Vireon had gone back to his throne. There he sat brooding for the rest of the day, while Ryvun and his legions secured the city with the support of the Ninety-Three Uduri.
Now, as Ryvun entered the palace once again, the white flame glimmering on his silvered corselet, he accepted a cup of wine from a servant. “How is the King?” he asked.
The servant shook his gray head. “Not good, Sir Ryvun. He’s sat right there in the Great Chair all day, staring at his own thoughts. The only respite from his brooding was when the little one came to sit upon his knee. She sleeps in his arms now.”
The servant also told him the Queen was in the high tower, though the City General already knew that. The spread of the white flame across the grounds had told him as much.
Vireon cradled the Princess Maelthyn in his lap. Her tiny head lay in the crook of his beefy arm. It was as if he held a sleeping babe, not a child of seven years. He stared at the great windows along the front wall where white flames dripped like a syrupy rain. About the throne brooded seven Uduri spearmaidens, as was customary, and at each of the room’s twenty pillars stood one of Ryvun’s Palatines, mailed in silvered bronze like himself. The crimson plumes atop their helmets seemed ludicrous in the oppressive mood of the hall.
There were two extra Uduri in the throne room now: Dahrima the Axe sat pensively on the dais steps before the King, and old Gallida the Eye lingered nearby, leaning on her ancient staff of black Uyga wood. Her long braids were gray, ringed with bands of green bronze. She was the eldest of all the surviving Uduri, and her age made her resemble a human woman in her seventies. Yet Gallida was several centuries old.
Ryvun approached the throne with a low bow and presented himself for report. Vireon watched the dancing flames and scarcely noticed the City General. Only when Ryvun addressed him directly did his reverie break. He turned his eyes toward Ryvun, the man who was his voice and his fist in the streets of the city. Something about Ryvun reminded him of Tadarus. Was it the cast of his face, or the bearing of his shoulders? Perhaps it was the single-mindedness with which Ryvun took his duties-more seriously even than his life. Next to Vireon, Alua, and the loyal Uduri, here was the being who held the most power in Udurum.
In the days of Vireon’s ancestors, humans were not even permitted north of the mountains, let alone into the city or in command of its legions. Yet Ryvun Ctholl had earned his status. Men must be ruled by Men, or they will grow to resent their ruler. Vireon was little more than half-Man. Vod had been half-Man, half-Giant, so what did that make his sons? What did it make Maelthyn? Such thoughts swirled in Vireon’s head like murky vapors as he watched the white flames dance. He was tired.
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” said Ryvun. “A word?”
The warm comfort of Maelthyn in Vireon’s lap drew his attention before he responded to the City General. Alua was locked in the high tower consulting the Spirits, spinning her white flame in order to snare some truth. Would she find the same truth he expected? Would she see clearly the Curse of Fangodrel, and, if so, could she do anything to end it?
“I am listening,” said Vireon, turning his eyes away from Maelthyn’s face to Ryvun’s own. “Speak.”
“All that you commanded has been done,” said Ryvun. “The cold blocks are full of prisoners, with special accommodation for those accused of sorcery. Interrogations will commence at any moment. The streets are restless, but all insurrections have been quelled. Yet when the dawn comes, the people will demand answers. And freedom.”
Vireon looked about the hall at the blurred faces of his advisors, the chancellors, the servants waiting for his next order, then back to his daughter’s sweet face. His greatsword leaned naked against the throne, close to his right arm.
I let them in. He heard Maelthyn say it again in the echo chamber of his mind. What had she meant by those words? She was only a frightened little girl. He did not tell Alua what Maelthyn had whispered to him when they found her among the dead Uduri.
They came for me. He could not let his daughter believe such a thing. He had urged her to silence. Alua had bathed and dressed her while attendants cleared the bedchamber of blood and bodies. The royal family spent the morning in the courtyard, surrounded by a hundred Palatines and twenty-six Uduri guards, who bore their grief in silence.
Whatever devils had crawled into Udurum had eaten the hearts and lives of six Giantesses in addition to a tavernful of humans. Perhaps the missing hearts were the keys to the mystery. But what could this consumption of living hearts portend? The question had plagued him all day. He had not the wisdom to answer it. He hoped Alua would find some supernatural guidance.
“The people will have to wait,” said Vireon. “We will see what the night brings. These unseen devils may come calling again.”
Ryvun bristled beneath his armor. “If we inform the populace of the reason for our drastic measures, it might provide them with more patience.”
Dahrima the Axe stood now, golden braids clanking against her ebony corselet. The long-hafted weapon that inspired her nickname stood balanced on the marble floor at her feet. Her right hand lingered on its upraised pommel. At any moment she might lift that weapon to the defense of the crown. In the past two days Vireon had grown accustomed to her constant presence, and the Uduri had naturally accepted her as their captain.
“The King has invoked Uduri Law,” said Dahrima. “He need give no justification for this, Legionnaire.”
Ryvun raised his eyes to meet those of the Giantess. “I am not a legionnaire, Dahrima. I am the City General. Address me properly or do not speak in my presence.”
Vireon saw Dahrima’s fists tighten. She bore little love for the Men who helped secure the city. To her the Uduri were all the military might Udurum needed. When the Uduru were here, Vireon might have agreed that an armed force of Men was redundant. Now, though, it was primarily a City of Men, with the Uduri living in perpetual denial of the fact. If Vireon told them to drive all humans from the city tomorrow, they would do it without question. Their unflagging loyalty had been a source of great comfort to him over the past seven years. Yet now, seeing how mortal even these colossal warrior-women were, nothing seemed as certain as it had been a few days earlier.
“I hear wisdom in your words, Ryvun,” said Vireon. “Yet I will not fill the streets with word of these blood-hungry spirits. People would panic, they would seek escape. Violence would be the only result. First we must know more about this elusive enemy.”
“How fares the Queen in her… studies?” asked Ryvun.
Vireon stared again at the white flame dripping past the windows, blazing in the courtyards, dancing along the outer walls.
“We will know soon,” he said. He turned back to Maelthyn in his arms.
They will never take you, he promised silently. I will die first.
“I see,” said Ryvun. “So there is little to do but wait.”
“So you see we are waiting,” said Dahrima. She sat once more in her place at the foot of the dais. She turned her face from Ryvun and stared at the floor.
Gallida the Eye stepped toward the throne. Bone talismans and metal charms tinkled in her silver hair. She walked with the help of her staff, pressing its bronzed butt against the marble to support a weak leg. One of her eyes was larger than the other, and the Uduri said she could see beyond the living world with it. Gallida had the Sight, and Dahrima had brought her to the throne room at Vireon’s command. When Vod had come to claim his crown decades ago, Gallida was the first to confirm the truth of his Uduru bloodline. She had seen the truth of his existence, for that was her gift.
So far this day the Eye had nothing to tell Vireon. Yet now she shuffled forward and peered directly at the sleeping Princess.
“Such a beautiful girl…” said Gallida. Vireon studied the wrinkled map of the Giantess’s face. Once, long ago, she had been beautiful. Her eyes were not always so skewed, her flesh not so withered, her shoulders not so bent. He felt the great power of her stare, and he could tell tha
t she still carried much strength in her great wiry arms. The seeress reached a gnarled finger out to caress Maelthyn’s cheek. Quickly she withdrew the digit, as if she had touched a hot flame. She sucked in a breath quickly between yellowed teeth.
Vireon saw the shadow that fell upon her face as she stared at Maelthyn. A wholly different look than before-awe… confusion… fear?
“What is it, Old One?” asked Vireon.
Gallida backed away, but her milky eyes remained locked on Maelthyn. Her black-nailed finger still pointed at the girl. “Here lies your child,” she told Vireon. “Yet it is not your child.”
Vireon drew a deep breath. Gallida was known for speaking in riddles. Riddles that led eventually to Truth. Yet she was old and tired. Could her legendary Sight be trusted?
“Explain yourself,” Vireon ordered. He wiped a loose strand of hair away from his daughter’s closed eyes. “This is surely Maelthyn, Princess of Udurum.”
“Yes,” said Gallida, her eyes (big and small) never leaving the child. “And no.”
Vireon caught the gazes of Dahrima and Ryvun, one displaying a keen interest, the other full of doubt.
“Something has… emerged…” said Gallida. “Some dark seed has taken root and grown here.”
“Speak plainly!” Vireon demanded. Maelthyn shifted restlessly in his arms. He regretted his raised voice. He did not want to wake her. It had been a troubling day for them all, especially the little one.
Gallida tore her gaze away from the child and looked at the father. She leaned in close to the man-sized throne and breathed a sour wind into Vireon’s face. Her voice was a ragged, terrified whisper: “Something hides itself within your daughter, Vireon Vodson.”
Vireon gave no response. The Giantess pulled away. She whispered once more, “Something wicked… and hungry.”
A simmering rage clouded Vireon’s vision. He fought the urge to order Gallida the Eye thrown out of the palace. He gritted his teeth and looked upon Maelthyn’s sweet face instead. Gallida wandered out of the throne room, silent as a brooding raven.
Vireon turned to Dahrima, who looked at him with concern. “What did she mean?” he asked.
Dahrima shook her head. “She is old, Majesty. She does not see clearly anymore. Her gift is lost.” Vireon knew she was lying. The Uduri were terrible liars. Their eyes gave it away every time. She could not meet his gaze. Dahrima believed what Gallida had seen. But she would not let it affect her duties in any way.
“Shall I have her arrested, Lord?” asked Ryvun.
Dahrima glared at the City General. Her eyes spoke a challenge that her mouth dare not.
Vireon shook his head. “Let her be.”
He recalled the blacksmith’s confession. A lady’s laugh. Thoughts clanged together in his thick skull like the ringing of iron shields. Something hides within your daughter.
Your children will be born into shadow.
Vireon’s eyes welled. Hot tears ran, then cooled and dried upon his cheeks. Ryvun and Dahrima said nothing as they watched their King weep over the sleeping form of his daughter. What could they say to comfort him? What could any man-or Giant-say? That he was cursed?
This he already knew.
Alua’s scream shattered the silence. It fell from the high tower as clearly as the peal of an iron bell. The white flames danced higher and flamed brighter, a diamond-flickering lattice across the entire palace and its grounds. Travelers must have seen that mountain of brilliance flickering far out along the Western Way, where they endured a night of mud and nervous bellies.
Maelthyn was the first to respond. Her blue eyes flew open and she leaped from her father’s lap, running down the steps of the dais.
“Mother!” she cried. Vireon came down after her. He bent to catch her as she raced toward the sound of Alua’s pain, but she was too fast for him. She had all of his inhuman speed and none of his bulk. All he could do was run after her. He took up his greatsword and did so. Palatines and Uduri came rushing after him. He raced along the central corridor to the wide stairs winding up into the King’s Tower. Maelthyn ran ahead of him, her black hair bobbing up and down.
It reminded him briefly of the day, eight years past, when he had chased Alua through the northern snows. She had worn the form of the white fox, and he was her desperate hunter. The fox had avoided him for days, eventually revealing her true self. He never caught her, but later she rescued him from a prison of the blue-skinned Udvorg. So their love had been kindled in the frosty northern clime.
Now Maelthyn raced quicker than a fox up the stairs. Vireon followed, taking two steps at a time. He half expected his daughter to suddenly become a leaping cat or flying bird, so great was her speed. Obviously she had inherited something of her parents’ power.
Or had she?
Something hides within your daughter.
The doors of the royal bedchamber stood open, releasing a flood of white light. The two Uduri who guarded the doorway stood staring at the fierce glow, captivated by the spectacle of Alua’s floating body. She hung suspended halfway between floor and ceiling, centered in a nimbus of rushing, blazing light. She was the nexus at the core of the web of white flame. The pure light of her sorcery radiated from eyes, mouth, fingers, and toes. The Queen of Udurum should be immune to all enemies here, at the heart of her seething magic. Yet she had screamed in agony.
Maelthyn and Vireon raced between the dumbfounded Uduri and stood beneath Alua’s hovering figure. The trance had claimed her completely. She did not or could not acknowledge them. Could she see at all with those pale flames blasting from her eyes? The white magic washed over Vireon, prickling his skin, making his mane of hair dance to invisible winds. Maelthyn raised her little hands toward Alua. She cried out something, a word Vireon could not hear. The thunder of the white flames rushed to fill his ears, and the merciless light blinded him.
Alua turned her blazing face downward, and she screamed again. Now a fresh wave of white flame erupted, driving Vireon back toward the door. The guards rushing into the chamber fell back, along with the Uduri. Looking past his upraised forearm, Vireon saw the vague outlines of mother and daughter at the center of a swirling inferno. Maelthyn was rising, even as Alua descended to join her. Then his eyes were forced to close, or else be blinded forever.
He had seen this display of power once before, on the day Shar Dni fell to a Khyrein invasion. The day he’d killed his murderous brother and Alua had destroyed Ianthe the Claw. The Sorceress of Khyrei had tried to flee, but Alua’s white flame caught her, immolated her, devoured her. There was nothing at all left of the wicked Empress when the light had faded. Alua’s magic had burned her out of existence.
Now the blaze faded again, and Vireon dared to open his eyes. They stood on the floor now, mother and daughter, locked in an embrace. The white flames ran along their bodies, spilling like rainwater from their skins, sluicing across the floor, out the open windows, flashing across the city.
Slowly the flames faded to nothing. The glow outside the palace was once again that of moon and stars.
Alua embraced Maelthyn with a loving smile. Vireon raced forward to join them, but stopped when both their faces turned to stare at him. They smiled as one.
“The evil is gone, My King,” Alua told him, stroking Maelthyn’s hair. “I have cleansed it from the land.”
Vireon blinked. Maelthyn looked up at him and smiled. Her mother’s smile. They were so much alike, it still amazed him. He dropped the greatsword and wrapped them both in his arms.
“Don’t fret, Father,” said Maelthyn, taking his great hand between her two small ones. “Everything is as it should be.” Her blue eyes bored into his. Her pupils were now of such a dark blue that they seemed nearly black.
Vireon nodded and laughed. He took her in his arms and lifted her up. Alua kissed his cheek. Her pale skin still gleamed with the glow of fading magic.
“You can let the fools in your dungeons go free now,” said Alua. “They are all innocent.”
&n
bsp; “Tell me what happened,” Vireon said.
“Later,” said Alua, caressing his cheek. “I am weary. I must rest…”
“Of course.”
Maelthyn would not leave her mother’s side. She slid into the great bed with Alua. “Come,” Alua beckoned him. Some instinct or restless itch dissuaded him.
“No,” he said. “I will not sleep this night. Take your rest now. I will remain here, watching over you.”
Vireon dismissed all but the two Uduri door guards, and soon mother and daughter lay asleep beneath the purple blankets. He sat near to the bed on a cushioned divan, watching the two of them. They breathed in a simultaneous rhythm. Each day Maelthyn grew more and more like her mother. Had Alua truly destroyed the heart-eating devils so easily? He could not be sure until he spoke with her more at length. Until that time he could only sit here, greatsword across his knees, and ensure that his wife and daughter slept undisturbed. He took a little mulled wine from a discreet servant, but did not remove his gaze from the royal bed.
Sir Ryvun approached him after a little while, bowing to ask, “Should I release the prisoners and open the gates, Majesty?”
Vireon watched little Maelthyn’s chest rise and fall. The love he bore for her was so mighty, it could ultimately destroy him. This is what it meant to be a father. To open yourself to the risk of tragedy in order to receive the blessings of love.
“No,” he told Ryvun. “Let it stand.”
The City General marched off to his supper while Vireon sipped at his cup and watched his family sleep. Dahrima the Axe lingered outside the chamber door, conversing softly with her two sisters. Wrapped in the sound of their whispers, nestled in the flickering warmth of torches, Vireon felt his eyes grow heavy. He laid his head back against the divan.
In his dream he spoke with his dead father, as he had done on many occasions. Vod was an idol of stone, but his mouth and eyes moved as if they were living flesh. Vireon was a youth again, just old enough to learn the way of the sword. Father and son sat in a dark cavern somewhere far beneath the earth. Flames burned somewhere beyond the enclosing shadows, casting the dream in shades of orange and black.
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