The Traitor's Daughter

by Paula Brandon

But he should have heard from them by now. The demands of the kidnappers should have flown on the wings of greed, easily preceding this ordinary traveler Chelzo to the door of House Belandor. Where was the ransom note?

  Could there be some forgotten enemy out there whose lust for vengeance exceeded the lust for cash? Someone who would kill Jianna and relish her father’s agony above money? Had he ever crossed paths with anyone that unnatural?

  Aureste did not take time to review the long list of potential nemeses. Turning to the Taerleezi underofficer, he commanded, “You will dispatch a party of your men to the site of the attack. This Orezzian will guide you. You will search the area for my daughter, the Maidenlady Jianna Belandor.”

  “Outside our jurisdiction,” the other informed him. “Go to Orezzia and try your luck with the commandant there. As for the gathering of your Faerlonnish dead, that’s no concern of ours.”

  For one moment, the urge to kill almost overpowered Aureste. He wore a dagger at his waist. A single quick, enjoyable thrust would wipe the look of cold contempt off that Taerleezi face forever.

  And then he would be tried as a partisan murderer, noble rank notwithstanding. A Faerlonnishman convicted of killing a Taerleezi soldier would suffer public execution by torsion, and his friendship with the governor, expensive though it was, would not save him. He would die horrifically and then there would be nobody to rescue Jianna—at least, nobody as capable as her father. No, he could not afford to indulge his appetites. Someday the opportunity would arise, but not now.

  “You waste time.” Aureste charged his restraint with precisely modulated menace. “The governor will confirm my orders. The delay will displease him.”

  “I can’t speak for the governor.” And neither can you, Faerlonnish kneeser. The underofficer’s silent postscript hung in the air.

  “You will be hard-pressed to speak for yourself when your superiors are informed of your conduct. You may go,” Aureste decreed. “This Orezzian will remain.”

  “I cannot stay,” Chelzo objected. “My master the magnificiari expects me. My master—”

  “Must survive without you for a time,” Aureste advised him. “You have now entered my service, where you remain until dismissed.”

  “Truly, I cannot,” Chelzo mourned. “You must understand that my master the magnificiari will not endure it. My master the magnificiari is of a choleric disposition. Should I fail to complete my errand promptly, I shall suffer the magnificiari’s extreme displeasure.”

  “Should you prove obdurate, you will suffer mine.”

  “But—”

  “Your master the magnificiari is far away,” Aureste suggested pensively. “He is in no convenient position to express his disappointment. The same cannot be said of me.”

  The Orezzian had no answer.

  “I have dismissed you.” Aureste’s attention returned to the Taerleezi guards. “You are unwilling or unable to address the situation, and your incompetence offends me. Remove yourselves.”

  Such insolence from a member of the subject population might ordinarily have warranted a beating or worse, but the governor’s marked favor offered unusual privileges.

  For a moment the underofficer stared, then sketched an ironical salute and withdrew, followed by his lividly silent subordinate. The luckless Chelzo remained.

  “You will lead me and a band of my servants to the site of the attack,” Aureste informed his captive.

  “Please, Magnifico, you don’t need me for that,” the other appealed. “I can tell you where it is. There are landmarks; you won’t have any trouble.”

  “I anticipate none. Prepare to leave within the hour.”

  “Magnifico, pity me. I am weary with travel. I’ve not rested, eaten, or performed my master the magnificiari’s bidding.”

  “I am your current master and my bidding is your sole concern. You may go to the kitchen, eat, and refresh yourself as best you can in the time that remains. Do not commit the blunder of attempting escape. My fund of good nature is not inexhaustible.”

  “But—”

  “Do you argue with me, fellow?”

  “Never, Honored Magnifico. Not at all. No.”

  Aureste tugged the bellpull, and a human lackey appeared within seconds. Orders were issued and the servant withdrew, trailed by the despondent Orezzian.

  Despite his fifty years he was still fit, capable of riding hard and living sparely. This so, preparations for departure could be completed within the space of minutes. In the meantime, there was another potential source of assistance awaiting consultation, and that one probably the best.

  A quick march brought him to the second-story salon, with its carved dark paneling and its hidden doorway standing wide open. He went through into the workroom beyond, where he found his brother closeted with a pair of the household Sishmindris. The creatures were croaking and peeping away in their barbarous tongue, while Innesq Belandor leaned forward in his wheeled chair, listening with the closest attention. Fresh anger scalded Aureste. Jianna was missing and in danger. In the midst of such crisis, what right had Innesq to squander his attention on chatty amphibians?

  The unintelligible conversation cut off as he entered. Silence smothered the workroom. Aureste confronted three sets of eyes whose shared inscrutability heightened his rage. It was almost as if they resented the master’s intrusion. Addressing the amphibians, he commanded harshly, “Get out.”

  The golden mottled eyes remained as expressionless as ever, but both Sishmindris cringed in expectation of a blow and sidled for the exit. Aureste did not trouble to watch them go. His gaze sought his brother’s calm pale face.

  “What has happened?” Innesq inquired at once.

  “The Belandor coach was attacked en route to Orezzia. Flonoria and the servants were killed. Jianna has disappeared. There is no corpse, no ransom note, no word from her. What can you tell me?”

  “Flonoria killed?” Innesq appeared stunned. “There can be no mistake? Our sister is dead?”

  “So I’ve been told, and the messenger has neither wit nor motive to lie.”

  “It is almost inconceivable. She was kind and harmless. Who would have the heart to lift a hand against her?”

  “I don’t know, and can’t concern myself at the moment.”

  “Can’t concern yourself? What are you saying? She was our sister, and a Belandor.”

  “An insignificant one.”

  “You cannot mean that. I hope you are not truly as callous as you seem.”

  “Enough of this. It’s absurd at such a time. Did you not hear me, Innesq? Jianna is missing. Nothing else matters until she is restored to me.”

  “I understand. I share your grief and concern.”

  “Then prove it. I need your help. You must use those arcane skills of yours to find her. You must do it now, without delay. I’m relying on you.”

  “Aureste, compose yourself. You speak wildly.”

  “I am perfectly composed. I’ve requested your assistance. I’m your older brother and the head of House Belandor. Will you deny me?”

  “Never while it lies within my power to serve you, but I am not certain that you know what you ask. Do you take me for a god or a demon, fit to deliver miracles upon demand?”

  “Yes. Oh, I know you’re neither god nor demon. But you have the knowledge that grants power—the talent, the intelligence and self-discipline, all that’s needed to perform marvels—combined with the affection that you bear your niece. All of these are in you, and therefore I know that I don’t ask more than you can give.”

  “You do not ask more than I am willing to give, but I fear that you overestimate my powers. I cannot flourish a magic wand and bring Jianna home.”

  “I know. But you can tell me where she is. You’ve done it often enough.”

  “Yes, when she was a child lost in the cellarways of Belandor House. But—”

  “More recently than that, and your vision doesn’t confine itself to this house. There was the time she ran off to s
ee some rope-dancer, and you located her within minutes.”

  “Barsudio the Boneless performed in Vitrisi that day, almost within sight of the Clouds. The search commenced within two hours or so of Jianna’s departure, and the imprint of her passage lingered upon the epiatmosphere. Her whereabouts all but proclaimed themselves to the trained observer. The present circumstances are quite different, and I fear—”

  “Don’t fear. And don’t tell me you can’t succeed; I won’t hear it.”

  “You won’t hear. As always.” Innesq shook his head. “Aureste, you do not stop to consider the element of time.”

  “Have you not listened?” Aureste’s frustration threatened to slip restraint. “I’ve already told you that I need your immediate assistance. Why do you waste priceless minutes in argument?”

  “You’ve demanded instant results, but your expectations are unrealistic. It is possible that an arcane investigation will yield some clue concerning Jianna’s fate, but the project requires hours of effort—perhaps days.”

  “That won’t do. You must work faster.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Not for you. Don’t sit there dreaming up objections. Just do it. Now.”

  “You imagine that sheer force of will overcomes all obstacles. Perhaps for you it does, but my world is quite different. There are supradimensional exigencies to consider.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care. I only know that you can help Jianna if you choose. Will you not try, Innesq? Is that too much to ask for your niece?”

  “I will do all that I can for her. But understand that the process may be protracted, and there is no help for that. Moreover, your presence will be required.”

  “Mine? Why?”

  “The bond between you and Jianna is always strong and particularly powerful now, in view of your heightened emotional state. When you have been properly prepared, your consciousness set to rest and your logical faculties disabled, then those alternative forms of perception of which you are not ordinarily aware will operate freely. By their agency, if we are fortunate, we may perhaps trace Jianna’s path.”

  “Consciousness set to rest? You speak of a sleeping draught?”

  “Not in the sense that the term is generally used. Your body will remain active, perhaps excessively so. But your awareness of your surroundings must be disengaged and your power of reason suppressed. Throughout this interlude, your freedom of movement must be restricted.”

  “Are you suggesting that I should be—”

  “Tied down to a chair. Regrettably so. I am sorry, but it is for your own protection as well as the household’s. The procedure I offer jeopardizes body and mind. There is no predicting its duration and no assurance of success at the end. Perhaps you would do best simply to assemble and dispatch a search party, or even lead the hunt yourself. You would prefer to take charge personally, would you not?”

  “That was my first thought. In fact, I’ve already issued orders to that effect. But tell me truly. This procedure of yours—if successful, does it offer the best hope of locating Jianna quickly? Or at least of knowing that she lives?” Aureste took care to maintain a dispassionate tone.

  For a moment Innesq regarded him and then replied with palpable reluctance, “That is possible. But the risks are real, and I advise you to consider them. You will hardly be fit to assist your daughter if you are left physically or mentally impaired.”

  Impaired. Crippled or paralyzed. Mad or simple-minded. An ugly, vivid image filled Aureste’s mind. Himself, some years hence, squatting half naked in some rainy alley deep in the Spidery. Starved old body covered with welts and bruises visible beneath a scant covering of filthy rags. Long, sparse wisps of white hair. Slack jaw, toothless gums, sunken cheeks. Dull eyes, vacant, mindless, dead.

  Aureste blinked, and the image faded. His jaw was set and his armpits tingled with sweat. Meeting his brother’s eyes, he unclenched his teeth and proclaimed, “I’ve complete confidence in your abilities.”

  “That is a lie,” Innesq returned serenely. “No matter, I see that you are resolved.”

  “Let’s get on with it.”

  “Seat yourself, then.” The chair that Innesq indicated was plain and heavy. Its four legs were strongly bolted to the floor.

  Aureste obeyed. “And now?” he prompted with a false air of confidence.

  “And now I must ask you to wait while I prepare a draught.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Not above an hour.”

  “Too long. You must do it in half that time.”

  “Once again you demand the impossible.”

  “Isn’t the impossible exactly what this magic of yours is designed to accomplish?”

  “That is a commonplace misconception. Just now, you expressed your faith in my abilities. If you spoke truly, then you will trust me to work at the best speed allowing for safety.”

  “I don’t care about safety.”

  “We do not all share in your fine disregard for life, limb, and sanity. Be still, Aureste. Hold your peace and wait.”

  Here in this workroom, within the realm of the arcane, his brother ruled. Biting down on his frustration, Aureste obeyed. Innesq busied himself with flasks and vials, powders and granules, weighing and mixing. The interminable minutes expired one by one. Surely the full hour and more had elapsed. Innesq was dawdling. An angry complaint rose to Aureste’s lips. He held it in. Time crept on.

  A froth of black bubbles at the top of a beaker, accompanied by the release of an indefinably sullen odor signaled completion.

  “It is ready.” Innesq approached, bearing the beaker. “I cannot allow you to drink before you consent to accept to restraint.”

  “Unnecessary. I give you my word that I won’t stir from this chair. That should suffice.”

  “It does not. It is not that I doubt your sincerity,” Innesq forestalled his brother’s irate rejoinder. “But you do not understand the nature of the journey you undertake.”

  “Must you sound so damned mystical?”

  “Sometimes it is unavoidable. Listen to me. When you swallow this draught, your world will change for a time. Your perception of physical surroundings will fade, but your inner eye will sharpen. Please do not ask me what I mean by the term ‘inner eye’—you must accept the fact that it is there and that it is perhaps capable of discovering the lost Jianna. It is the—how shall I put it?—the rational consciousness, the controlled orderly intellect, that must yield its sway and transfer its power to another aspect of the mind. Do you understand me?”

  “No. Let’s just do it.”

  “Will you submit to restraint?”

  “If that’s what it takes to persuade you to continue.”

  “It is. Drink, then.” Innesq proffered the beaker.

  Accepting the vessel, Aureste gulped the contents without allowing himself to look, smell, taste, or think. The liquid burned its way down his throat. His eyes swam, and he blinked.

  Innesq reclaimed the beaker and put it aside, then set about fastening his brother to the chair with leather straps. Aureste watched bemusedly. Soon he found himself bound fast at wrists, ankles, waist, and chest.

  “How do you feel?” asked Innesq.

  “Restricted. I don’t like it.”

  “Vision? Hearing? Sense of solidity?”

  “Perfect. This potion of yours isn’t strong enough to overcome the strength of a Belandor mind. We are hardly common clay, a point you have perhaps overlooked.”

  “You are not in pain?”

  “Certainly not. I’m unaffected. It isn’t working.”

  “Patience. Wait.”

  “I’ve waited long enough. You’ll have to try something else.”

  “It is too late for that.”

  “Unfasten these straps and turn me loose.”

  There was no reply. Innesq’s attention seemed fixed on distant vistas. Aureste strained uselessly against his bonds, then subsided with a muted snarl. The ange
r and frustration boiled within. An indeterminate span of time elapsed and gradually the heat subsided, its fury giving way to unquiet warmth. The workroom and its contents fell away, and by some agency that he neither trusted nor believed in, he found himself in another place, a region of distorted vision, half-heard echoing voices, devouring atmosphere, and faded recollections. He did not know where he was, but he was not afraid; somehow it was right and even essential that he had come. He was not walking, but somehow he was moving through live slithering shadows, and it seemed that he was searching for something or someone, while someone or something followed close upon his heels.

  What heels? He had no limbs, no flesh; his corporeal self was gone. His disembodied intellect quested through dim space filled with misshapen old memories that whispered and tittered in passing. He saw and heard them indistinctly. His perceptions would doubtless sharpen if he could locate his eyes and ears. Surely his body could not be far away, it would not have gone wandering off on its own. He could probably find it, find something, find someone, if he reached out through the shadows.

  Reach out with what? No arms, no hands, but he tried anyway and a kind of convulsion rocked his mind; he thought he caught the sound of distant screaming. For a while he fought and floundered, the screams shrilling eons away, but his body remained elusive, reintegration unobtainable, and presently he abandoned the struggle. It was easier then, less infuriating, even comfortable to drift on alien currents of disembodied sensation. He might have allowed himself to relax into slack acquiescence but for the prodding sense of purpose. He could not rest; that much he knew on some unassailable level, and it was all that he knew.

  On he went, and the memories cavorting about him burst into flame that overran the universe. The atmosphere was the color of molten steel, and he had no flesh but he burned. He would have turned back then, but the place he had come from was lost beyond hope, and there was still that nagging sense of purpose.

  The fiery atmosphere extinguished itself and the hot light yielded to immeasurable darkness. He could see nothing, hear nothing, but perceptions that he did not recognize guided him and he moved with confidence, still seeking something, someone. He did not remember what or who, but he would recognize it when he found it. Her. When he found her.