The Gate of fire ooe-2

by Thomas Harlan

  "Mistress?" All four heads turned as one, and Krista saw incredulity and amazement and, best of all, joy in the face of the Duchess as she was recognized. "Which Prince would that be?"

  – |Morning sun shone down on the garden, casting long slats of warm light on the wooden table and the chairs pulled up around it. Some of the servants had pulled an awning out over the terrace to shade the Duchess, and it blocked off part of the clear blue sky. The haze of the previous day had been driven off by a cool breeze, and larks and robins sang in the trees. Small puffy white clouds tracked across the sky, looking like so many wayward sheep. Glass tinkled as Krista put an empty sherbet plate back on the table. She had slept very late, drugged with exhaustion and the lassitude of a long, hot bath. She held the memory of the Duchess' warm embrace and greeting close to her heart. The remains of a huge lunch of fresh bread, scented olive oil, cut fruit, thin slices of lamb, fresh pomegranates, and light sweet wine cluttered the table. Krista leaned back in her chair, feeling the softness of the cushions under her head. She was very tired, the more so for having spent the last three hours pouring out the tale of her long absence.

  The Duchess held her right hand fiercely tight, and the older woman's face was a mask of pain. The shadow in her eyes had grown deeper and deeper as Krista had related the events of her journey in the east with the Prince-their excavations in Rome and Constantinople, the flight on the great Engine into Persia, the battles in the crypts under Dastagird, the opening of the tomb of gold and lead. The others had listened quietly, though the tension around their eyes as she related these events had chilled the air. Now, even in the late morning heat, Krista could feel their grim humor. Thyatis, in particular, had drawn her longsword near the beginning of the tale and was now working the edge of it with a whetstone. The metallic scrape of the stone seemed to calm her, but it put everyone else under a pall.

  Krista watched the Duchess carefully. She had not told her mistress everything by any means, only the skeleton of the tale. But Krista knew that the Duchess, somehow, held the missing portion-the matter of the Oath-the part that could not be said aloud. Anastasia stirred among the cushions in her chair and slowly released the claw-like grip on Krista's hand. The older woman put her hand on the man sitting next to her for support. Krista suppressed a frown at this-she had never known the Duchess to need the help or support of a man for anything. This barbarian was well made; tall and muscular, with a noble bearing and liquid dark eyes, but Krista did not trust him.

  Indeed, many of the man's kinsmen were in attendance, and Krista wondered what had happened to the merry band of rogues who had served Thyatis before. A great deal seemed to have changed in her absence! These barbarians seemed quite at home, sitting on the tiled floor of the terrace and eating a great deal of the Duchess' food and drink.

  "And now the tale is known in full." Anastasia sat upright, drawing strength from some inner reserve. A hint of the vigor she usually showed reappeared. "We know the provenance of the creature you fought in the house in the hills; we know whereat the Prince has been, who he has consorted with, and what he has been about."

  "And we know where he now resides." Thyatis leaned forward, chin on her palm. Her gray-green eyes surveyed the little group, passing over Nikos, Anagathios, the Khazar Jusuf, Krista, and finally alighting on the Duchess. "But there are things left unsaid in this tale. There is the question of why the Prince should attempt to move heaven and earth in his search for the body of this Greek. Why be so secretive? What does the Prince intend? How is the Emperor involved in all this?"

  Krista met the red-haired woman's gaze without flinching, but she could think of nothing to say that would not put everyone in danger.

  "The Prince," Anastasia said, breaking the silence, "I believe, intends the Emperor harm."

  "But…" Thyatis stopped, for the Duchess had raised a pale, jeweled hand. "There are matters afoot here that will not be discussed. It is enough for you to know, as we suspected before, that the Prince has fallen under evil influences and must be dealt with."

  Thyatis grimaced and steepled her fingers, frowning over them at the Duchess. "Do you wish this Prince dead, or alive? What says the Emperor of this?"

  Krista grinned, seeing that the redheaded woman had grown, too, while she was away. Thyatis and the Duchess matched flinty stares. After a tense moment, the Duchess nodded her head and looked to the side. Krista thought she was expecting someone to be standing behind her, but no one was there.

  "The Emperor says and knows nothing of this." Anastasia's voice was tired. "My command is that the Prince shall be put to death. Should the fates smile and he is taken alive, then I shall deliver him to the Emperor, but I fear that he has grown too powerful in this dark magic to be an easy captive. Prepare and plan that this young man shall be slain and his body burned in fire until there is nothing but ash. Even those remains we shall cast into the sea."

  Krista, hearing the words said aloud that she had chanted to herself for the past three days, felt a chill wash over her like the exhalation of a tomb. A memory of the Prince's face came to her, his dark brown eyes smiling, the white flash of his grin as they lay close together in a tangle of quilts and sheets. The vision of him, haggard and bleeding, in the crypt of the magi, silhouetted in fire and smoke. His dark, intent countenance leaning over the table of parchments and scrolls in the house in Constantinople. His face wreathed in lightning and thunder as he summoned the walking fire. She put a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, blinking to keep tears from trickling down her cheek.

  The Duchess continued to speak, for Nikos had asked some question.

  "…there will be only those whom we can trust, and no thaumaturge has answered my plea. The Prince is still a man, and he must sleep. Krista can provide all pertinent information about this house at Ottaviano. We will strike by night and swiftly, within the next week. It will take time, even with fast horses, to reach the villa, so you must be ready to leave within a day."

  Thyatis nodded, and her attention turned inward, measuring time and distance in her mind. The Duchess turned to the tall, lean man at her side, her hand creeping into his. "And you, my Lord Jusuf, shall leave as well-but for the east and beyond, not upon this errand."

  The Khazar sat up, his face intent on Anastasia's. "My lady-are you sure? With me on the team, there will be three strong blades, not just two."

  The Duchess shook her head, though Krista could see a great sense of loss hiding behind the older woman's calm appearance. "You must return to your people, as we have discussed. Time seems to press upon me, and if things go wrong here, you must be far away. Kahrmi and Efraim will remain and go in your place."

  Jusuf bowed his head, accepting her judgment. Krista hid a puzzled frown; the Duchess was playing some other game, as well-which was not surprising. Nikos and Thyatis, however, were not involved, which was a little odd.

  – |Anastasia sighed and put the little oil lamp down on the table by the head of her bed. It was very late at night, again, and she did not look forward to sleep. The day had been long and arduous, not only for the chilling tale that Krista had brought, but for the tension and outright anger among Thyatis and her men. Thyatis was hurt that Anastasia would not, could not, tell her the full story. The others felt her displeasure and echoed it. It was very tiring.

  The Duchess removed the silver pins from her hair one by one, letting the black cloud drift down over her shoulders. Tomorrow would be worse; she would have to go the offices and speak with the Emperor. Galen had settled back into the business of running his Empire with renewed vigor, and a number of massive public projects were in the offing. For each of these things, he wanted to know who would benefit and who would not. The Emperor had a good head for the politics of his state, and he relied on Anastasia for current information about all of the players in his great game. Such a meeting would be a major effort at another time, but now? With this other matter obsessing her every thought?

  The door creaked a little as it opened, and
the Duchess turned, expecting to see the shy face of Betia with her combs and brushes. Anastasia smiled wanly, seeing that it was Krista. The young woman did have Betia's basket in her hand, along with a flask of oil and clean cloths. A little black cat that had recently made itself a member of the household padded along behind her, its curious yellow eyes examining the corners of the room for mice.

  "You needn't do this," Anastasia said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You've promoted yourself from my maidservant. I have Betia to take care of me…"

  Krista settled on the bed by Anastasia's side and smiled, running her hand through the older woman's hair. "The little blond shrimp? She is occupied elsewhere, I think. I told her to make herself scarce."

  Anastasia turned a little, arching a thin, elegant eyebrow. "Were you mean? She is very sweet, you know…"

  Krista made a sour face. "She almost squeaked in fear when I sent her off. But she does seem to have a good heart. I know this place is lost to me now." Anastasia touched Krista's cheek, seeing the frightened, wide-eyed little girl she had brought into her service for a moment. That child was gone now, leaving a skilled, tough young woman.

  "I am so glad you came back." Anastasia smiled sadly and dabbed at her eye. There was something in it. "I feared you were dead a dozen times over. Then I thought you would choose to stay with the Prince."

  Krista shook her head, letting curls of her thick dark hair fall in front of her face. Disappointed at the lack of fat brown mice or other playthings, the little black cat sprang lightly up onto the bed and nosed around among the pillows.

  "The Prince was a fine young man," she said softly, "but this is my home. There is a doom over him that poisons everything he touches. He must be stopped."

  The Duchess sighed. She felt the same way. This was one of those days that felt like the whole of the world was crushing her into the ground. "Do you think that he is right? The Emperor told me about the curse that only Maxian can see-is it real? Must such steps be taken?"

  Krista shrugged and flipped the stray tendrils of hair out of her face. Behind her, the little black cat found a corner of turned-up quilt and wormed itself under the covers, making itself a cave.

  "My lady, I know that he believes, and that poor Abdmachus believed. I have not their powers or skills, so I have not seen anything myself, but they are dead set upon it. Those others, Gaius and Alexandros, they want only continued life and power. They are the real danger to the Emperor; how could they stand to live as ordinary men after a taste of the Imperial drug?"

  Anastasia rubbed her face with one of the cloths soaked in oil. Her makeup came off at the touch, and she continued until it was all cleaned away. She picked up a silver-backed mirror and squinted at it. In the hazy reflection she seemed to still have her looks. She put the mirror down. "Are they real? These men-are they, in truth, these ancient legends come alive again? They are not mountebanks or some deluded fools…"

  The young woman nodded, her eyes dark with memory. "They are. It seems impossible, but…" Krista shrugged her tunic off one shoulder and showed Anastasia the thin, puckered scar she had gained in the collapse of the Egyptian House. "The Prince has brought me back from the edge of death twice. These others, he plucked them from the halls of Hades itself. The strength of their legend gives them life and power and the lever the Prince desires."

  Anastasia sighed, thinking that on another day this would be a wonder past compare.

  Krista touched her cheek and turned the Duchess' head away. There was a rustling sound as the girl picked up a comb of ivory and horn from the basket.

  "Tell me the good things that have happened while I was away." Krista began combing out the Duchess' long, dark hair. It would take a good hour, for the flood of deep blue-black spilled to Anastasia's lower back. Krista smiled to herself, remembering how nervous she had been the first time she had done this. It seemed an eternity ago, something that had happened to a wholly different person.

  "Well," the Duchess said, sighing after a moment, "I made Petro take out all of the gladiolas that used to line the northern edge of the big garden and put in roses and lilies instead. He was furious, and we had a huge argument about it. He swore to leave and never return, to die before committing such a sacrilege-but he is a slave, of course, so eventually he gave in. But now they look beautiful, and he thinks it was his own idea…"

  Under the covers, the little black cat settled into his nest, putting his head on his paws, and went to sleep.

  – |Krista found Thyatis in the gymnasium right after breakfast. The redheaded woman was reviewing corselets of mail laid on the big wooden table in the armory. The room smelled of oil and metal and sweat, and here, among the racks of spears and swords and tools, Thyatis seemed most at home. The sounds of the Khazars engaged in a furious training session echoed through the doorway to the fighting salle. A great clatter of metal on metal made quite a din. Krista paused in the doorway, unconsciously fingering the spring-gun strapped to her left forearm. Like Thyatis, she wore a short linen kilt held up by a stout belt, a long knife slapping at her thigh in a wooden sheath, high-laced boots of kid leather, and a loose blouse of fine dark green wool with long sleeves.

  "Lady Thyatis? Do you have a moment?" Krista was unsure how to deal with the "peasant girl." When they had last parted, Thyatis had been little more than a sell sword the Duchess used to tidy up the Emperor's dirty laundry. Krista had been, by her own admission, a petulant servant girl with a sharp tongue. The intervening year had put its mark on both of them. Thyatis seemed larger somehow, more complete, more real than she had before. Krista just felt older.

  Thyatis turned, her gray-green eyes narrowing as she took in Krista's costume. "No," she said simply, and turned back to checking the links of the chainmail.

  Krista almost backed up a step, feeling like she had been slapped in the face. "Your pardon, Lady Thyatis, but-"

  "No." Thyatis turned, her face grim and set. She shook her head. "You will not go with us to Ottaviano. You will stay here, with the Duchess."

  "Why?" Krista's voice trembled on the edge of open rage. "No one else here knows the land, the buildings, the enemies, the Prince, as well as I do! I brought you the news of his location; I sent the messages that tipped the Duchess to what he plans! I will go, and I will see this thing finished."

  The noise of training in the gymnasium stopped, and it was very quiet. Thyatis put down the heavy shirt of mail and turned to face Krista. "You know the Prince too well." Thyatis' voice was steady and calm and utterly final. "I watched you as you told your story yesterday. You love this Prince Maxian, for all that you have betrayed him to the Duchess."

  Krista flinched at the words. She was sure that the Prince had let her go unpursued, unmolested, because he loved her and would not try to keep her if she wanted to leave. He had been true to her, and she had repaid him now with this: a hunting party armed with steel and iron. Thyatis stepped closer, her voice dropping in volume.

  "If we are in the heat of it and the Prince lies under my knife, or yours, could you bring yourself to drive the point into his heart? Could you stand to see me or Nikos spill the red life from him? I do not think you could. He is in your heart, and you are in his. Should you think of him now, a smile would come to your face. You are here"-Thyatis gestured to encompass the house and the city-"because of duty and honor. But when the die is cast and spins upon the table, you may still choose love."

  Krista tried to speak, but words did not come to her. Memories of the Prince were still strong in her mind. The thought of him lying dead, or dying, bleeding out his life on the floor of the kitchen at Ottaviano, filled her with horror and dread. She raised a hand and batted at the air, causing Thyatis to step back. Odd, dark motes danced in the air before her eyes, and Krista felt a sharp pain in her gut.

  "I will not risk my men on the balance of your heart." Thyatis turned away, the line of her jaw stiff.

  Krista gasped silently, feeling some great pressure closing on her. She put out a hand to
the edge of the door and struggled to keep upright. This was far worse than it had been on the mountainside. She struggled for breath. "I"-she wheezed, and Thyatis stopped, her slim hand on the haft of a spear-"I will… I will kill him." The pressure eased a little, and Krista could draw a ragged breath. Air in her lungs had never seemed so sweet. "I will kill him." Her voice was stronger. "I must kill him, Lady Thyatis. I will drive this knife into his eye if I must, but he will die by my hand."

  Krista pushed away from the wall, feeling stronger and able to breathe freely at last. The black haze in the air was gone. She felt giddy and almost euphoric with relief.

  Thyatis looked her up and down, a quizzical frown on her face. But she shook her head. "No. I will not take you."

  Krista stiffened and turned on her heel. If the pigeon-brained peasant refused her help, she would find another way. She had to end this thing and soon.

  "The Duchess already said no." Thyatis' voice echoed down the hallway, but Krista ignored her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The Wine Dark Sea, South of the Island of Creta

  Foam curled away from the knife-edge prow of the Tyrean coaster, sending up a fine, cool spray. Dwyrin sat, his legs hanging over the side of the ship, one arm casually wrapped around a stay. He had stripped down to sweat-stained woolen breeches and had been barefoot for days. A new layer of calluses was growing on his feet, joining those added by marching the length of the Empire. The coaster had found a quartering wind and was doglegging its way south from the rocky cliffs of Creta, now a day behind. The Tyrean crew were truly lax fellows, rarely leaving the shade of a big awning that stretched over the back half of the ship. Nicholas was back there now, testing his luck against theirs at bones.

  Dwyrin spent most of his time watching the sea. It cheered him up to see the waves sparkle and dance under the sun. The sea was alive, too, and many a day passed with dolphins or short-backed whales accompanying them on their journey south. Once past the coast of Creta, the Tyrean captain had agreed to sail by night as well as day, since the sea was open and free of reefs or islands until they reached the Egyptian shore. They were making for the way marker of the great Pharos at Alexandria. Then they would hug the coast of the delta and make their way northeast to the ports of Judea.