by Julian May
He closed his eyes and stood utterly still, letting all thought drain from his mind so that it might be more receptive to a response. But the Powers had never bespoken him directly through his Star, nor did they give a clear answer now. A second tremor, so minuscule that he would never have noticed it under ordinary circumstances, caused the lodge floor to vibrate beneath his feet.
It might have been only a coincidence, or perhaps the Dark Powers had replied as best they could. He sighed, knowing that the whole truth would not be known until he asked the question of the Three-Headed Monster. Then he put on all of his armor save the glittering helmet with its halo of pointed rays, which he carried under one arm, and went downstairs to confer with the other sorcerers.
There were thirty fully adept members of the Star Guild, but two had been left at the castle to supervise the royal hostages, and Praxinus had his hands full coping with the balky army. The others were gathered in the main lounge of the hunting lodge, a chamber with a monstrous fireplace (now harboring only a meager fire), and grotesque furniture fashioned from bones of the imperial hunters’ quarry. The walls were crowded with dusty trophy heads of animals and formidable birds, together with cracked leathern shields and displays of primitive weaponry.
Gathering the Guildsmen in an informal group before the hearth, Orogastus reviewed with each one his upcoming role in the assault, speaking last of all to the Archduchess Naelore.
“The ship bearing the magical armament will reach Brandoba late tomorrow,” he said. “Can we be certain that no busybody port official will board it?”
The Star Woman uttered a cynical laugh. “The wharfingers and excise agents will all have gone home to prepare for the Festival of the Birds, abandoning their duty. Even though the festivities do not properly commence until the fireworks display at midnight, the entire city begins roistering as soon as the sun sets. Have no fear, Master. My faithful friend Dasinzin will unload our cargo without hindrance.”
“The only thing I fear,” he said coldly, “is that incompetence among your loyalists might cost us the element of surprise.”
She was immediately contrite. “Forgive me if I spoke disrespectfully. All will go well—I swear it! The lords who support my bid to overthrow the usurper are a rough and ready lot, but they are not stupid. They realize fully that their only chance to seat me upon the throne depends on your magic. They would die for me, but they would prefer to live and regain their lost power.”
“And our disguises? My Star has as yet shown no sign of your people transporting anything to the staging point in the forest.”
“The carts will slip out of the city in late afternoon tomorrow, as revelers begin to converge from the surrounding countryside in anticipation of the celebration. We will have the costumes in plenty of time—entirely black, as you commanded. And the loyalist forces will wear scarlet, so that we may readily identify them.”
The sorcerer nodded his approval. When there were no more questions, he said to the assembled Guildsmen, “All that remains is for me to bespeak our fellows at Castle Conflagrant, notifying them that all is well. You may prepare now for departure.”
The sorcerers dispersed except for Naelore, who stood quietly by as Orogastus used his Star to call to the two young Star Men who had remained behind to guard the hostages. Unaccountably, communication with them proved to be impossible. The sorcerer then used his magic to oversee and overhear the ordinary persons within the castle, and almost at once he discovered the escape of the prisoners and the grisly fate of their pursuers.
“Dark Powers have mercy!” he whispered, stricken with horror.
Naelore approached. “Master, what is it?”
“There has been an appalling disaster!” Speaking in an undertone, he told her what had happened. “This means that we shall have to postpone—or even abandon—our campaign.”
“Surely not! You had intended to use the hostage rulers only after the conquest of Sobrania. We can easily recapture them in time.”
“But I had also counted upon Queen Anigel being a key bargaining piece in regaining the Three-Headed Monster from Prince Tolivar. Without his talisman, my overall strategy may collapse.”
The Archduchess would have spoken again, but he motioned for her to desist and took up his Star again to search for the escapees. “There they are,” he muttered, “traveling along the trail not far from the Great Viaduct. I cannot see Anigel, but she must be there, shielded by her trillium-amber.” He cursed under his breath. “They are at least six hours’ ride from the lodge! If I send a troop of Guildsmen to recapture them, the army will be deprived of vital leadership during the invasion … but I could never entrust ordinary warriors with the task. Their loyalty to the Star is shaky at best, and the hostage rulers would doubtless offer irresistible bribes.” He drove one silver-gloved fist into the other in helpless rage. “There is no alternative. We shall have to call off the invasion until the escapees are retaken. It means a delay of at least a day, and losing the advantage of striking during the Imperial Handsel, when the Emperor is most vulnerable.” He caught up his helmet and started after the Star Men who had already left the lodge.
“Master, wait!” Naelore called out in a low, excited voice. “I have an idea how we might salvage the situation.”
“What?” He spun about.
“The scheme is a desperate one,” she admitted, “but I believe it is well worth trying.” And she explained.
Incredulous at first, Orogastus realized that there was no practical alternative. “Very well,” he said at last. “If you are willing to risk your throne in this lunatic ploy, I will not stop you. But remember that the army will have to leave the staging area no later than an hour after sunset tomorrow in order to be in position before the fireworks start.”
“My old comrade Tazor and I can do it,” she said, her face shining. “I will bring you Queen Anigel, and he will make certain that the other hostages remain secure here in the lodge until after Brandoba falls.”
The sorcerer smiled at the Star Woman. “I can see more clearly now why your people deem you fit to be Empress.” He took her hand. “May the Dark Powers support you.”
“And you,” she said, bowing her head so he would not see the fervid emotion that suffused her features. Then she clapped on her rayed helm and dashed off to find Tazor.
22
The Archduchess Naelore studied the two tall flightless birds, tethered by neck-straps to trees outside the imperial hunting lodge, and scowled to conceal the fear rising within her. “My friend, if this mission were not so crucial to our fortunes, nothing would compel me to touch these hideous brutes of yours.”
The feathered carnivores stood over two ells high at the shoulder, and their plumage gleamed steel-blue in the sunlight. The birds had been temporarily paralyzed by enchantment while Tazor worked on them, but their fierce red eyes glowered at the two sorcerers, evidence that while the nyars’ bodies might be under constraint of magic, their spirits were not.
“So long as we wear our Stars and command the creatures with unwavering confidence,” Tazor said, “they will obey us and harm neither ourselves nor any human prey we pursue.” He was putting bridles on the birds while Naelore watched, both repelled and fascinated. Orogastus and the other Guildsmen had ridden off after the army an hour earlier. It had taken Tazor that long to summon the nyars from the depths of the forest, even with the aid of his Star.
“You are absolutely certain that the monsters will not turn on us?” Naelore said.
“No, Imperial Highness. There is still some risk. But one well worth taking, as I told the Star Master.” He slipped a bridle cautiously over a terrible toothed beak.
“Nyars! Only a crazy man such as you would make pets of such horrible predators, much less train them for riding. What possessed you to undertake such a bizarre project?”
“I looked upon the task as a challenge to my Star,” he admitted, patting one bird’s neck. It was as thick as one of the logs making up the walls of t
he building. “This mated pair frequented the vicinity of the lodge because I often fed them salt-chuck. When their ferocity diminished I conceived the notion of taming them, and I confess that I was surprised that the sorcery eventually worked and rendered the nyars docile. It was a way of passing the time while I languished in this forsaken spot six moons ago, deprived of the glory of your imperial presence during my tour of duty as warden of supply for the castle.”
“Tchah!” said Naelore, dismissing the flattery. But she smiled at him, for they were very old friends indeed. Before the coming of Orogastus had changed their lives forever, Tazor had been chief steward of the Archduchess’s villa just outside Brandoba. Now they were fellow Guildsmen and theoretically equals; but both of them knew better.
“Should the Dark Powers smile upon us,” Tazor said, “the birds will enable us to undo the damage done by those negligent fools at the castle. Nyars are as fleet as the winter monsoon. Not even a polled racing fronial can compare with them. We should reach the hostages within three hours.”
“If I miss the battle of Brandoba because of this mission,” Naelore said through lips drawn tight, “I shall roast the liver of whichever hostage engineered their escape!”
“I think both of us know who it must have been: the only one the Master could never descry with his magic, because she is protected by her trillium-amber.”
“Damn that witch-queen! I knew we should have taken the pendant away from her somehow … or else kept her senseless until she was no longer needed and it was safe to kill her. But Orogastus would not listen to me. Now we can only conjecture that Anigel accompanies the other hostages.”
“Where else would she go? We’ll find her, Imperial Highness. Don’t fret. You won’t miss the battle, nor will you be deprived of your triumph over Denombo.”
“Ah, what a long way we have come in two short years, my old friend! Who would ever have thought, when you opened my villa door to a peremptory midnight knock, that you would admit a sorcerer? And one who would turn our disorganized little band of political outcasts into a cohort capable of toppling an empire.”
“I knew Orogastus was a dangerous man as soon as I clapped eyes on him,” Tazor said dryly. “And so did you.”
“That was the principal reason I decided to trust him.”
“And is that also why you have fallen in love with him?”
“Insolent bastard,” she said, laughing again. But her eyes had lost their good humor, and he fell silent and hastened to buckle on the second bird’s saddle.
Tazor was a well-built man, even taller than the statuesque Archduchess and possessed of considerable physical strength. His knowing eyes were close-set above a broad nose. Like so many other members of the Star Guild—with the notable exception of flame-tressed Naelore herself—he had hair turned prematurely white from the rigors of his initiation into the magic of the Dark Powers.
“Tazor.” She spoke in a tone unusually hesitant. “Do you really think Orogastus will fulfill his promises to me?”
“I believe that he will make you Empress of Sobrania,” the former steward said. “I am much less sanguine about his grandiose plans to conquer the world by means of sorcery and set you up as his coadjutor. The Star is a wondrous thing, but the world is a very large place … and recent events have reminded us that other magicians exist in it besides Orogastus and our Star Guild.”
“I admit that I was deeply troubled when the Master told us that the young Prince had given up one of the talismans to the swamp-witch Kadiya. But by permitting both the boy and the enchantress to pass through the viaduct into Sobrania, Orogastus has cleverly brought both pieces of the Sceptre within easy reach.”
“Easy?” Tazor shook his head. “No more than unseating Denombo will be easy.”
“Just let me get him within reach of a sword cut! … At any rate, we can speed both eventualities by recapturing Queen Anigel and the others. Let us be off.”
They mounted the wingless birds, which stood like statues in the forecourt of the lodge. Naelore lifted her Star medallion and touched it to the neck of her feathered steed. The nyar’s toothed beak opened wide and it gave a thunderous roar. When she spoke a command it sped off like a meteor down the trail leading to the Great Viaduct, leaving her comrade coughing in a cloud of dust.
Cursing, Tazor followed after.
It was only by great good fortune that the Eternal Prince Widd caught the Eternal Princess as she began to slip from the saddle during the fording of the muddy river. “Help!” he cried desperately. “Something is wrong with Raviya!”
President Hakit Botal whirled his fronial about, reentered the water, and took hold of the elderly Princess in his strong left arm. She was listless as a bundle of rags. Her senses had left her, and her lined features were gray. Together with Prince Widd, the President brought the elderly woman safe to the river’s opposite bank, where the others except Gyorgibo immediately dismounted and gathered about. Queen Anigel and Queen Jiri of Galanar gently lay the aged woman onto the ground.
“Triune pity her!” Widd began to weep. “Oh, my poor Raviya. The rigors of the escape have been too much for her.”
“She breathes,” said Jiri, after loosening Raviya’s bodice, “and her heartbeat seems regular. Doubtless she is only overcome with exhaustion and stress.”
Duumvir Ga-Bondies snorted. “As we all are! It’s madness to ride farther. Our fronials are still spent from their overexertion and breathing of the noxious vapors yesterday. They will certainly founder if we do not let them rest—and so will I. Every bone in my body screams with pain and I am dying from hunger.”
“Then die silently,” said the King of the Pirates heartlessly. The sturdy hunchbacked monarch took off his own cape and covered Princess Raviya. Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned.
Prince Widd sighed. “If she could only have a morsel to eat and some truly restful sleep.”
The small amount of food and drink they had managed to take from the stablehands at the castle had been consumed the previous night, when they had rested precariously, nearly frightened out of their wits by the appalling sounds made by the Lirda Forest creatures around them. Since then they had had only water and a few insipid wild fruits that Gyorgibo had assured them were wholesome.
“It would be dangerous to stop and rest now,” the Archduke said. “There is small risk from fierce beasts and birds during daylight, but if the Star Men have learned of our escape, they might come looking for us.”
“I almost wish they would,” Ga-Bondies growled.
“We are moving steadily westward, out of the highlands,” Gyorgibo continued. “Before long, we will surely come upon landmarks that I am familiar with and we can leave this trail. There are shortcuts to Brandoba in the Lirda’s lower reaches that we can use to elude pursuit.”
“Not if Orogastus uses magic to hunt us,” Prigo pointed out.
Hakit Botal spoke in testy resignation. “If the Star Men come, there is no way we can defend ourselves against them. But I suspect that the sorcerer and his force have other business to occupy them. They may already be in the capital city, storming Denombo’s palace.”
“Why should we continue this killing pace?” Prigo demanded. “It is manifestly impossible for us to give warning to the Emperor. We must consider our own needs … as well as the needs of our respective countries, thrown into confusion by our abduction. What matter our having escaped the sorcerer, if we perish miserably in this howling wilderness?”
Last night, after crossing the basin of flaming geysers, they had ridden another two hours before reaching the place where the Great Viaduct was, clearly identifiable because of the peculiar appearance of the trampled ground around it. Anigel spoke the magic spell, and their passage through the black gateway was without incident. They spent an uneasy night in the clearing adjacent to the viaduct’s exit, then pressed on slowly at first light.
The wide trail was easy to follow—too easy. The Archduke and King Ledavardis, the best riders in the gr
oup, had taken turns scouting ahead, making sure that they did not inadvertently overtake the sorcerer’s force. The others had plodded painfully along, lulled by the singing of countless birds. From time to time they were roused from their stupor by the bellow of some unseen beast, but otherwise they had dozed in the saddle until Raviya’s misfortune.
The Eternal Princess now roused herself and spoke in a weak voice. “I’m quite all right. Just put me back on the fronial. I can ride well enough.”
“No, dear,” Anigel said emphatically. “You cannot. Prigo is right. We’ve gone far enough and we must rest.”
Ledavardis said, “If this forest is an imperial preserve, there should be some sort of shelters. How about it, Gyor?”
The Sobranian Archduke lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “There is indeed a great lodge beside the River Dob, as well as huts and comfortable hunting blinds and permanent campsites galore. Unfortunately, nothing along this particular trail looks familiar. The Star Men must have cut it to serve traffic to the Great Viaduct. This river—it might be the upper Dob, but its waters are so thick with white mud that I doubt it. The Dob flows crystal clear from the Collum Range and is the main water source for Brandoba. It has never been muddy, not even during the heaviest rains.”
“Perhaps,” Anigel said, “my trillium-amber will point the way for us.” She took hold of the pendant and studied it with eyes strained by fatigue. “Holy Flower, in which direction may we find a safe refuge?”
The amber continued to glow, but no magical directing spark appeared within it. “It’s not working. Perhaps my life is not sufficiently endangered.”
“Or perhaps,” Jiri said softly, “there is no safe place for us hereabouts. Ask your amulet if we should stop or continue on.”
Anigel did so, only to cry out in dismay when the amulet flared to a blinding brightness, then as suddenly went dull. “There’s something wrong—”
All around them, the singing of the forest birds became a discordant screech. Gyorgibo, the only one still in the saddle, rose in his stirrups with a rusty sword drawn, peering anxiously down the trail that bordered the river. But the attack, when it came, was from a different direction. A cloud of innumerable tiny feathered creatures, bright blue and green and yellow, exploded out of the thick undergrowth and began to whirl crazily about the heads of the shocked rulers, darting into their faces and battering their bodies with buzzing wings. Raviya gave a thin scream and several of the men howled curses. The terrified fronials reared and slashed the air with their hooves. Then those without riders fled back across the river while Gyorgibo used all his strength to keep from being thrown. Everyone tried to shield exposed flesh from the sharp beaks, pulling cloaks over heads and waving arms in a futile attempt to drive the small birds off.
