by David Drake
“What kind of place is this, Tenoctris?” Cashel asked, looking around him. There were niches in the ceiling, but they seemed just to lighten the structure. The pigeons liked them, that was true.
Tenoctris gave him a quick smile. “Another tomb,” she said. “This one belongs to the wife of a rich man of the Old Kingdom. Tombs concentrate the powers better than anything except a battlefield, and there are problems with battlefields.”
Her grin widened. “They attract other things as well, you see,” she said. “That’s also why I chose not to return where we’d been before. A mouse that uses the same hole too often will one day find a cat waiting.”
Tenoctris touched the rim of the tripod, then stretched her hand out toward him. “Now the sword, if you please, Cashel,” she said.
He gave her the sword he’d brought back to the palace after the fight with the Last. She drew it and tossed the scabbard toward the distant wall. The gray metal gave back the moonlight as a distant shimmer.
“Stand close to the tripod,” Tenoctris said, looking down the blade with a critical eye. As Cashel obediently moved, she pointed the sword toward the gritty floor and said, “Siskibir kebibir.”
A spark snapped from the sword point, touched the floor, and lit the point blue. Tenoctris swung the sword sunwise in an arc.
“Knebibir sadami samomir.”
Wizardlight as pale as sulfur flames quivered and continued burning. Tenoctris walked around the tripod, chanting as she went. Cashel moved to keep out of the way, though she was far enough out that it’d probably have been all right.
“Merych rechar—”
The clamps holding the tripod’s legs to the bowl were shaped like lions. As the blue light reflected from them, their manes rippled and Cashel thought he saw their forelegs move.
“Paspar!” Tenoctris said, then stood breathing deeply. The circle of light was complete.
She looked at Cashel and smiled with satisfaction. Despite her young face, Tenoctris seemed a lot older than she had before the demon.
“I’m not used to being able to command such powers,” she said. “I find that I like the experience.”
Tenoctris held up the oddly shaped sword and examined it in the flickering light of the circle. Cashel cleared his throat and said, “You didn’t used to use metal wands, Tenoctris. Just the bamboo slivers that you threw away.”
She chuckled, stroking the flat of the blade with her fingertips. “Yes,” she agreed. “I worried that I wouldn’t be able to control the forces I was working with if I let them build on previous spells. I needn’t worry about that, now.”
Still smiling, Tenoctris pointed the sword toward the stook beneath the tripod. Again a spark popped, briefly coating the twigs like a blue corposant. They began to burn much brighter than such little bits of wood should’ve been able to. They had a sweet, pungent odor; Cashel sneezed.
“It’s cassia,” Tenoctris said without taking her eyes from the bowl. “From Tisamur.”
Pointing the sword at the bowl, she began to chant. At first it was so soft that Cashel couldn’t hear the words.
He smiled at the thought. He wouldn’t have understood them anyway, of course.
Feathers slapped, blowing dust from the floor over his feet; he turned. It wasn’t a pigeon but a raven, big as a cat even with its black wings folded. It sat just outside the circle and cocked its head, staring at Tenoctris with an eye which reflected the blue flames.
A second raven flew in the door and lighted an arm’s length from the first. It hopped a double pace sideways around the circle.
Cashel darted a glance to see what Tenoctris was doing. The cassia blazed like dry honeysuckle, but it didn’t burn itself up. The liquid started to steam. There was only a thimbleful of liquid in the bowl, but the cloud curling up started to fill the great vault. It was faintly violet.
A third raven flapped in, opened its chisel-shaped beak, and croaked. Cashel heard only a faint whisper of sound before the circle of flame roared into a solid wall of light. He felt like he was falling, but he and Tenoctris stood on the solid stone floor where the fire burned under the bubbling bowl.
The wizardlight grew paler, finer; it had the texture of moonlight on a pond. The ravens had vanished, but things moved in the shadows.
The smoke curving from Tenoctris’ tripod swelled into the face of a man. He looked upward and screamed, “Time, just a day more of life!”
He was gone, vanishing like the splash of a raindrop. The smoke shrank into another face and another and then a thing that wasn’t human, could never have been human: a lizard’s head with fangs the length of a finger and an eye as cold as the ravens’. Then that was gone too.
“Nakyar sisbe,” Tenoctris said, pointing the sword at but not into the curling smoke. “Kayam!”
The face of a man, as still and perfect as a statue of the Shepherd, rippled. It seemed to suck all the vapor into it and grow solid.
“Why do you call me?” it thundered. The words echoed from much farther away than the brick dome.
“I must have the key for which the Telchines have searched these many ages,” Tenoctris said. The voice was certainly hers, but it had an unfamiliar harsh certainty.
“That is not permitted!” said the face of smoke. “Trouble me no more!”
Tenoctris drew a symbol in the air with the point of her sword. The face bellowed in pain and rage.
“Where is the key?” Tenoctris said. “Speak!”
“It is not yours to grant!” the face shouted. “Only He Who took the key from the Telchines can—”
“Speak!” and the sword twisted again. Cashel felt his eyes squeeze together with a stabbing pain even though he saw the motion only from the side.
The face cried out wordlessly, then said, “On the Tomb of the Messengers! And may you never know release from agony for what you have done!”
Tenoctris dropped the sword with a clang. Bending, she seized the tripod by one clawed leg and picked it up. Cashel frowned, but he remembered she was no longer a frail old woman.
Tenoctris upended the tripod over the fire, smothering it instantly. The ring of wizardlight blazed up, then vanished to leave only darkness.
Cashel faced outward, holding his staff crosswise. He couldn’t tell where danger might come from.
Moonlight streamed through the doorway. Tenoctris swayed. Cashel reached out to steady her, but she caught herself without help.
“You’ll have to bring my bag, I’m afraid, Cashel,” she whispered.
“Yes, Tenoctris,” Cashel said. “What are we going to do?”
“We’ll go back to the palace and sleep,” Tenoctris said. “Tomorrow we have to go even farther, and I must be prepared.”
She laughed triumphantly. The sound echoed from the brick vault of the tomb.
SHARINA’D SET TONIGHT’S council meeting in the large gazebo overlooking the water garden. The plash of water—routed from the River Beltis through an aqueduct which’d been restored by Garric after being out of order for a generation—reminded her of waves rustling against the seawall beneath her father’s inn. It’d rained earlier in the afternoon, though, and the frogs screaming among the lilies weren’t of the same varieties as those she’d heard in Barca’s Hamlet.
She smiled and found that the expression felt good. It’d been too long since she’d last done it, she realized.
“Councillors,” she said, looking around the table of seated magnates. Their aides stood among the pillars supporting the gazebo’s roof, more hidden than illuminated by the hanging lanterns. Most of the military men were eyeing Rasile unhappily. Some even fingered the lips of their empty scabbards—they weren’t permitted to be armed in the presence of the regent.
“Lady Tenoctris is carrying out other duties on behalf of the kingdom,” Sharina said. “In her absence she’s deputized Rasile here—”
She gestured to the Corl wizard.
“—to advise us in her place. Through the use of her art, and in my presen
ce, Rasile has received information indicating that the army must move at once to relieve Pandah, which is being besieged by the Last.”
“I say let them kill each other!” said Admiral Zettin, and his was only the first voice in the chorus of protest. At least six of the fourteen councillors were objecting, and several of the others glared at Rasile while they whispered to aides.
Sharina smiled again. In the epics, kings gave orders and everyone obeyed, unless perhaps a boorish villain was set up to be humiliated for questioning the king’s wisdom. The reality that she’d seen, under Garric as surely as now, was that people who were fit to manage the chief bureaus of the kingdom were also more than willing to give the monarch the benefit of their opinions when they disagreed.
“A moment, please,” Sharina said in a normal tone. None of those speaking paid attention. She didn’t try to shout over the tumult: First, because she wouldn’t have succeeded and at best would’ve added one more voice to the babble. Second and more important, though, she didn’t shout because that would’ve reduced her status. If she didn’t project herself as Princess Sharina, these powerful soldiers would mentally relegate her to the status of a barmaid.
She and Liane had known this would happen if neither Garric nor Cashel was present, so they’d made preparations. Sharina nodded, and Liane struck the eight-inch brass gong in front of her. Though her mallet was wood rather than metal, the gong’s plangent note nonetheless silenced all the voices at the table.
When those arguing had all closed their mouths—the more perceptive in embarrassment, the others with looks of puzzled irritation—Liane stilled the gong between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. Sharina smiled faintly and said, “Lord Waldron, would you state your objections first, please.”
“Your Highness, we don’t know what the supply situation on the route to Pandah is,” the army commander said. “Before the Change we could load supplies on merchant ships and sail them to where they’d meet us. Now, we either forage on route or we pack them along—which means the draft animals eat up more than they leave.”
“I see the practical problems,” said Sharina. “Admiral Zettin, would you state your objections now?”
“I don’t mean my men can’t do it,” Waldron added hastily. “But it’s not going to be easy.”
“I’ll return to you shortly, milord,” Sharina said, trying to put steel in her tone the way she’d heard Garric—or anyway, King Carus—do in the past. She wasn’t sure she’d succeeded, but at least Waldron subsided. “Admiral, succinctly, if you will.”
“Pandah’s a nest of pirates and cannibals,” Zettin said with a nod. He was pushy, and young in more ways than being thirty years Waldron’s junior, but he was also very clever. “The Last aren’t human. The longer they fight each other, the stronger the kingdom is. We shouldn’t interfere.”
“Very good,” Sharina said. “Rasile, please respond to the admiral’s point.”
Chancellor Royhas looked up from his close conversation with Lord Hauk, presumably discussing payment and procurement for supplies if the army marched on Pandah. “Your Highness,” he said, “I don’t think it’s appropriate for an animal to address us. Even if it does speak like a human now.”
“As you please, milord,” Sharina said, trying to stay calm. It seemed to her that the chancellor’d spoken more sharply than he would’ve to Garric. “Lord Tadai?”
The plump, perfectly groomed nobleman sat across the table from Royhas; he’d been whispering urgently with two clerks, scratching notes on a sheet of sycamore bark. He met Sharina’s gaze and lifted an eyebrow in question. “Your Highness?”
“Lord Royhas is giving up his portfolio,” Sharina said. “Are you willing to accept the duties of chancellor?”
“Your Highness, wait!” Royhas said, rising from his chair abruptly and catching his knees under a table that was lower than he was used to. He flopped back down. “Please!”
“I’ve willingly served the kingdom in whatever position you or your royal brother appointed me to, Your Highness,” Tadai said unctuously. He carefully avoided letting his eyes drift toward the discomfited man across the table. “I would be honored if you chose to use me in the capacity of chancellor.”
“Your Highness,” Royhas said, calm once more. He stood and bowed low, then straightened to meet her eyes. “I apologize. I misspoke because I’m tired. But Your Highness, if I cannot claim to be tireless in carrying out my duties, I’ve certainly been honest and efficient. I believe even—”
He turned to glance at his rival, then faced Sharina again.
“—Lord Tadai would grant that. I made an error of speech. It will not recur.”
He bowed and sat down again.
Sharina nodded. “Well said, Chancellor,” she said. “Lord Tadai, I’m fortunate to be able to retain you as head of my civil affairs section when I march with the army.”
She gave Waldron a hard smile and added, “As I expect to do shortly. Rasile, please explain why you believe we must go to Pandah.”
She hadn’t threatened Royhas about what would happen if he—not to put too fine a point on it—insulted her again. He knew, everyone at the table knew, what would happen. So did the guards and so did the clerks and the servants and the courtiers watching events through the open sides of the gazebo.
Sharina smiled with her lips pressed tight together. She didn’t like being regent, but she hadn’t liked emptying chamber pots at the inn either. Garric depended on her, and she supposed the kingdom did too—though it made her very uncomfortable to think in those terms. Therefore she would be regent.
“The Last are without number,” Rasile said. “They do not grow weaker, warrior, any more than the sea is weakened by striking against a cliff. But it wears the cliff down as the Last will wear down Pandah; and while they are doing so, they’re fortifying the pool by which they enter this region. If you do not stop them while you can, you will speed their conquest of this world by two years—or perhaps three.”
The Corl spoke in a mix of clicks and labials, but owing to Tenoctris’ remarkable feat of wizardry, the listening humans understood her perfectly. The thought jerked Sharina’s mind to wonder about Tenoctris as she now was—and to concern over what Cashel might be facing to protect the wizard.
“I don’t see how these Last get into the water,” said Lord Hauk, looking at the mass of documents spread on the table before him. “Do they swim here, is that it?”
“Rasile?” Sharina said. “Please explain the matter.”
She’d asked the wizard the same question, but rather than retail the information she thought she’d let it come from the original source. Among other things, that might raise Rasile’s status in the eyes of the councillors. Roy has certainly wasn’t alone in distrusting and disdaining their Coerli allies.
“The Last do not touch the water,” Rasile said. “They cross from reflection to reflection. If you distort the surface of the site they choose, you block them.”
She coughed and paused. How old is she? How old do Coerli get?
“They cannot use every body of water as their mirror,” Rasile resumed. “There must be a focus for their art, a dense braiding of power. Save Pandah, you’ve blocked every such focus already in your portion of this world.”
The Corl laughed, a bestial sound that probably wasn’t meant to be threatening. “Your Tenoctris is a very great wizard. I am not fit to be her lowliest slave…and yet she chooses to serve your kingdom instead of gaining hegemony over this universe.”
Her shrug was identical to that of a puzzled human. She laughed again and added, “It is almost as if Tenoctris were me, only vastly more powerful.”
“I don’t understand what the cat means,” said the minister of the post plaintively to her neighbor, the burly commandant of the Valles Night Watch. The latter’s deep frown didn’t suggest to Sharina that he was going to be much help with the question.
The minister of the post felt eyes on her and looked up in horror, then cl
apped both hands over her mouth. It was a charmingly innocent gesture, but one which reminded Sharina that the lady was a political ally of Chancellor Royhas.
Sharina rose to her feet. “What it means,” she said, though she knew the minister’d been asking a much more basic question than the one she chose to answer, “is that however difficult it may be to root out the incursion of the Last at Pandah, we must do so in order to buy time till others can deal with the creatures in a permanent fashion. Is there anyone at the table who disagrees with that assessment?”
There was silence. They were intelligent people—well, most of them were—and pragmatists. Given the facts, they’d come to the same conclusion she had.
“Lord Waldron?” she prodded, looking down at the old soldier.
“My men are talking to Master Baumo’s men now,” Waldron said, nodding toward the tax office clerk. “We’ll have an operational plan ready before morning.”
He smiled grimly and added, “If I’d been looking for an easy life, I wouldn’t have been a soldier. And if any of my men had thought it was going to be easy, I’d have run them out or ground them under.”
Sharina felt a sudden wash of contentment. It was late at night, but the guests’ bed linen was clean, the common room had been swept, porridge for the morning was simmering on the kitchen fire—
And the chamber pots had been emptied.
“Very good, Councillors,” Sharina said. “We will do our jobs here so that Prince Garric and Lady Tenoctris can save us by doing theirs.”
And Cashel can save us, she thought. Before he comes back to save me from lonely darkness.
ILNA AND TEMPLE joined Asion on the limestone ridge, looking down at the land spreading below. The valley behind them was a waste of blowing dust and woody plants sheltering in the lee of outcrops; ahead was tussock grass, not the lushest of vegetation but proof of some water. Stretching toward them up the gentle slope were broad fields irrigated from the creek lying at the base of steeper hills across the valley; cotton woods grew on the banks.
Asion turned and signaled to his partner. Karpos was less than a furlong behind, much closer than usual because the landscape they’d just crossed was too barren and dusty to conceal a stalking enemy.
