by Tad Williams
As Qmnitan watched the trembling figure of Prusas withdraw into the cushioned depths of his litter with a stammering cry that his bearers should hurry on, she could only wonder how anyone, especially someone like Sulepis with no suitable male heirs even born, let alone ready to rule, could have chosen such a pathetic creature as Prusas for his scotarch, a cripple who looked to be tottering on the lip of the grave (Qinnitan was not alone, of course: nobody in the Seclusion seemed to know the answer to that question, although it was much guessed-at throughout the entire Orchard Palace. Some brave ones whispered that it proved that Autarch Sulepis was either the maddest of his unstable family or, putting a more pleasant face on it, touched by the gods.)
The tall doors had barely swung shut behind the scotarch’s litter before they swung open again for Qinnitan and her pair of attendant maids and complementary pair of Favored guards.
The Reclining Chamber with its slender purple-and-gold columns was only slightly smaller than the great throne room, although there were many fewer people in it, only a dozen soldiers mostly ranged at the back of the dais and another two dozen servants and priests In any other circumstances it would have felt strange to be the object of so many male stares after so long in the Seclusion, but even with Jeddin one of those watching her, the Leopard captain’s eyes rapt but his thoughts hidden as though behind a curtain, Qinnitan’s gaze was drawn to the man on the white stone bench as though by a lodestone. It was not just the autarch’s obvious power that seized her attention, the way the others in the room stayed as close to him as they could while still obviously fearing him, like freezing peasants around a huge bonfire, or even the fierce madness of his eyes, pitiless as a hunting bird’s, whose force she could feel even from a dozen paces away. This time, there was another reason for her fascination except for the golden circlet in his hair and the golden stalls on his fingertips, the autarch was completely naked.
Qinnitan realized that her cheeks were growing hot, as though the god-king really did burn with some kind of flame. She didn’t quite know where to look. Nakedness itself did not bother her, even that of a grown man— she had often seen her father and brothers bathe themselves, and the people of Great Xis did not wear much even when they were walking in the crowded, sun-blasted streets—and the autarch’s golden-brown limbs although long and thin were by no means ugly. Still, there was a disturbing heedlessness to Sulepis that made his unclothed form seem somehow more like that of an animal that did not know it was naked than a man who knew and reveled in it. There was a shiny film of sweat on all his skin. His member lay against his thighs, limp and long as the snout of some blind thing.
“Ah,” the autarch said in a bored tone that didn’t match the expression in his eyes, “here she is, the young bride-to-be. Am I not right, Panhyssir? Is this not her?”
“You are right, as always, Golden One.” The priest stepped out from behind the slaves with the fans and waited behind the couch.
“And her name was… was.
“Qinnitan, Golden One—daughter of Cheshret of the Third Temple.”
“Such an unusual name you have, child.” The autarch lifted his hand, crooked a long, shining finger at her. “Come closer.”
Never in her life had she wanted more fervently to turn and run away as fast as she could, a beast-panic that struck her as shockingly as if a jar of cold water had been dashed against her skin. For a moment she could teel again the endless depths that had suddenly opened before her after drinking the Sun’s Blood elixir it seemed that if she did not do something, she would fall into blackness and never stop falling. Qinnitan stood, desperate to escape although she couldn’t quite say why, but in any case unable to do so and fighting for breath.
“Step forward,” Panhyssir said harshly. “The Golden One has spoken to you, girl.”
His eyes held hers now and she found herself taking one small step forward, then another. The gold-tipped finger curled and she moved still closer, until she stood beside the couch with the god-king’s long face only a handsbreadth or two below her own. She had never seen such eyes, she knew now, she could not imagine such bright, mad depths attached to anything that walked on two legs. Beneath the attar of roses and other perfumes lurked something base and disturbing, a salty tang like blood or even hot metal—the autarch’s breath.
“Her parentage shows, I think.” The mightiest man on earth reached up his hand to touch her. She flinched, then held steady as his fingertip in its little basket of warm gold mesh drew a line down her cheek that in her imagination rasped her skin and left behind a bloody path. She closed her eyes, feeling as though at any moment some terrible joke would be revealed and someone would step forward, throw her down, and hack off her head. It almost seemed it might come as a relief.
“Open your eyes, girl. Am I so frightening? The Seclusion is full of women who have felt my touch with joy, and many others still praying I will come to them soon.”
She looked at him. It was very difficult. There seemed nothing else in the great room—no columns, no guards, nothing but herself and those eyes the color of old linen.
“Do not fear,” he said quietly. “Rather, rejoice. You will be the mother of my immortality, little bride-to-be. An honor like no other.”
She could not speak, could not even nod until she swallowed down the lump in her throat.
“Good. Do what the old priest bids you and you will have a wedding night that lifts you in glory above all others.” He let his hand slide from her face to her breast and she felt her nipples harden as if with fever-chill beneath the thin robe. “Remember, all this belongs to your god.“ His hand slipped down over her belly, the finger-stalls hard and cruel as a vulture’s talons as he carelessly cupped her groin. She could not suppress a little grunt of shock. “Prepare and rejoice.”
He let her go and turned away, lifted his hand. A cupbearer sprang forward to give him something to drink. The autarch was clearly finished with her. Panhyssir clapped and the guards led her toward the door. Qinnitan was trembling so badly as she left the Reclining Chamber that she almost fell and had to be steadied. Beneath her robe she thought she could still feel every instant of his touch, as though his fingers had left a burning stain.
20. Lost in the Moon’s Land
MIDDLE OF THE FOREST:
Name the guardian trees—
White Heart, Stone Arm, Hidden Eye, Seed of Stars
Now bow and they bow also, laughing
—from The Bonefall Oracles
Barrick was furious, to be summoned across the huge residence to Avin Brone’s chamber in the middle of the night as though he were a mere courtier. He growled at the small boy who opened the lord constable’s door when the child did not get out of the way fast enough, but he was disturbed as well by the urgent words of Brone’s messenger.
“The lord constable begs you to come to his rooms, Highness,” the page had told him. “He respectfully asks that you come quickly.”
Barrick s sleep had been plagued again, as so often, by evil dreams; as the door opened a sickly fearful part of him wondered if the big man planned some treachery. Barrick almost flinched when the lord constable came across the small sitting room toward him, dressed in a monstrous nightgown, his buckled shoes pulled directly onto his bare feet. When Brone did nothing more suspicious than to bow slightly and hold the door open, another fear occurred to Barrick.
“Where is my sister? Is she well?”
“To the best of my knowledge. I imagine she will arrive any moment.”
Brone gestured to a chair, one of two placed side by side. “Please, Highness, sit down. I will explain all.” His beard, uncombed and unribboned, strayed all over his face and chest like a wild shrub: apparently whatever had caused this unlikely summons had come after the Lord of Landsend was in bed.
When Barrick had seated himself, Brone lowered his own large frame onto a stool, leaving the other chair empty. “I have sent the boy for some wine. Forgive the meagerness of my hospitality.”
&nbs
p; Barrick shrugged. “I will take some mulled.”
“Good choice. There is an ugly chill in the corridors.”
“There certainly is,”Briony announced from the doorway. “I’m sure you have good reason for getting me out of my warm bed, Lord Brone.”
Briony’s huge, hooded velvet mantle did not entirely disguise the fact that she, too, was in her nightdress. Of the three, only Barrick wore day-clothes. He did not like preparing himself for bed, these days, and preferred falling asleep in a chair while still dressed. Somehow it seemed as though that might make it harder for the bad dreams to find him.
“Thank you, Highness.” Brone rose again and made a bow before leading Briony to the other chair. He winced a little as he moved. Barrick was at first merely interested—the lord constable had always seemed, like Shaso, a man made of something sterner than mere flesh—but a moment later he felt a pang of worry. What if Brone died? He was not a young man, after all. With their father and the master of arms both prisoners, and Kendrick dead, there were few people left that the Eddons could trust who knew all the political business of Southmarch. Barrick suddenly felt more than ever like a child sent out to do a grown man’s chore.
The lord constable must have seen something of this thought in Barrick’s face. His smile was grim. “These cold nights are a trial to my old joints, Highness, but nothing I cannot weather. Still, I am glad that you have many, many years ahead of you before you must worry about such things.”
Briony seemed more interested in her brother than in the lord constable’s infirmities. “Have you not been to bed, Barrick?”
He didn’t like being asked in front of Avin Brone, as though she were his older sister, or even his mother, instead of his twin. “I was reading. Does that meet with your approval, Your Highness?” She flushed a little. “I only wondered…”
“I have been meaning to ask you, Princess,” the lord constable asked, “whether my niece Rose Trelling was giving you good service.” He did not meet her eye. Brone’s look was distracted, almost confused, as though they had woken him up rather than the other way around. “We were very grateful for your kindness to her. She is a good girl, if a little silly sometimes.”
“I am very happy with Rose.” Briony stared at him. “But I cannot believe you woke us after the midnight bell to ask whether my ladies-in-waiting are serving me well.”
“Forgive me, Highness, but I am waiting our true business until…” The lord constable fell silent, nodding significantly as the page returned with three flagons of wine. The boy knelt by the fire and heated them one by one with a poker, then served Briony first. It was clear Avin Brone wouldn’t speak until the boy had left, so they all sat and watched the seemingly endless process, the room silent but for the quiet rumble and crackle of the fire.
When the boy was gone, Brone leaned forward. “Again, I apologize for calling you both here, out of your beds. The fact is, it is easier for me to empty my rooms of listening ears and less conspicuous to do so. If I had come to you and asked for all your pages and maids and guards to be sent away, it would be the talk of the castle tomorrow.”
“And you do not think anybody will know or discuss the fact that Barrick and I came across the castle to your rooms?”
“It will not occasion as much speculation. And there is another reason to meet here, which you will see.”
“But why this alarm?” Barrick couldn’t lose the twist of fear in his guts. Was this what being a king was always like? Fearful midnight summonses? Distrust and doubt all the time? Who would want such a thing? He had a sudden horror—he prayed it was only a horror and not some kind of premonition—of Briony lost or dead and himself left alone to rule. “What is so urgent?” he almost shouted. “What cannot wait for morning and needs to be held secret?”
“Two things, two pieces of information, both of which reached me this evening,” said Brone. “One of them will require you to get up, so I will begin with the other while you finish your wine.” He took a long swallow from his own flagon. “Thank Erilo for the blessed grape,” he said fervently. “If I could not have a cup or two of warm wine at night so I can bend my old legs, I would have to sleep standing up like a horse.”
“Talk,” said Barrick through clenched teeth.
“Your pardon, Highness.” Brone tugged at his gray-shot beard. “Here are the first tidings, whatever they may mean. Gailon Tolly seems to have disappeared.”
“What?” Barrick and Briony spoke at the same time. “The Duke of Summerfield”” he asked, unbelieving.” That Gailon Tolly?”
Avin Brone nodded. “Yes, my prince. He never reached Summerfield Court.”
“But he left here with a dozen armed men,” Briony said. “Surely, so many knights can’t simply vanish. And we would have heard something from his mother, wouldn’t we?”
“That’s right,” said Barrick. “If anything had happened to Gailon that old cow would be at our gate by now, screaming murder.”
Lord constable raised his broad hands in a gesture of helplessness. “They have only just begun to realize at Summerfield Court that he is missing. He sent word by a fast courier when he left here, and they expected him back a week ago, but no one was surprised he hadn’t arrived— I imagine they thought he had stopped for some hunting, or to visit one of his . . his cousins.” He looked at Briony, then quickly away. “It was only the day before yesterday that people began to grow alarmed. A horse that belonged to his friend, Evon Kinnay, son of the Baron of Longhowe—you remember young Kinnay, of course . . ?”
“A weasel,” snapped Barrick. “Always going on about how he wanted to become a priest, and touching up the servant girls.”
“. . Kinnay’s horse, still with saddle and saddle blanket, was found wandering a few miles from the grounds of Summerfield Court. Gailon had mentioned in his letter to his mother that Kinnay was one of the men coming back with him. The Tollys have now searched the area all around the forest. No trace.”
Briony put down her wine cup. She looked now like Barrick had felt since he first received Brone’s summons. “May the gods preserve us from evil. Do you think it is something like what happened with that merchant caravan? Could it be… the Twilight People?”
“But Summerfield Court is miles and miles south of the Shadowline,” Barrick hurriedly pointed out. He didn’t like the thought of dark things slipping past that barrier and roaming the lands of men. He hadn’t had even a single good night since the news of the caravan. “We are much closer than they are.”
“Nothing is impossible,” admitted Avin Brone. “I want you also to consider the possibility of something closer to home. Gailon Tolly left Southmarch a very angry man—a very powerful man, too, especially now that your brother Kendrick is dead. I do not have to tell you that there are many people of influence in the land who think you two are too young to rule. Some even say that you are my puppets.”
“Perhaps you should consider that the next time you make us walk across the castle to your chamber in the middle of the night, Brone.” Anger helped Barrick feel a little better—it was like dipping the hot poker into the wine, sharing the heat.
“What does it matter what people think?” his sister demanded. “We did nothing to Gailon! I was glad to see the back of him.”
“But think on this,” said the lord constable. “Imagine that Gailon appears again some days from now. Imagine that the Tollys cry that you sent soldiers after him to kill him, that you feared his claim on the throne…”
“What nonsense! Claim? Gailon has a claim only if our father and all of his family are dead!” Barrick’s anger returned, so strong that he had to get up and pace. “That means Briony and I would have to be dead, too. And our stepmother’s child as well.
Brone held up a hand, requesting quiet. Barrick stopped talking but could not make himself sit down again. “I only ask you to imagine a possibility, Highnesses. Imagine if Gailon were to reappear in a few weeks and say you tried to murder him—perhaps claim that the two of you
were going to avoid paying your father’s ransom so you could continue to rule and that he had objected, or something like that.”
“That would be treachery—revolution!” Barrick slumped down in his chair again, feeling suddenly weak and miserable. “But how could we prove it wasn’t so?"
“That is the problem with rumors,” said Avin Brone. “It is very hard to prove that things are not true—much more difficult than proving they are.”
“But why do you propose such an unlikely possibility?” asked Briony. “I don’t much like Gailon, but, surely, even if the Tollys had designs on the throne, he would wait until there is some problem—a bad crop, or a plague of fevers much worse than the one that Barrick and others have had—wait until people are truly frightened before trying to turn them against us? They hardly know my brother and me. We have reigned only scarcely a season.”
