The Serpent Bride

by Sara Douglass

  You have lost the Weeper.

  “Almighty One, I had a companion who—”

  You have lost the Weeper.

  “I shall retrieve it.” Ba’al’uz dared a glance ahead, and saw that Kanubai, while frightening, was still only very spectral. The god’s power was great, but not yet at full strength. Perhaps Ba’al’uz would manage to survive a little longer, after all.

  Kanubai’s head wove back and forth, back and forth, as if scenting this new land.

  How you have disappointed me, Kanubai said.

  “I shall retrieve it!” said Ba’al’uz.

  It might be too late.

  “No, I will—”

  I need to grow strong, Ba’al’uz. I had hoped to do it with the Weeper.

  Ba’al’uz wept. He wished Kanubai would stop accusing him. He’d done all he could, and how could he have known the Weeper would prefer StarDrifter to such an extent that it wouldn’t allow Ba’al’uz to touch it?

  Maybe it had known why Ba’al’uz wanted it.

  “Ishbel travels to you,” Ba’al’uz said, hoping to divert Kanubai.

  It appeared to work.

  Ishbel…she must reach me.

  “She will, she will. Isaiah is desperate for her. He said he would dispatch men to fetch her safely to Aqhat.”

  I hope for your life that is the case.

  “It will happen,” said Ba’al’uz, knowing that if it did not, then he was a dead man.

  And if it didn’t happen, Ba’al’uz silently swore to himself that he’d murder Isaiah before Kanubai thought to murder Ba’al’uz.

  I need the sacrifice, Kanubai said. So badly.

  “You shall have it,” said Ba’al’uz with as much confidence as he could muster.

  “If I don’t,” Kanubai said, this time using a physical voice that grated through Ba’al’uz’ entire being, “then I shall crush you.” He paused, and Ba’al’uz could feel the weight of the god’s eyes on him. “You need to reach me, Ba’al’uz. Fast. I shall give you a gift, I think.”

  For an instant indescribable pain flared through Ba’al’uz’ body, and then both pain and Kanubai were gone, and Ba’al’uz was left weeping in frustration and anger in the dirt of the roadway.

  The horse was gone, but as it transpired, its loss did not worry Ba’al’uz overmuch. Kanubai had given Ba’al’uz a gift, a new parcel of power that Ba’al’uz realized he could draw on to travel more quickly than otherwise physically possible. It would not allow him to fly, but it would shorten the journey by at least half.

  Ba’al’uz made as much haste as he could. He knew he had been indescribably lucky in his encounter with Kanubai. The jackal god had been angry, and with every reason.

  The Weeper had been so important.

  There was a possibility it could be retrieved—perhaps StarDrifter was still close.

  For now, however, the most important thing was to get back to Isembaard and make damn sure Ishbel had managed to get to Isaiah safely.

  Ba’al’uz knew he wouldn’t survive her loss as well.

  So he traveled on foot, moving south to Deepend, aided by the extra power Kanubai had infused into his being so that he moved swiftly and remarkably effortlessly.

  He could feel Kanubai’s added power swarming about his mind, twisting memories and thoughts, blurring them very slightly at the edges. There were moments when he felt but mildly disoriented, and moments when he felt utterly lost within the shadows that swirled through his mind.

  There were memories there that shouldn’t have been.

  Stray thoughts that were not entirely his, but not Kanubai’s, either. Reflections, almost, of other people about him, and possibly other people who had traveled this road.

  Ba’al’uz began to chatter to himself far too much, and other travelers who encountered him on the road gave him wide berth.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Narbon, Escator

  Maximilian gave it two days before he left Venetia’s hut. Partly this was because his shoulder ached more than he’d thought, and he simply didn’t want to ride. Partly it was because the horses themselves were tired and needed the rest (one had mildly injured a fetlock during its panic in the storm and needed time for it to strengthen). Partly it was because the weather had turned poor: the storm itself may have passed, but low clouds and icy rain set in, which made travel particularly unappealing. Partly it was because Maximilian wanted to reestablish contact with BroadWing and the other Icarii before they recommenced their journey—he had not heard from them since the day of the storm and he didn’t want to leave without knowing their fate.

  And partly it was because he had to arrange for three additional horses.

  As he had thought the first night, Venetia, Ravenna, and StarDrifter would be joining his troupe.

  Venetia and Ravenna he was glad of, and StarDrifter had brought the Weeper to him.

  StarDrifter was also Axis’ father, and Ishbel was now with Axis.

  Maximilian felt very strongly that somehow they were being pulled together. He also believed this somehow necessary. The threads were being gathered: Elcho Falling was being rewoven, and for the moment Maximilian had no intention of trying to fight it. He could not stop what was about to happen.

  He could, in the end, only do his best.

  On the morning of the third day after the storm, Venetia told Maximilian she’d had word at dawn that four Icarii awaited him in Narbon.

  Maximilian did not ask how she’d known, but just nodded his head.

  “Then we ride within the hour,” he said, and he picked up the Weeper, and settled it into the pack he slung on his back.

  StarDrifter was happy to be on his way. Additionally, he was relieved to be out of Coroleas once and for all, he was happy to be rid of Ba’al’uz, and he was ecstatic at the idea of finally seeing Axis again.

  He was far less enchanted with having to ride a horse. For his entire life, at least until five years ago, StarDrifter had never ridden a horse—why, when he could fly and soar into the heavens?

  Now the necessity of depending on a horse for transport emphasized the loss of his wings. StarDrifter was actually a very good rider. His natural grace and strength, as well as an empathy with the animal, meant that the first time he’d had to ride a horse he’d done so with the apparent ease of one with forty years’ horsemanship behind him, but that did nothing to quell his resentment.

  Venetia had acquired the three extra horses, and the one she’d given StarDrifter was a lovely animal. A big horse, fully seventeen hands, with the strong build that suggested he’d been bred for hunting; he had a huge white blaze down his face and one startlingly blue eye that, surrounded by the blaze, gave him a perpetually crazed look.

  StarDrifter mounted the horse and gave its neck a soothing pat as it skittered a little under his weight.

  Narbon was a mere two hours ride south of Venetia’s hut, and StarDrifter had assumed that the Icarii whom Maximilian had talked of would remain in the city for the king to arrive. He was somewhat taken aback when, a few miles out of the city, one of Maximilian’s guardsmen, Doyle, gave a soft exclamation and pointed into the sky.

  StarDrifter looked up.

  Four Icarii were spiraling down from the clearing sky.

  StarDrifter felt his stomach clench. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting these Icarii. He’d avoided other Icarii assiduously while living in Coroleas, hating to be reminded of the loss not only of his wings, but of everything and everyone who had perished along with Tencendor.

  He hoped it wasn’t anyone he knew personally.

  Unfortunately, within a few hundred feet of their approach (StarDrifter still had his excellent birdman’s vision) he knew he was out of luck.

  BroadWing EvenBeat had once been a member of the Strike Force under Axis’ command, and subsequently had been a regular member of Caelum’s court. StarDrifter did not know him well, but he knew him nonetheless, and he saw startled recognition in BroadWing’s eyes as well.

&nbs
p; The Icarii landed, and BroadWing greeted Maximilian. They spoke briefly, reassuring themselves that no one had been badly injured in the storm, then Maximilian turned slightly in his saddle and indicated StarDrifter and the two marsh women.

  “We have new company,” he said. He introduced Venetia and Ravenna, then looked to StarDrifter.

  “You might remember—” Maximilian began, then stopped in amazement as BroadWing stepped near to StarDrifter’s horse and dropped on one knee, his head bowed deeply, his wings spread out behind him on the ground in the traditional Icarii gesture of deep respect.

  “Talon,” BroadWing said, giving StarDrifter the title of the king of the Icarii. “I greet you well. I am yours, as are all under my command.”

  Maximilian’s mouth dropped open, then he turned to StarDrifter.

  The birdman looked as if he’d been hit with an ax. His face was bloodless, his eyes wide with shock, and his mouth opened, then closed, as he fought to find something to say.

  “No,” StarDrifter managed, finally. “I am not your Talon.”

  “Yes,” BroadWing said, “you are. You are the rightful heir.”

  Everyone was now staring at StarDrifter.

  “Axis is alive,” StarDrifter said, his voice still hoarse with shock. “He should be the—”

  “Axis was never Talon, and has never claimed the title,” said BroadWing. “His bloodline was that of the StarSon over all Tencendor, not Talon over the Icarii. FreeFall is dead. You are his closest living male relative, his uncle.”

  The three other Icarii knelt behind BroadWing, offering StarDrifter their respect and loyalty as well.

  “I don’t want it,” StarDrifter said, his voice tight.

  “Nonetheless,” BroadWing said, now rising to his feet, “the Icarii survive, and we need a Talon.” His voice firmed. “You.”

  “I can’t…”

  BroadWing said nothing, holding StarDrifter’s eyes in his cool, steady gaze.

  “I am not worthy,” said StarDrifter. “Not at all.”

  BroadWing smiled, very slightly. “Then you shall need to develop worthiness, StarDrifter. You are a SunSoar. I have no doubt you will manage it.”

  There was a long silence, broken eventually by Serge.

  “Well, fancy,” he said. “Now I find myself riding in the company of two kings.”

  Three days after Maximilian and his company had passed through Narbon, a woman alighted from a Corolean trading vessel at the city’s wharves.

  She was particularly striking, if a little gaunt and pale, but the expression on her face and the hardness in her eyes told anyone who looked upon her that she’d endured much adversity, and that recently.

  The woman wasted no time in hiring a small escort and fast horses, and within two hours of her arrival in Narbon she had left the city, traveling west toward Deepend.

  [ Part Seven ]

  CHAPTER ONE

  Palace of Aqhat, Isembaard

  Ishbel stood on the deck of the riverboat under a gently undulating canvas canopy, using all of her self-control to present a calm, confident exterior, yet horribly aware that her constantly shifting eyes revealed her anxiety.

  The long, slow, comfortable river journey had reached its conclusion. In the early hours of the morning the boat had docked at the wharf of the palace of the Tyrant of Isembaard, and now, midmorning, she was to disembark and meet, finally, her captor and the man who planned to destroy all the kingdoms north of the FarReach Mountains. She had dreamed the previous night of the Lord of Elcho Falling again, the dream more vivid and terrifying than ever, and she thought it boded ill for today.

  She was dressed in the Isembaardian fashion for the day. She’d been wearing only her nightclothes when Ba’al’uz had snatched her, and for the terrible journey through the FarReach Mountains she’d been given only rough and functional garments. Once she’d fallen into the care of Axis, Ishbel’s wardrobe improved, but had still been largely functional.

  At breakfast, a servant had appeared, carrying over his arms a thick swathe of soft linen, saying that it was a gift from the tyrant, and he would be pleased if she were to wear it on this day.

  Ishbel dressed hesitantly, unwilling to accept the gift, yet at the same moment glad of the opportunity to wear something elegant, comfortable, and flattering to her ever expanding figure. She did not know if Isaiah was aware of her pregnancy (had Axis sent word? Had he left the boat secretly, and met with Isaiah?), but the robe of heavy white linen, draping softly from a wide collar of multicolored glass beads that covered her shoulders and upper chest and back, flattered both her coloring and pregnancy, and in the warm humid air was far more comfortable than something more closely fitted.

  The tyrant, Isaiah, was clearly determined to make a grand showing for her.

  The riverboat was the only vessel docked at the expansive stone wharf. The wharf was empty of all the paraphernalia Ishbel would have expected: crates, ropes, casks, bundles of sails, fishing nets. Instead, the vast area of cream stone had been swept and scrubbed free of any stain so that it reflected an almost blinding white light in the strong sunshine. Spear-wielding soldiers, dressed only in white linen hipwraps, sandals and glittering copper helmets, lined the wharf in three rows, creating an avenue that stretched back at least two hundred paces to the gates in the palace walls.

  Further rows of armed men lined the tops of the palace walls.

  Aqhat glittered with the fire of copper and the lightning flashes of steel.

  Ishbel was not sure if this display was meant to impress her or to intimidate her, but she had to confess to herself that if Isaiah had aimed for intimidation, then he’d managed it very well. The only thing that spoiled the perfect stillness of the men, and the symmetry of their display, was an ugly brindle dog that trotted slowly behind one of the lines.

  The day was going to be hot. The air was very still, and, save for the gentle lapping of water against the riverboat’s hull, it was completely silent.

  Nothing moved. Ishbel had been standing here now for at least half an hour and not once had any of the armed men moved.

  There was just the glittering light and ever-increasing heat.

  And Ishbel’s own ever-increasing apprehension.

  “What is this, Axis?” she said, very low, turning her face only slightly toward Axis, who stood to her left and just behind her. “Why this display?”

  Axis was clothed in clean shirt and trousers, his boots finely polished, his hair freshly washed and his beard trimmed close to his jawline. Among all this exotic landscape and peoples, he at least reminded her of the land of her birth.

  He gave a small shrug at her question. “Isaiah must be bored,” he said, “or perhaps, now that he is gathering his men for an invasion, he needs some duty to occupy the ever-increasing forces. A spot of ceremonial duty in the scorching sun will surely keep them out of mischief for the day.”

  “What does he want with me?” Ishbel hissed, unable to keep the anxiety from her voice.

  “Not much, Ishbel,” Axis said. “Remember that this was not his idea, but Ba’al’uz’. No doubt Isaiah wishes to impress you, but, the instant he sees that belly, any vague interest he may have in the idea of taking Maximilian’s wife as his own bride will vanish in a rush of disagreeable revulsion. I am willing to wager that you will see him this morning, and then you’ll barely ever see him again. He’ll be no danger to you, Ishbel. Don’t worry. Just enjoy the day. If nothing else, the Isembaardians know how to put on a display.”

  “Are you well, Ishbel?” said Zeboath softly from a few paces behind her. “You have been standing here for a time now, and the air is hot, even if we are shaded from the sun.”

  “I am well enough, Zeboath,” Ishbel said, turning and smiling a little for him. “I haven’t been too—”

  Distant trumpets sounded, and Ishbel jerked her face back toward the palace gates.

  They had opened, and a single figure emerged.

  There was a sudden rush of sound as, in p
erfect harmony, every soldier lining wharf, avenue, and palace walls thrust his spear into the air.

  The ugly brindle dog scampered off, his tail between his legs.

  Ishbel drew in a quick breath, holding it an uncomfortably long time until she remembered to breathe again.

  The man walking down the center of the avenue was as yet too distant for Ishbel to make out features, but amid all this glittering array and bright light, he appeared not only a man of considerable height and strength, but singularly dark. There was a mass of braided hair that swung over his shoulders and back, and the braids shimmered with each movement, as if he had diamonds threaded through them. He wore a black hipwrap and sandals, and little else save for a massive golden collar that draped over his shoulders and upper chest.

  Golden bands shone at his wrists and ankles.

  He strode ever closer, every movement measured and confident, and Ishbel saw that he wore no weapon.

  All about him were weaponed, but Isaiah was confident enough of his power that he felt no need to arm himself.

  When he’d come to within fifty paces of the docked boat, the men lining avenue and walls began to repeatedly thrust their spears into the air with extraordinary and almost graceful coordination, shouting their tyrant’s name as he strode among them.

  “Isaiah! Isaiah! Isaiah!”

  Ishbel had to use every ounce of her self-control to keep her hands relaxed at her sides and her head held high.

  “Be calm, Ishbel,” Axis murmured. “This is a game, nothing else.”

  Isaiah now came to a halt ten or fifteen paces from the walkway connecting boat to wharf.

  Ishbel had never seen any man—or woman, come to that—who commanded so much authority. He dazzled and intimidated with an easy command of that authority, and Ishbel thought that the Northern Kingdoms had very little chance indeed, if this man had set his mind to them.