Lightnings Daughter

by Mary H. Herbert

  When at last he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and stood up, Gabria knew his grief was under control.

  The slow, painful process of healing his old wounds had finally begun.

  "Was this why you went back to Corin Treld?" he asked, offering her his hand.

  She nodded, took his hand, and rose to her feet. "The dead must lie in peace."

  "And so they will," Piers answered wearily. Then he added, "Now, let's seek the living. I would stil like to face the Fon."

  "Do you know the way out?" she asked.

  "Yes. I was here years ago as a healer, but I've never had to stay in this place of torment."

  Piers led her around the pit and headed for a wall where a rack of tools and instruments hung. The others fol owed. He found the door latch, which was cleverly hidden in the stone, and pul ed the rack aside to reveal the door. They filed out, with Gabria's lights bobbing overhead, and found a staircase leading up to the next level. When the last warrior left the torture chamber, Piers looked once more into the black cavern and gently shut the door.

  The party went upstairs to the prison level and paused to wait for Piers to take the lead. The travelers stared about them in horror. There were two corridors, one on either side of the stairs, lined with lightless stone cells. The wal s were wet with moisture, and the floors were ankle deep in muck and excrement. The smell was horrible.

  The noise was even worse. The sight of the lights had excited the prisoners, and they screamed and cried and shouted behind their bars in a hideous cacophony of misery and fear.

  Surprisingly, there were no guards.

  Piers slowed as he came up the stairs, and his eyes widened. "I know some of those people,” he exclaimed. "They don't belong here!"

  Secen started toward a door, but Athlone stopped him. "Not now. We don't have time."

  They hurried on, leaving the dungeon and its tormented prisoners behind, and ran up to the next level. Khan’di's map did not include the deep underground levels of the palace, only the Fon's wing, where Branth was supposed to be. The party had to rely on Piers's eleven-year-old memories of the extensive storerooms, wine cellars, and cold storage rooms underneath the main floors.

  The healer was surprised by how much he remembered. Released of his grief, his memories flowed out as clear and sharp as yesterday's hours. He was able to lead his companions up through the levels to a corridor just below the Fon's wing of the palace.

  Khan'di had told them that, according to spies, Branth was being held in one of the Fon's personal storerooms. The healer took his companions through a large room full of vats and up a winding staircase. At the top, a solid oak door blocked their way. Piers reached for the door handle, but Treader began barking furiously and shoved himself between Piers and the door.

  "Piers, be careful!" Gabria cried. "Treader says there's fire."

  The healer looked skeptical, but he stood back from the stout oak door and very carefully opened it just a crack. A dark cloud of smoke billowed out, and the voracious roar of a fire out of control sounded clearly through the slight opening. Piers slammed the door shut.

  "By the gods, what happened?" Athlone exclaimed.

  Piers glanced around worriedly. "I don't know, but we'll have to go another way."

  The travelers raced down the stairs and through the storage - room. From there they took a different corridor, one that led up the main stairs to the palace's banquet hal . There they stopped and gazed about them in frightened astonishment. A few torches were stil burning in the sconces on the walls of the ornate room, giving off enough light so the parry could see the expanse of the entire hall.

  The banquet hal was in the central block of the palace along with the waiting rooms, the Fon's throne room, and audience chamber. To the north was the Fon's wing of private apartments, chambers, and servants' quarters. Already the fire from below was spreading through the first floor of that wing.

  It was eating through the timbers and the north wal of the banquet hal . As it climbed to the floor of the second story, the blaze consumed everything in its path. Even as the travelers came to a stop and Gabria banished her lights, the banquet hal was filling with smoke. A muted roaring echoed through the room.

  Palace guards, servants, and courtiers ran back and forth, carrying items out of the Fon's wing; some were running in panic, others screamed or yel ed orders. No one seemed to be doing anything to control the fire, and no one paid attention to the clanspeople in the hall.

  "Lord!" Keth called. "Look at this." He was standing in a deep embrasure looking out a rare glassed window.

  Athlone and the others joined him and crowded into the space. They fol owed Keth's gaze out to the high wall that encircled the palace. The Fon's guards were struggling to keep the mob from the massive wooden gate that blocked the entrance. But while the travelers watched the gate was forced open by a well-disciplined troop of men who pushed through and attacked the guards. A huge group of people flooded through the breached gate behind them. A roar of triumph rose outside, then the mob came to a stunned halt. A pale flash of lightning illuminated the hundreds of faces staring at the burning wing of the palace.

  Thunder and a distant crash reverberated through the building. The smoke grew thicker.

  Gabria turned back to the dim, smoky hal . A boy rushed by her carrying an armload of jeweled goblets. The sorceress coughed and stared through the open double doors into the Fon's wing, where the dancing red and yel ow glow of fire revealed more and more people fleeing with the Fon's valuables.

  Athlone drew back from the window. "Where is the Fon in all of this madness?" he yelled above the noise.

  "And where is Branth?" Gabria shouted.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Piers." Athlone grabbed the healer's arm. "What are the chances Branth could Still be alive if he is in those lower storerooms?"

  The healer tore a strip off his shirt and tied it over his nose and mouth to filter out the thickening smoke. "None, Lord. The whole corridor was on fire."

  "If the Fon had moved him, where would she have taken him?" Athlone had to shout over the noise of the people and the increasing roar of the fire.

  "If there was time?" Piers lifted his hands. "He could be in her apartments or in the guardrooms of the other wing. He could be anywhere."

  The chief thought fast. "Then we'l have to split up. Search what you can, then get out fast. If anyone finds Branth, either bring him or kil him. Everyone understand?" They nodded. "Piers, you know this place. Take Gabria and Keth. Look where you think he is the most likely to be. Bregan, you come with me. We'l go upstairs to the Fon's rooms. Secen, Valar, and Sayyed, you take Tam and the dog and check the other wing.”

  They hurried into their groups and started to leave. Only a few of the fleeing palace inhabitants glanced their way before rushing on.

  "Don't wait too long to get out,” Athlone shouted after the men. Gabria was about to follow Piers when the chieftain took her hand. He wanted to say something to her before they parted in the smoke and fire, but sensible words failed to come to mind.

  Gabria looked into his face, still bruised, bearded, and smeared with mud and dirt. She pul ed off the strip of cloth tied over her nose and mouth and lightly kissed his cheek.

  Then she ran after Piers and vanished into the smoke.

  Athlone looked after her in surprise before a quirk of a smile touched his mouth. He gestured to Bregan and left the banquet hal to find the stairs leading up to the next floor.

  As Athlone and Bregan disappeared in one direction, Piers led Gabria and Keth through a set of doors, down another dim corridor, and into the audience hal where the Fon usually held her large public festivals, court functions, and celebrations. A few lamps were lit in the room despite the late hour, and Gabria looked around in amazement at the rich furnishings.

  The wal s of the vast room were covered with tapestries, colorful banners, and hangings of silk embroidered with the ship emblem of Pra Desh. Padded benches and chairs lined the wal s,
and a huge fireplace dominated one end of the room. Gabria noticed the big room was empty and was already filling with smoke.

  Piers came to the center of the room and slowed down to get his bearings.

  Gabria grabbed his sleeve. "Where are we going?"

  The healer continued to study their surroundings as he answered. "The Fon should know where Branth is. If we can find her, maybe . . .” He paused as another crash reverberated through the palace.

  Screams echoed down the corridor. "Floor gave way,” he muttered. He glanced at the stone wal s. "It won't be long before enough floors collapse to bring down all the walls."

  "Then let's hurry,” Keth suggested nervously.

  "Do you know where she might be?" Gabria asked.

  Piers curled his lip. "If I know that woman, she's in the vaults trying to save the treasury." He hurried his companions out of the audience hal and into the first of the Fon's two waiting rooms. These rooms, where supplicants waited for personal interviews with the Fon in her throne room, were even more luxurious than the hal . They were filled with precious rugs, wallcases of delicate porcelain, handsomely carved furniture, and shelves of valuable books.

  This room was empty' of people, so Piers walked through to the next. That room was much like the first. Here, her personal secretaries usually screened the people who would be al owed in the Fon's presence. At that moment, the only people in the room were two noblemen and one palace guard. The courtiers were older men in various stages of night dress, and they were shouting and frantically pounding on an arched wooden door. The guard was beside them, trying to hack at the door handle and frame with the point of his sword. .

  Piers came to a quick halt and cursed under his breath. The men had obviously been there for some time, because the door handle was splintered from the guard's blows.

  "What is it?" Gabria whispered behind the healer.

  "The vaults are behind the throne room and that door is the only way in."

  The guard shouted angrily at the clanspeople, "What are you doing here?"

  "Quit yelping and help us," one of the noblemen ordered, ignoring the newcomers.

  The guard gave a sharp laugh. "You'll never get that door open. She's barred it from inside."

  "She?" Piers demanded. "The Fon?"

  The guard glared at him. "Who else? Now, get out of here!"

  Piers shoved past the guard, ignoring his sword, and shouldered into the group of noblemen. "I'll help,” he said, adding his weight to the door. The courtiers looked startled but they wanted badly to reach their ruler, so they moved over to include him. Al three threw their strength at the door, but the wood did not budge.

  One of the noblemen sagged against the door. He was breathing heavily, perspiration dripping down around his round face, and his eyes were wide in fear. "I can't believe this!" he cried. "A riot in the streets, a fire in the palace, and she hides in her throne room. What are we going to do?"

  More crashes sounded upstairs. Cries and screams filled the corridors beyond the audience hall, and the distant rumble of thunder sounded outside.

  The frightened nobleman shoved himself away from the door and ran for the other room.

  "Wait!" His companion shouted after him.

  "You save the shrew,” he cried and dashed out.

  The other men looked at one another. The courtier gave Piers an odd glance before turning away.

  "There is no other way in?" Gabria asked.

  They shook their heads and bent to try again.

  "Look out!" the guard bellowed, leaping sideways as a smoldering chunk of the ceiling collapsed where he had been standing. Smoke bil owed through the hole, and the room was lit by the lurid glow from the flames in the timbers above the false ceiling.

  "We'l never get this door open this way," the old nobleman shouted over the crackling of the fire.

  "Are you sure she's in there?" demanded Piers.

  The guard replied, "She ran by here a little while ago, before we knew of the fire,” He shivered and gripped his sword. "It was strange. She looked wild! Just slammed the door and barred it."

  Gabria stared at the door while the guard was talking, and in her mind she formed the words of a spell. "Piers, get out of the way,” she ordered.

  Before the two Pra Deshians could argue, Piers hustled them aside. Gabria raised her hand and concentrated on focusing her magical energy. In that moment she sensed again the strange feeling of growing power, and this time she recognized what it was: the latent magic in the area was increasing.

  The phenomenon was stil not strong enough that she could identify the cause of the increase, so Gabria set the puzzle aside for now. She spoke the command for her spel . In a breath, the door col apsed into a heap of splinters and wood dust.

  "Oh, Elaja!" the guard wailed, and he, too, took to his heels out of the room toward the audience hall.

  "Nicely done, Gabria," Piers said thankfully.

  "The sorceress?" the remaining nobleman gasped.

  Gabria tried to reassure him. "We're here for Branth, nothing else. Do you know where he is?"

  "Dead, I hope," the man snarled. He thrust his body into the open doorway and blocked their path.

  "I thought I knew you from somewhere," he shouted at Piers. "You're the healer whose daughter was condemned for sorcery! Well, you helped kill one Fon, but you won't get this one."

  Keth leaped past Gabria and lifted his sword. Piers held him back. He finally recognized the man.

  "Ancor, I had nothing to do with the poisoning and neither did my daughter."

  The courtier would not listen. "Her own husband admitted it!" he yel ed.

  Piers shouted fiercely in reply. "And where is he? Keeping the prince of Calah company in the bottom of the pit?"

  The old man blanched as if that thought had occurred to him in the past. "The Fon told us his ship went down with no survivors," he said defensively.

  Another chunk of burning ceiling crashed to the floor, setting rugs and a tapestry alight.

  "Healer," Keth cal ed, "we've got to get out of here."

  "Not without the Fon," Piers answered harshly, and he tried to push past the nobleman.

  The danger of the fire and the anger on Piers's face made the old man frantic. "No! Leave this place," he shouted. "You are a traitor and your daughter was a murdering heretic!"

  Gabria was watching her friend and saw something break in the normally quiet, gentle man. All of the fury, the guilt, and the sense of injustice he had been carrying within him for eleven years had been stirred up by the sight of the dungeon and by the flood of memories that engulfed him. That this insulting old man would dare call his beloved daughter a murdering heretic was more than Piers could bear.

  With a roar of fury, the healer balled his fist and hit the nobleman in the face. The man fell like a poleaxed cow. Piers sprang over his body and dashed into the throne room with Gabria and Keth close on his heels.

  No sooner were they through the door than they al skidded to a halt. Their attention was drawn to a large, canopied throne that sat on a wide dais against the opposite wall. The fire had already reached this smal , opulent room through the ceiling.

  Sparks and flaming chunks of wood were raining down, starring more fires on carpets, tapestries, and on the red canopy over the golden throne. Beneath the flaming canopy sat the Fon of Pra Desh, her eyes staring horribly at the intruders.

  Piers's fury stil burned in his blood. Without a conscious plan, he snarled a curse and ran toward the Fon, ignoring the smoke and flames.

  "Piers, no!" Gabria shouted.

  The healer lifted his hand as he raced up the marble steps of the dais, and he was about to grab the Fon when she looked up at him.

  The healer faltered. He hardly recognized the woman. Her face was twisted into such a mask of horror that he realized instantly she had slipped beyond the edges of sanity. Her eyes were empty of reason and filled with insensible fear. When she saw him, the Fon cowered down into her seat, moaning and t
rembling in terror.

  Piers stared at her with pity and astonishment. What had happened to turn this strong-willed woman into a crazed, fearful wreck?

  He was about to take her arm when a large piece of the ceiling crashed down to the floor behind him. Piers whirled around and cried out. The wreckage had fallen on Gabria and the warrior. Frantically the healer ran back, dodging small fires, and dragged Gabria's body out from under the smoking chunks of timbers and paneling. Keth was still conscious and able to move. He crawled out by himself and dazedly helped Piers smother the smoldering sparks on Gabria's clothes and drag her to the slim protection of the Stone doorway.

  Piers breathed a silent prayer of thanks as he examined the sorceress. She had a bump and a cut on her head and was dazed, but she was already coming around.

  "Piers,” Keth yelled, steadying Gabria. "If we don't go now, we'll never get out." The healer agreed.

  The rooms behind them were already burning, and the throne room was almost intolerably hot.

  "I'm going to get the Fon,” he called. He started forward, when something caught his eye. He half-turned, and a man burst through the doorway, slamming into Keth and knocking the warrior sideways.

  Gabria cried out and fel . The man rushed past Piers, his eyes hooded in smoke and shadow and his mouth twisted in a maniacal smile. He had a large book under his bleeding arm.

  There was something familiar about that man, Piers thought, then all sensibilities fled from his mind. Horrorstruck, he stared at the Fon. She had risen from her throne and was watching the stranger, terror warping her face into a hideous grimace. Just as the man reached her, she screamed a heart-tearing wail of despair. Piers saw the flash of a dagger blade in the man's hand. Before the healer could move, the man had grabbed the screaming Fon by the hair, hauled her off the dais, and slashed her throat. Laughing gleefully, he flung her bleeding body to the floor.