One of the paths to Isabel’s salvation depended on the blood of the earth.
“Who took it?”
“He told me his name, told me he needed the memory more than I did, told me it would win a war. I tried to stop him.”
“And his name?”
“Siavrax Karth.”
“Siavrax Karth was the first fleshling?”
“Yes,” McGinty said, nodding. “After the fay left, the Linkershim lived here, building, always building, but never venturing above. And then the first fleshling came and took the memory and they stopped building.”
“How did they build? They’re just crystals.”
McGinty stared at him, his head slowly tilting this way and that until he very deliberately shrugged.
“They told the earth and stone what to become,” he said, finally.
“And the earth and stone obeyed?”
“Yes,” McGinty said, standing up, raising his hands and head, looking around at the underdark as if it were the whole of creation.
His hands and head fell like he’d suddenly run out of energy. “But now the earth and stone are silent and still.”
Alexander went to the crystal bowl. “Is this where the memory of the world was kept?”
McGinty frowned, seeming to process the question. “That is where it resided,” he said.
A whole race of intelligent beings subjected to forced hibernation for millennia.
“What would happen to the Linkershim if the memory of the world returned?”
McGinty looked up at Alexander, his clay face struggling to produce a coherent expression.
“The Linkershim would awaken.”
One fewer chance for Isabel.
“What would the Linkershim do after they woke?”
“They would build.”
“What about the fleshlings?”
McGinty hesitated again, shaking his head slowly. “They are very angry with the fleshlings for killing them.”
“How could you know that if they haven’t moved for so long?”
“I can hear their song, beautiful and complex, infinitely varied, yet unique. When one Linkershim dies, the song changes, forever adding death and loss where once there was life and creation.”
“They’re mourning their dead,” Alexander whispered.
“Why do you take the Linkershim?”
“Some of the fleshlings use the Linkershim to create weapons,” Alexander said. “But fleshlings are not all the same.”
“All fleshlings I’ve seen are the same,” McGinty said. “There are differences in appearance, but you are all made the same, except you, since you aren’t really here.”
“You can tell I’m an illusion,” Alexander said. “Huh …”
“I would not have allowed a fleshling to get this close to the well of memory, not again … never again.”
“When I say that all fleshlings aren’t the same, I mean they don’t all want the same things. Some fleshlings are good and others are evil … most of us are just trying to survive.”
McGinty didn’t answer, his head cocked to one side and a semblance of a frown creasing his unfinished face.
“There are only a few fleshlings who’ve hurt the Linkershim,” Alexander said. “Most of us are innocent. If the Linkershim woke, would they hurt the innocent?”
“What is innocent?”
“Fleshlings who’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Fleshlings killed Linkershim.”
“Some did … most didn’t.”
“But you are all fleshlings.”
“Let’s try this a different way,” Alexander said. “If I returned the memory of the world to the well, would the Linkershim go to war against the fleshlings?”
“No,” he said, after a long pause as if he were listening to something only he could hear. “They would build.”
“After that, what would happen when the fleshlings tried to take a Linkershim?”
“The Linkershim would stop them.”
“What would they do to the city above us?”
McGinty paused again, listening.
“Unbuild it,” he said.
“Would they let the fleshlings leave first?”
“Yes …”
What would Isabel counsel him to do if he could tell her about the blood of the earth? If he could explain everything, what would she tell him to do?
A whole race of intelligent beings capable of building on a grand scale, but also capable of art and beauty like nothing he’d ever seen before.
What would she say if he saved her with the blood of the earth and then told her about the Linkershim?
“McGinty, I want to help you, and I think I can, but you’ll have to help me get here with my body. I don’t know the way through the underdark.”
“You are a fleshling.”
“I know, and I want to help you. I have a drop of the memory of the world. I’ll bring it here if you’ll help me navigate the underdark.”
“Why would you help us?”
“Because the Linkershim are alive,” Alexander said with a shrug. “And because I want to see Mithel Dour be unbuilt.”
McGinty tried to frown, tilting his head to one side. “Bring the memory of the world to where the fleshlings entered and I will help you, but only after I’m sure you have the memory.”
“I will,” Alexander said, vanishing and returning to his body.
His list had gotten long, and as with all such lists, some tasks would be easier to accomplish before others.
Chapter 13
Jack slipped into the room and barred the door before tossing his hood back.
“It’s good to see you both,” he said, taking a seat in the circle with Alexander and Anja.
“You too, Jack,” Alexander said. “Before we get started, I have Chloe watching the door. If anyone comes, she’ll let us know so you can hide. I don’t want anyone to know we’re allied.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“The short version: we’re going into the palace to kill the king tonight.”
“Ambitious,” Jack said. “I’ve already secured an invitation to the banquet. I figured I might learn something useful … that and the invitation read more like a summons, so I thought it best to attend.”
“Good. Make sure you maintain your cover,” Alexander said. “If things go badly, I want you to escape and look for Jataan; he’ll be coming to the city if I don’t make contact by tomorrow night.”
“Understood,” Jack said. “There’s something else. I received this letter today. It was on the table in my residence with a dried nightshade blossom on top of it.”
“What’s it say?”
“It offers to pay me quite well if I will report that I saw suspicious activity at a particular house.”
“I wonder what he’s up to,” Alexander said.
“Probably a number of things,” Jack said. “First, he’s is trying to determine if I can be useful to him. Second, he’s trying to eliminate a rival. Third, he’s trying to get dirt on me to use as leverage in later negotiations.”
“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”
“A bit, yes.”
“I don’t see an upside,” Alexander said.
“On the contrary. I should absolutely do as he asks. I’ve been looking for a way to reach out to him, and what better way than letting him reach out to me?”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Nor should you,” Jack said. “But he clearly has resources and knowledge we lack. Whatever his motivations are, he could be an extremely useful ally.”
“All right, but be careful. This might be a trap,” Alexander said. “Once we’ve killed the king, we’ll head for the western province. Talia has a company working with the locals to disrupt the Lancers’ slaving operation, but more importantly, that’s where Jataan is.”
“That’s good to hear. He’s not much of a conversationalist, but he’s nice to have around in a fight.”
“Who’s Jataan?” Anja asked.
“Jataan P’Tal is the General Commander of the Reishi Protectorate and my personal man-at-arms,” Alexander said. “He is, quite possibly, the most dangerous man alive in a fight.”
“I want to meet him.”
“You will,” Alexander said. “So the plan hinges on Tyr …”
***
Lord and Lady Grant arrived at the palace elevator station in a carriage driven by Alexander with Anja at his side. Both still wore their collars, but Alexander had a dagger hidden in his boot.
The atmosphere was festive, excited even. Nobles mingled with one another while they waited for the elevator to return. Alexander idly wondered who had really killed the crown princess while he watched the crowd without appearing to do so.
Most guests wore the muddy, base colors of those who pursue power before all other things, but there were a few notable exceptions, mostly among the slaves and servants. Every now and then, Alexander would see a person with the colors of magic, most from some enchanted item or other, but a few were wizards, though you wouldn’t know it from their behavior or attire.
After nearly an hour of insufferable conversation about the most meaningless things, the elevator settled into its cradle and the double doors opened. Within were four palace guards, each armed with a nasty-looking mace sporting five spikes twisted to make them look almost like a crown. More importantly, each of their weapons glowed brightly with magic.
The guests and their servants stepped into the lift, which was a simple room filled with rows of comfortable chairs and lined with windows on three sides. The doors closed and the operator pulled a lever. With a shudder, the lift began rising along its thousand feet of vertical track. It took several minutes, during which time the view became progressively more spectacular.
When they reached the palace, everyone stepped out of the elevator and into a security line that ran along a balcony overlooking the city. Alexander was startled to discover that he could actually see that far. Before, his all around sight could only reach several hundred feet. While he still couldn’t see the horizon, he could see parts of the city a thousand feet below.
They reached a broad entrance flanked by six guards. Spread across the entrance was a field of slightly glowing yellow light. An officer and a well-dressed servant stood at a podium in the exact center of the path.
After Grant presented his invitation, everyone in his party was instructed to touch the stone on top of the podium. Alexander did as he was told and felt a chill of magic race over his skin, followed by a tingling sensation when he stepped through the shield.
“Touch the stone before you go through that shield, Chloe,” Alexander said in his mind. “Just to be safe.”
The corridor stopped at the entrance to the crystal ballroom where a man was waiting to announce the arriving guests.
When Grant and his wife stepped up to the entrance and waited for their introduction, another man pulled Alexander and Anja aside. “Servants’ entrance is down there,” he said. “Just tell them who you belong to and they’ll make sure you get where you’re supposed to be.”
Alexander obeyed without a word and was quickly swept up in the chaotic swirl of the kitchen. Within minutes he was carrying a pitcher of wine out to Lord Grant with strict instructions to pour a cup, then stand against the wall behind Grant until he was summoned. Once Alexander had completed his task and was standing next to Anja, he carefully surveyed the room while appearing to look at the floor.
As he’d seen from his reconnaissance, the two side walls were made of stone, while the front and back walls, as well as the ceiling, were made of crystal panes laced together with stone in a graceful pattern that seemed almost organic. The setting sun lit up the room with brilliant orange light.
Jack was already there, tuning his lute while a number of young, unattached noblewomen sat around him giggling. Most of the people in the room were mingling in small groups.
Guests were being announced in a steady stream as they made their way to the ballroom. Alexander picked out the Babachenko making the rounds, chatting amiably with the guests, welcoming them to the palace. Another man caught his eye as well. He was big-barrel-chested, and nearly seven feet tall. If his colors hadn’t given him away as a wizard, his position near the only door on the opposite wall and his relentless scrutiny of the guests would have given him away as the king’s protector.
“Vasili Nero, envoy of Prince Phane Reishi,” the announcer said above the din of conversation. Alexander’s breath caught in his chest. Without moving his head, he reached out and looked at Nero. What he saw sent a chill up his spine-Nero had become a wraithkin. He was smiling coldly to the Babachenko, who’d come to greet him personally.
“Master is not pleased,” Nero said.
“He soon will be,” the Babachenko said with an equally humorless smile. “I have matters well in hand.”
“We shall see.”
Alexander thought furiously. Adding Nero to the mix was bad enough-he could identify Alexander on sight. Their first meeting in Buckwold had gone badly for Nero; he wouldn’t easily forget Alexander. His transformation into a wraithkin was a potential disaster. Even worse was the idea that the Babachenko did have things well in hand, and Alexander was missing some vital piece of information. If that was true, this night was going to end very badly.
Tyr entered next without pausing for the man to announce him. Alexander let his breath out when Nero sat facing away from him along the same side of the table where Grant was seated. Unfortunately, Tyr sat on the opposite side of the table, but he looked bored and inattentive, not bothering to talk to any of the nobles and deliberately ignoring Grant.
A bell chimed and the servants started to move to the kitchen for the first appetizer course, several large shrimp on a skewer, wrapped with bacon and drizzled with cheese sauce. A few of the guests required their servants to taste the food before serving it. Alexander was mildly disappointed that Grant did not.
A few moments after the appetizer was served, a large bell tolled and all of the guests stood, dutifully facing the single door on the wall opposite Alexander. After everyone had waited an uncomfortable amount of time, the door opened and an impeccably dressed little man with a completely bald head and a ruddy face stepped forth and stopped, surveying the crowd deliberately before clearing his throat.
“Lords and Ladies, I present His Most Excellent Majesty, the First Lancer, Giver of Charters and Founder of Guilds, Lord Gervais Andalia, Our Beloved King.” The little man stepped aside, bowing deeply, holding his pose until the king entered the chamber.
The “Beloved King” was fat, blubberous and lumbering. His lips protruded, glistening with spittle, and his jaw hung slack. He was dressed in velvet red robes trimmed with entirely too much gold and he wore a jewel-encrusted baldric supporting a sword that looked almost exactly like a Thinblade, except its colors were dead. His stringy, unkempt hair was receding, his eyes were unfocused and dull, his hands (that he seemed to wring as a matter of habit) were soft and pudgy. On his head rested a golden Crown with colors that screamed of power, ancient and potent, yet the colors of the man wearing it revealed a small mind, an ailing body, and a vicious heart.
“Your Majesty,” the little man who’d introduced him said, motioning to the head of the table.
The king labored to walk across the room, a faint wheeze emanating from his chest. When he reached his oversized chair, he stopped to catch his breath before flopping himself into it. The protector and the servant took up station behind him just before an army of servers filed past, setting a feast before him. He started eating as if he hadn’t seen food in a week.
The guests took their seats and resumed their conversations, largely neglecting their now-cold appetizers and ignoring the overt display of wanton gluttony taking place at the head of the table.
The king seemed oblivious to his guests, gorging himself on a steady supply of different dishes placed before him. The service bell chimed a
gain and the main course was served, roasted boar with rich brown gravy and crusty bread. Alexander was careful to ensure he didn’t draw undue attention as he delivered the plate of food to Grant.
The meal progressed, one course after the next, most dishes returning to the kitchen only a bite or two lighter. Alexander had marked all of the dangerous players in the room: the protector, the Babachenko, Nero, Tyr, and several other nobles who were also wizards, plus the twelve palace guards interspersed around the periphery of the room. He knew he could probably kill the king with the knife in his boot before anyone knew what was happening, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to escape now that he was faced with the reality of the situation.
Then he considered the alternative-the damage the Lancers were doing in Ruatha. So many lives lost. He decided that taking action was worth the risk. As he fetched Grant’s dessert, he had Chloe send his collar into the aether, stopping Anja on her way to the kitchen to free her as well and hoping that nobody would notice two slaves without collars.
Midstride, he slipped the knife out of his boot and held it with the blade along his wrist while he served Grant his pastry. He stood, focusing on the king, gauging distance, looking for any hint of magical protection and finding none aside from his bodyguard.
The king sat back and belched loudly, then leaned forward with both hands on the table and stared at Tyr.
“I want the Thinblade!” he shouted, pointing at Tyr as he tried to stand quickly, but losing his balance in the bargain and falling back into his chair.
Alexander cautiously returned to his place along the wall.
Tyr’s reaction actually surprised him.
“Your Majesty, I have humbly offered to give you my Thinblade several times,” Tyr said with sweetness dripping off his tongue. He stood and smiled as he approached the king, unbuckling his belt and holding the hilt of the sword out toward him.
Before Tyr could reach him, the king’s protector stepped between them, barring the way and slowly shaking his head.
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