Lords of Rainbow

by Vera Nazarian

  “Was there no warning of any sort?” said Elasand. “Didn’t the City attempt to fight?”

  The Chancellor laughed sadly. “Fight? You realize, Elasand-re, you’re talking about this City, about us, the haven of bureaucratic red tape, where nothing ever gets done? Our Military Guilds are off in their own little world, following their narrow-minded daily agenda, as though we are of no concern. And the Grelias are of course blind to all but their immediate pleasure.

  “Well, the Grelias were useless. We had no warning system, the guards at the gates did not even have time to relay the message that an army stood outside the City—though not for lack of trying—because, they had to follow a damn protocol—yes, protocol of reporting authority! And it turned out, the one commanding officer in charge, at the very top of this reporting hierarchy, was off wenching on his day off! In fact, the news of the Qurthe outside our doors were carried more readily by street urchins running through the Markets! The whole population of the City had effectively hid by the time the reveling denizens of the Palace were even aware of what had happened in the span of about two hours! By sundown, Elasand-re, the enemy was inside the Palace!”

  Elasirr shook his head unbelievingly, smoothing his forehead with his fingers. “This is the kind of thing I was afraid of, this is exactly why I had wanted the Council of Guilds to take charge of things—but no matter now, that is far too late to bemoan now.”

  “And the Grelias,” continued Chancellor Lirr. “At first, we were all herded into one of the grand halls, and made to wait for their damned Twilight One. Very tense. Giant black warriors everywhere. Hestiam was half faint, while Deileala stalked about the hall like an unleashed panther. I swear, that woman was like a mad fishwife from the Markets, I’d never known she could use such language. At one point she marched up to Vorn, who had been in the room with us, and demanded to see his lord and master. Well, Vorn turned to her, stared intensely, and simply said, ‘Silence, or I will kill you.’ At which point she spat at his feet but luckily did not push her luck—”

  “My lord,” interrupted Elasand softly, “I need to know one thing. Were you there when Hestiam—talked to Feale? About myself. And how much exactly did he tell him?”

  “Yes,” added Elasirr. “What exactly does our Enemy know?”

  Chancellor Lirr looked at the two men before him. Firelight added contrast of shadows to his expression. “Feale questioned Hestiam about the Guildmaster of the Light Guild,” he said in a near whisper, looking at Elasand. “I don’t know if we are being secretly observed now, if someone is listening in on our conversation.”

  “Assume they are,” said Elasirr, his eyes dilating fully, and taking on a dark demonic glow.

  “Continue,” said Elasand.

  “Well, my lords, it appears Feale knows something about the Light Guild, maybe even more than we do,” resumed Lirr in a low voice. “Notice how no color orbs are lit anywhere in the City. Do you not find it strange?”

  “Indeed,” whispered Elasand.

  “Well, orbs are forbidden. And even more odd—they had sent a special Qurthe division of guards to surround the Light Quarter, and supposedly breach it. However, from what I guess, they had not been successful, for the Inner City has barricaded itself. Or, possibly Feale had not insisted they try to breach its defenses—yet. But it’s definite that no one is allowed to enter or leave the Inner City.”

  “Interesting,” said Elasand. “And so, has the Guildmaster of the Light Guild been found effectively missing through all this activity?”

  “Missing is the word,” said Lirr. “And for that reason, Feale had a very—persuasive, shall we say—conversation with the Regent, basically frightening him to death, and forcing him to mention incidentally that you, Elasand-re, have been gone from this City all this time, and that the nature of your pilgrimage has been to the Shrine of Light.”

  “Damned idiot Hestiam,” hissed Elasirr. “If he weren’t already in his grave position, I would kill him myself for that.”

  “My lord,” said the Chancellor. “If Feale does not locate the Guildmaster of the Light Guild soon, Hestiam will be killed as surely as any of us. It is the only thing that keeps us all alive now, this promise that Hestiam made.”

  “I thought Feale wanted Vaeste for another reason,” said Elasand. “He’d made me an offer, and given a day to consider it.”

  “Feale wants anyone and anything possibly related to the Light Guild,” responded Lirr. He looked at Elasand intensely, bit his lip, and then whispered, “This means that you will all be watched very closely all day, my lord. That is why you have not been made prisoner, not because Feale is graciously giving you time to think over his offer. He expects to see someone make a move this day, tonight, and tomorrow morning. He’ll watch everywhere you go, everything you do.”

  “Excellent! Let him,” said Vaeste. “Well then, it appears we must give Feale something to observe.”

  He turned to Ranhé suddenly, saying, “Freewoman, I want you to do an errand for me, once again something outside your bodyguard duties. I want you to go to my aunt in the Beis Villa and make sure she is all right. It is almost ten o’clock now. Then, since we are all free to go about as we please for one blessed day, I want you to meet me and Elasirr later tonight, at about an hour before midnight, at the Toll Gates of the Inner City. Yes, I am saying it loud enough so that anyone can overhear—we will meet at the Light Quarter.”

  They got up then, saying farewell to the Chancellor, and Elasand knocked upon the door. It opened so immediately that it was obvious someone’s ear had been placed against it on the other side. Two Qurthe soldiers then silently escorted them through the Palace, and outside, even returning them their own horses.

  Ranhé, who had thought she’d never see hers again, was happier than possible, and mounted quickly.

  In the faint moonlight at the Inner Gates, Elasand and the blond man waved her a farewell, and she rode away quickly, to obey Vaeste’s request.

  At the Beis Villa, Dame Molhveth had been nearly hysterical upon seeing Ranhé, and regaled her with a tumble of questions regarding Elasand’s well-being.

  “Don’t be afraid, he lives.” Ranhé smiled. “And he wanted me to tell you all is as well as can be, under the circumstances. He will see you as soon as he can himself, but for now I must return to him.”

  “Tell Elas I pray for him, every minute!” gasped the elderly dame. “We are all well for the moment, my dear. And Lixa is with the Daqua in her new home, and she too is well, I suppose. Only, those horrible dark soldiers are everywhere, and I don’t know what they will do to us—”

  Having consoled Dame Beis with her steady confident smile, Ranhé did not refuse a hasty meal, and then was on her way, out of Dirvan, riding like quicksilver through the night City. Over the Arata bridge she flew, then was lost to general sight in the shadows of the great Marketplace, where occasional pathetic forms of the homeless were seen lurking, as well as the ever-present soldiers of Qurth.

  Ranhé was counting on the very fact that she was being observed. As Elasand had implied, she acted openly, and made her way directly north, where lay the Light Quarter. She did not imagine what kind of game Vaeste had in mind for the Qurthe, but now was not the time to question it.

  The northern Markets ended before a tall walled section of Tronaelend-Lis called the Inner City. The unusual walls loomed monolithic in the dim moonlight, like a mountain of dark, effectively isolating this Quarter in its own inner acropolis. Torches burned in sconces at the Toll Gates, while the orbs in the streetlamps were devoid of color light. Instead of the normal guards consisting of guildsmen, there was a division of ebony warriors who stood like great night statues in a perimeter of twenty feet of the Gates that were tightly shut, and apparently bolted from the inside.

  In their oddly condescending manner, which she was beginning to grow accustomed to, the Qurthe did not react to her arrival. But Ranhé was sure that if she made a move to approach the Gates, they would countermove to p
revent her. For now, she was but an annoyance, like a fly that was not to be swatted unless she landed on their turf. In fact, there were a number of street urchins harmlessly running between the shadows and the lit areas of the Markets, not too far from where she was. The street denizens of the City had learned very quickly that they would be ignored as long as they did not get in the way of the invader.

  Reining in her horse to a walk, she rode about fifty feet away from the Inner City Gates, her long travel cloak billowing in the night wind. Except for the subdued street life, there was no one about. No sign of Lord Vaeste.

  Ranhé continued to wait, circling slowly in the vicinity of the Gates. And she thought.

  All the signs were pointing to him, Elasand. If anyone was the Guildmaster of the Light Guild, then it could be none other than himself. Why did she not think of this sooner? Why did she not consider his role in all this strange political extended family of Tronaelend-Lis? It made perfect sense now. And it made sense that he would have enough enemies that would want to kill him. The fact that he maintained a relatively low profile, and only casually associated himself with the Light Guild, was a clever precautionary pattern. That way, no one, not even the Regents, would ever be sure. And not even his own relatives would know enough to be implicated or used as pawns against him.

  A small rock clattered at the feet of her mount. It seemed one of the running urchins had thrown it, clattering all the way to her feet, and then had disappeared into the shadows of one of the nearby small alleys of the bordering Sacred Quarter, to the northeast of the Inner City.

  Ranhé was not a fool. She waited for about five minutes, while a pulse began to beat within her temples. And then, casually, she circled wider and wider, and then somehow made her way to the same alley where the urchin had disappeared, and urged her horse forward, to be swallowed by the dark between two narrow walls.

  The urchin was there, waiting for her. She saw nothing but a movement, a shadow and two glittering eyes. Seeing her, he motioned with his hand, and Ranhé quickly dismounted, and led her horse slowly into the alley.

  She turned a corner, and a strong arm came to encircle her, while a palm was clamped against her mouth at the same time as a familiar voice hissed in her ear, “You are safe, Ranhé, you’ve done well.”

  She gasped, but made no sound, and he released her. She saw a tall cloaked shape, head covered with a hood, and from beneath the dark covering, a glimmer of pale blond hair in the moonglow. So, this was not Vaeste but the master assassin. However, for one instant only, she thought she heard the blood similarity in his voice, had nearly taken him for Elasand.

  “Where is my lord?” she whispered.

  “You will see him very shortly,” replied Elasirr. “I am here to take you into the Inner City, where Elasand-re expects us both. Do you trust me?”

  “Do I have a choice?” she responded, even now feeling the old surge of animosity toward this one.

  “Good,” he said in a light whisper. Then he handed over the reins of her horse to the urchin, who was to take care of it until they returned.

  “Don’t worry.” Elasirr grinned. She could see a flash of pale teeth. “The boy’ll take excellent care of your mount, for he knows if he does not, I’ll kill him.”

  “I see,” she hissed back. “I suppose threats always work well.”

  Elasirr only smirked, and then, in the shadows, she saw him open a tiny low door in the wall of the alley, a door where she did not see one before. “Come!” he whispered, bent his head down and disappeared inside.

  Wordlessly Ranhé followed, feeling a sort of excitement begin to mount in her, for what she saw was a new secret of the City, unfolding. . . .

  Inside, it was pitch black. At first. And then, as her eyes began to grow accustomed to the dark, she slowly began to make out the soft glow of moonlight seeping in from the outside through the thin crack below the door. With that, she saw that they stood within a tiny dry-smelling claustrophobic cell, and Elasirr had to keep his head down in order not to bump the low wooden ceiling.

  She then felt the strong pressure of his hand take her own, at which a sort of sensory awareness ran through her fingers and outward through her, while at the same time he began to speak in a low urgent whisper, and his opaque face was very near her own.

  “Listen to me, Ranhé. Where we are about to go is a place most obscure. You must promise beforehand that you will say nothing to anyone ever about this, about how we get there. Promise this in the name of Elasand-re Vaeste, and I know you will not lie. For if you break your word, I too make a promise now, that I will kill you—no matter what we have been through together, no matter what you might think of me, I will destroy you, warrior woman!”

  She snorted. “Yes, I do believe you’d go to the ends of the earth to do that, my Lord Bilhaar. Really, no need for you to hiss in my face, now, I promise to be silent about this always.”

  And in answer to that, he chuckled softly, and pressed her hand, tightening his own fingers about hers in an iron grip. Suddenly he bent down, and with his hand pulled at some hidden switch upon the floor. In that instant, the floorboards fell inward in a square section of utter darkness, and she saw short stairs leading down into an unknown subterranean hell.

  “Go on,” he said, releasing her hand. “And I will follow.”

  And silently, she nodded, then took hold of the floorboards, and began her descent into the unknown darkness.

  She moved by feel only, gripping the sides of the stairway, and overhead she began to hear his own descent, while the opening to the outside world had come closed again, for she could hear him turn some kind of internal lock.

  There were strong echoes in this place, suggesting stone.

  “Keep going,” she heard him whisper from above. “Another twenty feet, and you will hit level ground. Wait for me.”

  “Really, think I should?” she whispered back. “What if I get a crazy urge to venture out on my own somewhere in this abysmal dark? Where are we exactly, anyway?”

  From above, his soft laughter. “You, Ranhé, are in the bowels of the City. Welcome to the sewers!”

  “I don’t smell anything,” she said, while her feet suddenly felt an ending to the stairs, and she was on solid ground. “Only damp. . . .”

  She stepped away from the stairs in the dark, giving him room, and then felt his quick practiced movements, as he leaped the last several feet onto the floor.

  Then, there was the striking of stone against stone, and she saw a bright pinpoint of light that bloomed into a candle flame. It illuminated a stone corridor thrown into dancing shadows, and Elasirr’s striking face. He had drawn his travel hood back, revealing the flowing matted mane of his sun-hair, and stood looking at Ranhé with unblinking eyes. “Ready?”

  She nodded, and he proceeded to move down the length of the corridor that stretched out in shadow before them, holding the candle to light their way. At about twenty feet, the tunnel branched into three, and Elasirr took the right-most one.

  “That way”—he pointed to the middle corridor—“are the real sewers. If we keep going, it will stink soon enough.”

  “You seem to know this place well,” she ventured, but then realized this was not too surprising for an assassin.

  “I make it my business to know most of this City,” he replied, seriously. “Both above and under ground. Do you know where we are now?”

  “No,” she said.

  “We’re just below the Markets, before the Inner City entrance. We’re almost there. Qurthe are probably standing right above our heads.”

  And indeed, about fifty more feet, and their tunnel ended before a doorway hewn in stone. Before it stood Elasand Vaeste leaning against the wall, while a lit torch sat in a wall sconce.

  “You made good time,” said Elasand, stepping forward, an almost-smile on his lips. He looked at Ranhé intently, saying, “How is my aunt?”

  “She is perfectly fine, my lord. I told her you are well also.”

 
“Good.” He grinned then. Ranhé noted with surprise that there was an almost nervous expression on his face, as he looked between her and Elasirr, and then back again, gathering himself for something.

  “Well?” he said. “Are we ready?”

  In answer, Elasirr merely nodded, his face composed.

  “My lord,” she began suddenly. “If there is something you are about to reveal to me in secret about yourself, then I probably know already. In fact, I’ve suspected as much, and I promise beforehand that you have nothing to fear from me, for I will be silent—”

  “Ranhé,” Elasand sighed. He turned to her then, looking with intense eyes into her own. “Ranhé, freewoman, are you able to keep the best-kept secret in the City?”

  “I think I am capable, my lord,” she replied, looking openly into his eyes.

  “Then, meet the Guildmaster of the Light Guild, for he stands now before you.” And with those words, Lord Vaeste turned, pointing with his hand to the man standing at his side—the man with the sun-hair.

  For a moment, Ranhé’s mouth fell open.

  She stared at the man who she’d known all this time as the Guildmaster of the Assassin Guild, and he watched her in turn, with a light amusement.

  “But—” said Ranhé. “How can that be? You are the Lord Bilhaar!”

  “I am,” said Elasirr. “And I also rule the Light Guild.”

  “But what of you, Lord Vaeste? I thought all this time that you were the Guildmaster, I was so sure—”

  “Precisely,” replied Elasirr. “That’s what everyone is supposed to think. Elasand-re has been my decoy in that for years.”

  Ranhé stood shaking her head unbelievingly. “But—” she persisted. “How can an assassin head the Light Guild? How can you be responsible for two Guilds at once, two of the most powerful Guilds in Tronaelend-Lis?”