it; as many more were already gathered here at Garric's destination. Their shouts and the morning sunlight were dazzling.
One of the heralds rode to the gate of the royal compound and rapped the butt of his flagstaff on the iron-bound oak. “Open for Prince Garric!” he called in a voice like a silver trumpet.
The complex was on what had been the northern edge of Valles five centuries before. The city had overgrown the district, but the buff stone walls enclosed several acres of gardens and widely spaced buildings.
Royhas ordered his eight-bearer palanquin up on Garric's right side. Tenoctris, in a sedan chair behind Liane's, caught Garric's eye when he glanced around but continued whispering an incantation. On her lap was a limewood board chalked with symbols in a triangle. The line of spear-carrying footmen on either side were to keep enthusiastic spectators from seriously impeding the progress of Garric and his companions.
Garric looked down onto his chancellor, reclining on
the palanquin's cushions. “I wish Pitre had come,” he said. “Since he was so close to Valence.”
the palanquin's cushions. “I wish Pitre had come,” he said. “Since he was so close to Valence.”
Normally the gates of the royal compound would have been open with a squad of Blood Eagles on display in the archway. Today and for the past week, the compound was guarded like a fortress.
“Don't wish that,” Royhas said. “The best he'd do is dither. It's just as likely he'd break down and cry here in front of the mob.”
Royhas couldn't ride a horse in the normal way because of his long robes of state. The choices had been a palanquin or a sidesaddle; sedan chairs were for women or images of the Gods at religious festivals, and arriving at the palace in a carriage would break both the law andâmore importantâtradition.
Garric looked at Liane and they exchanged smiles. He'd like to have squeezed her hand, but he didn't suppose that was fitting. He didn't suppose it was what he ought to be thinking about, either.
The viewport on the right gate-leaf opened. The man inside said something to the herald in a voice Garric couldn't hear over the crowd noise. The herald replied.
Garric wondered what the purpose of Tenoctris' incantation was. She was using a swan quill rather than the bronze stylus to strike the symbols as she mumbled them out. An object gathered power with each use and thereby became harder to control with the precision that safety demanded. Tenoctris couldn't do as much as many wizards, but she never did anything beyond what she intended. No power was truly uncontrolled; what the user didn't control was left to the cosmos to decide, and the cosmos was no friend to humankind.
The herald turned his bay mare and rode back between Garric and Tenoctris. “Your Majesty?” the man said. He came from Waldron's household. “They say you can enter, but it has to be alone.”
“I'll talk to them,” Garric said curtly. He dismountedâhe needed Carus' reflexes for better things than keeping
his seat on a horseâand strode to the gate, brushing past the herald before the man could back his horse out of the way.
his seat on a horseâand strode to the gate, brushing past the herald before the man could back his horse out of the way.
Royhas started to protest, then ordered his bearers to put down the palanquin so that he could join Garric. Out of the corner of his eye, Garric saw Liane's chair also lower; Tenoctris continued to concentrate on the words of her incantation.
They four were the only principals present. Waldron was organizing the first units of household troops arriving from the north of the island, and Tadai said he neither needed nor wanted to meet Valence under these conditions. Tadai's refusal gave Sourous an excuse and Pitre the opportunity to stay away as well.
Because Royhas knew the king's advisors, he could provide Garric with a viewpoint from within the ruling elite. At base, though, success or failure would be up to Garric himself.
He grinned. It was always nice to know where the blame lay if things went wrong.
The eye of a man wearing a nose-guard helmet watched from the other side of the thick panel. Garric was dressed in red breeches, high boots, and a short blue tunic cinched by his sword belt. That was flamboyant garb which had more to do with Carus' taste than it did with that of Garric's upbringing, but it didn't threaten violence.
“I'm Master Garric from Haft,” Garric said, trying to be more diplomatic in addressing the king's men than the herald had been. “My advisors and I have a meeting with the king and his chancellor.”
“Chancellor Papnotis has gone back to his estates,” said the guard. “You can come in, but only alone.”
“I'll come with Lord Royhas, whom you know,” Garric said. His voice took on a grating edge, like ashlars slipping over one another. “Also two women. And I'll enter now, as agreed. I keep my oaths, and I assure you I have a short way with oathbreakers!”
Threats of violence wouldn't work against the Blood
Eagles. Men who'd remained with Valence this long weren't going to blanch because a boy threatened them with death or torture. But calling them oathbreakers, that was another matter, even though the arrangement had been with the chancellor who'd already fled.
Eagles. Men who'd remained with Valence this long weren't going to blanch because a boy threatened them with death or torture. But calling them oathbreakers, that was another matter, even though the arrangement had been with the chancellor who'd already fled.
Garric couldn't see what Royhas was doing. “Open!” the soldiers accompanying Garric shouted. “Open! Open!” The crowd bellowed with wordless anger.
Garric turned and raised his hands for calm. Tenoctris, still chanting, stood above all those around her.
Only those in the front of the crowd could see Garric; they continued to shout anyway. That was fine. The whole gesture was playacting to convince the guards that Garric was a force for moderation.
Facing the viewport again, Garric said, shouting to be heard, “Your duty is to keep King Valence safe from attack. Your few swords can't accomplish that. Letting me and my advisors in to speak with His Majesty is the only way to save him.”
The man at the viewport turned to talk to someone who'd arrived behind him. The wicket in the other panel opened abruptly. It was only large enough for one person to enter at a time, which also was fine. The last thing Garric wanted was for the main gates to swing back. They'd draw an uncontrollable mob into the palace grounds like a bass sucking in prey by opening its jaws.
Garric stepped through, ducking to clear the iron-strapped transom. He was ready to hold. the wicket by main force if the guards tried to close it before Tenoctris, Liane, and Royhas could follow.
“Let them by!” ordered an officer in gilded armor.
The officer looked Garric over. “I'm Attaper bor-Atilan,” he said. For all the richness of his accouterments, the ivory hilt of Attaper's sword showed the wear of real use. “Legate of the Blood Eagles.”
He nodded to Royhas, entering last behind Tenoctris, then gave Garric a grin of disgust. “My men and I appear to be the entire palace staff, as well. Everybody else ran
when Papnotis scuttled away last night. The wizard Silyon comes and goes, so it's probably wishful thinking to believe he's gone for good now.”
when Papnotis scuttled away last night. The wizard Silyon comes and goes, so it's probably wishful thinking to believe he's gone for good now.”
A troop of forty Blood Eagles was drawn up at the gate. There were three hundred in the regiment at full strength, not enough to guard the compound's long perimeter if it came under real attack. Garric could see squads stationed at intervals among the plantings and walkways. They wore half-armor that was no less functional for being buffed to a high polish.
“I mean our king no harm, Lord Attaper,” Garric said, speaking words that were only partly his. “And as for you and your menâno kingdom has so many honorable citizens that I would permit those under my control to harm such.”
He grinned, a wolfish expression, veteran to veteran, that took the legate aback to see on Garric's youthful face. “Not that I believed you were afraid. The Blood Eagles stood at the Stone Wall.”
Attaper's left index finger absently traced a scar that ran from the jaw hinge down the side of his neck. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “A lot of things have happened since then.”
Harshly, though the anger didn't seem directed at Garric, the legate continued, “Come along, then. I'll take you to His Majesty.”
“Shall I ⦠?” Garric said, putting his hands to the buckles of his sword belt. Royhas in court robes wasn't wearing a sword. For anyone but his guards to enter the king's presence armed was an insult even when it wasn't a threat. Either was punishable by death.
Attaper looked at Garric. In a voice that quavered with a disdain shared between equals he replied, “I choose to believe that you're a man of honor, Master Garric. In the event that you're not, you'd scarcely need a weapon to dispatch His Majesty in his present condition.”
Garric looked over his shoulder and asked, “Are you all right, Tenoctris?” He knew what wizardry could take
out of the old woman, and he had no idea how difficult was the incantation she'd performed on the way to the meeting.
out of the old woman, and he had no idea how difficult was the incantation she'd performed on the way to the meeting.
She smiled and said, “Quite all right, thank you.” Her voice was pert enough. She turned to twist off a forsythia twig to replace the quill she must have abandoned when she got down from the sedan chair. Liane took the older woman's arm in a comradely gesture.
Attaper led Garric and his three companions down a walk paved with slabs of soft, yellow limestone, worn by centuries of use. The remainder of the guard detachment stayed at the main gate. Grape vines that had leafed out but hadn't yet set fruit covered the trellis overhead.
Liane missed a step, then skipped over the slab before her. Garric looked back. Frozen in the limestone was the coiled shell of an ammonite. It was small, no larger than a clenched fist, and its dozens of waving arms had rotted away long ages since. This ammonite hadn't been one of the house-huge monsters Garric had seen often in nightmares and once in a storm-tossed sea.
But he noticed that Tenoctris, walking alongside Liane, avoided the fossilized creature also.
Attaper turned into a one-story bungalow with a fanciful roofline and outer walls decorated with blue-figured Serian tilework. It looked new compared with most of the buildings nestled among the gardens. Although the taste that designed the structure was more delicate than Garric's own, he found attraction in the fact that it
was
designed to an individual's taste rather than as some sort of monument to posterity.
was
designed to an individual's taste rather than as some sort of monument to posterity.
Two Blood Eagles stood at the front door; another peered around the back corner when he heard people approaching, then withdrew when he saw his legate leading the newcomers. The guards stiffened to parade rest, but they'd been attentive even before their commander appeared.
“Any change, Melus?” Attaper asked.
“Nothing to report, sir,” one of the guards said. He
and his partner exchanged quick glances. “Ah ⦠,” Melus added. “The situation at the gate is ⦠?”
and his partner exchanged quick glances. “Ah ⦠,” Melus added. “The situation at the gate is ⦠?”
“Is under control,” Attaper said. He grinned crookedly at Garric. “For the moment.”
The guards stepped aside so Attaper could open the door of tiger-striped wood. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I've brought some citizens to see you.”
Other books
The Atheist’s Guide to Christmas by Robin Harvie
Deep Secret by Diana Wynne Jones
Secret Santa by Cynthia Reese
Beauty by (Patria Dunn-Rowe), Patria L. Dunn
This Great Struggle by Steven Woodworth
Obsidian Music (Lion Security Book 3) by Scarlett Dawn
Betty Zane (1994) by Grey, Zane
The Guardian by Keisha Orphey
Lanceheim by Tim Davys
All Hell by Allan Burd
