by Duncan, Dave
After a few more minutes, they spotted the source, a village of wattle huts. Chief Tracker gave it a wide berth, while women and children watched from a safe distance. A couple of dogs barked and were quickly hushed. Dusk was falling.
“Theme park!”
“Exactly. But it’s probably thousands of years older than Disneyland. It may well be based on the way their ancestors lived, back in the Pleistocene.”
A couple of kilometers beyond the tribal village they came upon a small lake fed by a waterfall. Beside that stood the station, a sprawling complex of single-story wooden buildings with verandas, shade trees, and close-cropped lawns. It appeared to be deserted; the windows were all dark.
“Why no palisade?” Avior demanded. “If the blind had to be built of stone, then why does this place have no defenses?”
“I’m sure it has magical defenses,” Rigel said absently. He was looking around very warily as their guide led them into the complex. Izar was staying close now. “The blind is scenery, so it has to look right. Chief Tracker?”
The mudling turned. “Noble halfling?”
“How many people live here?”
“People?”
It took several questions to establish that there were no halflings or mudlings living in this part of Alathfar, not even servants. Starborn ladies were seen occasionally, but Chief Tracker had no idea whether they lived there or just came visiting. No other starfolk had been seen since he was a boy.
“So who told you to threaten us with spears?”
A starborn lord he had never seen before, but he didn’t know where the great lord lived.
Rigel dismissed him and told him to make sure all his men got home safely.
“Now what?” he mused. “Beat on all these doors? Go over to that big building in the middle? This stinks of an ambush. Starling, burn that cabin.” He pointed at a small cabin off to the side.
Izar looked up at him with wide eyes, unable to believe that he’d received such wonderful instructions. “Burn it?”
“Throw fire at it. Set it alight. Reduce it to…Yes, like that. Keep throwing. Make a real bonfire of it.”
Avior was stunned. There might be people in there.
Izar’s barrage of fireballs quickly turned the building into an inferno. Flames roared up into the darkening sky.
“Very good!” Rigel said. “To continue your arson and vandalism training, let’s go over there and raze another.” He led the way farther into the complex, following their shadows.
The light behind them dimmed, the noise of the crackling flames stopped. Avior turned just in time to see the fire vanish. The cabin was badly damaged, but it was no longer burning, not even smoking.
Rigel said, “Aha! And somebody is home, see?”
Lights had come on in the windows of the central building and smoke drifted up from its chimneys.
Chapter 5
Rigel was trying to appear a lot more confident than he felt. He didn’t believe that Hadar was behind the kidnapping, because the Family were all halflings and halflings never progressed above low green in magic, usually only reaching blue—Rigel himself seemed to have none beyond his ability to read names. Only an elf with high-ranking magic could have sabotaged his reversion staff. Prince Vildiar certainly had enough talent, but he had refrained from killing Rigel before when he had the chance. Why dirty his own hands with violence when he had bred an army of halflings for that purpose?
Almost certainly the culprit was Fomalhaut, the court mage. He could be loyal to the queen and still disobey her orders if he saw a higher loyalty in ridding her of her half-breed retainer and rumored lover. This morning, when he had learned that Izar would be joining the excursion, it had been his idea to give the imp a reversion staff of his own, even though Rigel’s staff was quite capable of moving three people.
Seen that way, the plot made sense. Talitha’s popularity with the more puritanical starborn would soar; Rigel could live out the rest of his five-hundred-year lifespan in this game park as lord of the mudlings. Talitha might rage and threaten, but she needed Fomalhaut too much to dismiss him. Only the fluke of Izar’s losing his staff had spoiled the plan.
Also, Fomalhaut had prophesied several times that Rigel would die within months if he remained in the Starlands. Rigel had ignored that dire prediction, except to ask that he be given one week’s advance warning. If the mage foresaw that the halfling would enjoy a longer lifespan if exiled to Alathfar, he might have rationalized the kidnapping as a kindness.
But now it appeared that there might be starborn living in this subdomain, and that did not fit any of those theories. Anyone, even mudlings, could use amulets, but if the fire had been extinguished by extempore magic rather than an amulet, then the visitors were about to be confronted by at least one angry elfin mage. Rigel did not truly expect violence, which was not the starfolk’s way, but even if he were wrong, there would be no time for their adversary to generate extempore magic in a fight. It would be decided by amulets, and his were the best the royal collection could provide.
Halflings were another matter. If Hadar or other members of the Family were lurking in there after all, then Rigel Halfling would die, and he couldn’t even guess what that pack of sadistic half-human brutes would do to Avior. She was doing amazingly well just by staying sane, for her unexpected introversion to the Starlands had been even more jarring than his own. Everyone had limits, though, and there might be more shocks just ahead.
Izar he could trust to withstand almost anything, because Izar trusted him completely and would follow his lead. Feeling the starling edge closer to him, he put a hand on his shoulder.
“Izar, we need you to protect us. Please stay between me and Avior, all right?”
“I thought you were the bodyguard?” Avior said harshly.
“I’m starborn,” Izar said loftily, “and he’s just a halfling. Starborn never dare hurt one another, because then they die too. That’s the guilt curse.”
“And it doesn’t apply to halflings,” Rigel added. “You and I are fair game.”
They reached the steps and the main door swung open of its own accord, spilling golden light that seemed singularly unwelcoming. They all stopped.
“What happens now?” Avior asked.
“Heads we go home to Canopus and the queen,” Rigel said. “Tails, we go home to Canopus and the queen.” He wondered how many other sides the coin had.
They mounted the steps, crossed the veranda, and went through a doorway wide enough to take them in line abreast. They entered a very large room that, like so much of the Starlands, was clearly based on a terrestrial model. In this case, the theme was an old-world hunting lodge. Logs blazed heatlessly in a massive stone fireplace. Under a high open-beam ceiling, stuffed animal heads stared down glassily at overstuffed leather furniture and skins on the floor. It was at once cozy and imposing, barbaric and homey. Rigel had no trouble imagining it filled with talk and laughter, scores of noble guests in dinner jackets and crinolines discussing the day’s hunt as servants offered them glasses of champagne and Viennese waltz music tinkled from the concert grand piano that seemed so small over in the corner.
Their hostess stood in the center of the room, with fists clenched and chin raised in anger. He wondered what Avior would make of the first adult starborn she had seen. Her name was Shaula. She was as thin as a fashion model, and looked to be two meters tall to the tips of her ears. Her ears, wrists, fingers, and ankles glittered with jewelry, but her only garment was the usual brief loincloth of shimmery, half-translucent moon cloth. She had no navel, but very definitely did have nipples and admirably high breasts. Her skullcap of short fur was the same blazing blue as her eyes.
Rigel and Izar stopped in their tracks. Avior took one more pace, then backed into line with them. She ran her fingers through her Afro, an unconscious gesture she used often. Izar pulled free of Rigel’s hand and stepped forward so he had room to spread his arms as he bowed, clearly on his best behavior.
“May the stars shine on you forever, Starborn Shaula.”
“May your progeny outnumber the stars, Starling Izar. You are welcome here in Alathfar, and may stay. Your servants will go and dwell with the mudlings.”
Determined not to leave the negotiations to the starling, Rigel stepped around him and walked closer to Shaula, a deliberately provocative act. He stopped when she raised a hand in an elfin gesture that threatened magic.
“With respect, my lady, that cannot be. I am charged by Her Majesty to guard her son at all times. I demand that you speedily provide us all with transportation to the royal domain.”
“Demand?”
“Yes. In the queen’s name, I demand.”
“That cannot be.” Shaula smirked with worrisome confidence. Her arrogance filled the room like a bad smell. “There are no links to Alathfar, and it has no subdomains. I am a very solitary person. I live alone and tolerate no visitors. The starling will be safe here. I order you and that hairy monstrosity you brought with you to leave this house instantly. The mudlings will give you shelter. Go!”
He was used to elfin contempt by now and did not raise his voice. But he didn’t cower, either. “Every domain must have a root portal, or it will cease to exist.”
“Ours was sealed up centuries ago.”
“I have the queen’s warrant to use any force I consider necessary.”
“You dare threaten me, mongrel?”
Saiph leaped into his hand, its point angled against Shaula’s throat. She screamed, and Izar squeaked in alarm.
“Lady!” Rigel said. “Don’t even think about whatever you were starting to think about. This is Saiph, the king of swords, and I am armed with many other royal amulets besides. All I meant was that I have an amulet to identify magic, so I can find the portal. I can, and will, break the seal on it. Or, if you prefer, I shall continue burning your property, and I think my young friend and I can ignite faster than you can quench. You are already in the queen’s disfavor. You must know that you risk years in the Dark Cells if you hold her son here by force. I know that you’re lying about there being no way in or out, because you didn’t have to ask how we got here. Someone told you we were coming or had come. Perhaps you travel by means of an illegal reversion staff? I don’t care how you do it, but deliver us to the royal domain at once, and I will ask Her Majesty to be merciful.”
He lowered his sword to dismiss it, but Shaula was trembling with suppressed fury, and he felt his bracelet shiver as a warning to stay within reach of her. Then she nodded grimly.
“Very well. As you say, there is a root portal. Follow me.”
She turned on her heel and headed for a door at the far side of the room. Rigel gestured his companions forward and all three of them followed the starborn. The interesting question was not why Shaula had changed her mind so rapidly, but why she had glanced over at the piano before surrendering—very much as if she were asking permission. There was nobody over in that corner that Rigel could see, although that did not mean that there was nobody over in that corner.
The starborn led her unwelcome guests through to what was obviously the kitchen area, large enough for a dozen cooks to prepare a banquet. There she opened what appeared to be one of a set of drawers, wide and deep. It was a safe bet that anyone else opening it would find it full of pots or bowls, but for her the front of the drawer vanished completely, leaving a gap. Light shone through, and a cool breeze wafted out, carrying the scents and sounds of animals.
“Camels!” Izar said, bending to peer out. The opening was about knee high to waist high, fitting him better than the halflings. In a trice he slipped a leg over and slithered out. “Looks like Canopus!” he shouted. “I can see the lighthouse. Harpy!”
Detecting no warnings from Saiph, Rigel let Avior precede him. Then he nodded respectfully to Shaula. Anything more formal would have been mockery. He backed out, following the others.
The moment he was clear of the opening, it vanished, leaving him facing a wall of massive ashlar, black with the dirt of centuries. He invoked his sword and made a scratch on the block that hid the portal. Then he turned to study the stable yard and the camels, a dozen of them. They had been eating their evening feed at mangers on the far side of the clearing, and looked no more pleased to see him than Starborn Shaula had. A couple of them decided to come and investigate the visitors.
“Imp Izar, I have no desire to be spat at by that ruminant monstrosity. Short of setting the place on fire, what procedure do you recommend?”
Izar grinned. “Itching ring?”
“An excellent choice, if it works on camels. Try it.”
The imp pointed his left pinky at the closer of the two inquisitive bulls and scratched the back of his hand. The camel roared and began dancing and biting itself in obvious discomfort. Camels being smarter than they looked, the other remembered it had a meal to finish and swiftly reversed its course.
Then Rigel registered that Avior was glaring at him.
“What’s wrong?”
“You threatened that woman with your sword, that’s what’s wrong! Bully! Monster!”
He shook his head. “I didn’t do anything; Saiph did. Saiph is a defensive amulet. She was about to use some sort of magic against me. Starfolk go around armed very close to their teeth. Shaula had amulets on her fingers, in her ears, in bracelets and anklets. She hadn’t counted on a halfling being so well protected.” Which suggested that neither Hadar nor Fomalhaut had been behind the plot. Both were well aware of Saiph.
“You speak of it as if it were alive.”
“It very nearly is. On Earth you have computers that are able to scan a financial document and tell you if some of the numbers have been faked. Well, Saiph can detect threats out of thin air.”
He led the way across to the paddock gate and vaulted over it, into a predictably squalid alley. Avior ignored his offer of a helping hand. Izar tried to copy his hero and almost fell. They passed two buildings and turned a corner, emerging onto Small Harbor Street in Canopus, which Rigel knew well.
More daylight lingered here than in Alathfar, but the dhows in the harbor were all tied up and the roadway was almost deserted, compared to its usual hubbub. A bedraggled bird the size of a turkey flopped down on the top of the seawall. It had a diminutive human face and breasts.
“Where d’you think you’re going?” she screeched. “You’re supposed to stay where you are when you call us. You think I have time to follow you all over the city? Oh, it’s you, midget. Well, you should’a stayed in the camel shit, because that’s nothing compared to what you’re going to be in when your screechy mother gets her claws in you.”
Normally Izar enjoyed a slanging match with a harpy and could often hold his own, but this evening he was tired and hungry. “Shut your beak, crow! Go and tell my mother where I am. Zac’ly where I am!”
“And tell Commander Zozma, too,” Rigel said.
“Eat dirt, mule,” the harpy said. “The runt called me, not you. I can’t listen to both of you spew puke at the same time. And what are you doing parading around with your deformed ears showing? Your sponsor will have something to say about that, I shouldn’t—”
“Go!” Izar shouted.
Still grumbling, the smelly bird launched itself and flapped away over the water. Rigel also wore a harpy amulet. He shouted, “Harpy!” to summon another.
A troop of young human males strode past, just getting off work and chattering about their plans for the evening. They wore head cloths and long robes, Arab style. A half-naked elf rode by on a camel, then another on a unicorn.
Avior started to laugh. A snigger rapidly became giggles and hiccoughs and a rising tide of guffaws. Rigel grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Stop that! Stop! It’s all right. The danger’s over. You’re safe and among friends. If you want to go back to Earth, that can still be arranged.”
She clamped her mouth shut and stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. Then wailed, “Ears!” as if the word h
urt.
“You’ll have to get used to big ears if you’re going to stay here.” He put his arms around her and squeezed her tight. He wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do, and it wasn’t. For a moment she seemed to accept the embrace, but then she screamed, fought loose, and swung a haymaker at his face.
It connected and he reeled back, colliding with Izar and fighting madly to control Saiph, wrestling down his gauntleted right hand with his left. Avior seemed about to follow up with another punch, but the sight of the shining sword between them stopped her.
Rigel managed to lower it, and it vanished. Blinking back tears and rubbing his cheekbone, he said, “Lady!”
“She tried to kill you!” Izar squealed.
“No, of course she didn’t.” But she must have intended serious injury, or why else would his amulet have sprung to his defense?
She stuttered. “I…I’m sorry. I don’t like to be touched.”
“I’m sorry too,” he said grimly. “I certainly won’t do it again.” Fortunately his healing amulets would probably save him from developing a black eye. “And you’re doing wonderfully well. This has been the worst day of your life, and you’ve come through fine. Pretend you’re in a foreign country. Or Disneyland! You’d see Mickey Mouse ears everywhere in Disneyland and think nothing of them. We need to relax and eat. And sleep. There’s nothing for you to worry about now that we’re back in Canopus.”
“Your harpy’s here,” Izar warned.
Rigel turned to see a male one with a straggly mustache sitting on the seawall, smirking. “Well! What’s our hot little queen going to say when she hears that her pretty-boy half-breed has been brawling in the street with a mongrel trollop? You want me to call the guard, bawd?”
Rigel rejected a temptation to bring back Saiph and strike off the brute’s head. “Go tell the duty officer of the Palace Guard where I am and that I need transportation for three right away. Go!”
