Sky Trillium

by Julian May

  The aborigine nodded. “I will guard them with my life.”

  Kadiya turned then to the Prince. “Tolo, my dear, there are grave tidings I must convey to you, that have largely influenced my change of plan.” And she told him how Queen Anigel had probably been kidnapped through another viaduct back in the Mazy Mire, and how the Archimage had discovered that other rulers had also been abducted.

  “Can the White Lady do nothing to save my poor mother?” the boy asked.

  Kadiya said, “She has told me that she cannot even descry the place where the Queen and the others are being held. Her talisman is mute on the subject. Both of us believe that the captives must be in the hands of the Star Men, shielded from overview by dark magic. There is only one way to find out whether the headquarters of the Guild lies in Sobrania, as we have conjectured. We must pass through the viaduct at the Double Cascade.”

  The knights murmured among themselves, and then Sir Kalepo addressed Kadiya. “Lady, you have said that the enchanted passageways are imperceptible to the naked eye and able to be used only through the application of wizardry. Since you no longer have your talisman, the Three-Lobed Burning Eye, how shall we find the opening?”

  “The viaducts can be opened by anyone who pronounces certain words of power,” Kadiya said. “It is true that the things are normally invisible, but there are sure to be clues in the vicinity of the waterfalls that will point out where the reward for me was to be paid. The viaduct will not be far away.”

  “If we fail to find it,” Jagun pointed out, “we will have wasted at least four days.”

  Lummomu added, “This part of the forest is inhabited by a particularly savage hand of Glismak. They still practice cannibalism, in defiance of the White Lady’s edict. Would it not be better if Wikit’s crew and I accompany you to this twin cataract?”

  “I will not have innocent Wyvilo Folk endanger themselves further on our account,” Kadiya said. “It will suffice if you and the skipper wait here on board the flatboat for five days. If we have not returned by then, you may assume that we found the viaduct and are embarked upon our new mission.”

  “Or else you have suffered some fatal misfortune,” Lummomu muttered, “and passed beyond.”

  “You will have to pray for a happy outcome,” Kadiya said. “But be assured that my Companions and I will not be taken by surprise twice. We will go well armed and wary.”

  “Lady.” The most stolid and burly of the young knights, Sir Sainlat, spoke up with reluctance. “Please do not think that I hesitate to follow your command. But how shall we know what might be awaiting us at the other end of the magical passageway? We could encounter the vile sorcerer Orogastus himself, or some overwhelming force of his Star Guild—”

  “Don’t think that I intend to pop through the viaduct like some impetuous shangar plunging headlong into a hunter’s snare,” Kadiya replied. “I have devised a prudent course of action—which I will not discuss at this time—that will enable me to spy out conditions at the viaduct’s destination in advance.”

  Melpotis chimed in. “You will consult the White Lady!”

  “I think not,” Kadiya said evasively. “My sister Haramis is deeply involved in her own affairs. If we succeed in reaching the country of the Star Men, there will be time enough to take counsel with her.”

  Jagun said, “What if you ascertain that we would face hopeless odds upon entering the viaduct?”

  “If this should be the case, we will abandon the endeavor, return to the flatboat, and fall back upon our original plan to travel to Sobrania by sea.”

  “That would be a great pity,” Sir Bafrik growled. “The thought that we might soon encounter the villains who abducted our Queen fires my heart with ardor!”

  The others agreed. Kadiya gave a few instructions, ordering them to assemble their gear for a departure the next day at dawn, and then took leave so that she could discuss the arrangements with Wikit-Aa. But no sooner had she opened the cabin door and gone out onto the rainy deck than Prince Tolivar came hurrying after her, an expression of great agitation on his pale features.

  “Aunt Kadi, I beseech you to reconsider. Let me go with you and assist in the rescue of my mother. I—I know that I am not strong, but there are many ways that I could help you.”

  Kadiya regarded him with impatience. “I cannot think how. Nay—you would be naught but a useless burden, Tolo. And if you had the wit God gave a qubar you would know it already and desist from wasting my time. If I dare not risk having a stalwart warrior like Lummomu-Ko accompany my party, why ever should I think of taking a child of twelve?”

  “Because … because …” But he could not bring himself to speak the words.

  Kadiya pushed past the boy, striding forward to the other cabin. Tolivar stood alone at the flatboat rail for some time, pretending to look inland at the dense forest even though his vision was blurred. When Ralabun finally came outside to join him, the Prince spoke rudely, ordering him to go away.

  But the old Nyssomu had already seen his angry tears.

  The nightmare came again to the Prince on the threshold of the most important adventure in his life. This time it was exceptionally vivid and lacking in the fictitious details that had previously distorted his memory.

  He was four years younger, decked out in a tawdry miniaturized imitation of the royal regalia of Laboruwenda. A tiny sword hung at his waist and he wore a crown with paste jewels on his head. An army from Tuzamen and the pirate kingdom of Raktum had invaded the northern capital of the Two Thrones, and the city was near to capitulation.

  In the dream the Purple Voice, that foul henchman of Orogastus, and a squad of six Tuzameni guardsmen were leading Tolivar through the tumult and carnage of embattled Derorguila. The boy had discovered that Orogastus only pretended to be his friend, lying when he promised that the little Prince would become his adopted son and the heir to his magic. Instead, the terrified boy had learned that when Laboruwenda finally fell, he was to be set up as its puppet ruler. Even worse, he was destined to be an unwilling accomplice in the murder of his father, his mother, and his older brother and sister.

  All of them would have to die before Prince Tolivar could inherit the Two Thrones.

  Dreaming, he wept with rage and shame as he was dragged helplessly through the devastated streets of the capital. The exceptionally severe winter signaling the imbalance of the world had Derorguila in icy thrall. Dead and wounded soldiers and civilians lay everywhere, their blood staining the snow. Smoke from burning buildings and the ghastly smells of death made the boy cough and gag. The ice-glazed cobblestones were too slippery for him to walk upon and he fell again and again.

  Complaining bitterly at being delayed, the Purple Voice finally hauled the faltering Prince up onto his back, making him hold on to the sorcerer’s precious star-box. The Voice was taking it to his master, who was leading the attack against the palace.

  They forged onward, past small knots of defenders engaged in final, hopeless combat. Screaming mobs of Raktumian pirates and Tuzameni clansmen were everywhere, laden with loot stolen from the burning mansions.

  And then the earthquake struck.

  A great wall of masonry crashed down upon the Purple Voice and the six guards, killing them instantly. By a miracle, Tolivar was thrown clear, scratched and bruised but otherwise not hurt.

  The star-box was also unharmed.

  The Prince acted swiftly, for all that he was nearly out of his mind with fright. He had only his little sword to defend himself and knew that he would soon freeze to death or suffer a worse fate at the hands of the invaders if he tried to hide in the ruins of the city. After leaving the toy crown and some of his garments among the rubble so that Orogastus would think him dead if he searched by magical means, the boy hastened to the palace through back alleys and twisting lanes near the frozen Guila River. Eventually he was able to enter the royal stable block through a secret door in the fortress wall once shown him by his friend Ralabun.

  A climactic bat
tle was being fought around Zotopanion Keep, the last resort of the outnumbered Laboruwendians. Thousands of Raktumian and Tuzameni attackers surged about the palace compound. Orogastus himself bombarded the stronghold doors with balls of lightning flung from the Three-Lobed Burning Eye.

  Slipping through the dark corridors of the stables on his way to Ralabun’s chamber, where he hoped to find refuge, the little Prince came upon a terrible sight. The body of a pirate with a pitchfork in his throat lay in a pool of gore outside the grooms’ quarters. Sprawled atop him, still gripping the fork’s handle, was Ralabun … with a Raktumian dagger in his back.

  “Oh, no!” the Prince cried, bending over his friend.

  The Nyssomu gave a faint groan. One bleary yellow eye opened. “Go quickly to my room, Tolo. Hide there until I come for you.” The eye then closed and Ralabun spoke no more.

  As it happened, Ralabun was not dead, only badly wounded and in a swoon; but in the dream, as in life, Tolivar felt himself bereft of his last hope. Hearing someone coming, the Prince fled into the Nyssomu stablemaster’s cozy little chamber, where he concealed himself beneath a discarded cloak in a corner.

  A man, moving furtively and breathing in painful gasps—as though he, too, had been fleeing for his life—entered the room and closed the door behind him. The Prince’s hand tightened upon his little sword. Meager firelight from Ralabun’s hearth showed that the intruder was clad in a dirty golden robe. It was the acolyte whom Orogastus called his Yellow Voice, sent by the sorcerer to act as an aide to young King Ledavardis of Raktum during the invasion.

  A silvery gleam shone from beneath the Voice’s hood and Tolivar nearly cried out in astonishment. The man was wearing the talismanic coronet called the Three-Headed Monster! Orogastus had lent it to his minion so that the Voice could transmit to his master news of the battle action going on around him.

  It was obvious to Tolivar that the cowardly Yellow Voice had run away, abandoning his duty when the fighting grew too furious.

  In his dream, the Prince’s heart swelled with brave resolution. (In reality, he had acted almost without thought.) Except for the area next to the hearth, where the Voice now stood, helping himself to Ralabun’s abandoned supper, the room was in deep shadow. Tolivar crept up behind the acolyte as he began to ladle hot stew from a pot on the fire into a bowl. The boy pressed the sharp point of his little sword to the nape of the man’s neck, cutting through his hood.

  “Stand still!” the Prince hissed. “Drop those things.”

  “I meant no harm,” the Voice quavered, but Tolivar pricked the acolyte with the blade until he let fall the bowl and ladle. “I am only an unarmed townsman, caught up by mistake in the fighting—”

  “Silence—or you die! And do not move.”

  “I will stand quite still,” the Yellow Voice whimpered. “I would not dream of moving.” The sword withdrew from his neck, and faster than lightning it whisked off his hood and flipped the magical coronet from his shaven head. The Three-Headed Monster spun away through the air, striking the floor with a clang and rolling out of sight in the dimness.

  “Dark Powers—not the talisman!” the acolyte shrieked. “Master! Help me—”

  The true foolhardiness of his action now came home to Prince Tolivar, for the Yellow Voice whirled about and fell over him, uttering a great howl and bearing both of them heavily to the floor. The boy was able to wriggle free, but he had somehow lost the sword. The acolyte struggled to his knees, swaying and clutching at his breast where a dark stain was spreading. His eyes had become brilliant white stars, and Tolivar knew beyond doubt that Orogastus himself now looked out through them.

  As the Yellow Voice writhed in his last agony, trying vainly to pluck forth the small blade that had by chance lodged in his heart, his head slowly turned. For a brief instant his brilliant eyes, like two small beacons in the darkness, illumined Prince Tolivar. The boy crouched in the corner, his mouth wide open in voiceless horror.

  Then the shining orbs winked out and the Yellow Voice fell dead on the floor.

  In his dream, the little Prince arose and pulled his sword from the body, wiping it clean on the acolyte’s robe. Then he went calmly to Ralabun’s bed, fished under it with the blade, and drew forth the magical coronet. He stared at the Three-Headed Monster for some time in silence, knowing by the Star emblem inset beneath the central face that it was still bonded to Orogastus and would kill him if he touched it with his bare flesh. The silvery circlet that formed one part of the mighty Sceptre of Power had belonged to his mother the Queen before she surrendered it to Orogastus as ransom for her husband King Antar … and for her youngest son Tolivar as well.

  But the Prince had refused to leave the sorcerer then, blinded by the great delusion that Orogastus loved him and some day would pass on to him his power.

  “You lied to me,” the boy whispered, strangely excited. “But I shall have power nevertheless.”

  He fetched the star-box, knowing full well its operation, and opened it. Inside the shallow container was a bed of metal mesh, and at one corner a group of small, flattened jewels.

  Using his sword, Tolivar dropped the coronet into the box. A bright flash seemed to indicate that it had unbonded from Orogastus. One by one, the Prince pressed the colored gemstones in consecutive order, and each one lit. Finally he pressed the white jewel. There was a musical sound, and all of the tiny lights went out. The boy stared at the Three-Headed Monster, hesitating. Had the star-box done its work? Was the talisman now bonded to him? If it was not, it would very likely kill him if he touched it.

  At that same moment there came rough shouts and crashing sounds from outside the door. The pirates were coming!

  His hand shook as he reached into the star-box. The metal of the coronet was warm as he took it up. It did not slay him. Beneath the central carven monstrosity, where there had once been a many-rayed emblem of the Star Guild, now shone a tiny replica of Tolivar’s princely escutcheon.

  “You are mine!” he marveled, and set the talisman upon his head. The loud voices were now right outside the chamber. “Make me invisible, talisman, and the star-box, too,” he commanded.

  It must have happened, for the door was flung open and three rogues with bloodied swords peered in, made scornful note of the dead Yellow Voice, and betook themselves elsewhere. The Prince felt a wonderful swell of confidence fill his heart.

  “I will be an even greater sorcerer than you, Orogastus!” he proclaimed to the empty air. “And I’ll make you sorry you deceived me.”

  At that point the dream ended and the Prince’s waking nightmare began.

  Tolivar! Tolivar, Prince of Laboruwenda! Do you hear me?

  “No … go away.” Still half-asleep, the boy pulled the rough pillow over his head and burrowed deeper into the covers of the bunkbed.

  I will not go away, Tolo. Not until you agree to be my ally.

  “No!” Tolivar whispered. “I’m only imagining you, Orogastus. You aren’t really speaking to me. You don’t even know where I am.”

  That is not true. You lie abed in a Wyvilo flatboat. The boat is tied up for the night in the River Oda, not far from its confluence with the Great Mutar.

  You can’t know that, the boy said to the voice in his mind.

  But I do. And do you know why, Tolo? Because deep in your secret heart you want me to! If you did not, your two talismans would shield you from me.

  No. You’re only a dream. It’s my bad conscience conjuring you up. I feel guilty because—because I once chose you over my parents. When I hated them …

  You were too young to understand what you were doing. Your hatred was not genuine. Your father and mother know that. You have long since atoned for those juvenile sins. They are of no account now, when you have very nearly reached manhood’s estate. At any rate, none of that infantile naughtiness has anything to do with my solemn pledge to you … which I am now prepared to fulfill.

  I’m not interested in your lies. Let me alone!

  Of cour
se you are interested. How could you not be, since you are so very intelligent? More than anything in the world, you long to taste the full power hidden within those marvelous things you own.

  Go away. Leave me in peace. Get out of my dreams. I despise you! One day I will kill you myself to expiate my sins.

  Nonsense. Be honest with yourself, Tolo! You know that only I can teach you the full use of the talismans. You will never learn all by yourself. Come to me in Sobrania, dear boy. Only step through the viaduct—

  Never! You’re trying to trick me.

  No one can possibly harm the owner of the Three-Headed Monster and the Three-Lobed Burning Eye. You know that.

  I don’t have them.

  Yes, you do. I saw you in the stable as my Yellow Voice died. You are the only one who could have taken the coronet and the star-box. And who but their owner could have made away with the Burning Eye?

  Not me. Not me …

  Dear Tolo, you know what your Aunt Kadiya plans to do on the morrow. Follow her! When you step through the viaduct and arrive in Sobrania, warriors of my company will be waiting to conduct you to me. There will be a joyous celebration to welcome home my long-lost adopted son and heir. You will be initiated at once into the Guild, just as I promised four years ago.

  I—I don’t trust you.

  You must. I am the only one who can help you fulfill your destiny.

  No!

  Tolo! Come to me!

  No no no!

  You know you must come to me! Tolo … Tolo … Tolo …

  The Prince moaned aloud, and he felt a hand shake his shoulder. “No! Get away from me—”

  “Tolo! Wake up, lad. It’s Aunt Kadi. You’re having a bad dream.”

  The Prince crept out from under the covers. His aunt was kneeling beside him in the darkness, her face faintly lit by the glowing drop of trillium-amber that hung about her neck. It was still deep night. Rain tapped on the cabin roof and the heavy breathing of the slumbering Oathed Companions, Jagun, and Ralabun vied with the noise made by the forest creatures outside.