“Then tell them I am detained. I need an hour.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Andrall bowed his head in grudging acquiescence.
Three years ago the Council might have taken advantage of Darville’s absence to vote for invasion. Now, however, he knew they’d wait for their king.
Minutes later, Fred hustled a slim young man wearing the white robes adopted by the Gnostic Utilitarian cult into the king’s office. Cut in the same manner as the red-robed priests of the Stargods, the white was symbolic of their purity from the taint of magic.
Mikka’s eyes narrowed at first sight of the man. Her nose twitched with suspicion and she withdrew deeper into her window seat. If anyone had reason to fear this cult, ’twas the queen. Magic was still illegal in Coronnan and she possessed a great deal of magical talent. The cult had been known to denounce those who claimed to be the victims of magic as well the perpetrators. Knowledge of the cat persona trapped within Mikka’s body would draw their outrage and fuel the pleas for Darville to put her aside as his queen.
So far he’d been able to avoid confronting the issue of her inability to bear him an heir. How much longer before he was forced by lords and populace alike to bring in a distant and foreign relative or divorce Mikka?
“Your Grace,” the spy bowed deeply, but his eyes darted furtively into every corner as he moved. “I have not much time. I must either return to my dwelling before I am discovered missing or leave the country within the hour.” He continued to search the shadows for any sign of listeners. His eyes lingered on the queen in the window seat, then darted back to Fred for reassurance.
“I will protect you . . . uh, your name was not given to me. Please sit down.” Darville leaned back in his demi-throne, adopting a position of ease. He hoped the spy would become comfortable enough to speak freely.
“My name is best kept secret from all but the Stargods. No one is safe from the Gnuls, sir. No one. They’ll torture and kill me without hesitation if they suspect where my allegiance lies.” His pale skin lost more color as he shivered inside his robe. He remained standing, poised to dart out of the room at the first sign of trouble.
“Then tell us quickly. What have you learned?” Darville sat forward, frowning. None of his appointed magistrates had the authority to overlook such outrages.
“Life has been quiet and prosperous for nearly three full years. People don’t really fear magic when life is good, and the Gnuls have lost a lot of followers. The sacrifices at the Equinox Pylons have been engineered by the Gnuls to frighten the people. Cats and dogs at first. Pigs and goats will come later if they have to. They discuss bringing suspected witches and magicians to justice at the next holiday.” He stared at the queen a silent moment. “But I’ve never found evidence of an innocent or a child becoming a victim. The evidence of human sacrifice always comes from someone in the next village who heard it from a cousin’s sister-in-law, or some such.” The last words faded away and he refused to look up from the floor.
“There is more,” Mikka whispered. They all heard her quiet words. “What do you fear telling us, Spy?” Her hands trembled as they stroked the nap of her gown.
The spy looked to the door again as if he needed to escape immediately.
“Tell me, Spy,” Darville demanded. “What else have you learned?”
“Rumors only.”
“Rumors! I hate rumors. Tell me so that I may squash them before they are lifted into the wind and become the truth for all who hear them.”
“The queen, sir,” he said so quietly Darville had to strain to hear him.
“What about my wife?”
“I have met with the leaders of one cell of Gnuls. They have orders to prove that she is a witch of the first order. Everyone knows that witches can’t bear children.” He swallowed deeply. “And . . . and they say she has bewitched you so you won’t put her aside, just as King Simeon has bewitched the Queen of SeLenicca. Some say that Her Grace is in league with Simeon and that is why you won’t invade SeLenicca and end the war. The leaders plan to drug the queen so that she will miscarry. Then they will present the deformed fetus as ‘evidence’ to the Council of Provinces in time for her to be exiled or burned at the next solstice.”
Chapter 17
Fear for Mikka drained the blood from Darville’s head and limbs. Shakily, he dismissed the spy with a handful of gold to buy passage out of Coronnan that very day.
“I must return to my brother’s court,” Mikka whispered. “For your sake, I must go.” She rose gracefully from her window seat and the bright sunshine she loved. “If you wait to divorce me until I get there, I can persuade Manuel the fault is mine and he needn’t invade Coronnan to avenge my honor.”
“No.” Feeling and heat began to return to Darville’s body. “If you scuttle away now, like some beetle frightened of the light, then you have given the Gnuls control over our lives, over all of Coronnan. I cannot allow that to happen. I will not let them take you from me.” He knelt in front of her window seat, clutching her hand between both of his.
“What else can we do?” She pulled free of his touch and buried her face in her hands.
Darville gathered her into his arms, holding her close against his heart, where she belonged.
“First, I will order your maids to taste all of your food before you do. Everything, even a cup of water. Then, I will set forces in motion to hunt down members of the cult who commit outrages against my citizens. No more will I bury myself so deeply in military tactics and trade agreements that I lose sight of what is happening in my own country. The Gnuls will be brought to justice.”
“But their followers are many. They will not tolerate a banning of the cult. Executing the leaders will make them martyrs.” Mikka raised her head, once more a dignified queen advising her husband.
“They will be brought to justice, not banned or outlawed. If they commit the crimes of kidnap, torture, and murder, then they will pay for their crimes, like any other citizen.”
“That will not stop the rumors. I am still suspected of witchcraft.”
“We will do what we must to put the rumors aside. Though I know in my head and my gut that the action is a tactical error, I will authorize an invasion of SeLenicca.”
Military men must wear blinders. They can see forward only in a straight line. Darville has foolishly invaded SeLenicca. At first his troops penetrated deep into the interior along the trader’s road.
But that movement outraged all of Simeon’s citizens, even the ones who hate and fear him. They rally to defend their land. War fever grips them. The homeless and unemployed flock to join the army. Merchants double the price of lace overseas to buy more weapons and supplies. Outlanders react to the inflated value of lace by ordering even more and demanding greater variety.
Now Darville is in danger of losing control of the pass between the two countries. His Council will not tolerate defeat. They bring Jonnias and the Marnaks back into their ranks in defiance of Darville, though the rebel lords have not paid their fines or made public apology for burning the monastery all those years ago. The younger Marnak wears a ring with a black diamond. His wedding ring, presented by Lord Krej himself. Marnak does not know that the diamond is really precious glass. With a candle and my own glass, I can see and hear through the ring all of the Council’s private discussions. I should have forced him to pay the fines earlier so I could spy on the Council.
Soon young Rossemanuel of Rossemeyer will receive his poisonous letter from his sister. His death, traced back to Rossemikka, will start a new war against Darville and Coronnan.
Events move closer to my goals. I need the chaos of war to make my form of peace and order look like a blessing.
Jack awakened gradually from his dream of a woman with pale blond hair, like moonlight on water. He’d dreamed of her often in the last three years, wondering who she was and why she haunted him.
He’d been reaching out to pull her away from something dangerous. But he couldn’t quite touch her.
They were all dying unless they escaped. The sense of having left something undone nagged at Jack and urged him to push forward his plans to escape—even before he had regained full memory and before the mountain passes cleared of snow.
He wondered if the tiny spell he had tried last night had succeeded and what good it would do if it had.
The gray light of false dawn seeped beneath the closed plank door. Knotted muscles in his shoulders protested every movement he made. Not that he could move very far or very fast with his right ankle chained to the post.
“Uhrrgh!” he moaned and rolled over. Another day of opening a new mine shaft. In a few minutes the guard with a harelip would slam the door open and glare at the thirty men. His small, deep-set eyes, would seek out the last one to remain in his hammock. That laggard would likely feel the tip of the lash all day long for the tiniest infraction of the rules. Harelip enjoyed seeing other men in pain.
Jack fingered the scars beneath his ragged shirt. All of them had been inflicted by Harelip. They didn’t hurt anymore. The new one forming on his cheek still stung. Memory of the pain kept him wary and obedient.
“You awake, Jack?” Fraank whispered from the hammock above him.
“No,” he replied.
“The birds aren’t up yet. You have a few minutes to rest. Though I’ve never known you to be a slug-a-bed before.”
“I’ve not been able to think about options before—or the lack of them.”
“One way or another, we all chose to come here,” Fraank replied.
“You’re an educated man, surely you didn’t choose this hell hole.”
“I came here to die a slow death. My punishment won’t bring back my wife and child, nor will it restore my family to wealth and honor. But perhaps Tattia’s ghost will rest easier knowing I suffer for my sins.”
“What sins?”
“A foolish investment. Greed and ambition above my station in life.”
“All men make mistakes. Surely an unwise investment isn’t a sin.”
“King Simeon asked me to form an investment syndicate. He had plans to smuggle a shipload of Tambootie seedlings out of Coronnan. The fibers of immature trees can be spun into the most wonderful thread for lace. My wife was a lacemaker. The best in the kingdom. I wanted to please her with an unlimited supply of Tambrin.”
“So?” Jack shivered. An almost memory tasted bad in his mouth. He knew something about this shipload of Tambootie. What?
“I borrowed heavily, sold almost everything I owned so I could finance the venture myself. I wanted to reap all of the profits. King Simeon would have taken half of the money as his portion for arranging the shipment. I didn’t want to share the rest. I wanted to buy prestige for my wife. She deserved to be named a National Treasure.”
“The ship didn’t make it through the blockade,” Jack stated. He could have guessed the fate of the ill-advised venture. But he knew. Knew in his gut that he had something to do with Fraank’s fall from grace.
Fate or the dragons had brought him face-to-face with the consequences of his actions.
“And I lost everything. My brother disowned me and stole one of my daughters. Another daughter died of the lung rot. She died in my arms, too weak to cough, too worn out to breathe. I couldn’t afford to keep the house warm enough to protect her. None of us had enough to eat to stay healthy. I couldn’t . . .” he choked in his litany of grief.
Jack gave him a moment of silence to recover, sensing the man’s need to tell someone of his internal pain.
“Tattia was dismissed from the palace. She was lost. If she couldn’t make lace, she had no place in life, no identity, no reason for living. Because of my failure, she threw herself into the river. And now her ghost will haunt our descendants for five generations.”
“You had another child to carry the bloodline?”
A burst of birdsong silenced the whispers of the men. Above the sweet trills that greeted the dawn came the hoarse croak of a jackdaw.
The door was thrust open so violently it bounced against the stone wall. “All right you miserable beasts. Up. Everybody up.” Harelip stood outlined in the doorway, begging someone to challenge him so he could mete out punishment with is whip.
Why don’t we just jump him? Jack thought. Thirty men could strangle him before he raised the bloody whip.
“Not ready,” the jackdaw cawed. “Ye’re not ready.”
Jack slid his gaze toward the door. The stupid bird hadn’t really talked to him, had it?
Still affecting a daze of incomprehension, Jack stood mutely beside his hammock while a second guard unlocked his chain from the post. Fraank stood beside him, patiently waiting to be partnered with him.
“You two been gettin’ chummy, I hear. Can’t have that.” The guard with grime embedded around his neck like a necklace yanked on Jack’s chain to lead him several paces down the line to a new partner.
They chained him to the scrawny newcomer with the patchy beard. Jack almost opened his mouth to protest. A warning glance from Fraank kept him quiet and docile. Harelip was watching for an opportunity to uncoil his whip.
Patchy-beard wrung his hands in anxiety, then scratched his face in a habitual manner. A few strands of mud-colored hair fell to the floor.
Out in the yard, the day crew marched through their regular routine. A trip to the privy—an open trench in one corner of the fenced compound. Then a bowl of thin gruel slurped from wooden bowls without benefit of a spoon. The food was enough to keep the men alive and working, but not energetic enough to plot or risk escape.
The jackdaw fluttered to the top of a fence post and watched the pot of gruel for an opportunity to steal some. The white tufts of feathers above its eyes twitched.
“Look. Look,” the jackdaw mimicked words.
A guard laughed at the bird and held out his arm for it to perch on. The jackdaw ignored him and continued to instruct Jack to “Look, look.”
Certainty that the bird was speaking to him alone, drew Jack’s gaze to the high wooden fence. Eight feet high at least. Smooth planks that would defy a man to climb. What was he supposed to look at?
“Through my eyes. Through my eyes.” The jackdaw cocked his head and looked directly at Jack.
A wave of revulsion almost brought the gruel back up from Jack’s stomach. Invading another creature’s mind had to be the worst form of violation.
The jackdaw shook himself. Dust flew from his wings.
“Filthy bird!” Someone picked up a loose stone and flung it at him.
“Craaawk!” it squawked and jumped into flight. Two flaps of his wings and he perched on top of Jack’s head. “Look,” it repeated.
Jack remained absolutely still, as if he didn’t know a black bird was tugging at his hair with a sharp beak.
“Always knew that Muaynwor was a scarecrow,” Harelip guffawed, flapping his arms like grotesque wings. Jack looked right through his antics as if they didn’t exist. He hoped the men wouldn’t start throwing stones at him as well as the bird.
Without knowing how or why, his thoughts blended with the bird. The color spectrum shifted and he saw colors he’d never seen before. Colors that revealed temperatures. Men became layers of overlapping reds and yellows. Buildings revealed neutral grays.
His perspective shifted upward and then flew with the bird over the fence. He knew a moment of dizziness and spinning colors. Then the terrain below came into focus.
Trackless mountains still covered in snow, that revealed iciness in shades of blue, spread out to the horizon in every direction. Snow blocked the valleys between peaks and ridges. A few scraggly everblue trees appeared pink and yellow as sap began to flow and bring them out of winter dormancy.
Together, he and the jackdaw skimmed ov
er black rivers and pale blue lakes still choked with darker blue ice. Ice that cracked and thinned as the rising red and orange sun touched it.
“Not yet. Not yet,” the jackdaw reminded him. They soared upward, along another pass where the melted snow had filled the nearby river to overflowing. At the western end of the pass, a trader caravan camped. Their train of surefooted mules was loaded with supplies for the prison mine.
Escape needed to wait until Jack could load one of those mules with enough supplies to last him several weeks. By the time the caravan arrived, the worst of the storms would have passed. He’d be able to walk away from the mine and survive.
Jack’s consciousness plunged back into his own body with an abruptness that sent his senses reeling. He forced himself to remain upright, still, blank-faced. Escape would be doubly difficult if the guards suspected he was aware.
Chapter 18
‘Respond to me!” Neeles Brunix screamed at Katrina, withdrawing his hand from her naked breast. “I’ve had your maidenhead. You have nothing left to lose. Respond to me like the whore you are.”
She turned her face away, biting her lip against her tears of humiliation. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of evoking any emotion in her.
Owner Brunix heaved his long, naked body off the bed. Frustration radiated from him as he paced his private suite on the topmost floor of his factory. He seemed oblivious to his nakedness, concerned only with the emotions that roiled within him.
“You just lie there, pale and elegant, beautiful beyond imagination and numb. Making love to you is like fucking a corpse.”
Katrina resisted the urge to recoil from his lecherous stare at the tuft of pale hair between her legs.
Brunix paused in his rapid prowl to stare at himself. Limp. As unresponsive as Katrina.
“All true-blooded women are whores at heart—titillated by sex because it is forbidden outside the bonds of marriage. But you refuse to show your true feelings out of some perverted need to punish me. You punish me because I have saved your life, fed you, clothed you, and allowed you to make lace for three years. Why should I keep a slave who can’t satisfy me in bed?”
The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I Page 82
