She finally sank down on a silken couch and gathered her thoughts. The girl was small loss. Veranta doubted if she’d ever have been able to make a profitable marriage bargain with that numbskull. Word had spread throughout Kelshan that the middle daughter of Imperatrix Veranta was sadly lacking in even primitive wits. The only worry was if some opportunist citizen had kidnapped the girl – luring her away from the Citadel would have been pitifully easy. If Shea was a hostage then Veranta could expect a ransom demand within hours.
The serious problem was Pule. Veranta clenched her fists and her teeth, then forced herself to relax again. Riders had already gone to check Pule’s large estate holding to the south east of the City. Veranta was convinced the old man would not be found there. She’d checked with Ternik and found the mage prostrate from over expenditure of her mage powers on her search for traces of Pule and his apprentice as well as Shea. But despite Ternik’s efforts, she had found no traces.
Veranta’s fist smashed down onto her knee: where was the crafty bastard? Oh yes. She’d had her suspicions for years. Such an affable old man, kindly, avuncular. No one could be so consistently nice as could Waxin Pule. But she had never caught him out. Time and again he had repeated the same answers to her carefully rephrased questions. Veranta was convinced he of all her Council – of all her citizens quite likely – somehow knew details of the Dark Realm.
She’d had him closely watched, his letters intercepted, read and sent on. She had scribes skilled in codes work over copies of those letters and the results had always been the same – nothing. Not for one moment did Veranta consider a connection between Shea’s disappearance with Pule’s. Her rage partially quenched, Veranta rang for a maid. ‘Tidy up in here at once,’ she ordered, straightening her dark green jacket.
She favoured jackets cut short which had the effect of emphasising the breadth of her hips, but she had never noticed, and no one would have dared point it out. The green trousers similarly were far too tight, but her maids and tailors agreed the Imperatrix must see what she wished to see when she looked in a mirror, rather than a true reflection.
The Inner Council met in a medium sized chamber adjacent to Veranta’s offices and fifteen men and women got to their feet as the Imperatrix arrived. They waited until she’d sat down, then reseated themselves. One elderly woman remained on her feet however: Catha, one of the Bankers’ Guild representatives.
‘On behalf of this Council my lady, I must express our great concern at the disappearance of the Lady Shea. Is there no news of her my lady?’
Veranta had almost forgotten about Shea but she nodded at Catha’s little speech.
‘No news but she’s bound to turn up soon enough.’
She missed the exchange of significant glances among some of the Council as she stared down at her hands clasped on the table top.
‘I have far more serious concerns. Advisor Pule is also missing. There is no indication that he was taken from his rooms by force, but there is also no sign of him anywhere in the Citadel or the City.’ She lifted her head and stared at each Council member. ‘Therefore, I can only assume he has – left – voluntarily. The suddenness of his departure proves to me at least, that Waxin Pule was a traitor to Kelshan.’ Her words fell into a silence that stretched on.
It was broken by the middle aged Raffer, representative of the Metallurgists’ Guild. ‘Advisor Pule has served the Imperium faithfully since your father’s accession my lady. He is much respected and held in affection by all of us.’ Heads nodded agreement all round the table. ‘He has been in ill health these last several years, how could he travel swiftly anywhere when he can no longer even go to his estates? He was kind to me in my first appointment to your Councils and taught me much. You must be mistaken my lady.’
A murmur buzzed among the Council members. Veranta stood up, staring hard at Raffer.
‘I. Must. Be. Mistaken. Is that what I heard you say Councilman? You dare contradict me?’ The Imperatrix’s voice had risen, her words clear despite the stridency.
Raffer paled but stood firm, his shoulders straight and his jaw set. ‘I stand by my words my lady. Advisor Pule could never be a traitor to the Imperium.’
‘You say Pule trained you up in Council matters – perhaps you should be put to the question on this matter.’
Utter silence followed Veranta’s words once more. Raffer clasped his hands to conceal their sudden trembling.
‘If that is your wish my lady, I bow to your commands as always.’
Veranta shrieked for the guards to take him away and Raffer went, with all the dignity he could manage. When the door closed behind him and his escort, Veranta again looked round the table.
‘Does anyone else share that Councilman’s opinions?’ Her tone was soft now, full of womanly sensitivity. The silence remained unbroken.
‘Good. As we are now in agreement, I ask you all to search your memories for anything the traitor may have said to you over the last weeks. Anything that could help us discover where he may now be. Hints of any foul plans he may have laid for insurrection within the City. Names he might have mentioned who could be his accomplices. I will have your reports by midday tomorrow and I am quite sure they will be full reports with helpful information in them.’
She smiled, not noticing the shudders from several Council members.
‘Of course, you will not reveal the discovery of Pule’s treachery to any beyond this company.’
Veranta exited with her guards, leaving fourteen stunned men and women sitting at the long table.
After settling Waxin Pule on the grass, propped against their two packs, Grent turned his attention to Seola. She was pale as milk, her skin clammy and cold. Nenat staggered across, sinking to her knees beside Seola. She fumbled at the pouches on her belt and crushed some dried leaves under Seola’s nose. Nenat seemed in only a slightly better condition than her patient but at least she was conscious and functioning. Gossamer Tewk sat beside Pule an expression of outraged disbelief on her face. Pule was patting her arm comfortingly and speaking in a low murmur. The Lady Shea was turning in a slow circle, gazing around her, her eyes shining with excitement.
She hopped across to squat beside Pule and Gossamer.
‘That was fun wasn’t it?’ she beamed. ‘I think we’ve come a simply enormous distance. Do you know exactly where we are Master Pule?’
Gossamer regarded the girl with disgust. Fun? When she met Shea in Pule’s rooms in the Citadel she’d wondered why the girl was said to be a lack wit. Perhaps public gossip had been right after all. Gossamer averted her gaze from the grinning child and stared around her. They were in a meadow with large trees fringing the edges. The sun seemed directly overhead so she judged it to be the middle of the day, but she had no way of knowing north from south. She watched Grent helping the old herb woman lie down next to Seola. A movement beyond them, at the edge of the trees, caught her eye.
‘Would those men be friends Master Pule? I don’t think we’re in much of a state to argue with anyone.’ She touched the knives in her sleeves and wondered if Grent knew even basic weapon skills.
‘Friends,’ Pule nodded, watching the group of men jog rapidly towards them.
Six men, lightly armed, led by another man. He had a round black shield strapped across his back and his sword remained in its plain black scabbard. He was bare headed, revealing grey hair much longer than was the norm in Kelshan. The six men halted a few paces from the travellers but their leader came on. He went to one knee beside Seola and touched her forehead lightly.
‘She had too little rest between travelling,’ Grent stammered.
The man’s teeth showed in a brief smile of acknowledgement. He studied Nenat with a frown then rose to go to the others. Pule tried to struggle to his feet as the man watched. Finally, leaning heavily on Gossamer and Shea, he was upright.
‘I presume I have the honour of greeting the Shield Master of the Dark? I am Waxin Pule, born of the Dark.’
The man stared
hard at him. ‘Well, you’ve aged far worse than me Waxin – do you not remember me? I am Garrol and, as you say, I am now Shield Master.’
He gestured to his men and they moved in pairs – two to lift Seola, two to Nenat and, despite his protests, two to Waxin Pule. The three invalids were easily carried and one man also lifted the largest of the packs which had been supporting Pule. Gossamer Tewk and Grent slung their own packs over their shoulders and Grent offered a hand to Shea. She took it and marched along beside him.
‘I’ve never been in a place like this,’ she told him.
He glanced down at her in surprise.
‘I’ve never been outside the Citadel. Mellia has – she’s had to go to ceremonies at the Guild Houses with mother since her thirteenth birthday. Kerris and I have never been out. Did you know Mellia is fifteen at the next full moon but one?’
Grent stumbled: he’d been staring down at Shea rather than watching where he was going. Steadying himself, he caught the Shield Master’s eye. Garrol was walking at Shea’s other side and listening to her prattle.
‘You’ve never been outside child?’ he asked.
‘Oh there are two gardens we’re allowed in sometimes, on the roof of the third level – that’s one level below where we live. But there’s no grass, only poor flowers stuck in pots and things.’
Garrol exchanged a bemused look with Grent and cleared his throat. ‘We aren’t far from the Palace now,’ he began.
‘Palace?’ Shea interrupted. ‘Is that like the Citadel?’
‘Well I don’t know. The Karmazen Palace is beautiful – is your Citadel beautiful?’
They walked in silence while Shea considered the question. ‘I don’t think so. It’s all grey stone piled on top of grey stone. It’s very cold in the winter and chilly even in the summer. Is your Palace truly beautiful?’
Garrol smiled. ‘You’ll be able to see for yourself in a few minutes, but I’ll tell you now. It is a red and black mountain. Karmazen means crimson in the ancient tongue.’
They’d reached the trees by now and were following a narrow path between straight golden brown trunks. Branches only began to sprout from the trees at two or three man lengths above their heads. Grent felt an odd pang as he watched Shea’s face. She stared up, and up, marvelling at the pale green leaves whispering and waving so far over them. Garrol’s expression showed a momentary flash of anger and Grent knew the Shield Master was shocked that a child could reach Shea’s age never having stood beneath a mighty forest tree. The trees formed only a brief barrier and they soon emerged onto a smooth rock plateau.
The men carrying Pule stopped so he could gaze out at the neat houses in a shallow valley ahead. Above the houses rose a smooth mountain of red and black stone, polished and gleaming in the sun. There was no particular pattern to the colours but somehow it formed a mosaic pleasing to the eye. Gossamer had halted beside Pule. She glanced at his face and was not surprised to see tears pouring down into his beard.
‘Is it familiar Pule?’ she asked.
The two men holding Pule stared at Gossamer impassively. Pule stretched a trembling hand towards the huge structure.
‘Where I was born.’ He choked on the words and his breathing suddenly became a wheezy rattle.
Garrol flicked his fingers. The men carrying Pule turned at once, increasing their speed. They hurried down a gradual slope to a black stone bridge which spanned a river edging the first of the houses. Garrol shrugged and followed the men.
‘Seola told us his lungs were damaged. Our healers will be able to help him quite considerably.’
Shea let go of Grent’s hand and dashed ahead to the bridge. She leaned over the parapet and gazed down at the racing water below.
‘Who is this child? Why did she travel with you?’ Garrol looked between Grent and Gossamer for an answer. Grent sighed.
‘It appears she ran away and came to our quarters – Master Pule’s quarters that is. There was no time left and Seola brought us all through the gateway. We could never have explained her presence with us to her mother’s satisfaction.’
Garrol frowned as he and Grent followed Gossamer onto the bridge.
‘Her mother?’ he asked in puzzlement.
Grent snorted. ‘Shea’s mother is the Imperatrix Veranta of Kelshan and the Confederacies.’ He took what he knew to be a childish delight in watching the Shield Master’s face. Disbelief, shock, and dawning horror were revealed on his countenance.
Grent’s amusement vanished and his tone became sour. ‘She is known as “the idiot”. I honestly doubt if the Imperatrix will be unduly concerned. She had publicly admitted, in the Council rooms at least, that she expected to gain nothing from Shea as a bargaining piece in any marriage auction.’
By now they’d reached Gossamer and Shea who stood side by side, peering over the bridge.
‘Not far now,’ Garrol commented, striding up the paved road towards the Palace towering above them. Shea hurried to catch up with the Shield Master, bombarding him with questions. Gossamer and Grent trailed behind.
‘Do you think that man, or anyone else here, will understand I’m dead?’ Gossamer hissed.
Grent shook his head. ‘No idea. Why? Is it important that people know, or that they don’t know of your – er – little problem?’
Gossamer glared at him. ‘A very few people knew in the City and were able to stay friendly with me, but most weren’t. They pretended they couldn’t even see me if we met around the streets.’
‘Master Pule said you’d done some work for Molesiffer Brak recently. Did he know you’re dead?’ Grent was really curious. He understood Gossamer had been cursed, then murdered, and yet still looked much the same. More or less, he amended. But he’d never liked to ask just what sort of existence she had. ‘I truly did forget that you don’t eat or drink,’ he admitted sheepishly. ‘I wasn’t trying to offend you.’
She shot him a suspicious look. ‘It’s very boring in most respects actually. There seems to be a lot more time in each day and nothing to fill that time with. Shopping, cooking, eating, drinking.’ She gave Grent another wary glance. ‘I do cook sometimes for something to do, but then I’m left with all the food. Drengle List says he enjoys the smell. So do the local ghosts.’
Gossamer held out her hands then touched the smooth skin of her face. ‘The curse doesn’t completely stop the body deteriorating. Snail the Embalmer is a very special woman. She keeps those of us who find ourselves in this state looking reasonably normal, and she is a genuine friend. Costs a lot of course, but money’s no trouble to come by.’
She grinned which made Grent nervous, but their conversation was interrupted by the Shield Master. He stood before a high archway of stone so black and smooth it looked like velvet.
‘Welcome to Karmazen Palace, home of the First Daughter of Dark.’
A tall thin man stood within the shadows of the arch. He gave a slight bow. Shea walked towards them. She smiled at Grent and Gossamer, squinting against the sun’s brightness.
‘He’s Corman, the Palace Master.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I think that means the same as a steward.’
‘Quite correct Lady Shea,’ the man replied. ‘If you would come with me, I will show you to your rooms.’
Gossamer shrugged and followed the man under the archway, Grent and Shea behind her. Corman led them up several staircases, the last flight spiralling up in alternate steps of red and black. Along a landing they came to a door intricately carved with swirls of trees and plants. Corman opened the door and stood aside.
‘There are several bedrooms, bathrooms and a sitting room. I have sent for maids – ah, here they are now. Please make yourselves comfortable and if there is anything you need, ask one of the maids to summon me or the Palace-Keeper. She will visit you shortly anyway. You will be called for dinner at sunset but some food will be provided at once.’
The door closed silently and Gossamer and Grent found themselves alone but for a young maid. Shea had disappeared into one of
the rooms further along the hall with the two other maids.
‘There was something wrong with him.’ Gossamer sounded thoughtful.
Grent, on his way down the hall behind their maid, stopped and walked back to where Gossamer still stood.
‘Wrong?’ he asked quietly.
She nodded and began to move towards the sound of Shea’s laughter.
‘But what do you mean – wrong?’
‘It wasn’t terribly obvious, but then, perhaps it takes one to know one.’
‘Simert’s Balls Gossamer!’ Grent tugged her sleeve in exasperation. ‘What is wrong with him?’
‘I’m fairly certain he’s dead.’ She gave her sardonic grin at his open-mouthed astonishment.
Shea popped out at the furthest end of the hall.
‘Oh do come and look! You can see the sea from the sitting room but it can’t be the same sea as the one at home. It’s the wrong colour.’
Gossamer strolled on towards the child while poor Grent stood, his lips moving as he silently repeated Gossamer’s words. ‘He’s dead.’
Chapter Four
As morning dawned Gossamer sat by her bedroom window watching the light flicker over the sweep of the ocean. It had only been two days since she had watched dawn arrive on the dockside at Kelshan harbour. Corman had returned to their rooms the day before accompanied by a large lady who he introduced as Jenniah, the Palace-Keeper. There was no mistaking her position: a large ring jangling with a multitude of keys hung from her belt, and her whole demeanour spoke of Efficiency. Corman departed and Jenniah explained dinner plans had unfortunately to be changed.
‘Your three companions are being treated in our infirmary,’ she told them. ‘Several of those who would normally dine with guests and make you welcome here are also recovering from a recent indisposition. It was decided therefore that dinner will be provided in these rooms tonight. I’m sure you will welcome a chance to rest and recover from your journey.’
Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series Page 4
