Gil Trilogy 2: Scion's Lady

by Rebecca Bradley

  Emerging from the companionway into the bright morning sunshine, we all stopped short in amazement. Early as it was, we were not the only people up and about. While we slept, the flame-slings and spearchuckers had been set up in a row on the lower foredeck, all of them targeted on the beach. And every trooper on board was not only present but in a full set of battleskins, and their formation was designed to present any observer on the beach with a thought-provoking array of fighting power, a veritable lawn of javelins and helmet-plumes and battlestaffs held stiffly at attention. Now I understood why the Frath was being so trusting.

  I shrugged and led the way to the bow, weaving through the dense ranks and files of troopers. If that was how they chose to spend a beautiful morning, it was nothing to do with me. There was a clear space near the bow rail big enough for us to sit down and spread out our picnic breakfast, well placed to watch the parley on the beach while we ate.

  There was a tap on my shoulder. I looked up with my mouth full of bread and swallowed with slight embarrassment. It was my wife's most recent ex-lover.

  "Good morning, Han-Frath Zimin," I said cheerfully in Miisheli. "What are you all doing here?"

  The Han-Frath of the guardtroops surveyed me courteously. If he were also embarrassed by the memory of our last meeting, he didn't show it. "You should not be so exposed, Lord Scion. We do not know yet how the Vassashin are going to receive us."

  "Oh?" I said, passing a chunk of bread to Chasco. "So that's what this is all about. A show of force. What comes next—setting fire to the forest?"

  "No, Lord Scion. Not if the parley goes well. But if it goes badly," he touched the hilt of his sword, "we will slaughter them."

  "I so admire Miisheli diplomacy," I said. "Cheese, Han-Frath Zimin?"

  "No, Lord Scion." He shifted from foot to foot, ill at ease. "Lord Scion, the Frath Major's orders were quite clear as to whom should be seen on deck. You must return to your quarters."

  I bit into a pikcherry and spat the stone overboard. "It's a lovely morning, Han-Frath."

  Zimin sighed. Behind him, rank upon rank of troopers sweated in the sun in their heavy battleskins. I was prepared to be carried away bodily by any number of them, and waited for Zimin to give the order. He didn't. He gave up and hovered over me, looking watchful, as though he'd personally take it on himself to defend me if the Vassashin turned ugly. I chewed thoughtfully for a few moments and then reached up to tap him on the shoulder.

  "Han-Frath Zimin, about last evening—"

  He looked down at me with dignity, in striking contrast to his bare-bottomed retreat from the bridal cabin, and said stiffly, "I most humbly beg the Lord Scion's pardon."

  "Oh, no need for that," I began, when Shree elbowed me viciously in the side. "I mean," I said hastily, "that I quite understand the intoxication of my wife's charms, and I bear no ill will to any man who has drunk from them in the past. I forgive you, Han-Frath."

  "You are very generous, Lord Scion," said Zimin woodenly, and I was certain for a few moments that I had made an implacable enemy when I threw him out of my wife's bed. Then I saw his eyes. I can recognize relief when it's staring me in the face. I began to wonder how many of my lovely wife's lovers had been volunteers.

  It was well over an hour before the Frath Major returned from the parley. In the meantime, in response to signals from the beach, the second smallboat was sent ashore loaded with an assortment of costly gifts: gold, both as jewellery and ingots, fine wine from the Frath's private stock, a great bale of white furs, and two rolls of Omelian silk which I recognized as coming from my personal endowment.

  Not long after the second smallboat landed, a wild chorus of cries rang out on the beach. The Han-Frath stiffened and motioned the flame-sling and spearchucker crews forwards; but a moment later he dropped his hand and nodded them back. The drums and whistles started up again, the crowd of Vassashin that had increasingly obscured our view moved aside, leaving the Frath Major and his parley partner visible on the carpet surrounded by heaps of valuables from the smallboat. The Frath was then escorted in state to the jetty, to return to the Tasiil. His face was too far away to see clearly, but I read self-satisfaction in the way he held himself in the bow of the smallboat. It was obvious that a deal had been struck.

  Behind me, Han-Frath Zimin sighed with disappointment. No blood today.

  * * *

  20

  SO THERE WE were, safe in Vassashinay, and Vassashinay had welcomed us with outstretched palms. Several days passed before I was able to set foot ashore however, and much of that time was necessarily spent in attentions to my lovely and insatiable bride. This put some strain on my body and my powers of invention, and also on poor Rinn, who normally went through lovers like the Tatakil eat hog-nuts and was not used to being amused by the same person for more than two days at a stretch. But she played her part creditably and put up with me playing mine—when she yawned, it was behind her hand.

  The Lady herself seemed to sleep through this period. I heard no inner voices, saw no golden mists, experienced no impromptu exhibitions of magical power. Likewise, I had no hope that she had gone away. I was learning to recognize the taste of her presence, like the faintest of fragrances or a ghostly feeling of being watched.

  When I could excuse myself from Rinn, entertainment was provided by the progress of Shree's beard—which goes to show how starved of entertainment we were. Excitement was limited to the volcano's frequent bursts of activity, mainly splutters of lava and billows of black cloud, or occasional spectacular volleys of sparks and thunder. It was interesting that, however harrowing we found these displays at first, the Vassashin we could see on shore paid them no attention, going about their business without even glancing up.

  I was careful not to seem too eager to get ashore, since the chance was bound to come sooner or later. Although the Tasiil had been seaworthy enough to get us to Vassashinay, there were slow but increasingly serious leaks in the hold and some problems with the forward caulking, and the ship really needed to be beached for a few days. Somehow, I could not see Rinn putting up with the noise and smells of a ship under structural repair—and where Rinn went, I would surely go.

  Three days after our arrival, while Rinn was mercifully busy with her afternoon nap, the Frath Major sought me out on the upper foredeck where I was lounging with my companions, going over what Chasco had gleaned about security arrangements on board the Tasiil. Shree saw the Frath coming and coughed discreetly, a signal to start discussing the nature and history of volcanoes.

  "Of course," I was saying when the Frath came up to us, "I can't prove there's no deity involved—and if you want to believe that what we're hearing is the rumbling of some enormous divine belly, I can't stop you. But I've heard of volcanoes that erupted even when they were being regularly fed—how does the hungry-god theory explain that?"

  "It's obvious," said Shree. "They were being given the wrong diet. For instance, they say that Mount Zza, before it blew itself up into bits of flaming gravel, was fed only on virgins. Virgins, by Raksh! Everyone knows it's useless to sacrifice virgins."

  "Why?" Chasco asked dutifully.

  "Well, apparently, they don't taste of anything—"

  "To some gods, that is," I broke in. "It appears to be a matter of preference. Some gods actually seem to prefer virgin sacrifices, others prefer chickens, or apples, or—"

  "Tigrallef."

  I pretended to jump with startlement. "Cousin! I didn't hear you come up. Perhaps you can settle something for us."

  He looked stern. "Tigrallef, there is a matter we must discuss."

  "Yes, indeed, cousin. By the way, what can you tell us about the volcano?"

  The mountain chose that moment to tremble, and a thin slow dribble of molten rock spilled over the crater's lip. The Frath regarded it thoughtfully.

  "Does it worry you, Tigrallef?"

  "No, it interests me."

  "There is nothing to worry about," he said, watching the lava delicately finger its w
ay down the bald crest of the mountain. "I have been told that it does this always. The fire-spirits who inhabit the great cone are given weekly offerings of fruit, fish and goats."

  "No virgins, notice," Shree said with apparent satisfaction. I shot a glance at him, which the Frath followed.

  "No, Warlord, no virgins. But perhaps you should know that many of the surviving Sherkin garrison were either thrown into the crater or sealed into the killing-caves not long after Sher fell."

  Shree became watchful. I hastened to fill what was threatening to become an awkward silence.

  "You'd think," I said, "that a whole garrison should be enough to keep the fire-spirits happy for a decade or so, however greedy they are."

  But the Frath was watching Shree's face. "I tell you this story for a reason. It shows how little love the Vassashin had for the Sherank."

  "So? Nobody had any reason to love the Sherank, least of all the Vassashin—"

  "Tigrallef. I would speak with you alone," he broke in firmly, with a pointed glance at Shree and Chasco. Taking the hint, they moved down the deck, out of earshot, and stood talking quietly by the rail.

  The Frath fixed me with a gimlet eye. "Your companion is a Sherkin warlord."

  I was taken aback by his bluntness. "He was once, cousin. He's a Gillish memorian now. And his mother was a Gilwoman."

  "If the Vassashin learn of his origins, it will not matter what his mother was, nor will it matter that he can read and write. He was a warlord of Sher, and I will not be able to protect him."

  I stared at the Frath for a moment, thinking fast. There was no unspoken threat here. He had nothing to gain as yet from betraying Shree, and he must have known we didn't need the warning: what was Shree growing his beard for, if not to disguise his history? The upper-caste Sherank had always gone clean-shaven.

  No, my rapid calculations were about something else. I had been waiting patiently for an opportunity to sound out how much the Frath knew of the last moments of Sher. It was obliging of him to provide one. I said, "But the Vassashin should be thankful to Lord Shree. After all, he played a part in destroying Sher—" And then I bit my lip, and tried to look as if I feared I'd said too much.

  "What do you mean, Scion?" A glint of interest shone in the Frath's eyes. "Sher was destroyed by the combined vengeance of the gods of all the nations when its cruelty and greed became an offence to their nostrils. What part could this Sherkin halfblood have played in that?" He watched me narrowly.

  "The same part as we all played, cousin," I said in my most pious tones. "He prayed fervently for the downfall of the wicked when their sins became too great for him to bear, even though he had been nurtured in the same wickedness. What else could I mean?"

  "One hears stories," he said vaguely, but his eyes were alert.

  "What stories, cousin?"

  "Absurd stories, Scion, myths, legends in the making. You know what the world is like. I have even heard it said," and his eyes bored into mine, "that it was you yourself, Tigrallef, who destroyed Sher before you destroyed the Lady in Gil. Absurd, of course."

  Time to reassure the man. I let my eyes drop, and fiddled with the catch on my belt. "Absurd," I agreed. A touch of furtiveness in the voice; a tremble in the hand picking at the polished leather.

  "No kernel of truth in it, I suppose," he prompted softly.

  I avoided meeting his eyes. "No. Well, yes, I suppose the part about breaking the Lady is true. I am a little clumsy."

  "Clumsy?" He was bending close to me, almost whispering now. "One of the four Great Magics of the world, and you broke her by being clumsy? I wonder. I would hate to think so little of my beloved cousin's bridegroom."

  I wriggled. I glanced up at him guiltily, and let my eyes drop again. I coughed a couple of times as if searching for something to say and signalled discomfort in every way I could think of, short of writing it down for him. Finally he put his hand on my shoulder.

  "Never mind for now, Tigrallef," he said, and his voice oozed satisfaction. "We shall talk of this matter again, for it would please me to hear the legends of our new brothers in Gil. For now, I came only to say to you—Lord Shree is safe for the moment. The Burgher of Vass asked me if any Sherkin survivors were on board; as Lord Shree is only half a Sherkin, I told only half a lie. As far as the Vassashin are concerned, he is a full Gilman and a member of your personal staff. You must warn him, though, to be careful of what he does and says, and you must find him a new name."

  "I am most grateful to you, cousin," I said in a subdued voice.

  "I shall remind you of that someday." Ownership was back in his eyes. He hesitated. "Tomorrow, we go ashore. Be ready, cousin." Another searching look, and then he nodded graciously, and moved away. I grinned at his back.

  "What was that about?" Shree asked as I rejoined him and Chasco at the rail.

  "My august cousin is trying to score points for kindness. He has obliged me by not turning you over to the Vassashin as volcano fodder."

  "How very good of him. Were you properly grateful?"

  "Of course. But I think you're safe only so long as I continue to play the game."

  "That's to be expected. Anything else?"

  I smiled dreamily up at the dribbling volcano. "He came quite close to asking me about the Lady—about what happened after I destroyed Sher and broke the glass. I had to bring it up myself, though. He's being very cautious."

  "Are you being cautious enough?"

  "I think so. Anyway, we're being allowed ashore tomorrow. Shree, you need a name that won't get you killed, something harmless and Gillish. Tasolef?"

  "Thank you, but I'll do without the Scions' suffix. Look at the trouble it got you into."

  "Would you take Selki, Lord Shree?" offered Chasco. "It's a good name for a scholar."

  I whistled. "Your four-times-great grandfather, one of the greatest Clanseri poets. Chasco is honouring you, Shree."

  "Then I am honoured," Shree said. "Selki it is."

  The mountain rumbled again and both Shree and Chasco glanced up at its coronet of sparks. I kept my eyes on Shree. With the hair burgeoning on his jaw and cheeks, he looked like almost anything from a Lucian eremite to a Miisheli trog, but nothing in particular like a Sherkin warlord. The beard masked the hungry lines of his face and filled in the hollows of his cheeks, appearing to drop his high sharp cheekbones by an inch or so. The Vassashin shint, if she'd actually managed to return to Vassashinay before the Sherkin débâcle, was going to have a hard job recognizing the Gillish scholar Selki.

  The next afternoon, our fourth in the harbour of Vass, I sat in the bow of the smallboat with Rinn and my watchdogs, the Satheli envoy and a few highborn Miishelu, watching the jetty approach. The Frath Major, the Bequiin Ardin and an assortment of other luminaries were ahead of us in the other smallboat. We were to be the honoured guests of Lillifer himself, the Burgher of Vass, who was the closest thing to a kinglet in the islands of Vassashinay.

  He was waiting for us on the beach, a tall solid man in late middle age, whose height was exaggerated by the conical headgear he wore as his symbol of office. By that, I recognized him as the man who had parleyed with the Frath Major. He stood at the head of a wedge of obvious local dignitaries, all of them men; but standing by his left hand was a tiny figure in a long flame-coloured hooded gown, whom I thought at first glance was a child.

  A large crowd was on hand to watch us disembark; I ran my eyes over the faces as I handed Rinn tenderly on to the shore. The Vassashin were a handsome race, well-built, almost as dark-skinned as the Storicans, with long ropes of reddish-brown hair hanging down their backs and ornaments of shell, coral and shiny stone jingling on their scanty costumes. Multitudes of healthy naked children swarmed around the edges of the crowd and I saw somebody doing a brisk business in spit-broiled fishes up near the treeline. There was a feeling of festival in the air. None of this was what I expected in a nation that had spent most of its history being raped and looted by the appalling Sherank. Where was the bitterne
ss that festered on in Gil and Tata, Glishor and Kuttumm? Where were the hard haunted faces you saw on the streets of Gil City?

  Burgher Lillifer stepped forward to greet us formally. I bowed to his bow, put my hands palm to palm with his, since that seemed to be expected, and as I did so, my eyes fell on the child beside him. She was no child. Thick white streaks ran through the plait coiled on top of her head, half-hidden by the scarlet hood; her sharp brown eyes were set in a web of wrinkles. She watched me intently as I stepped back from greeting the Burgher.

  This was the odd thing: I felt I recognized her. Not the face, not the half-size body, not the surprisingly strong voice she raised a few moments later in a prayer to the fire-gods—all those were strange to me, but she teased at my memory. I glanced at her again and saw she was still gazing at me with an intensity that made me very uneasy.

  She looked away from me at last when the ongoing ritual of welcoming demanded her attention. Obviously she was a personage of importance among the Vassashin. Her last act in the ritual, after the forementioned prayer, was a fairly provincial bit of conjuring—a handful of black powder thrown to the ground at the Frath's feet, a flash of white light, a sparkling cloud that hovered around the Frath's head and shoulders for a few moments before its particles winked out and fell to the sand. A kind of trashy Zainoi firework from the looks of it, but the Miishelu managed not to snicker or sneer, while the Vassashin spectators were breathlessly impressed. In dead silence they listened to the little woman's final blessing, then parted respectfully to let her depart. Still puzzled, I watched her join a phalanx of red-robed figures at the edge of the crowd and vanish into the trees.