If anyone did.
"Anya," Lord Ishavriel said.
She paused a moment, her expression openly shifting between glee and suspicion. At last, she said, "You can't hide him from me, Lord. I know where you sent him."
"Impossible," Assarak said flatly.
"That's what you always say, Assarak. That's what you said before I took the spell from your hands and sent—what was his name again?—something-or-other ad'Assarak into the cliff face to join with the rock." She laughed as she said it, and sauntered over to the table.
Lord Assarak stiffened.
Lord Isladar rose as well; Cortano did not. "Anya," Isladar said quietly, "if you wish information, you must join us at the table. It is," he added quietly, "quite black, but there are hints throughout of gold and blue. Come, you may have my seat, in return for which I ask only that you listen quietly."
She wavered a moment, half-suspicious. But there was about Isladar some quietness of manner that often lulled her tempers; he, of all the Kialli, had never fueled her sudden rage, piqued her angry curiosity. "I get your seat?"
"My seat," he said, nodding. "Come. I will remake it for you, if you so desire."
It was customary to add, with your permission, Lord Ishavriel, for Anya was clearly Lord Ishavriel's keep, but custom was often set aside when dealing with Anya. The great beasts that slumbered beneath the height of the Lord's spires were treated with less uncertainty than she.
"If you insist. You aren't talking about that boring boy again?"
"Which boy is that?" Isladar said, deftly and silently reforming the chair's back so that Anya might be seated in a throne of delicate beauty that better conformed to her diminutive size.
"You know the one—that half-slave that everyone goes on about."
"Ah. His name, Anya, is Valedan kai di'Leonne, and yes, I'm afraid we were speaking of him."
"But why?" She frowned. "I don't want to talk about a stupid boy. If he were here, I'd just kill him myself, and then there wouldn't be much reason to talk, would there?"
"He's not so easy to kill," Lord Assarak replied coldly.
"Oh, well, not for you. But I wouldn't have any problem I'm sure."
"But you might like him, Anya," Isladar said unexpectedly.
"I hardly think so. I am a mage, and he is a nothing."
"Ah. But he has declared himself a King."
"Well, maybe. But only of the Southern Barbarians, and they're all so stupid they don't even know about the real gods."
Cortano said nothing; she favored him with a side-glance that let him know how intentional the slight was. One day, Lord willing—which Lord, he didn't particularly care—he would see her dead.
"As you say. But he is… a danger to us."
"Etridian was supposed to kill him. I knew it! He failed again!"
One day, Lord willing, Cortano thought, they would all find the desire to cooperate for long enough to kill her.
"Yes," Isladar said, "and no."
"Which is it?"
"The boy lives."
"Then he failed."
"But apparently the boy has attracted the attention of a friend of yours."
"I don't have any—" Her eyes widened, and her lips lifted in what looked to be, inasmuch as she could have one, a genuine smile. Her face softened with a pleasure that had no malice and no triumph in it. She was lovely, in a vulnerable, happy way, for as long, Cortano thought bitterly, as it lasted. "Kiriel!"
"Indeed."
"But I haven't seen Kiriel for months!" Her eyes narrowed. "Lord Isladar, you aren't lying to me, are you?"
"No indeed, Anya. I see no need to lie. Kiriel di'Ashaf has found a home for herself in the heart of Averalaan." He paused, and looked out through the columns that defined the Shattered Hall's outer edge. "She will be traveling South," he said quietly. "To the Dominion. To serve the boy."
"But are you saying that she likes this boy?"
"I am saying only what we know, Anya. She either likes the boy, or she dislikes Etridian enough to interfere with his kill."
"She's done that before."
"I wouldn't know."
"You should. She has. I can't believe it! Kiriel! Isladar, this is the best news I've had since she left." A frown creased her loveliness, destroying it in an instant. "You don't think she likes this boy better than me, do you?"
"Anya, how could she?"
Again, her eyes narrowed, cat's eyes, crazed eyes. But Isladar's face was clear of malice, of amusement, of anything but truth. Is this how you handle the darkness-born? Cortano thought, not for the first time.
"When can we see her?"
"See her?"
"Of course. She's not as boring as the humans, and not as stupid as the demons. I miss her."
"Then we will make our plans, Anya, and perhaps we will indeed find her. I do not think it is time for her to return just yet."
"Why did she leave?"
"You will have to ask her, and I imagine that you will when we meet. Perhaps you should think about what you might want to do when you first see her."
She clapped, like a girl not yet burdened by age or responsibility, and bounced out of the chambers, wrath forgotten for a moment.
"Deftly done," Lord Ishavriel said, with a slight nod to Isladar. Allies a moment, Isladar nodded.
Then, as one, they turned to Cortano, the lone human in the cavernous, perfect hall. "You will tell your General," Lord Ishavriel said softly, "that his Kialli will begin to arrive during the Festival of the Moon; as he has requested, only those who bear human form will be sent.
"Tell him also that, should he choose to ignore our request, and our admittedly interrupted agreement, those Kialli will choose a different way of pleasing the demands of our Lord." He bowed.
When he rose, his face was a mask of slate and steel.
"I will tell him," Cortano said quietly. "And as you have not summoned the Lord and the Lord's wrath, Lord Ishavriel, understand that those Kialli will be destroyed if they attempt to hunt in the city in a way that does not please the ruler of the Dominion."
They did not choose to rise with him, and he stiffened. But only for a moment. Although he knew a dismissal when he heard one, wisdom argued against a confrontation with the Lord's Fist over something as simple as pride. He chose to ignore the slight. It was mild, a man other than he might have missed it entirely. A man like Sendari.
He left without looking back.
Lord Isladar chose to take the seat he had offered Anya. She had deserted it, but the lines, delicate and flowery to excess, remained, cast in stone. He was aware that the juxtaposition between his own power and hers was accentuated by his place upon the throne of madness. He did very little unawares.
Cortano's exit had left them with very few words.
Lord Ishavriel was first to rise; Lord Isladar second. Nugratz, third, was by far the most majestic; he took to the air, lending credence to the illusion of height in the arches above.
Lord Etridian, Lord Alcrax, and Lord Assarak rose slowly.
"The day will come," Assarak said at last, "when we are not required to bend to the whim of mortals."
"They serve their purpose," Lord Isladar said.
"Spoken by the Kialli who raises humans in his spare time."
It was, of course, an insult. Etridian's smile was sharply edged.
However, Isladar did not bridle; nor did any obvious sign of anger disturb the neutrality of his expression. He lifted a hand; the gesture, modified somewhat by a flash of blue light that hinted at a power he did not, immediately, possess, called all of their attention.
Which he held for another ten seconds at most.
One of the lesser kin appeared in a burst of gray-limned shadow, two feet above the table. He collapsed there, falling face first into stone with a force greater than gravity or weakness: fear.
His body was pointed in a straight line like a spear or an arrow; he abased himself in Etridian's shadow. That shadow moved, claiming him, name and al
l.
"Lord," the creature said.
"You interrupt me."
Self-evident; the lesser kin did not choose to speak.
"This is, of course, important."
Perhaps because he could not. Isladar wondered idly whose power had brought the creature here. Etridian's,' in all probability. Or one of his lieutenants'. A moment passed. The shadow in Etridian's hands grew darker and more complex.
Sensing this, the kin struggled to raise its nameless face. "We've found him," he said.
Five Lords turned to face Etridian.
"Where?"
"In Averalaan, Lord."
"Impossible. I searched there myself after the death of Karathis. We all did."
"Accept my apologies for the intrusion," Isladar said softly, offering what only he could. "But who has been found?"
Grateful for the interruption, the creature nonetheless faced his master when he spoke, and he spoke only after Lord Etridian nodded.
"The Warlord," he said.
"And?"
"We… attempted to approach him. We are not certain what occurred during the watch of Lord Karathis."
"And?"
The sound of the creature convulsively swallowing was answer enough.
For everyone but his Lord.
"And?"
"He… was not interested in offering us his service."
"Difficult. But he has on occasion proved himself to be neutral."
"Lord." The creature hesitated.
Fire engulfed the flat surface of the wide stone table, surrounding him. Etridian had run out of patience.
"He was with a… human. A woman."
"And she?"
"She—wore a ring. They call it a House ring. It is… of import to the humans in the city."
Isladar rose, leaving Anya's throne to his shadows. "Which House?" he asked softly.
"Errador ad'Etridian said it was House Terafin."
"And it was gold? Platinum?"
"It was human," the creature snarled.
"We were once smiths," Lord Isladar said, "and of those things you deem merely human we created works of art and power that have not been rivaled since. And you cannot tell the difference?"
The creature's contempt was second only to its ignorance; they were interested now because Isladar rarely showed such a display of annoyance. It did not, however, last. He fell silent, and Etridian turned back to the creature who had shown himself to be of lesser value and power by his lack of memory.
"The woman. Was she tall? Short? Young? Did he ever speak her name?"
"Lord Isladar," Etridian said, "you question my servant too closely."
"My apologies, Lord Etridian. The Warlord, of course, was your watch. But the questions I ask are relevant to the responsibility our Lord gave to you."
"Very well. Answer him."
"Yes. Yes, he spoke her name—but we only recognized it as a name when she responded."
"That name?"
"Jewel," the creature said. "Shouted in warning."
"Then, kinlords," Lord Isladar said, "we have a problem."
"Speak, Isladar."
"The Warlord is not neutral in this battle. He will stand at the side of our enemies." Silence.
Etridian and Assarak: exchanged a glance. "He will not stand for long," Etridian said at last.
* * *
CHAPTER FOUR
6th of Scaral, 427 AA
Averalaan
The dust was still in the air. It mingled with the stunned silence of the crowded city street. Silence, that is, if you didn't count the panicked nickering of horses and the screech of penned-up fowl ten yards away. The people farthest from that swirl of dust had already run as fast as their feet would take them, shouting and cursing as they sought out the magisterial guards who were supposed to protect them from one of the least legal things in the Empire: illegal public displays of magic.
Jewel had seen silences like this before; they would pass into gossip and heresay as shock and fear gave way to the demands of day-to-day life. Unfortunately, it would only pass that way once she and Avandar disappeared.
Which they were doing by two expedient means, the first being magic—his—and the second being a good, swift pair of legs. Well, two. She hated running when she was, to the eyes of the casual observer, invisible.
This was not an auspicious start to a journey.
Hells, it wasn't an auspicious start to just about anything. She had never gotten the hang of disappearing in this fashion and rammed into the elbows, backs, and legs of a dozen unsuspecting pedestrians before she at last stopped dead and called a halt to their flight.
Avandar's face was about as pleasant as the sky during a thunderstorm when he turned; she had the certain knowledge that hers was worse by his reaction. He opened his mouth to speak and when no words came out, closed it with an almost audible snap, as if he were biting silence.
Great.
They appeared more or less instantly, but no one seemed to really notice, and given that this had occurred in the streets of the Common, Jewel's frown was deep enough it threatened to become permanent. She had always known he was a mage, of course. But any display of his power annoyed her.
She was past annoyed now.
Avandar Gallais, her domicis, and a man hired for life by The Terafin herself, had killed a man in the streets of the city. Killed him pretty much instantly, and in front of more witnesses than she could count. She knew; she'd started.
"What exactly was that about?"
He was silent. But he offered her a shrug as he readjusted the heavy pack whose straps cut into his shoulders. "You will expect," he said, the words suspiciously like an order, "minor difficulties on the road we're traveling."
"Minor difficulties?" She turned in the direction they'd come from. People were now moving out of their way, which meant they could at least be seen; they were not, however listening, which meant they couldn't be heard. She could live with that. "I don't normally call a small speech in a completely foreign—and unpleasant, by the sound of it—tongue, followed by whatever-the-Hells you call that burst of fire, to be minor. I don't call loud, piercing screams, followed by complete and utter destruction, to be minor. Please correct the parts of these sentences you disagree with."
"You are aware that this is a war?"
"I'm aware that we're about to be involved on the periphery of one, yes."
"Well," he said, speaking slowly and carefully, "that was one of the bad guys."
Had he been one of her den, she'd have slapped him. It wasn't perfect behavior, but it was an old habit, and at times like this, old habits reasserted themselves the minute she forgot to pay attention.
"I haven't been a child for thirty years."
"No? Your pardon, ATerafin."
"What was that about?"
"Did you recognize him?"
"I don't know. There was something odd about him—and if I'd had more than a second before he turned into a human torch, I might have been able to place it."
He caught her hand, pulling her gently out of the way of a rolling wagon. No horses, not this far into the narrow paths of the Common, but wagons were still pulled by the next best thing: young boys and girls. From the looks of them, hungry as she'd once been. At least their labor was honest.
He pulled her into the stand of trees that was closest; she leaned against bark so broad it was easy to imagine the curve of the trunk went on forever. These were the Common's trees, and they were the one thing about the Common that still had the power to move her, no matter what her mood.
"He was a demon," Avandar said.
She knew, the moment the words left his lips, that he was right. Had known it on some level the minute he'd approached Avandar. He'd been perfectly attired for a patrician; his clothing fine, and enough in style that he was obviously a social creature; his eyes were dark, his hair darker still, and the line of his jaw was perfect and unbroken by years on the streets.
Just the type of man she c
ouldn't stand, but he'd held her attention, made her uneasy. Hells, she was still uneasy.
"Jewel?"
"It wasn't him," she said at last.
"What wasn't?"
"It wasn't his death that bothers me. It wasn't the fact that you killed him without once referring to me that bothers me. I think— even if things did move damn quickly—that you saved my life back there. Thanks."
"But."
"But," she said, irritated to be so obvious, especially to a man like Avandar, "something does bother me."
"Or we'd be on our way to safety. Jewel, we must—"
Six inches from where her hand lay, palm against the rough grain of perfect tree bark, wood splintered as if struck by lighting.
Funny thing that. It was.
Avandar cursed; Jewel was already halfway into the head-and-shoulder roll that stopped the next bolt from demonstrating the effect of lightning a little more personally than she'd have liked.
She saw fire. She had only rarely seen fire quite so strong, and she had seen a lot of magic in her tenure at Terafin—a lot more than anyone should have, who still called themselves sane. She shouted his name; it was all of the warning she had time for. Steel bit her where lightning had missed, shearing cloth—and some skin—from her shoulder.
It shouldn't have hit her. She'd had enough warning. Bleeding, she drew a dagger of her own and turned to face her attacker.
It was sort of like having a sword while standing on the ridge facing the advancing army. Even if that army was an army of one.
Not only was he not human, but a chorus of screams at his back made it clear he wasn't her imagination either. She'd thought to face a creature that used a knife; instead, she faced one that wore them over every square inch of his body.
"Please," he said, in a voice that sounded like the clash and scrape of steel being sharpened, "don't take this personally." If she hadn't already pegged him as demon, she would've then: his voice was, clash and clatter or no, a thing of beauty, a thing sensuous and powerful. With anticipation. With pleasure. "You attend the Warlord. There is always a price to be paid for that service."
Michelle West - The Sun Sword 03 - The Shining Court Page 10
