Air and Darkness

by David Drake

  He coughed and added, “I’m sure that Corylus was in good health at the point when the nymph snatched him out of danger.”

  “I see,” Alphena said. What she really saw in her mind was Corylus and the nymph he owed his safety to. Alphena’s flash of anger was as hot as her lust the night before had been.

  Alphena looked at the backs of her hands until the emotion cooled. Without raising her eyes, she said, “I went mad, near enough, last night. I saw a lot of soldiers who were acting that way too. It didn’t seem to bother Corylus, though. Or you, Master Pandareus?”

  “Ah!” said the teacher. “I felt emotional pressure, certainly. But you must remember, Your Ladyship, that my life’s study has been toward self-control. I do not doubt that you are capable of similar control, but—”

  He paused, pursing him lips.

  “You can speak freely!” Alphena said. “Pandareus, please—call me Alphena and I’ll call you Pandareus and we’ll get Corylus and everyone back if we can!”

  “Yes,” said Pandareus, speaking calmly. “You have the capacity for control, but nothing in your life to the present has encouraged you to practice that control. I wondered at so many soldiers being affected, but I realized that military discipline is externally applied. There is no necessity for a soldier to control himself, as he’s in a structure which controls him in all the fashions that the system believes are important.”

  Alphena thought about what the teacher had said, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “I feel better.”

  She stood up and eyed the frieze. She didn’t remember which of the painted figures had spoken, but it probably didn’t matter. She said, “And thank you, Mistress Amazon, for showing me what to do.”

  A horsewoman—horse-cupid?—bobbed her lance toward Alphena.

  “What is it that you will do, if I may ask, Alphena?” Pandareus said. He had risen when she did.

  “I need to go to Sentius’ town house and speak to the statues there,” she said. “I’ll be able to do that posing as a slave, I believe.”

  The teacher pursed his lips again. “I don’t see how that will be possible,” he said.

  “It’s possible with my father’s help,” Alphena said. “I think.”

  She drew a deep breath. This had to be done, but she was sick with fear at the conversation she was about to have.

  “So I’ll go see my father right now,” Alphena said. She opened the door toward the front of the house.

  * * *

  THE SCALLOPED ARCHWAY at the top of the stairs didn’t have a door, but a dozen strands of tiny silver bells tinkled pleasingly when Hanwant, calling something in Indian, pushed through the curtain ahead of Varus and Bhiku. Hanwant was probably announcing his arrival with the great magicians.

  Their guide had paused midway up the stairs to sheathe his sword. Varus didn’t know how Ramsa Lal would react to a soldier approaching him with a bare weapon, but if something similar happened in Carce—or, more likely, on Capri—the Emperor’s German Bodyguard would be more likely to react than to discuss the matter.

  Bhiku gestured Varus ahead. He swept the strings of bells aside with his forearms and almost collided with Hanwant, who had been stopped by a precious-looking little man—short, round, and bald, in bright silk pantaloons and vest. He was barring the way with an arm-thick silver rod that was a foot longer than he was tall.

  Varus skipped to the side to let Bhiku enter. They took in the room.

  It was a large hall, lit not only by the high windows on both sides but also by skylights in the ceiling. There were gauze curtains on both sides, but dark velvet drapes hung in swags above the southern windows; they must just have been lifted as the sun sank beneath the wing of the palace across the courtyard.

  The only furniture was the high-backed chair against the east wall. Varus’ eyes took a moment to adapt to the interior’s relative dimness. Only then did he realize that a figure, doubtless Lal himself, was seated on the throne. A dozen servants, some of them guards, stood nearby.

  Two teams of men wearing loincloths pushed and pulled levers. Ropes connected the apparatus to lengths of carpet hanging edge on to the ceiling, causing them to swing back and forth. The breeze wasn’t cool, but it least the movement kept the hall from being stuffy.

  “Stand aside, Hanwant,” Varus said, tapping their guide briskly on the shoulder. Hanwant jumped back with a frightened look.

  He probably took the “toad” threat seriously, Varus thought. Then, I wonder if the Sibyl could teach me how to do that. Though she doesn’t really teach me magic. It just seems to happen when I’m with her.

  “And as for you, little man…,” Varus continued to the short official, “my colleague and I are going to greet Lord Ramsa Lal, who has requested our visit because we are wizards. You are welcome to continue chattering with our guide, but if you stand in our way I will burn the flesh from your bones.”

  He tried to imagine that he was Hedia saying the words. They didn’t seem incongruous that way, which they did when coming from his own mouth.

  The official bowed very low, holding his silver rod crossways. “Come with me, honored sirs,” he said calmly in Greek as good as Bhiku’s. “I will lead you to our gracious lord.”

  Turning, he waddled across the room ahead of them. He suddenly didn’t look absurd. He may be a pompous little twit, but he doesn’t lack courage.…

  “The wizards summoned by the power of Lord Ramsa Lal have arrived!” the official said in Greek. The burst of Indian with which he followed was presumably a translation.

  Lal was talking with a pair of officials in pantaloons and jackets of spotless linen; they wore yellow silk sashes, but they didn’t carry swords. He looked up and spoke in peevish Indian.

  “What is the beggar from that tallow-licker Raguram’s household doing here?” Bhiku translated with perfect aplomb.

  Ramsa Lal had changed clothes since Varus last saw him outside the palace. His green and yellow silks were fresh, and a large carnelian was pinned to the front of his turban. On his left wrist was a light bracelet, and the ring on his right little finger held an amethyst the size of a grape. It looked uncomfortable to wear.

  “Lord Ramsa Lal,” Varus said, striding forward ahead of the official with the rod. “I am here with my colleague Master Bhiku, whose assistance will be necessary if I am to consider your request.”

  Lal glowered. “I don’t see why,” he said. “But no matter. Come closer so that—”

  He paused, apparently thinking. “You, wizard,” Lal said, rising from the throne. “Come with me to my aviary. We’ll discuss there what I require. Your dog stays here, but he can have food and water if you like.”

  Bhiku bowed. “I thank your gracious lordship,” he said.

  Two swordsmen and half a dozen unarmed attendants started to follow Lal. “Stay where you are!” Lal shouted. “The wizard and I will speak privately!”

  Varus said nothing, but he wondered why the nobleman was suddenly so irritable. He’s afraid of something, but it isn’t me. For the first time, Varus found Lal’s business of interest rather than being a minor irritation.

  The doorway in the north wall led to steps down into a courtyard framed by solid walls, separate from the much larger court on the other side of the wing. A grating of thin wires formed a dome thirty feet above the landing outside the audience-chamber door.

  Scores of brightly colored birds swirled in a feathered windstorm when Lal and Varus stepped out; a servant in the hall closed the door behind them. The birds ranged in size from pigeons to peacocks. Most were new to Varus, and all had gorgeous plumage.

  In the center of the courtyard was a gazebo. The sides were wire; the roof of thin shakes was smeared white by bird droppings. Varus smiled faintly, wondering whether the roof had originally been covered with a screen the way the sides were.

  Lal entered. There was a single chair in the enclosure. Varus expected the nobleman to take it, but instead he directed Varus to sit while he remained stand
ing. That could have been a trick so that he could look down on the wizard, but Varus again had the impression that Lal was too nervous to sit.

  “I told you that I have a task for you, wizard,” Lal said. He didn’t meet Varus’ eyes. “It’s a personal matter. My eldest daughter has been stolen away by a demon. You must return her to me. The demon is holding Teji in a walled garden three miles from here. When you have rescued her, you may go on your way however you please.”

  Varus considered what Ramsa Lal had just told him. He was silent for only a few seconds, but it felt longer as his brain processed the words.

  At last he said, “That’s a remarkably lucid and succinct statement of what you want, Your Lordship. My rhetoric professor, Master Pandareus, would congratulate you on it.”

  “Well, that’s all there is to say,” said Lal. He reached for the door. “I’ll send you to the demon’s garden with a detachment of troops. As soon as you’ve released Teji, you can go.”

  The claws of birds walking on the roof scraped and clicked, and their voices grew in volume as they got used to a stranger’s presence. Lovely as the birds were, their mixed calls were as unpleasant as the demands of the beggars clogging the Milvian Bridge.

  “I have a few questions before I agree to your commission, Your Lordship,” Varus said. He crossed his hands in his lap to emphasize in a neutral fashion that he wasn’t ready to leave yet.

  “Accept!” said Lal. “You haven’t been asked; I’m telling you what you must do!”

  “If you believe that, Your Lordship,” Varus said quietly, “then I’m scarcely the person you would want fighting a demon on your behalf.”

  Varus had trained himself to control his emotions. That helped him to retain a philosophical calm when the nobleman shouted at him.

  What helped even more was Varus’ deep certainty that, because he was a citizen of Carce, nothing that this oddly dressed foreigner said to him was really important.

  This was a most unenlightened attitude. If Pandareus were present, Varus would apologize to him for merely having had the thought. That said, it was quite useful in negotiating with a blusterer like Ramsa Lal.

  “What is it you want to know?” Lal said curtly.

  A win for thinking like a churlish Carce nobleman, Varus thought. He said, “Bhiku tells me that Mistress Rupa, a member of your household, is a wizard. Why do you ask me rather than Rupa to free your daughter, Your Lordship?”

  Lal grimaced and turned his eyes away. “Rupa is in Italy now,” he said. Still without looking at Varus, he added, “The demon stole Teji away not long before I sent Rupa to Carce in accordance with the request of our lord Govinda, King of Kings. Rupa said she couldn’t free Teji, so I’m sending you, whom the gods brought to me.”

  For a moment, Varus felt as though the Sibyl held his hand and he was a disembodied presence. He and the Sibyl watched Ramsa Lal speaking with Rupa in this same gazebo.

  Rupa looked even more smoothly stone hard than she had when Varus saw her at Polymartium with the eyes of his body. She looked at Lal and said, “My powers will not return your daughter to you, Ramsa Lal. You must find another magician to achieve your end.”

  “Where will I find this magician?” Lal said. His left hand twisted the amethyst ring on his right pinkie. “Where?”

  The woman shrugged instead of answering. She turned and opened the gazebo door.

  Rupa looked to her right suddenly: Varus felt her eyes bore into him. Then the scene faded and he was seated in front of Ramsa Lal.

  Varus stood and nodded to the gazebo door. “I’m by no means sure that I can do something that Mistress Rupa could not,” he said. “My colleague assures me that Rupa is a great wizard, which I do not claim to be. Nonetheless, I will attempt to free your daughter.”

  Lal let out his breath in relief. “Very good,” he said. “I’ve already ordered your escort to prepare.”

  Lal led the way out of the gazebo and up the stairs to the audience hall. The birds whirled and cackled. Occasional feathers drifted about like leaves in fall.

  Varus didn’t like or trust Lal, but he had past experience of demons. Freeing a young girl from a demon would be a worthy act, even if her father was as much of a bully as he thought he could get away with being.

  But at the back of Varus’ mind he remembered his vision of Lal and Rupa: Rupa didn’t say her powers could not do what Lal wanted; she said that they would not.

  * * *

  “MY, YOU SWEET THING,” said the maple sprite who held Corylus. She hugged him closer. “Wherever did you come from?”

  “I’m very sorry to intrude this way, Acer,” Corylus said, detaching himself from her as politely as possible. “I think your sister in the Waking World sent me here because I was being threatened. I couldn’t have escaped without her help.”

  “Oh, from Polymartium,” said the sprite, trailing her fingertips down Corylus’ arm as he eased back. “That’s how she did it. There’s always been magic around the shrine there. It’s a pressure here, you know. And it’s gotten worse lately.”

  Corylus looked at his surroundings while he considered what to do. The maple tree stood in a clump of orange-flowered azaleas at the base of a hill. Grass and yellow ragwort covered the slope, with occasional small junipers and limestone outcrops. Above was forest where the soil was deep enough to hold the roots of trees.

  Corylus took a deep breath. He had been using his full strength ever since Ampelos and his band had burst out of the glowing lens. Corylus’ muscles were wobbly from physical strain followed by the emotional shock of being well and truly captured by the vines while Ampelos approached.

  Corylus seated his staff firmly in the coarse grass and leaned on it while he tried to calm his mind. He wasn’t sure what Ampelos had planned, but death and conversion to Bacchic madness were the most likely choices.

  The emotions that had drained Corylus weren’t limited to fear and anger. Even worse had been the wild lust that had gripped him—and the similar passion that had possessed Alphena. A senator’s virgin daughter was an unthinkable partner for a mere knight, but for a moment it had been touch and go as to whether Corylus would be able to withstand his own desire and the girl’s urging.

  “I’m beholden to your sister in the Waking World for snatching me clear, Acer,” he said. “Now I need to get back there, though. Do you know how I can do that?”

  For a moment the sprite pouted. Tree spirits were ordinarily good-hearted, but they were also as willful as children and didn’t plan any further ahead than butterflies do.

  Finally Acer shrugged and said, “I suppose she could do it because of where she grew, Polymartium. There’s no shrine here, though.”

  She gestured toward the hillside, then grinned and pouted again—this time provocatively. “You don’t have to go anywhere,” she said. “You can stay here. I’d really like you to stay here.”

  A trumpet sounded in the distance … or was it an animal hooting?

  “I’m sorry, Cousin,” Corylus said, backing away. “I really must get back to my friends. I appreciate your kindness.”

  “Oh, go away then!” the sprite said. “I hope you never get back and you rot here!”

  “I’m sorry, Cousin,” Corylus repeated. He turned and started up the hill.

  You couldn’t get angry at a tree sprite, any more than you could get angry at a kitten who bit you or a cloud that rained on you when you hoped to stay dry. None of them had enough depth to be really malicious.

  “Cousin?” Acer called when he was twenty feet away.

  Corylus hesitated for a heartbeat, then looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Acer?” he said.

  “There’re nut trees up there,” she said. “You’ll want something to eat, won’t you?”

  Corylus hesitated for another heartbeat, then bounded down the slope and embraced her. “Thank you, dear cousin,” he said, and kissed her hard. “Now I really have to be on.”

  The maple sprite didn’t try to hold him as he’d feared
that she would, but when he glanced back from the top of the hill she was still watching. Corylus felt a great deal better than he would have done if he’d simply continued to walk on.

  It doesn’t hurt to be nice to kittens and lonely tree spirits.

  * * *

  HEDIA PAUSED WHEN SHE SAW the water bubbling out of the colorful layers of rock. She looked at Boest.

  “I’ve been here before,” she said. “The stream here”—she gestured—“said that you could guide me to the Spring of True Answers.”

  “Ah,” said Boest. “Yes, that’s where we are, Lady Hedia.”

  “But I was there already,” Hedia said. “I didn’t need a guide!”

  Boest smiled. He didn’t answer.

  Varus would tell me that strictly speaking, I didn’t ask a question, she realized. Corylus and Master Pandareus would be too polite to say that, but it’s what they would think—and what Boest thought.

  Hedia giggled. “For a woman who never took any interest in the details of language,” she said aloud, “I’ve certainly managed to meet a lot of pedantic men.”

  She paused thoughtfully, then added, “The odd thing is, I find that I like pedantic men.”

  “I think you like most men, Hedia,” Boest said with a slow smile. “I think you are a good person.”

  “I think…,” said Hedia, turning to face the spring, “that many people would disagree with you. About my being a good person, that is. Not about me liking men.”

  She stared at the bubbling rock face and pursed her lips. She wasn’t sure how to frame her question to the spring. Listening to grammatical pedants hadn’t made her more learned, but she did know how careful she had to be.

  “I’m sorry that you had to go to so much effort, Hedia,” Boest said. “I am a water spirit, you see, though what happened to you wasn’t at my doing.”

  He sounded sincere; but then, he always did. Even when he was a soulless shell of a man.

  “The spring has a sense of humor, I gather,” Hedia said. “Well, I wasn’t put to much trouble, really. A dry walk to your valley, but I don’t mind paying for information. And I certainly don’t mind—”