by David Hair
Martrois 936
Tarita’s little attic room was dimly lit through the domed glass turret by a sliver of the new moon. The besieged city was as silent as it ever got, but she couldn’t sleep.
I should be tending Waqar and begging his forgiveness. Or trying to find Jehana, if she really is somewhere south of the Alps.
She couldn’t decide between those two impulses, or find any rest, so finally she sighed in exasperation, threw the Cadearvo mask she’d been examining onto her blanket and went to the window. In the plaza below, the remaining windships were tied down against the strong northerly blowing cold over the city. A few lights shone in the Governor’s Mansion opposite and she wondered if Waqar was awake. If she went to him now, would he welcome her?
‘All quiet,’ she heard one watchman call to another.
It was her third night alone in this little room, which had become her refuge. It had an eerie beauty when the moonlight lit the coloured glass dome, shafts of red and blue light carving through the dust motes and cobwebs, almost solid enough to touch.
She yawned. It was just before dawn and the sliver moon was hanging low in the sky, basting the misty square in pallid light that glistened on the dew. It was still bitterly cold, but no longer freezing. Winter was passing.
Then something dropped from the darkness above and the square came alive. She dimly heard shouting, but no alarms rang out as five venators landed, followed by two more exotic constructs – a flying horse and a winged reptile that walked on hind legs. Pegasus and Wyvern, she remembered from the Yurosi myths Mistress Alhana liked to tell her.
Guardsmen swiftly surrounded the newcomers, five grey-cloaked human forms – and one larger shape she couldn’t quite make out, until he stepped into the moonlight and her heart thudded so hard she gasped.
‘Ogre?’
She didn’t bother with the stairs but threw open the latch, lifted the sash wide and hurled herself into the air, gliding down on Air-gnosis and the sudden lightness in her heart.
*
Ogre hung back as Dirklan and Nara confronted the guardsmen swarming around them, ringing them in crossbows and spears. He peered around fearfully, keeping his cowl over his head and waiting for the inevitable outcry when they saw what he was.
The miracle of flight had brought them five hundred miles in two long sessions, the first by day as they traversed the foothills of the Matra Ranges to avoid the Shihad and Imperial Army’s aerial patrols over the Augenheim Pass. They’d rested for a day before approaching Norostein by night to avoid the main Shihad army’s flying patrols. In the event, they’d seen none and had landed inside the city’s upper ring unopposed.
But now what? Will they see us as friend or foe?
He’d asked to remain hidden in the countryside, but Dirklan insisted he’d be needed to persuade Waqar of his sister’s plight. Right now that felt like a mistake.
Then it happened. ‘You there,’ someone shouted, levelling a crossbow at him. ‘Come out where we can see you.’ When Ogre reluctantly complied, the man swore. ‘Rukk me, it’s one of those damned constructs—’
He’s seen others like me? Ogre was stunned, then horrified. The Master is the only one who makes constructs like me . . . He showed his empty hands and called, ‘Please, I’m on your side.’
The man’s eyes went round. ‘It talks – the bloody thing talks!’ He raised the crossbow, but Valdyr stepped in front of it.
‘No. He’s with us.’
‘And who in Hel are you?’ the crossbowman demanded as others crowded in, shouting a bewildering volley of orders. ‘On your knees,’ an officer bawled over the top of them, while Dirklan tried to protest.
Suddenly a small bundle of shadow came hurtling through the press, light bursts of kinesis battering guardsmen and battle-magi aside, then Tarita collided with his chest squealing, ‘Ogre – Ogre, you’re here—’
The impact nearly knocked him off his feet, but he automatically caught her and clung on – although he did at least manage to instantly slam his shields up as well, just in case some idiot did loose a crossbow. To his surprise Tarita was pounding his chest, crying and laughing, and his own eyes were filled with stinging tears so that the whole world became a blurred smear. ‘Ogre, Ogre,’ she kept saying, her voice like light on water.
‘Ogre is here,’ he mumbled hoarsely, and then he amended it. ‘I am here . . .’
He was vaguely conscious that in his peripheral vision, torchlight was glinting on blades and arrowheads, while officers were barking orders of restraint, then an authoritative voice cut through the din. ‘What’s happening here?’
‘I’m Lord Misen, General Korion,’ Dirklan replied quickly. ‘Hopefully you got my message?’
Ogre blinked his eyes clear and saw a tired young man with a serious face. Despite the early hour, he was fully dressed and armed. Seth Korion, presumably.
The man conferred hurriedly with Dirklan, then said, ‘Stand down, Captain. These are emissaries from the north. I need to speak to them.’
While the Yurosi general spoke to Dirklan, Ogre looked down at Tarita’s upturned face, still smiling broadly, squeezed her gently then lowered her to the ground. She looked tired and dishevelled and utterly wonderful.
‘I missed you,’ she whispered, making his heart sing. ‘Except your snoring, obviously.’
‘I was just about to say the same,’ he mumbled. ‘Except your farting.’
She wiped her eyes, then gazed admiringly at his venator. ‘You flew on your own?’
‘Not as comfortable as your windskiff, but more fun.’
She grinned impishly. ‘Always do the fun thing,’ she advised. ‘But what are you doing here? With Valdyr? And who are these other people?’
Ogre indicated the blonde woman: ‘That’s Nara of Misencourt and the one-eyed man is her protector, Dirklan. The other two are their guards.’
‘Nara – the dwymancer from the north? Have they come to help us?’
‘To defeat the Master – yes. I deciphered the Daemonicon,’ he added.
Tarita’s eyes widened, then she took and squeezed his huge hand in her little ones. ‘You clever, wonderful man.’
Ogre felt his chest swell and all the stress and misery of the past months fell away. He was with his friend again, and he’d won her praise.
This is the best moment of my life.
*
Valdyr returned to Nara’s side as the tension around Ogre dissipated, although the soldiers were still glaring at the giant construct with mistrust, and at Tarita for so thoughtlessly swatting them aside.
The Rondian general, Seth Korion, issued orders for their steeds to be cared for before leading them up the stairs into one of imposing buildings surrounding the plaza.
Rhune and Sarunia had dropped their cowls, but Nara kept hers over her head and her face averted. ‘Are you all right?’ Valdyr whispered, talking her arm.
‘Fine,’ she murmured, bowing her head as they passed into a well-lit foyer.
She’s worried about being recognised, Valdyr realised. He supposed that the mistress of a powerful lord would be well-known in courtly circles. He glanced behind him, saw that the eight-foot-plus Ogre was still holding hands with five-foot-nothing Tarita; the construct’s eyes were everywhere as he took in the majestic building, while Tarita was strutting defiantly as if daring someone to pass comment on her outlandish companion.
Seth Korion led them four flights up a grand sweeping staircase of highly polished oak, halfway up the immense well, and into a large council room decorated in blue and white.
Dear Kore, there’s more wealth in this room than the whole of Hegikaro Castle, Valdyr thought, staring about him. His brother’s throne hall was smaller than this side-room – and this building didn’t even belong to a king.
‘Send for Capitano Sensini, Sultan Salim and Prince Waqar,’ General Korion told a messenger, ‘and tell them it’s urgent – bring the prince on a stretcher if necessary. We’ll need coffee and tea and hot bre
ad; let the kitchen know – quickly.’ He bowed to Dirklan and said apologetically, ‘We’ll all join you in fifteen minutes.’ He hurried away, leaving his aide to see to their comfort.
The man introduced himself as Andwine Delton. He lit the fires with gnosis, frowning up at the high ceiling and muttering, ‘These rooms are pretty enough, but they’re cursed hard to heat.’
‘You should see the Bastion in Pallas,’ Dirklan replied. ‘Damn place is an ice-box.’
The two men conversed gently while everyone else gazed about uncertainly. Nara was the only one still cloaked and she made no move to lower her hood as she clung to Valdyr’s arm – not that Valdyr had any objection. Rhune and Sarunia went to the windows, as did Ogre and Tarita, who were still holding hands, almost as if they’d forgotten they were doing so.
Nara watched them curiously. ‘Do you know the Fey Tales?’ she murmured. ‘“The Lay of Hobokin”? He was a Troll: he fell in love with Glymahart, the Stardancer’s sister – he was ugly, but she saw his true heart and kissed him.’
Valdyr, seeing Ogre’s lumpen visage lit by a radiant smile, said, ‘That’s nice.’
‘Not really,’ Nara replied. ‘She’d been cursed so that her kisses brought only sorrow. Hobokin went mad – in the end, Rynholt had to kill him. Glymahart set his head in the skies, where it became Simutu, the lesser moon.’
‘So you think she’ll break Ogre’s heart?’
‘How can she not?’
The sun was beginning to rise, the golden light streaming through the windows and illuminating the blue and white décor. Food and drink, steaming in the frigid air, was served and they all ate greedily, for it had been a long night. The hot meal got them chatting, Tarita teasing Ogre about the huge platter he devoured, and Valdyr was gratified to be able to serve Nara, buttering her a scone and pouring tea.
‘I’m not helpless,’ she scolded lightly, ‘but thank you.’
Then Seth Korion returned with a clever-faced young man with olive skin and a dark goatee, followed by a limping, wheezing Waqar Mubarak clinging to a healer-mage; he collapsed into a chair with relief and looked around, ashen-faced.
Valdyr noted that he and Tarita barely looked at each other, but she dropped Ogre’s hand, which made the construct’s face fall.
‘What’s this about?’ Waqar asked gruffly, then he took in the presence of Valdyr and Ogre properly and his eyes widened. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded. ‘Is Jehana found?’
‘No, but we’ve come south to find her.’
‘Tell me,’ Waqar demanded – or tried to, as he suddenly doubled over, coughing up blood.
Before Valdyr could reply, another Easterner arrived, this one immaculate and richly attired, despite the hour. Seth Korion announced, ‘May I present Salim, Sultan of Kesh.’
There was a low gasp of surprise from everyone in Valdyr’s group.
‘What’s the dead Sultan of Kesh doing here?’ Dirklan wondered, for once mystified.
‘I’m a guest, along with what’s left of my army,’ the sultan replied, speaking better Rondian than most Yurosi. ‘The army outside the walls is an enemy to us all.’
Dirklan looked flabbergasted. ‘Clearly I’ve been out of touch too long,’ he muttered sourly. Then he glanced at Nara before turning back to the sultan and the general. ‘We should introduce ourselves. You must be wondering who we are and what we’re doing here.’
‘Certainly, Milord,’ Seth replied. He turned to the young man with the goatee. ‘This is my friend, Capitano Ramon Sensini, Commander of the Retiari Freeswords of Silacia. And some of you know Prince Waqar Mubarak,’ Seth went on. ‘And this is Tarita Alhani, of Javon in Ahmedhassa.’
‘Lady Alhani has no status here,’ Waqar grumbled. ‘She should withdraw.’
Valdyr looked from the prince to the Merozain, wondering what had broken their liaison so swiftly.
‘Lady Tarita has links to both the Merozain Brotherhood and the Ordo Costruo and I value her presence,’ Seth said firmly, and prince or not, that was that: Waqar was overruled. The general turned to Dirklan. ‘And your party, Milord?’
The one-eyed man bowed. ‘Of course – although I would like to clarify first that this is an official Embassy representing the Crown of Rondelmar, with all assumed privileges. Is this understood and agreed?’
Seth went to agree, but Waqar raised a suspicious hand. ‘Wait, what does that mean?’
‘An ambassador may not be detained for any reason, nor any of his retinue, even in times of war,’ Dirklan replied. ‘Surely the Keshi have similar protections?’
Waqar looked sour, but made a dismissive gesture. ‘Ai, it is known.’
‘Excellent,’ Dirklan said. ‘In that case, I present Valdyr Sarkany, Prince of Mollachia. With him is a construct, Ogre. So that you understand fully, Ogre was bred by Ervyn Naxius and he is both fully sentient and a mage.’
Waqar already knew this, but Seth and Ramon clearly didn’t. ‘And so you understand fully,’ Ramon replied, ‘we’ve fought hundreds of similar beings over the past few weeks.’
‘Ogre guessed, from your men’s reaction,’ Ogre growled. ‘The Master called Ogre a “proto-breed”: a test. He has bred more, of course.’ Then he lifted his head. ‘But only Ogre was educated, to explore his capability to reason.’
Valdyr couldn’t imagine talking about oneself as a gnostic experiment. It was bad enough to have been treated as one by Asiv – and he didn’t want to think about his dead abuser at all.
Seth exchanged a look with Sultan Salim that implied considerable empathy between the two men, then he turned to Ogre and said, ‘Rest assured: I accept your place in Milord’s embassy, Ogre.’
Dirklan turned to his Pallacians. ‘These are Rhune and Sarunia, of Ventia. And this is—’
‘Allow me,’ Nara said coolly, releasing Valdyr’s arm. Stepping fully into the light, she flicked back her hood and turning to Seth, said, ‘General Korion, it’s good to see you again. We chose well in you.’
Valdyr stared as Seth’s jaw dropped.
The general blurted, ‘Your Majesty—?’ in an incredulous voice and began to drop to his right knee, then checked himself, while his face swirled with emotions.
Beside him, Sultan Salim frowned, puzzled by the general’s reaction, while Ramon Sensini snorted softly.
‘Who is this woman?’ Waqar asked, voicing the same question Valdyr was suddenly asking himself, all at once the ground was swept from beneath him.
Dirklan said, in a voice of dry irony, ‘May I present Lyra Vereinen, Queen of Rondelmar.’
‘Nara?’ Valdyr croaked softly, while Salim, Waqar and Tarita went pale. Waqar went so far as to lay a hand on his scimitar; when Ramon Sensini put a warning hand on his arm, he shrugged it off angrily.
But Valdyr had eyes only for her as she turned to him, her expression apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Valdyr,’ she said, her voice composed. ‘I’m sure you can appreciate that I could hardly reveal my true name under the circumstances. I hope we can still be friends.’
Friends? he thought. Dear Kore, you’re more than my friend . . .
He felt hurt on so many levels. She’d lied to him, led him on, beguiled him into trust . . . And the beginnings of love, he admitted, flushing red.
Part of him wanted to rail at her, or to storm out like a hurt child, but a lifetime of suppressing his emotions in the name of self-preservation had made him stronger than that. And the things they’d shared mattered, whatever her true identity.
And she’s right, a small voice inside him whispered. She couldn’t have told you her name. You share a heretical power – and you’d have run a mile as soon as she told you.
The room had fallen silent, every eye on the blonde woman with the soft but determined face – and then on the sultan, who was staring at her as if she were an apparition.
Here were the rulers of East and West, in one room.
Ramon Sensini chuckled dryly. ‘Then can I assume you to be Dirklan Setallius, the Volsai command
er?’ he asked Dirklan. ‘We liaised via the gnosis when I extricated Lord Dubrayle from a certain . . . um . . . problem, a month or so ago.’
Volsai? Valdyr thought, a little sickened. The empire divided opinions, but the imperial spies were universally loathed.
The room fell silent as everyone digested these revelations. Valdyr found his eyes dragged back to Nara – No, she is Lyra Vereinen, the Kore-bedamned-Empress. He remembered their past interactions in the dwyma and over the past few days, trying to comprehend how he could have missed such a glaring fact, but she’d always contacted him from her garden and there had never been any intimations of crowns or titles.
Dear Kore, I’ve kissed the Empress of Yuros.
‘I would have told you if I could, I swear,’ she said. ‘I hated deception – but I had no choice.’
‘We’ve been travelling together for two days,’ he reminded her, his voice angrier than he intended.
‘We were never alone. I was seeking the right time, but it never came.’
‘And this is the right time?’ he glowered.
‘No, no it isn’t. But it could no longer be avoided – General Korion has met me before.’ She turned back to address the room. ‘My apologies for the surprise. But this isn’t a social visit, or even a diplomatic one. We’re here on a matter of the utmost importance. It concerns a renegade mage who wishes to destroy us all – by which I mean not just this city or even the Rondian Empire, but all of humanity. I speak of Ogre’s former master: Ervyn Naxius.’
Everyone looked to the sultan, her natural counterpoint. The sultan glanced at Seth, then said, ‘Please – there is more than enough evidence that this war has been conducted by a mutual enemy of both East and West. I am eager to know more.’
‘Yes, we do all need to hear this,’ Seth agreed, ‘but first, could your Majesty please explain the despatch that arrived a few days ago? In it, you renounced the title of Empress of Yuros and offered secession. As you can understand, besieged in the only remaining free city in Noros, we’re unable to make any decision, or even to formulate our questions. But are you our empress?’
‘I was your empress, but I am no longer,’ she replied. ‘I’m just a queen, whose role is to be limited by a constitution that’s still being written. But right now, I’m on a quest to save the world.’
