The Traitor's Daughter (42 page)

But Aureste’s daughter might make it happen.

Poker in hand, Jianna moved to the door and waited there, contemplating arson and murder.

* * *

Father and son faced one another across the table in the small dining room of the master suite, where the Corvestri family took its private meals. This particular evening, one family member was again conspicuous by her absence. The boy’s attention appeared to be fixed on his dinner, but Vinz could sense the imminence of a question—and his instinct proved sound.

“How much longer will this go on?” Vinzille looked up from his plate to meet his father’s eyes squarely.

Although he had been expecting something of the sort, Vinz was a little taken aback by the suddenness and directness of the query. Vinzille was only thirteen years old, but already a force to be reckoned with. And in another ten years? With his formidable arcane talent, his intelligence and strong will, not to mention his good looks, the youngest Corvestri was surely destined for greatness. The familiar sense of pride welled up inside Vinz.

“Won’t you answer, Father?” Vinzille prompted.

“You’re speaking of your mother’s absence from the table?”

“Yes, it’s been days now. Why are you treating her this way?”

You’re too young to understand. Another few years and you’ll be ready
. The habitual response to difficult or embarrassing questions remained unspoken, for Vinz recognized with a pang that Vinzille was no longer too young to comprehend all too readily. He could scarcely explain the nature of his decision to discipline his wife, however. The boy should not be obliged to take sides.

“Son, it’s my decision as head of the house, made for the good of the house. Also, it’s a personal matter between your mother and myself.”

“That doesn’t explain much.”

“I know it doesn’t. But you must respect your parents’ privacy, just as you’ve come to expect us to respect yours.”

“I do. I will. Only she’s unhappy.”

“Has she said so?”

“No. I just know.”

Vinz nodded. The bond between Vinzille and his mother was strong and close. Almost he might have envied it, but for his absolute confidence that his own link with the boy was equally powerful.

“Neither of you will tell me what the matter is,” Vinzille persisted, “but can’t it stop now? Can’t she at least dine with us? I’m asking you to end the quarrel, Father. She doesn’t know that I’m asking,” he added hastily. “You mustn’t think she put me up to it.”

“I know she didn’t.” Vinz pondered. By this time, his wife had surely learned her lesson. She would have heard about the assault upon Belandor House,
the failure
, and she would doubtless suspect his complicity, but it was too late for her to do anything about it—that threat was defanged, if in fact it had ever been a threat. Her liberation would please Vinzille. And, not the least of benefits, life would resume its normality, of which there had been too little of late. Yes, it was time to forgive her. “Very well,” he conceded. “At your request, the quarrel is ended. Your mother’s privileges are fully restored as of this moment.”

“That’s more like it.” Vinzille’s eyes—green, speckled with brown,
Sonnetia’s eyes
—lit up. He started to rise from his chair. “I’ll go get her.”

“No, not quite yet.” Vinz motioned, and the boy resumed his seat. “There’s something I want to talk over with you. An arcane matter.”

“What is it?” Vinzille demanded, instantly engaged, his fascination with all things arcane temporarily superseding every other consideration.

“I’m thinking of that episode in the workroom, not so long ago. The animate corpse, our attempted communication with it, and the results. You remember what you told me?”

“Of course, but I wasn’t sure that you would. You didn’t believe anything I said, you thought I was off my head, and I supposed you’d forgotten about it.”

“I didn’t disbelieve you, I just wanted more information. And now I have some, more than I really want. Because, you see, the same thing happened to me. Yes,” Vinz answered his son’s wordless query, “now I know exactly what you were talking about. I was attempting a straightforward Absorption/Enhanced Emission—”

“Without calling me? I could’ve helped, or at least watched.”

“It was quite spontaneous,” Vinz hedged. “I don’t think you were anywhere about. And as things turned out, I’m very glad that you were safely clear of the disaster.”

“You don’t have disasters. You’re always so careful to follow the correct procedure at all times, to take no foolish chances, to get every detail exactly right.”

Which is why, unlike you, I’ll never be great
. Aloud Vinz replied, “I did follow the correct procedure, I was careful as always, and the results were—impossible. The freakish contortion of the energy, the outlandish result—”

“What outlandish result?”

“The force that I dispatched to activate the Absorption was somehow dispersed in a violent, uncontrolled burst.”

“You’ve told me that can’t happen.”

“It can’t. The activity—the basic behavior of the energy that I touched upon—violated natural law that can’t be broken in our world. Can’t, but was.”

“Yes, that’s what I felt that day in your workroom. Just what you’re saying. But you weren’t hurt, Father?”

“Shocked, sickened, but not injured.”

“And now you believe me?”

“Completely.”

“Then may I tell you what I think it all means?”

“What, you’ve a theory?” Vinz’s paternal pride swelled.

“Well, yes. I couldn’t let something like that go by without trying to figure out what really happened, so I’ve been slogging through the dustiest old chronicles and journals in the workroom, and I believe I’ve found the answer. I think that the Source is about to flip.”

“Flip. Interesting way of putting it. Enlarge upon your theory.”

“I’ve read enough to tell me that the Source reverses its direction of spin sometimes. Not often—only once in eons—but when it happens, everything important in the world changes. All the laws, both natural and arcane, get turned upside down, everything we’ve always thought we could depend on gets smashed to pieces, and the world becomes a place that we don’t know anymore. A place that’s comfortable for our enemies, but not for humans. But it doesn’t all happen in a flash. There are warnings first, things start going really strange. Sort of like a candle guttering for a while before it goes out. And I think that’s what’s happening right now.”

“So do I,” Vinz answered.

“You do? I thought you were going to tell me that my imagination is running wild.”

“I might, if my own weren’t running equally wild. Did you read the explanation? Do you know how the Source reverses rotation?”

“Not really. Some of the information was written in PreQuake Taerli, which I can’t read well yet. And some of it is in Faerlonnish, but too advanced; I just didn’t understand it all. As far as I could tell, the old writings claim that the Source slows down because it gets—well, dirty, or something like that—and when it’s slowed down enough, it just naturally reverses.”

“That’s not at all a bad way of describing something that nobody—neither the greatest natural philosopher nor the wisest arcanist that ever lived—truly understands. Certainly I can’t explain the workings of the Source to you, but I can tell you a little about the ‘dirt’ that slows its spin, and you’ll find that it relates to your accident in the workroom. You know, don’t you, that once the Source spun counter to its present direction?”

“Is that fact, or legend?”

“Fact, but almost lost in distant prehistory. It was a very long time ago, before mankind ever set foot upon the Veiled Isles. And by every indication, our islands at that time were literally another world—a place of alien, unrecognizable physical and arcane law. Men could not thrive in such an environment, but the Isles were not uninhabited. The land was ruled at that time by a race of sentient beings, neither flesh nor spirit, who scarcely existed as individuals. The intelligence and awareness of each was linked to all others of its kind, the collective awareness forming a single great Overmind of enormous power. This Overmind, it is believed, was capable of insinuating itself into unguarded intellects of all types and species, thereby ruling its hosts. In view of this ability, the Overmind’s dominion over the ancient world was absolute.

“And perhaps that dominion would have endured forever,” Vinz continued, “but for the great reversal. No one knows exactly when that occurred—millennia past, probably. At some point, however, the rotation of the Source altered, the character of its emanations changed, and thus all things changed. It must have been an almost unimaginably cataclysmic event, for the traces of it are present to this very day, scattered throughout our islands and clearly visible to those who know how to look. The laws of nature and magic rewrote themselves, and the power of the Overmind was broken. Men came to the Veiled Isles, farmed the land, and built their cities, while the previous overlords were all but forgotten. But the past is never wholly lost, and neither is energy. The Overmind was driven forth into the northern wilderness that we call the Wraithlands, and there it remained, its existence fueled by the archaic energy, the reverse energy, let us call it—the emanations of the ancient, alien world. There it slept and dreamed of the past, and the passion of its dreams permeated the world around it, the land and water and atmosphere, which began to vibrate to the old, forgotten rhythms.

“The Source, for all its power, is by no means immune to the influence of its surroundings. The force of reverse energy, continually applied, creates arcane encumbrances that accrete over the course of the centuries, impeding and eventually slowing rotation. Then, as you described, when it’s slowed down enough, the Source just naturally reverses.”

“Do we have to leave the Isles, then?” Vinzille asked, looking for one split second almost like a child again.

“It may come to that. It isn’t clear yet. Now, you remember the account of the Overmind’s ability to insinuate itself into unguarded intellects?”

Vinzille nodded, almost impatiently. His memory was remarkable. He forgot nothing, and his father knew it.

“Well, human beings are vulnerable, but our minds and bodies are such that we resist intrusion. When the Overmind invades a sentient being—a human, or even a Sishmindri—the natural defenses of the threatened organism are violent, the resulting conflict as devastating as any natural disease, and indeed outwardly indistinguishable from—”

Vinz broke off, astonished, as a trio of strangers marched uninvited into the dining room. Three Taerleezi soldiers, a lieutenant and a couple of subordinates. How dare these louts come barging into his private suite?
Unless they had come to arrest him
. He could feel his face cool as the blood drained from his cheeks. Not all of the arcane skill at his command permitted him to control that spontaneous reaction. He could, however, arrange his features into an expression of polite inquiry as the invaders advanced and halted before him.

“Magnifico.” The lieutenant spoke brusquely. There was no salute. “We are calling at every dwelling along Summit Street to question the residents and to announce the issuance of Governor Uffrigo’s General Order Fourteen in response to last night’s rioting.”

“Rioting?” Vinz echoed, genuinely perplexed.

“You claim ignorance of the attack upon Belandor House?”

“I know there was some sort of disturbance, but I’ve been much occupied throughout the day, and never heard the details. It was a—riot, you say?”

“It was an organized assault,” the lieutenant informed him. “Something by way of an insurrection. A sizable squadron of trained commandos broke in, pillaged, raped, murdered, and ended by torching the mansion.”

“Squadron?”

“Numbering some two dozen or more of heavily armed masked men.”

“Rape?”

“One of the Belandor serving women declares that she was interfered with. Repeatedly.”

“Murder?”

“A dozen people dead, some by fire, some by the sword.”

“The Magnifico Aureste?”

“Not there. Out of the city, we’re told.”

“Who died, then? Any—of the Belandor family members?” Vinz forced himself to inquire.

“Yes, one. Unexia Belandor, the youngest Belandor brother’s wife. The other casualties were servants.”

Innesq lived yet, to wreak vengeance
.

“The mansion was destroyed?”

“Much of it.”

“And the—commandos, did you call them?—escaped unrecognized?”

“All but one, apparently killed by the household servants. He’s been identified as one Guini Noli, cobbler, known subversive. Are you or any of your household members acquainted with this Noli?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” And Guini Noli, cobbler, known subversive, was not about to contradict him.

“Can you account for your whereabouts last night, Magnifico?”

“Why, I was here at home.” Vinz contrived to appear bemused. “My wife, my son, and a number of servants can vouch for my presence during the early evening. I stayed up late, though, working in my study far into the night while all the rest of the household slept, and I can’t produce witnesses to verify my location in the dead of night. Am I under arrest, Lieutenant?”

“Any known resistance sympathizers among your servants?” The lieutenant disregarded the Faerlonnishman’s attempted levity.

“I believe not, but I can’t really answer for the household staff.”

“Have you any personal knowledge of last night’s events at Belandor House?”

“None.”

“And you, boy?” The lieutenant rounded abruptly on Vinzille. “Do you know anything about this? Have you heard talk?”

If he thought to rattle or intimidate the younger Corvestri, he had underestimated his adversary. Slouched low in his seat, Vinzille waited several distinctly insolent seconds before replying with a mute shake of the head. His thirteen-year-old lips were faintly curved in a classic teenage sneer.

“If you receive any information, you’re required to report it at the Clouds Watch Station. You’ll have to go there within twenty-four hours in any case to sign in on the ledger acknowledging your receipt of General Order Fourteen.”