The Merchant Emperor (34 page)

“Lady Melisande Navarne, it is my honor, and yours, to introduce you to Analise o Serendair, a First Generation Cymrian, and your grandmother’s oldest friend.”

Melisande’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh, my,” she said. Then she blushed and curtsied more deeply.

Analise laughed aloud.

“There is no need for such a reverence, child; I be of common birth. If anything, I should bow to you, m’lady.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Melisande blurted. “I—I don’t know what I would do if you did. Are you Liringlas, like Rhapsody?”

“Aye.”

“Well, then, for many reasons, I am indeed greatly honored to meet you.”

“Melisande and her brother were the first two to be adopted as Rhapsody’s honorary grandchildren,” Ashe said to Analise. “I know her, er, grandmother misses her greatly. Melisande recently returned from a very challenging scouting mission which she accomplished with great skill; I would be grateful if you would take her with you, Analise, so that she can be of aid to Rhapsody directly.”

Melisande whirled around and stared at him.

“You’re sending me to Rhapsody? Really?”

“If both you and Analise agree. It’s a dangerous journey, Melly, far more so than what you have just undertaken. And there is no time to ponder it, I’m afraid; Gerald has already gone to get the provisions ready. So, ladies, what do you say?”

“I’d be delighted to have my sovereign’s granddaughter and scout as a traveling companion,” said Analise solemnly.

The little girl was grinning from ear to ear.

“I can be ready in the span of ten heartbeats,” she said excitedly.

“You will be taking Krinsel with you,” Ashe said to Melisande as Analise rose from the table. “Take good care of her, Melly, just as you did in Gwynwood.”

“I shall.”

“I have no doubt. All right, then, thank you both for being willing to do this for my wife and child. You have my unending gratitude; I mean that literally. I will do everything I can to repay you for the rest of my life.”

Analise’s face lost its smile. “Indeed not, m’lord. As I’ve told you, it be I that am repaying a debt, a far older and dearer one than you could ever accrue with me.”

The door opened once more, and Gwydion Navarne came hurriedly into the room, followed by Gerald Owen, who remained respectfully in the doorframe. Gwydion’s eyes were wide with concern, but his face showed signs of great relief. He came rapidly to his sister and stood in front of her, looking down at her.

“I just got you back,” he said.

“I know,” Melisande answered seriously. “But in times of war, we all do what we must. Isn’t that what you said when I left for Gwynwood?”

“Yes.” Her brother crouched down and opened his arms to her, and she came into his embrace. “When this is over, we will go camping, and maybe take a trip across the sea.”

Melisande rested her head on his shoulder.

“You always say that, and yet it has never happened.”

“It has not happened yet. It will.”

“I hope you’re right.” She pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Make our parents proud. Don’t do anything stupid to besmirch our family name. I already had to defend the family honor at the Winter Carnival last year to make up for your humiliating defeat in the Snow Snakes competition.”

Gwydion laughed, as did Ashe and Analise. He swallowed hard, choking on a knot that had risen in his throat. “I will do my best to not dishonor you, Melly.”

“Good.” She came out of his embrace and looked across the room to where Gerald Owen was standing in the doorway. Her face lost its smile as she locked eyes with the elderly chamberlain who had given loyal and loving service to three generations of her family, who had been the only true constant in her life from the time she was born. The elderly man smiled encouragingly.

Melisande ran to him, threw her arms around his waist, and burst into tears.

Slowly and with great effort, the chamberlain crouched down and took her into his own arms.

“There, now, m’lady, there’s no need for tears. You are about to embark on yet another grand adventure; you and I both know how much your soul longs for adventure. I am very much looking forward already to hearing all about your travels when you return, safe and sound, when we are at peace once again—forever this time.”

Melisande nodded wordlessly.

“Melisande assures me she can be ready in the span of ten heartbeats, Gerald,” Ashe said humorously.

Gerald Owen coughed politely, but merely smiled. The others broke into laughter.

The chamberlain extricated himself gently from her embrace, then stood creakily. He bent forward and whispered in her ear.

“Your favorite pillow and shoes, muff, and cape are already in the coach.”

Melisande’s face broke into a broad smile again.

“Thank you, Gerald.” She walked back over to her guardian and looked up at him.

“Give me whatever hugs or kisses you want me to pass along to Rhapsody and Meridion, and I will be sure to do so,” she said sensibly.

Ashe swept her off her feet and into a warm embrace.

“Thank you—convey the deepest love in my heart to my wife and son.” He hugged her vigorously, then put her back on the ground without letting go.

“May you grow up to be just like her,” he murmured in her ear, “and may he grow up to be just like you.”

*   *   *

As the carriage rolled into the darkness, Gwydion Navarne stood at the window and watched it go as it took away the last living member of his natal family.

He fought down the memories that rose from the dusty vault of his seven-year-old soul, recalling the words his mother had said to him before she climbed into just such a carriage and embarked on her journey to town to buy his one-year-old sister her first pair of baby shoes.

Be a brave little man. Remember I love you.

She had never returned, except in pieces, her head sawed viciously from her body.

His stomach rushed into his mouth, and he ran to the privy closet, where he vomited. Then he stood, pumped water into the basin, and splashed it on his face.

And returned to the command center.

PART FIVE

The Darkness at the Edge of the Plain

29

BASILICA OF LIANTA’AR, SEPULVARTA

Half a thousand leagues to the south, the glowing light from atop the Spire filled the shadowy basilica, making the platinum band around the altar gleam eerily.

The Diviner’s eyes gleamed similarly in the darkness.

“Well,” he said finally, “probably the safest sort of divination would be to use cleromancy, the undertaking of a sortilege.” When he saw only a blank look on Talquist’s face, he hurried to explain. “Sortition is the casting of sortes, or lots, and reading the random patterns that they have taken.”

“Like coins or dice?”

“Yes—though I tend to use bones or sticks—it’s more within my view of nature, the primitive, wilder sort from the cold lands, rather than that of, say, the Invoker of the Filids, whose forest lands might yield the use of beans, lentils, rocks, or animal spoor. It’s possible I could get a glimpse of the general direction in which this so-called Child of Time has gone.”

Talquist struggled to keep his lip from curling in disgust. “That seems like it could be widely interpreted,” he said. “I’m afraid I need more detailed guidance. Do you have something else that might be a bit more specific?”

The Diviner considered.

“If that’s the case, we may need to undertake an augury, but we won’t be able to do that tonight.”

“Why not?” Talquist’s words came out in a voice he regretted, tense and demanding. He swallowed at the sight of the blackening of the Diviner’s expression, and tried again. “I am so sorry, Hjorst; I didn’t mean for my words to sound so harsh. I fear I am anxious.”

“I cannot accommodate you tonight because I need materials that I do not currently have, as I explained to you before. I generally only carry with me what I need for rhabdomancy, or dowsings—you’ve seen me perform one of these before, I believe.”

Talquist nodded. “Was that when you gathered the staves and let them fall, determining from their pattern where the lost merchant fleet was, thirteen years ago?”

“No, I had forgotten you were witness to that. I was referring to the meeting in Cariproth, four or so years ago, when I used the silver willow branch to locate Jurun’s grave, as well as finding the headwaters of the underground feeder stream for the Erim Rus, the Blood River, for the duke of Yarim.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

“But that will be of no use to you now. You are in need of a full augury, most likely an extispicy. It would, more specifically, be a form of haruspicy, hepatomancy or perhaps hepatoscopy, followed by an auspicy.”

The Merchant Emperor swallowed his building wrath and struggled to speak calmly.

“My friend, unlike those who are mistaken into believing that the primal nature of your rituals comes from a primitive view of the world, I am well aware of what a learned and scholarly man you are. You are, therefore, speaking to me in words that come into my ears as little more than babble. Please, speak down to me, imbecile that I am; be clear and simple.”

The Diviner eyed him darkly.

“I cannot even begin to tell you how uncomfortable all of this is making me, Talquist. That you are unfamiliar with the practices is perhaps yet another sign that I should not be performing them for you. The risk to both of us, as I believe I have mentioned, is very great, and is not limited merely to misdirection if the augury fails.”

“Please, my friend, I know this,” Talquist said, fighting desperation, “but you are truly my last hope. Once, long ago, I found a rare object that captured my soul; it was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I am a common, unpoetic man, Hjorst; I was not born into royal bloodlines in the rich, earthy world of golden eagles and frozen ice peaks that you are blessed to inhabit, nor the verdant forests lands, steeped in magic, that are the realm of the Lord Cymrian. I am a common workman, bred of the lifeless and barren soil of the desert—a man with a limited life span, but limitless vision. Not the sort who would ever fall in love with an inanimate object—but I did, and I gave a major portion of my youth and halest years searching the corners of the world to discover what it was. I apprenticed in every cathedral, every basilica, every library, every museum, every hall of study that would have me, as well as the bellies of ships and the hovel kitchens of army barracks—until I finally found what I was looking for.

“With that discovery came another, even more significant one—the discovery of my destiny, what I was born to accomplish with my life. And it is highly out of odds with my birth, my upbringing—because, if you will forgive my vanity, I, like you, have a holy purpose to my life. I was born to bring Sorbold back to its glory, and to join hands across the continent with you, and perhaps Beliac, to rule where the apostates now reign. I am destined to uproot the false All-Gods and One-Gods the Cymrians have enthroned, and to bring this land back to its natural magic, its intrinsic beauty, in nature, in the base, perverse, glorious realm that the Creator provided for us. I was born to this—
born
to it—but I was born too late. The work that lies ahead of me is the task of five men’s lifetimes; even Leitha, had she any sense of the urgency of this calling, did not live long enough in almost one hundred years, to accomplish what needs doing, restoring Sorbold before it crumbles into the desert sand. I do not seek immortality for my own ends, for my own power—but to set about and finish the task of rescuing the land I love from those who would grind it further into powder under their heels before my life comes to an end. Help me, Hjorst, I beg you.
Help me
.”

Silence danced among the shadows of the gargantuan basilica.

Finally the Diviner sighed.

“Very well, Talquist. As much as I dread it, I will grant your request.”

Relief broke over the Merchant Emperor’s face, and the furrows and lines that had riven it a moment before disappeared into the heavy jowls and broad forehead once again. “Thank you, thank you my friend. This will be the first step in our shared destiny of saving our continent, and the lands we love.”

“I hope you are right,” said the Diviner seriously. “You and I may share a love of fine potables and the desire to ensure the safety of our peoples, but we differ highly about our fundamental outlooks on life, Talquist. I would never seek immortality for any purpose; the very thought of it makes my blood run cold.

“Now, this is what we will do. Tomorrow, at this very time, you will bring me a sacrificial animal—I will give you details in a moment. I will perform a hepatoscopy, an examination of the animal’s lungs, the intestines, and the liver, and anything else of interest or worry that might be found in the cavity. We will stand vigil afterward, and then I will attempt an auspicy at dawn, a reading of my first sight of the flight patterns of whatever birds take to the morning wind. That is the best that I can do for you, Talquist—and I will be requiring you to take on some of the tasks in the ritual that carry the most risk.”