Queen of Stars (Starfolk #2)

by Duncan, Dave

  Chapter 24

  Of course Hadar would strike first!

  Hadar was a terrorist and here his next target was laid out on a slab, waiting for him.

  The other air cars he’d seen, the ones hidden away in the trees, which he had assumed were transport for servants, belonged to the Family. No doubt they had completely encircled the station now and were starting to close in with whatever those bright weapons were.

  As he sprinted alongside the building, heading for the front lawn with the banquet tables, the servants clearing away dishes began to scream. More curls of smoke were rising from the ground. A pillar of white fire, far too bright to look at directly but roughly elf-sized, came sweeping into view from between two cottages and leaped into an open air car. The vehicle exploded in red and yellow flames. The white shape passed through the flames, descending to the ground on the near side. It kept coming, moving as quickly and steadily as if it were a person running.

  Rigel turned the second corner and raced for the front door. A male starborn, probably the last guest left outside, stood on the veranda screaming, “Salamanders!” at the starfolk in the building. “Flee!” he yelled. “Salamanders! Run for your lives!”

  That was no way to organize a defense, but what defense was there against moving pillars of fire?

  At the far side, another of the salamanders had almost reached the house, zigzagging across the lawn between the parked air cars, swatting at them with its hands as it passed, setting every one ablaze. Even the grass was erupting in flame and smoke wherever the creature’s feet touched, and it left a trail of black ash behind it. Oh, for a set of welder’s goggles! As near as Rigel could make out through almost-closed eyes, the salamander was a biped, somewhere between human- and elf-sized. He had no doubt by then that it must be a halfling, one of the Family somehow raised to white heat. He thought it was probably naked, but the incandescent white glow around it made the point immaterial. More and more of them were emerging from the forest, and now most of the outlying cabins were in flames.

  The closest salamander plowed into the banquet tables like a jet of molten iron, and carried straight on through them as they exploded into flame. Rigel changed direction to intercept it, or maybe her; something about the way this one was running made him suspect it might be a woman. Smoke stung at his eyes and throat, obscuring the scene.

  Saiph had become a sword and gauntlet, but the gauntlet extended almost to Rigel’s elbow and the sword was longer and thinner than usual. He recalled that the last person to wear Saiph had slain a dragon with it.

  Later he had died of burns.

  The heat from the salamander forced him to turn his face away and shield it with his left arm, but Saiph needed no guidance from him. He felt the blade penetrate flesh, and risked a quick glimpse. There, impaled on the end of his sword, he saw for a brief instant Alkes, the halfling who had driven the getaway car from Calgary. She was indeed naked, her hair awry, her eyes wide with horror, skewered below her left breast by Saiph’s deadly point. But then she vanished in a blaze of flame, consumed by her own magic.

  Hearing turmoil behind him, Rigel spun around. Through a haze of yellow afterimages, he saw the windows at the front of the house explode, showering the veranda with shattered glass and timber. Crowds of screaming elves started tumbling out. A salamander coming to intercept them leaped up on the veranda, cutting through the railing as if it were butter, but promptly vanishing into the floorboards in a gout of flame. The air was full of eye-nipping, choking smoke.

  A mob of servant mudlings, halflings, and elves had escaped from the main house only to run into a band of seven or eight unapproachable salamanders, who were now relentlessly herding them back. Rigel was trapped between them and the blazing veranda. The entire settlement seemed to be on fire now—buildings, air cars, even people. A screaming pegasus galloped past him with wings ablaze and vanished again into the fog. He lunged and cut at the attackers, Saiph slaying flaming halfling after flaming halfing, but his success attracted more attackers, and others began closing in on him. He was convulsed by coughing and could barely see what he was doing in the smoke and blinding light, but he sensed a shadow sweep over him. He felt his upper arms gripped in twin vises. The salamanders roared in fiery rage as he was swept up into the smoke, far out of their reach.

  Kitalphar had waited for him. Squinting up at her great beak and plumaged breast against the sky, he tried to thank her, but his lips were burned and his mouth too dry for speech. Below him, Alathfar was an inferno, every roof aflame. He closed his eyes and savored the cool rush of air on his scorched skin. He suspected that his moon-cloth wrap had burned away and did not care. He had a healing amulet on his left ankle, or was it the right? Didn’t matter. Kitalphar had rescued him. This time he would live and his burns could be healed.

  He wondered if Kurhah had managed to escape.

  Chapter 25

  Rigel’s amulets were strong enough to keep him alive until he returned to Canopus, where more potent magic restored him to health, but he was the only survivor of the Alathfar massacre. The toll of murdered starborn was tentatively set at fifty-five, although many of the elderly might have faded from the shock. How many mudlings and halflings had died could never be known. Two-thirds of Talitha’s council had perished, and it was a week before she managed to patch together enough of a government to hold a state funeral.

  The great court was packed with thousands of mourners, but no secondary thrones stood on the great steps. Izar was being kept in maximum security at Segin, driving his guards crazy. Standing on the sidelines with other government officials, mostly senior halflings and junior starborn, Rigel scanned as much of the crowd as he could see, wondering if the prince was present but dissembling. Was Hadar here somewhere? Had he brought any of his killers along to gloat? Naos Vildiar had been summoned to attend, but had not appeared when the funeral began.

  Officially the funeral was the only item on the agenda. Only three people knew that there might be a showdown right afterwards. The previous night, Rigel had persuaded Talitha to slip away with him by portal to her palace at Dziban—hoping to evade any seancing watchers that way—and had spent most of the night talking her into letting him make a public denunciation of Vildiar. This morning he had told the plan to Aspidiske, the new chancellor, but nobody else could possibly know what was about to happen. Hadar might very well guess that something would, though, and might have some sort of diversion or retaliation prepared.

  There was a strange mood in the great courtyard, almost an odor. The thousands gathered were sharing their sorrow, their fury, and their fear. Vildiar’s terrorism had focused the starfolk’s attention on politics as nothing else had ever done. For the first time something had distracted them from their frenetic pursuit of pleasure, their sex and sports and scandal. They were outraged, but they had no idea what to do about it.

  A Starlands state funeral was no novelty for Rigel, who had attended the rites for Regent-heir Kornephoros, but this one was different because it honored so many. The great court was filled with muffled sounds of grief. Talitha’s eulogy for the dead laid no blame. She did not denounce the Alathfar gathering as a treasonous conspiracy, but rather implied that it had been a celebration of Prince Kurhah’s return. The deaths she attributed to “foulest sorcery” without even hinting who might have been behind it. Everyone knew.

  Ever since the queen entered, the sun had been growing fainter, the air cooler. When she finished speaking and sat down again, mournful horns wailed. The last thin slice of sun vanished behind the darkness of the moon, and night replaced noon below the corona’s ghostly flames of glory.

  Only three biers commemorated the dead because officially only three bodies had been recovered, all burned beyond identification. That way every mourning family could hope that one of the three coffins held their dear one, but Rigel knew that the caskets contained nothing more than timber for ballast and a few charred teeth and bone fragments, some of which were probably not even el
fin. The destruction at Alathfar had been total. The domain itself had followed its owner into the void, fortunately fading slowly enough for the spear-carrying mudlings of the theme park village to be rescued.

  With the sun snuffed out, and the black moon crowned in pearl, a myriad stars arrived to accept the spirits of the departed. The biers ignited in the usual upward roar of white fire. Were there more than the usual number of sparks ascending? Chancellor Aspidiske might have arranged something appropriate. All too soon daylight came rushing back, seemingly much faster than it had gone. And the crowd’s strange, all-pervading mood was now a dirge of despair. Who would be next and who could put a stop to this slaughter?

  Now Halfling Rigel must stiffen his backbone, square his shoulders, and prepare to risk a ghastly death on the Star of Truth. Cowardice whispered in his ear that the gamble was not worth it; that even if he survived, he would gain very little. Vildiar was too strong now. His terrorists ruled the Starlands in all but name. Who dared oppose him?

  A tweenling? If no elf stepped forward to support him today, then the cause was lost and so was he.

  Talitha sat hunched, almost crouching, on the great throne, with her arms folded and her radiance reduced to a faint bluish glow. Rigel dared not meet her eye in case she signaled that she had changed her mind yet again, and he was not to proceed. For hours in the night he had argued, cajoled, persuaded, and even threatened. He was convinced, and had eventually persuaded her, that if she were to let Vildiar commit such an atrocity without so much as sticking her tongue out at him, her credibility as a ruler would plummet well below zero. That would leave Vildiar as the only possible alternative. It had been close to dawn before she had reluctantly agreed. By then they had both been too exhausted to do anything more romantic than fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  The odious Elgomaisa stood beside the throne, arms folded, permanent sneer in place. Even the two crouching sphinxes were wrinkling their noses, but they were probably reacting to the smell of fear from the crowd.

  Chancellor Aspidiske was an elf of the very oldest school, having served as King Procyon’s chancellor, back before the time of Christ. His hair was still deep scarlet and his backbone as straight as a laser beam. He had very little use for halflings in coal-scuttle helmets, but his opinion of mass murderers, Naos or not, was even lower. He had grudgingly spared Rigel “half a minute, no more” before the funeral service began, glaring at him with ever-increasing fury as he relayed the queen’s new instructions.

  A denunciation at a funeral? Shameful! A halfling accusing a Naos? Worse!

  “Not only will your complaint have absolutely no standing in law, but the prince will be within his rights if he insists that you be turned over to him for punishment. You can’t be stupid enough not to know what that will mean.”

  It would mean as much as Saiph let it mean, but all Rigel said was, “All I plan to demonstrate is that the accusation is true by making it on the Star. Then some starborn will take my place and repeat it.”

  Aspidiske glowered. His eyes and hair were the color of fresh blood. “Such as whom?”

  “Such as Court Mage Fomalhaut, my lord. I plan to quote his report on the Front Street massacre. Prince Vildiar never denied that the dead halflings were his retainers. Fomalhaut will certainly be willing to confirm his own conclusions.”

  “Fomalhaut? Oh, him.” The old starborn spoke as if Fomalhaut was an upstart child. “Well, I wish you luck. You’ll probably just make things worse.”

  “I don’t think they can get much worse, my lord.”

  Aspidiske lowered his bloody eyebrows like window shades. “You may be right,” he conceded. Rigel took that as progress, a major concession.

  Now the time had come, but Talitha seemed paralyzed on her throne. Things had already gotten worse, because while Court Mage Fomalhaut ought to be standing where Rigel was, with the royal officials, he was nowhere to be seen. He was tall, even by elfin standards, and had distinctive golden hair; he ought to stand out if he was anywhere near the front of the main crowd, but there was no sign of him. Who would follow up Rigel’s lead? It would take two to draw Vildiar’s fangs.

  Was that why Talitha was hesitating? Had she noticed the mage’s absence? Rigel had no idea whether she was going to give him his cue or just dismiss the assembly. Elgomaisa whispered to her impatiently. Mourners were already starting to slip out the many exits from the court, not waiting for royal permission. Rigel had just decided that she was not going to follow through with the plan—which, he realized, would be a huge personal relief—when she straightened up and said, “Chancellor. We commanded Vildiar Naos to come before us today. Is he in the court?”

  Aspidiske ordered the heralds to summon Prince Vildiar. Trumpets blared. A magically enhanced voice shouted for Naos Vildiar to come forth. The court went quieter than Rigel would have believed possible, as if everyone had stopped breathing. He strained to detect the new mood: more fear? Or could it be the first twinge of hope?

  Suddenly the giant Vildiar was there, striding up the wide steps. Where he had come from, Rigel had no idea, and nobody else seemed to either, for the front rows of the congregation uttered simultaneous yelps of alarm. At the edges of the court, more people continued to trickle away.

  One step down from the throne and slightly to the queen’s right, the tall elf halted and spread his great arms in an elfin bow. Then he straightened up and insolently put his fists on his hips.

  “How may I please Your Majesty?”

  “We have honored our dead,” Talitha said. Her voice was soft, but everyone could hear it. “Now we must investigate their deaths.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot help you, my dear. I wasn’t there. I was kite riding with some starborn friends, over at…” He stopped and turned to watch Rigel heading for the Star of Truth.

  Rigel took his time, scanning the crowd again as he walked. Still no Fomalhaut! He tucked his helmet under his arm, stepped onto the Star, turned to face the throne, and knelt.

  “Your Majesty, I call for justice.”

  This was how it was done.

  The chancellor strode forward to stand nearer the throne, on the opposite side from Vildiar. Aspidiske looked thousands of years younger than he truly was. He might be even older than Kurhah had been, but he didn’t speak with the same surly geriatric certainty.

  “Identify yourself and state your complaint.”

  Counselor Pleione should be conducting this case, for she had done the legal research on which it would be based, but Pleione had died with the rest at Alathfar.

  Vildiar was watching warily, no doubt wondering what venom had been brewed up in the queen’s kitchens. Beside the throne, Elgomaisa stood glaring, furious that he had been left out of the secret.

  “I am Rigel Halfling, retainer of Queen Talitha, and I accuse Vildiar Naos.” Here it came. Deep breath. “Several of his halfling retainers have been supplied with, and have used, amulets of Lesath grade.”

  Rigel’s tongue did not become a burning coal in his mouth.

  He must not say, because he did not know for certain, that Vildiar had provided the weapons. That sort of inference was reserved for the queen. There was no need to say it, because the law was known to everyone present: A starborn who sponsored halfling retainers was responsible for their behavior. No other starborn would give them amulets of any sort.

  Vildiar snorted and seemed to relax. The charge was petty, about equivalent to accusing an earthbound homeowner of disturbing his neighbors by holding loud parties or letting a dog bark. The audience knew that too, and sounds of befuddlement and irritation rumbled throughout the courtyard.

  “What evidence do you offer?” the chancellor demanded.

  This was where Starlands court procedure deviated from an earthly court of law. Any eyewitness evidence Rigel managed to give would be treated as fact.

  “About six months ago, while on Queen Electra’s business, I entered a building on Front Street which I had been informed belonged to Na
os Vildiar. I was accosted by four halflings, who indicated to me that they were his retainers. They were armed with Lesath amulets, which they used against me. One of them, Halfling Hadar, escaped through the portal. My amulet, Saiph, slew the others: the female halfling Adhil, and the male halflings Tarf and Muscida.”

  Details of the fight on Front Street were not generally known, and the crowd immediately broke into speculative chatter. Chancellor Aspidiske had to call for order. He asked a question that Rigel had given him beforehand.

  “You faced odds of four to one and yet killed three of them? Your amulet obviously has massacre potential, but it does not sound as if theirs did.”

  The audience sniggered, but it was a sound of nervousness, not mirth. Vildiar shrugged, looking bored.

  Rigel continued. “In calling their amulets Lesaths, my lord, I was quoting the report that Court Mage Fomalhaut later made to Her Majesty.” Rigel noticed that Talitha was frowning. Clearly she did not like the way things were unfolding, and if she, sitting higher than anyone else, could not see Fomalhaut in court, then he probably wasn’t. The old elf had not been informed that his presence would be required, because the queen had insisted on total secrecy, but he had always claimed to be prescient. Ominous!

  “The court mage,” Rigel continued, “was especially offended by amulets worn by both male corpses, which had made their blood a deadly topical poison. In trying to heal their wounds, Regent-heir Kornephoros got their blood on his hands. That was what killed him.”

  Uproar. Horror. Calls for order.

  The chancellor was starting to look much happier than he had just a few minutes ago. By tying in the death of Kornephoros, Rigel had raised his case to a much higher level. Vildiar was frowning again and glancing over the crowd, as if seeking out supporters. Talitha’s greatest fear had been that this confrontation could end in another massacre, or even civil war. She might be right yet.