Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams

by Scott Rhine

  “Bricks,” he said with growing excitement. “I want fiber-reinforced, glass bricks like the Pretender. It would raise revenue without taxes and enable us to make local building materials that are cheaper and stronger. If I’m going to dabble in magic, I want it to build our economy.”

  “That’s possible, but it’ll take months or years to develop. What can we do now?”

  Anna interrupted. “Bottles. We can make wine bottles for Bablios. Skins are a horrible way to store and deliver wine.”

  The witch glared at Pagaose as if to say, “Make the cheerleader stop.” Out loud, she said, “Not magic. Since some of what we’re discussing is close to alchemy, we could make a case if we found the right application.”

  “Anna, could you get some strong tea for us?” asked Pagaose. “I’m afraid the long hours we’re forcing Komiko to work are exhausting her.”

  “Why don’t you just appoint her to another class that has less work?” asked Anna.

  “I can’t interfere; the minister of curriculum in each school decides those things.”

  “Someone would have to die or make a new school for that to happen,” explained the tall witch, rubbing her temple.

  “I’ll see what I can do about arranging a suitable class schedule,” Pagaose said. “Once we resolve a few issues.”

  Locking eyes with the emperor, the witch said, “A stimulating drink would be ever so helpful.”

  The brewer woman raised an eyebrow, but did as she was asked.

  They both watched her leave. When Anna was out of hearing, Komiko said, “She has cushion in all the right places, but no business in the throne room.”

  “I say otherwise.”

  “I agree she’d make a great bed warmer, but a lousy shark. You need sharks at your side, your highness.”

  “In what way?”

  “Can you do anything magic?”

  “I can do a great deal. I could tap the same energies as Myron did and level the rest of this island,” he admitted.

  Sitting on the desk, the witch’s breathing grew ragged. She adjusted her neckline so she could breathe easier. “If you could teach me that . . .”

  Pagaose raised a finger to silence the offer. “I wouldn’t share that secret, even at that price. You don’t have the self-control to hold those energies in check. Even I don’t play with those forces. The only man selfless enough to trust with one tenth of that secret was Pinetto, the Vizier of Kiateros.”

  She licked her lips. “Really? What would happen if a man lost control?”

  “Just hearing the words, most men would explode, leaving nothing more than a crater and ashes.”

  “Interesting,” she said, looking pensive. “That might work for both of us. Lord Burningsand in the school of warding is your strongest and most vocal opponent?”

  “Yes.”

  “I could leak part of your abilities to him. We get his vote in exchange for you whispering the secret in his ear. Boom—you’re emperor and rid of your biggest rival in one swoop.”

  “That . . . would be murder.”

  “Suicide, but his choice.” Her voice grew huskier as she imagined the possibilities. “Warn him never to try it. Tell him that it would endanger everyone. If he still uses the spell, he’s unfit to lead and deserves his fate.”

  “I’ll have to think about that.”

  “Is there anything I can show you in the meantime?” she said, leaning back on the desk.

  Pagaose bit his lip. “I do have one problem I’ve been ashamed to tell Anna about. I’m not sure she has the experience to help me.”

  Komiko gave a throaty chuckle. “Now you have to tell me.”

  “I need to learn how to dance before the Festival of Spring.”

  “I consider it my duty to the empire,” she agreed. She placed his hands and described the basics to him.

  After a few fumbling attempts, he said, “It’s like a kata without the punches.”

  “Let’s do this in a circle until it becomes second nature.”

  “Of course. I’ve been thinking. We need to break the oligarchy of mages. The strongest among them do nothing. Force funding to be based on the number of students and it will change their behaviors. There may be some multiplier for the level of students.”

  She pulled him closer and rearranged his hands. “Concentrate on the rhythm of give and take.”

  He opened his mouth, and she put a finger on his lips. “Mmm. Dance is about listening to your body.”

  Her hips rocked against his. He wasn’t stepping on feet anymore, and he felt like he could lift mountains.

  When Anna returned with the refreshments, she saw the emperor standing, pressed against the witch, with his hands on her backside. She dropped the tea set in shock and ran from the room. Pagaose swore and removed his hands to chase Anna.

  “Wait!” the witch called out.

  “I have to explain.”

  “She’ll never believe you if you still have this,” said Komiko patting the front on his robes.

  The sensations of pleasure that coursed through him made him double over. Mouth agape, he wheezed, “You don’t like men.”

  “I like honesty and power,” she said, gripping his belt and moving him back toward her.

  He bit back a moan and panted, “I promised to decide at the Festival. Besides I don’t like people to touch me with bare skin.” Especially knowing that person would fornicate and murder just to get a promotion.

  “We don’t have to take off any clothes; just keep dancing with me the way you were,” she said sliding a knee between his legs, “and that little problem will melt away, like butter slipped into the crevice of a hot dinner roll.”

  He broke free and ran to the icy waters of the Pleasure Dome.

  ****

  After sundown, the emperor visited the dueling circle again. Soon, the dragoness fluttered onto a nearby rock. “More guilt?” she asked.

  He took a deep breath and explained his difficulty with the women. As he did so, he noted a delicate, spicy aroma coming from the scaled beast with overtones of orange.

  Her advice was simple. “Have your way with them both, or a hundred of them if you wish. They’re yours to do with as you please.”

  “I will not be Myron,” he shouted. The dragoness cocked her head at the outburst. With recent practice, he needed only the barest whisper to communicate to her. Sometimes a look was enough to convey meaning. “Forgive my rudeness. My duty is to lead humanity for the next three generations, the time of no gods. I want them to expand so much and so far that the Council of the Gods will never enslave them again. The people around me are blind and insane. Just because they would let me do something does not make it right.”

  “To give your new body its high strength, the Traveler cheated. He used too much of a chemical that makes men be led by their longings. Know that these women are not your equals; they’re not even the same species. This Anna is just your—there’s no word for it in Imperial—your awakening touch. It tells you that you are ready to mate, not that she is the one for you. If you don’t deal with this issue, it will harm your reign.”

  “I know that! I war daily against my own body. It has hungers that shame me.”

  The dragoness put her chin on the edge of the circle. Her movement released more of the smell—musky orange with a hint of some rare tree bark with an almost medicinal undercurrent. “I feel this shame also, especially with all the energy I need to fly. My form was crafted in Nightmare and must be fueled by that same substance. Shame, fear, murder, and wrongful lust all sustain me; I am just vengeance embodied. Thus, I must constantly feed on human suffering, but I harm only criminals.”

  “Could you take this turmoil, too?” he asked.

  She shook her enormous head. “You’ve committed no crime; I’ve nothing to eat. There might be a way I could help, yet it would be expensive.”

  He drew a ragged breath. “Tell me and I will weigh it.”

  “Do you remember the sheriff’s armor?”<
br />
  “Yes. It was made of Eog, the living stone of aether. It absorbs psychic trauma and releases it slowly over time.”

  She looked away. “I have a small stone of it, carved in the shape of a bird. For a price, I would loan it to you until your dance.”

  “You would do this for me? Why?” Pagaose asked.

  “You free the Fallen and work to keep humans free as well. As a prisoner . . .”

  He raised a hand. “I have the authority to amend the strictures that Tashi laid upon you but not erase them. Only he can do that.”

  Serog bowed her head. “Then I shall ask only for my daughter. Sarajah should arrive at Center tomorrow morning. Treat her requests as you would my own, whatever she asks. Honor her with every accolade, but send her on her way within the week . . . far away.”

  “Why so soon?”

  “Will you honor my terms or not?” she asked, unmoving as the stone.

  “I shall. Your daughter is the Queen of Archanos, yet our royal library burned. What can you tell me about her kingdom?”

  “You would know more than she or I,” Serog snorted. “I’ve heard their magic. The gift of Archanos is alchemy—the permanent transformation of a baser material into one of noble properties. The wizard with my daughter has a ring of magic that can light up. Certain materials when mixed and exposed to Door radiation become something more . . . eternal in nature.”

  “Like the glow globes at the Great Library or changing lotus blossoms into sesterina.”

  “Children play with such experiments,” she said in bored tones. “Wait here.” The dragoness launched into the obscurity of night.

  Sleep and chill were beginning to nibble at Pagaose’s resolve. However, he needed only to remember how his blood boiled at the witch’s touch. An hour after her departure, Serog returned. She mimed holding out her claw. He stretched his hand past the wards and she gently placed a wispy-white carving of a bird into his palm.

  “The detail on the feathers is extraordinary,” he said with genuine admiration. “It looks like a frozen cloud. How fragile is it?”

  “Your bones would break first, but do not test this claim. The carving is all I have left of Deliah. To use it, hold it in your hand and will the excess emotion into the Eog. Wear it on your chest at night, and the stresses will seep back into you slowly.”

  Pagaose inclined his head slightly, the polite depth to indicate a peer. “I shall do as I have promised. Will you take a blessing from me as well?”

  The dragoness jerked back. “No.”

  “You receive so many gifts in a day that you refuse one from me, or have I offended you without realizing?”

  She would not meet his gaze, glancing over her shoulder toward the east, where the sun would soon appear. “If I accept aught from you, I might not be able to kill you when the time comes.”

  “I understand, great lady. However, communication can save lives on both sides. Our sides are closer than you think. If Sandarac would only speak with me . . .”

  ****

  Humi, Empress of the North, reclined on her barge, well after midnight. The skies were peaceful, and she drifted off while awaiting the dragoness. A whisper in her dream startled her. A woman with a mane of rich, white hair and white theater makeup stood beside her. The black and purple eyeliner made her look exotic. Her dress was silver and sparkled like scales. “I tire of the constant flying, daughter,” said the spirit in the dream.

  “A war needs intelligence, Serog. Since that wench Sarajah killed my shadow servant . . .”

  “Show respect. Your sister defended herself. Consider yourself fortunate that she didn’t take offense. Still, I have sent her away for your safety.”

  “Yes, Mother-goddess. Thank you. How goes the patrol for enemy ships?”

  “Tedious, but I have two pieces of vital information for you. You would do well to heed.”

  Humi bowed. “Yes, Mother-goddess.”

  “The emperor is more powerful magically than we imagined. He is every bit the true emperor that your man pretends to be. If you face him on his own terms, he will obliterate you. Your only hope is diplomacy and misdirection while you search for his weaknesses.”

  “Sarajah said the same with her cards, Mother-goddess.”

  “Then tell your man to speak with him. Deal.”

  “We intercepted one of the messages north, Mother,” Humi said. “This Pagaose is really a man known as Jotham the assassin. He’s incredibly skilled at turning people to do his will and sneaking into guarded places.”

  “He is bound by his word. Use that,” said the pale spirit.

  “And the second piece of information?”

  “Pagaose is new to manhood. He is overwhelmed by his lusts. If you weren’t already wed, I’d suggest that you seduce him. As it is, his herald, this southern brewer named Anna, has him in her grasp.”

  “Anna of Tamarind?” asked Humi.

  “Yes.”

  “This is the fiancée of Baran Togg, the one who bears the Defender of the Realm.”

  “Really?” Sarajah has snared the bearer of this blade. I predict that engagement will be terminated tomorrow when she arrives at Center. This will only increase Anna’s influence on Pagaose; I need him isolated. “Find out what you can about her.”

  “I already have. We found her name in the religious registry on Muro. The monks admitted everything under questioning.” She detailed a list of interesting facts, ending with, “Since Baran was disinherited by his father years ago and all the brothers died in the shipwreck, Anna the slut will get the majority of the Togg family fortune.”

  “Interesting,” said the white spirit in the shimmering gown. “I will make use of this somehow. Meanwhile, Pagaose is known to be overly fond of half-breeds and orphans. Send a ship full of these unwanted children to further overwhelm his meager resources.”

  Humi nodded. “I bow before your wisdom, Mother-goddess.”

  Chapter 18 – Scent

  Nightglow took Pagaose to the spice market early Starday morning after his usual workout. With swaths of dark fabric crisscrossing her front, today’s outfit exposed her midriff and drew attention away from her face veil to the pale, flawless skin of her body. Somehow, her hair was even darker than the fabric, drawing attention to that attribute as well. The elegance of the earrings, bracelets, and tiara shouted aristocrat. “Do you like my new outfit, highness?” she asked, spinning to show him everything.

  Niftkin’s eyes popped out a bit as she raised her arms on the turn. He stepped into an awning post. She smiled at her effect.

  The emperor reached into his pouch and let his distracting emotions flow into the bird carving. “It’s vital to the realm that I identify a certain smell.” He described it, and the teenage girl led him to a stall with a variety of tiny oranges.

  Pagaose picked up and smelled each. “This is it.”

  “That’s a blood orange, sire,” said the merchant. “How many would you like?”

  “Just one. Give him a silver, Niftkin.”

  As the merchant reached out for the overpayment, the emperor said, “And some information. Where are blood oranges grown?”

  “On the Inner Islands. They prefer to grow where it is hot in the day and cool in the night. They are very healthy and used by the sailors.”

  “When you mix it with olive oil and fennel, it makes a wonderful salad,” said Nightglow, peeling the orange for him.

  As she tossed the peel, Pagaose scooped it up, and put it in the pouch with the bird carving. “I want that, actually. You can eat the fruit.”

  She sectioned it and offered a piece to Niftkin. “Try this; it’s the sweetest orange you’ve ever tasted.” She giggled as the juice dribbled down the side of his mouth and caught the excess with her finger. The aristocratic girl made a show of pulling the veil aside and licking the juice off her fingers when she finished. “Now where?”

  “The tree bark,” Pagaose announced. She took him to four stalls with no luck. “No, this is musky enough b
ut doesn’t have the medicinal sting.”

  Nightglow bit her lip. “I have an idea, but it will mean doing something I promised my mom I wouldn’t.”

  The emperor raised an eyebrow. “Is it something I could ask her to do?”

  The girl nodded. “You need an apothecary. Ours recently died, and his house is sealed while the estate settles. He has the biggest herb assortment in Center. Since my mother is the executrix of the will, she could let you in.”

  “Very well, Niftkin, the lady will lead us to her home.”

  “Actually, Mom’s business is about two alleys that way. She has to inspect the books and inventory regularly to keep the workers honest.”

  “Smart woman.”

  The guard took the lead with her, making sure no one got close to the royal escort.

  “She has a lot to do carrying the family since Dad died. They wanted me to marry soon so she could get help from someone capable,” Nightglow said, looking at the head guard. “Your family runs the Strom Island ferries, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, and a food-transport business. If it’s light out, they’re working. Because I’m the sixth child, I’ll never see a bent bit.” He harangued a knot of idle men. “Hey, clear out, back to your jobs. Royals coming through.”

  She smiled when he swaggered up to a delivery man twice as wide as he was and glared him into movement. “You know how to handle people, though.”

  Niftkin shrugged. “On a ferry, having people listen to you can be life-or-death. I don’t mess around when lives are at stake. Most honest folk feel the same way and help you out. The other kind will respect you the same as a wild dog, but you have to mean it.”

  She grabbed his hand and led him to an inconspicuous door in the side of a large brick warehouse. She rang the front bell as she pushed her way in. Nightglow bellowed, “Mo-om!”

  ****

  Exasperated by her daughter’s stevedore manners, Lady Evershade left her office and came to the top of the stairs. “Child, I’ve told you a hundred times, a lady . . . hello?”

  “I brought somebody for you to meet, Momma. This is Niftkin, head of his majesty’s guard. They’re third tier, but since there aren’t any second tiers anymore and with his commendations, he’s practically a peer,” Nightglow babbled.