The Dragon in the Sword (18 page)

One of the guards frowned. “Invited, marm?”

“Invited. By your own Princess Empress Sharadim. Shall we wait here like trinket sellers or shall we proceed to the tradesman’s entrance? I had expected a warmer greeting from a sister…”

They exchanged looks and somewhat sheepishly let us pass. And because the first guards had admitted us, the others let us through without any form of challenge.

“Now follow me,” said Ottro, riding ahead. He was most familiar with the palace and with protocol. He urged his horse forward, under a high arch which must have been twelve feet across and some six feet thick, of solid granite. This led us into a pleasant courtyard of turf surrounded by gravel. We crossed this, again unchallenged. I looked around me. The high walls of the palace reached up everywhere, ending in beautiful, almost ethereal, spires. Yet I felt I was entering a trap from which escape was impossible.

Under another arch, then another, until we came upon a group of young men in green-and-brown livery which Ottro recognised. “Squires,” he cried. “Take our horses. We are late for the ceremony.”

The squires ran forward to do his bidding. We dismounted and Ottro now marched without hesitation through a central door and into what was plainly a private apartment, though unoccupied. “I used to know the lady whose rooms these are,” he said by way of explanation. “Hurry, my friends. We’ve had luck with us so far.”

He opened a door and we were in a cool corridor with high ceilings and more of the colourful wall hangings enjoyed by these people. A few boys in the same green-and-brown livery, a young woman in a white-and-red gown, an old man in fur-trimmed plaid, looked at us with casual curiosity as we walked purposefully in Ottro’s wake, turned a corner, then another, mounted three flights of marble stairs and eventually came to a heavy wooden door which he opened carefully, then signed for us to follow him.

This chamber was dark, unoccupied. Shades were drawn across all the windows. Cloying incense burned here. Great thick-leaved plants grew in profusion, giving the place something of the air of a huge greenhouse. There was the same sticky humidity, reminiscent of the tropics.

“What is this place?” asked von Bek, shuddering. “It is so different in atmosphere from all the rest.”

“It is the room where Prince Flamadin died,” said one of the squires. “On yonder couch.” He pointed. “It’s evil you can smell, sir.”

“Why should it be kept in darkness?” I wanted to know.

“Because they say Sharadim still communicates with the soul of her dead brother…”

It was my turn to feel a chill. Did they refer to the soul of the body I now inhabited?

“I heard she keeps his corpse in these chambers,” another said. “Frozen. Uncorrupted. Exactly as it was the minute the last breath went out of him.”

I grew impatient. “These are mere rumours.”

“Aye, your highness,” said a squire in swift agreement. Then he frowned. I felt a sympathy for him. He was not the only one who felt confused. I had been murdered in this room, by all accounts—or, at least, something which was almost myself had been murdered. I put my hand to my head. My senses seemed momentarily to leave me.

Von Bek caught me. “Steady, man. God knows what this can mean to you. It’s bad enough for me.”

With his support I was able to collect myself. Now we followed Ottro through the chambers, every one as dark and as unwholesome as the last, until we came to another outer door. Here he stopped.

We could hear sounds from the other side of the door. Music. Shouts. Cheering.

I understood our plan, but I still found it hard to believe we had already gained so much. My heart began to pound. I nodded to Ottro.

With a sudden movement the old man drew back the bolts from the double doors and kicked them outwards with a crash.

We stared into a sea of colour, of metal and silk, of faces already turning towards us in curiosity at the sound.

We stared into the great, vaulted ceremonial hall of the Valadek, at lances and banners and armour and every kind of finery, a predominance of rose-red and white, of gold and black. From the huge windows set at both ends of this hall poured great shafts of sunlight, half-blinding us.

Mosaics, tapestries and stained glass contrasted magnificently with the pale, carved stone of the hall and seemed to be designed to lead the eye towards the very centre where, from a throne of blue and emerald obsidian, a woman of astonishing beauty was rising, her glance meeting mine the moment I reached the first step down the wide staircase which ended at the dais on which her throne was set.

Flanking her were men and women in heavy robes. These were the religious dignitaries of the Valadek, also married siblings as had been our custom for two thousand years. She wore the ancient Robe of Victory. It had not been settled on a member of the Valadek for centuries. We had never wanted to wear it again, for it was a War Robe, a robe signifying conquest by force of arms. She had offered it to me and I had refused it.

She held in her hands the Half Sword, the old broken blade of our barbarian ancestors, said to have killed the last of the Anishad bloodline, a girl of six, establishing the reign of our family until the reformation of the monarchy, when princes and princesses were chosen by the people. Sharadim and Flamadin had been chosen. We had been chosen because we were twins and this was thought a perfect omen. We should marry and bless the nation. The nation knew we would be lucky for them. They had not understood how much Sharadim had wanted this chance at power. I remembered our arguments. I remembered her disgust for what she saw as my feebleness. I had reminded her that we were elected, that any power we had was a gift of the people, that we were answerable to parliaments and councils. She had laughed at this.

– For three and a half centuries our blood has waited to be revenged. For three and a half centuries our family spirits have held their peace, knowing the moment must come, knowing that the fools would forget—knowing that if they had wished to see the last of their rightful masters, the Sardatrian Bharaleen, they should have done what we did to the Anishads and killed every last one of them, to the most distant cousins. We are fully of that blood, Flamadin. Our people cry out for us to fulfill our destiny…

“NO!”

Her eyes widened as, slowly, I began to descend the steps.

“No, Sharadim. You shall not come so easily to this power. Let the world know, at least, by what foul means you achieved it. Let them know that you will bring disorder, horror, bloody torment to this realm. Let them know that you plan to ally yourself with the darkest powers of Chaos, that you would conquer first this realm and then make yourself Empress of the Six Realms of the Wheel. Let them know you are even prepared to let down the barriers which hold back the forces of the Nightmare Marches. Let this great assembly know, Sharadim, my sister, that you feel only contempt for them because they had thought our old blood mellowed when actually it had gained a fierce intensity for being constrained so long. Let them know, Sharadim, who sought first to seduce me and then to slay me, what you think of their simple enthusiasm and their good will. Let them know you aspire to be immortal, to be elevated into the pantheon of Chaos!”

I had planned for the huge effect my words would have in that vast hall. My voice boomed. My words were knives, each one going directly to its target. Yet, until that moment, I had not known what I was going to say.

The memory had come to me suddenly. For a little while, it seemed, I had possessed Flamadin’s mind, his own recollection of his sister’s statements to him.

I had thought to make some revelation before the gathered nobles of a dozen nations. But I had not for a second suspected that it would be so specific or so accurate! I had begun by possessing the body of Prince Flamadin. Now Prince Flamadin had taken possession of me.

“Let them know all your thoughts, my sister!” I began a further descent. Now I waded through heaped roses, red and pink, and their sweet perfume filled my nostrils almost like a drug. “Tell them the truth!”

Sharadim flung down the Half Sword which, a moment since, she had caressed like a lover. Her face was alight with hatred and, at the same time, a kind of exultant joy. It was almost as if she had rediscovered an admiration for her brother which she had long since forgotten.

Some rose petals drifted lazily in the great shafts of light from the stained glass. I paused again, my hands on my hips, my whole body challenging her. “Tell them, Sharadim, my sister!”

Her voice when at last she spoke held not a trace of uncertainty. Indeed, it bore a cold and horrible authority. It was contemptuous.

“Prince Flamadin is dead, sir. Dead. And you, sir, are a crude imposter!”

4

I
HAD LEFT
it until now to throw off my cowl. From every part of the hall there came a murmur of recognition. She backed away in fear, as if I were a ghost; others pushed forward to see me better. And out of the crowd near the dais, at Sharadim’s signal, came half a hundred men-at-arms, with ceremonial pikes in their hands, to surround her and the throne.

I pointed behind me. “And if I am an imposter, who are these? My lords and ladies, do you not recognise your peers?”

Ottro, Land Prince of Waldana, came to stand beside me. Then Madvad, Duke of Drane; Halmad, Land Prince of Ruradani and all the other nobles and squires.

“These are the men you sold into slavery, Sharadim. You must wish now that you killed them when you killed the others!”

“Black magic!” cried my twin. “Phantoms conjured by Chaos! My soldiers will destroy them, never fear.”

But now many more nobles were rushing forward. One tall old man in a high crown made of coloured shells raised his hand. “No blood is to be spilled here. I know Ottro of Waldana as if he were my kin. They said you went adventuring, Ottro, to look for fresh gateways to the other Realms. Is that so?”

“I was arrested, Prince Albret, as I tried to take ship to my own land. The Princess Sharadim ordered the arrest. A week later all whom you see here were sold to the Ghost Women as slaves.”

Another wave of murmuring from the crowd.

“We bought these men in good faith,” said Alisaard, still wearing her visor. “But when we learned of their circumstances, we decided to release them.”

“There’s your first miserable lie,” cried Sharadim, seating herself upon her throne again. “When have the Ghost Women cared about the source of their slaves or of their circumstances? This is some plot hatched between rebellious nobles and foreign enemies to discredit me and weaken the Draachenheem…”

“Rebellious?” Prince Ottro took a step or two further until he was standing below me. “Pray, madam, what do we rebel against? Your authority is purely ceremonial, is it not? And if it is not, why do you not reveal that fact?”

“I spoke of common treachery,” she said. “To all our Realm and its nations. They disappeared not because they were captured, but because they sought an alliance with the Gheestenheemers. It is they who seek to corrupt our traditions. It is they who hope to gain power for themselves over us all.” Sharadim’s face was the picture of outraged virtue. Her fair skin seemed to glow with honesty and her large blue eyes had never seemed more innocent. “I was elected to be Empress of the Realm by the suggestion of various barons and Land Princes. If it brings disruption rather than added unity to the Draachenheem, I shall of course refuse the honour…”

There was considerable approval of her speech and many cried for her to ignore us.

“This woman deceived almost the entire Realm,” Ottro continued. “She will bring ruin and black misery to us all, I know it. She is a mistress of deception. See this boy?” He brought young Federit Shaus to stand by him. “Many must recognise him. A squire in the employ of Prince Flamadin. He saw Princess Sharadim place the poison in the wine with which she intended to murder her brother. He saw Prince Flamadin fall…”

“I murdered my brother?” Sharadim turned astonished eyes on the assembled nobles. “Murdered him? I am confused. Did you not say that this was Prince Flamadin?”

“I am he.”

“And you are murdered, sir?”