The Sand Prince

by Kim Alexander

  Malloy, alive and with me, she thought. Worth it. "Please do not attempt to scare me, Zaal. I understand I will eventually have to give up something of value, more than likely at the most inconvenient time."

  He nodded, suddenly brisk and businesslike. He led her to the largest thing in the dimly lit room, a circular table marked and scored with grooves and indented here and there with narrow holes. It was ugly. She was glad for the low light, because it was stained and he apparently wanted her to put her hand on it.

  The table bit her. She jumped back, surprised, and looked at her hand. The third finger of her right hand, nipped open, just exactly as if by sharp teeth. As she watched, the little mark faded and vanished.

  "You are recorded, Princess." He handed her back the book and its wrapper. "Payment will be due."

  "But he’ll be safe?"

  "Allow me to repeat myself. He’ll be alive. This I say without hesitation. How he comports himself is up to him, safe or damaged, it’s all the same to the charm we just worked."

  Hellne had never been so glad to shimmer, using her gift to take her back to her own chambers in one-two-three heartbeats. Her rooms were dark and Yaanda, her Prime maid had long since gone to her own bed, leaving one small stone lit on the bedside table, a slim silver pitcher of fresh water, and Hellne’s feather light silk quilt turned down. Feeling restless and not ready to retire, Hellne went out onto her terrace, taking a moment to trail her hand through a potted lavender plant, crushing the tiny flowers between her fingers. The scent, sweet and fragile, reminded her of Malloy. Malloy, who was now safe.

  She went to the low rail and looked out over her city. It was quite dark, both moons had set, and most households had put out their stones. Gazing at the far distant line of mountains, she noticed a smudge on the horizon, dark on dark. It wasn’t the season for rain, but she supposed there was a storm coming in. She sighed and stepped back into her room, throwing her heavy gown on the floor, but then she picked it back up and retrieved her book from the slashed pocket.

  Alive, I made sure of it. You’ll be fine and whatever happens, I’ll see you again. She tenderly kissed the silk wrapped book and hid it in the back of her desk, behind an overflowing dish of necklaces and a jumble of pens, paper, and corked bottles of ink, and went to bed comforted that Malloy would soon be back at her side.

  When the storm came, it was made of magic, not rain, and when it had passed, the life and the city Hellne knew were changed forever. Her father was dead. Her brother, like so many others, vanished. The Zaal and all the senior Mages, her father’s council and court, gone. Yaanda, her friends, clan brothers and sisters, gone. More than half the city was rubble and smoke. Her garden was gone, all the gardens were gone. The humans had struck with no warning and left no escape—The Door between the worlds was locked. The surviving demons would live or die as best they could in the sand and ash left behind.

  The charm, however, held fast.

  Chapter 4

  The Duke rubbed one hand against the other as if his wrist was aching him.

  It was an old injury, Cybelle knew, from the days when he'd fought, stripped to the waist and gleaming, in the basements and cellars of Mistra. It was after the War, and she thought he fought against his own memories as much as his unlucky opponents. He never lost. Had he conquered those terrible visions as surely as his opponents? She thought perhaps not.

  -The Claiming of the Duke, pg 35

  Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)

  Mistra

  1 day after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar

  Hours later, Eriisai calendar

  The Guardhouse

  "Nice work my lad." Malloy's friend David slapped him hard on the back, knocking him forward a step. "They said you weren't good for anything but scribbling love poems in your room, but I knew you had some meat in you." The young man paused on the stair leading to the great common room and added, "I hear she didn't suspect a thing. Ha! Classic Malloy."

  Malloy followed his friend and the rest of the yawning, joking group of apprentices and novices. He rubbed his head, trying to figure out what David meant. Suspect what thing? And why did everyone think he wrote love poems? He'd told them it was an adventure story often enough.

  Still grumbling, he took his seat on one of the benches in the long, dark room. The masters and clerics and tradesmen that came and went took their meals in pleasant rooms with light and air, but their errand boys sat and ate on rough wooden benches in a hall lit by greasy torches. The huge kettle of oatmeal hanging over the grate sent up a nutty smell that made his stomach rumble, despite the throbbing in his temple. He’d had a little too much wine to celebrate the rare night off; he was paying for it now. He'd fallen asleep early and awakened late, but at least he was on time for breakfast.

  His master, and the other ambassadors and clerics, were gathered at the front of the big room looking even worse than he felt, but there was an air of celebration. He wondered what they'd been up to; they usually didn't join their lessers this early in the day. Then he remembered his worry. What happened last night? He’d gone to attend his master the ambassador only to be turned away at the door. He thought he’d seen a glimpse of the Eriisai ambassador, and he thought he’d seen knives. But he must have been mistaken. He and a red-haired serving girl exchanged looks, and she handed him the wine she would not be serving his master, before disappearing down the hall.

  The head cleric stood up to address the roomful of rowdy young men, and they settled into silence at once.

  "This is a great day for Mistra." He paused and looked to the men beside him and grinned—actually grinned. Malloy felt his balls shrink up into his stomach. "This is a day we've been working for, all of us, some in great roles—" and here he indicated the Mistran ambassador, "and some in positions that were more, shall we say, discreet." And to Malloy’s astonishment, the cleric pointed right at him. "Stand up, Malloy. It is partly due to your hard work that we were successful in our endeavors."

  Malloy stood and looked around. Everyone was applauding, and those nearby reached out to whap him on the shoulder. He sat as soon as it seemed appropriate. The cleric continued.

  "The charm we've been working on all these months was deployed through The Door before first light. It was completely effective." More cheering. "The threat from Eriis is over. Those who survived are unable to retaliate with their own weapons, because The Door is now sealed with the blood of humans, and as we well know, there are no longer any humans on Eriis." The group of them triumphantly raised their arms to show off their matching knife marks—they had been the donors. The ambassador from Eriis had been helpful as well, providing a great deal of his own blood, along with several internal organs. He was not present that morning, his remains having been stuffed into a barrel and buried in the Guardhouse's dump.

  By the Veil, by the Veil, by the Veil, Malloy tried to focus. It couldn't be true. He was just there yesterday. And they'd done one better than just closing The Door, they'd done some grotesque blood magic and burnt the city down. He thought of Hellne and managed to vomit sour wine on the floor between his feet, rather than on the table.

  "To commemorate this astonishing victory, the Quarter Moons party will—from this day forward—celebrate our safety and freedom behind The Door. The demon enemy is vanquished. We will have much more to say and great plans for the future, but for now let us consider these to be days of rest. Our work begins again the day after the Quarter Moons party. Until then, enjoy your well-earned liberty."

  The young men wasted no time gulping down their gruel and tea and coffee and bread, and filing out to their own pursuits. Malloy made to follow them, his head spinning, but the head cleric and his master waved him over.

  He followed them to the cleric's personal study, a low ceilinged room with a huge fireplace dominating one end and an equally huge desk, a great slab of blackened oak at the other. Between them were sagging, overfilled bookshelves. Twin round windows of wavy glass show
ed the green world outside.

  Malloy sat on a stool in front of the desk and waited. He wasn't sure what he'd done to be singled out, but only hoped he hadn't somehow helped them destroy Eriis. The taste of vomit lingered in his throat and nose and his head throbbed.

  "We are in your debt, young man," said the cleric. "Without you, we never would have caught the demons unaware."

  "Thank you, sir," he said slowly. "I was only doing as I was instructed."

  His master the ambassador laughed and slapped him on the back again and said, "We only told you to watch her, we didn't tell you to make her follow you around like a puppy dog. You had that little demon bitch right where you wanted her! And more than once, I'll wager. Kept her away from her kin and away from their plans and plots. She was supposed to be watching us!"

  "I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand. I kept her entertained, as you said. We... grew close. But, she didn't know anything about any plans."

  "Hmm?" The cleric leaned forward in his chair behind the he desk. "Certainly she did. That's why they had her in such close proximity with us; she was supposed to report back to her father and brother. You came between her and her little job. Very well done."

  "No," Malloy said, "I don't think so. I don't think there was any plot at all. I never heard anything about them preparing any weapon. And you've blasted them with something? And sealed The Door? Why? They were trying to teach us." He knew he was crying but couldn't stop his tears or his mouth. "I loved Hellne, she was beautiful. They didn't want to harm us. Why would you do this?"

  The cleric and the ambassador looked over Malloy's head at each other. The ambassador said, "You're saying you had affection for that creature? You didn't seduce her to gather information?"

  "Well, it started out that way. You said to keep her entertained! But I didn't have to pretend to want to be with her." Oh, Hellne, I'm so sorry. He thought of her rare smiles, her perfect breasts, her sharp teeth, and covered his face with his hands.

  The cleric said, "And it never occurred to you why we might want to keep the princess occupied?" He folded his arms and sneered, "Did you imagine it was all for fun?"

  "Perhaps we misjudged this one," the ambassador said. "He only seems clever. I think we just got lucky. He would have been catting around with that demon girl whether we told him to or not." He sighed, disappointed.

  "No, this is wrong," Malloy looked up at them. "You've done something terrible. We must open The Door and help the survivors."

  "The others mustn’t hear this nonsense," said the cleric. "Lock him in his cell until he's sorted out his 'feelings'."

  "Often there is a sort of delusion that comes when working in the field, as our Malloy has done. Some time alone will mend him. And if that doesn't work, there's always the lash. I've seen it change many a mind."

  ***

  "Malloy, wake up, now. I know it's been a few weeks, but we thought a nice visit today would be just the thing. Your master and I would like to talk about the demons, and Eriis, and how they were our enemy. Do you feel up to that?"

  "Throwing things at us is not going to bring that girl back, young man. Now you've lost your water cup, you'll have to drink out of the bowl. Hmm. Well, we'll be back in a few weeks to see how you are progressing."

  ***

  "He's not talking to us at all, Ambassador. He sits on the floor and writes in the dust with his spoon. He has not repented. I think we've wasted enough time on sorting out his feelings. Let’s leave this to others with more time on their hands...."

  ***

  WHAP

  "It's all wrong, you're wrong. I taught her how to kiss. We were in love. They wouldn't hurt us."

  WHAP

  "She loved to go to the theater. She had pretty hair."

  WHAP

  "I made her laugh. I carried her around her room."

  WHAP

  "I... think she told her brother what we talked about. But, no...."

  WHAP

  "She burned my skin many times. She wasn't human."

  whap

  whap

  "The demons meant to destroy us all. She was a lying bitch and a spy."

  tap....

  "Malloy, would you like a glass of water? And perhaps a bath?"

  "Please, may I stay here and help to keep The Door shut?"

  "But what about your book? We understand it has developed quite a following among ladies of a certain age and intellect."

  "I only wish to serve the Order."

  After six months, he got his wish.

  Chapter 5

  Eriis City

  1 year after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar

  5 years later, Mistran calendar

  Under the Palace

  One day, Hellne's Mages requested her presence.

  This in itself was a surprise, since the Weapon, even the new Zaal was rarely seen above ground. Always reclusive, they had become even more secretive. Even in the terrible days following the Weapon, as her father crossed over from life to the place beyond the Veil, the Zaal had not come to offer respect. The guidance she was expecting, even from this unwelcome source, was never offered. She suspected their air of mystery was a cover for their guilt—for had they not failed in every fundamental way? They had failed to see the threat from the human world. They had failed to safeguard the city. And they had failed to protect even their own ranks—the entirety of the Peermage, the keepers of that vast repository of knowledge, had fallen that first day.

  She’d hoped the deal she’d made had died with the old Zaal, but why else would they want to see her?

  "Can I leave you alone for an hour?" She sighed. "That’s not very motherly, is it?"

  The baby just gazed at her, as usual. She hadn't gotten used to another presence in her chambers, and although she was used to all eyes following her, this one made her uneasy with the directness of its stare. At least the child was quiet. She lifted him—he was heavy—and put him in a woven basket, covering him with a blanket. Hopefully people would think she was carrying a load of sand. Wrestling an entire population away from starvation and despair had been easy compared to how this small creature had taken over her life. Everyone wanted to see him. Everyone cooed over him—she couldn't understand the fuss, it was just a baby. 'What's his name?' they all asked. She said she hadn't decided. She could barely stand to look at him, much less call him by a name.

  She thanked Light and Wind (but not Rain, not anymore) that at least it had the appearance of a normal child. Babies had tiny little features and this one had inherited most of the proper ones. If he had been born with light hair or brown eyes, she’d decided she'd take a quiet trip to the Crosswinds and come back alone. But the little thing had the correct black hair and red eyes, although she could see by their shape that those eyes would one day be a problem. Well, that was for the future. Right now, she kept the baby alive, and at least it didn't scream all night.

  She didn't relish taking him downstairs to the Raasth, though. That dark place felt unwholesome, and what if the baby caught something—a chill? Was that something humans caught? Or half-humans?

  "Nearly there," she said, half to herself, half to the baby, as she crossed the square and passed through the old statue garden. It made a strange contrast, the garden—now a broken jumble, of course—hard up against a grim looking hole in the city wall. She nodded at the statue of her father, which had survived with the loss of only a hand and part of his face, took a deep breath, hoisted the basket, and readied herself for an unpleasant meeting.

  But when she finally arrived at the entrance to their series of chambers, down and down what felt like miles of stairs under the oldest part of the city, it seemed they'd anticipated her unease. They'd turned the lights up, for one thing. The soft glow came from all around—she couldn’t quite pinpoint the source, but they'd made it bright enough to see all the little ceremonial items tucked into nooks along the walls. She'd heard that to enter the Conclave, one must give up something personal, something of gre
at value to the future Mage. The elders would somehow look inside the item to see inside their potential brother. And now it was bright enough for Hellne to see what she hadn’t noticed, a year earlier. Dolls with delicately painted faces, little toy animals, a well-used chlystron, books, bundles of letters, all stacked towards the ceiling and out of sight. Some were so old they were little more than heaps of dust. But other than these untouched relics, there was no other dust to be found. The doors were open, the floor swept, and there was a clean pitcher of cold water waiting for her. The grubby worktables had been covered with fresh paper and the dirty old work books had been carefully wiped clean. Nothing could completely mask the smell of blood and dust, and there was no way to hide the enormous ceremonial platform that dominated the space, but this was a noticeable improvement.

  "Madam," they said, "Your Grace, you honor us. Let us take your burden and come and sit and talk. Share our water." One of them, the newly appointed Zaalmage, reached for her basket. There were four, but only the Zaalmage would speak, as was proper. The others in their sooty robes remained just out of the circle of candlelight, watching. The one who spoke, spoke for all.

  Do they even have tongues? she wondered.

  "Thank you, Zaalmage, but I will keep this by my side." She put the basket between her feet, adjusting the blanket. She was seized by the desire to keep the baby away from their eyes. "I will gladly share your water." She sipped the three sips, and the Zaalmage did the same. She sat back and waited.

  "Madam," he said after a moment, "We have found something. We think." He glanced back at his fellows. "As Your Grace knows, our masters are no longer with us. The loss of the combined knowledge of the Peermage was incalculable. It is as if The Weapon knew who of us to take, leaving only us worthless apprentices and novices. We had much to do to even trace their footprints, much less follow them."

  "Yes," she agreed mildly, "it seems to have left behind only the most useless."

  The Zaalmage blanched. The others shifted uncomfortably. "Not at all Madam, what I was implying, no, everyone knows without your guiding—"