Axis sat down in his chair again, idly moving the pyramid from hand to hand.
“It really doesn’t look very healthy, Axis,” Isaiah continued. “I presume it was like that when you obtained it from Ba’al’uz’ men?”
“No,” Axis said. “It was perfectly healthy then, a lovely rose color, just like yours. I held it, Isaiah, and do you know what I felt?”
Another raised eyebrow from Isaiah.
“The Star Dance, Isaiah. I felt the Star Dance. You can have no idea how that felt to me…or perhaps you do…”
“I do not feel this Star Dance when I hold my pyramid, Axis,” Isaiah said. “It feels warm, but nothing else.”
“They are of Icarii magic, Isaiah.”
“I do not know from where Lister obtained them,” Isaiah said. “Perhaps they floated over the Widowmaker Sea after Tencendor’s destruction. Maybe the Skraelings discovered them when they swarmed through Tencendor so many years ago, and the survivors of their army returned north with them. Perhaps—”
“And perhaps no more ‘perhaps,’ Isaiah,” Axis said. “They are powerful Icarii magic. And now in the hands of the Skraelings, and Lister? I wonder how this could be possible.”
“Well, two of them are no longer in the hands of the Skraelings or Lister,” said Isaiah. “Two of them rest here now, in the palace of Aqhat. But explain, how did the pyramid lose its lovely translucence and dull to that insignificant gray?”
“Whoever held Lister’s pyramid closed the link between it and this one the moment they felt my presence through it,” said Axis. “Moreover, whoever it was closed its link with the Star Dance completely, so it turned gray and lifeless. Maybe Lister. Maybe someone else.”
“Then we have another mystery to solve when finally we meet up with Lister,” Isaiah said. “I know nothing of it, Axis.”
Axis knew he was lying, but he could also tell Isaiah wasn’t worried about Axis keeping the glass pyramid, either.
How many secrets was the man hiding?
Axis remembered WolfStar, who had masqueraded as so many different people during his life as StarMan of Tencendor. He remembered the secrets that man had kept, and remembered the harm and untold sadnesses he had wrought.
Yet every instinct in Axis told him Isaiah was not another WolfStar. He kept secrets, yes, and he was also manipulative (if not as much as WolfStar), but there was not the darkness or harm underpinning him as there had been with the renegade Enchanter-Talon.
“Perhaps,” Isaiah said in a slow voice, “if these pyramids are such powerful Icarii magic, then this BroadWing you mentioned came to steal this pyramid, not Ishbel.”
“They had come to rescue Ishbel,” Axis said, starting to lose his patience with Isaiah. He felt as if he were being drawn along a long and pointless road just for Isaiah’s amusement. “Sent by Maximilian Persimius, Ishbel’s husband.”
Something glinted then very deep in Isaiah’s eyes, but it was gone in an instant.
“Her former husband,” said Isaiah. “Maximilian has lost her now.”
“You cannot discount him, Isaiah. BroadWing said he would tear apart the very earth for Ishbel.”
Again, that strange glint in Isaiah’s eyes.
“I, for one,” continued Axis, “do not believe he is just going to shrug his shoulders and forget that once he had such a woman to wife.”
“Perhaps,” murmured Isaiah, and Axis almost threw the damned glass pyramid at him.
Toward midnight, when Ishbel and Axis had gone to their own apartments, Isaiah waved away his servants, called for a horse, and rode to DarkGlass Mountain, where he sat in the Infinity Chamber for an hour, thinking.
Trying to sense Kanubai—and whatever else accompanied him—crawling up the deep rent far below him. How far below? How far below? How much time left? How much?
The ugly brindle dog sat on the far bank of the river, looking at Dark-Glass Mountain, and seeing straight through the glass and the stone to where Isaiah sat motionless.
Kanubai did not speak to Isaiah that night.
CHAPTER THREE
Palace of Aqhat, Isembaard
Ishbel had slept for a few hours, mostly from sheer exhaustion, but then her turbulent thoughts woke her. Knowing she would not be able to get back to sleep, she rose, donned an outer gown over her nightdress, and sat in the open window looking out over the vast inner courtyard of the palace.
In order to keep her thoughts at bay for a few minutes, she concentrated on the view. Aqhat—indeed, Isembaard itself—was so beautiful. Ishbel had spent her entire life until this past year in the cold, windswept north, and most of that in the even colder and more windswept Serpent’s Nest. She was used to landscapes of blunted trees and tough grasses, cragged mountains and tired, rolling hills, gray mornings and dull days, underpinned by the constant pounding of the surf at the foundations of the mountain.
Here all was sweet, spiced warm winds and soft color, and a clarity and richness of the air which, Ishbel thought, could uplift the most jaded of spirits.
She leaned against the window, looking out into a wide courtyard. The courtyard was dotted here and there with tall palm trees and stands of thick broad-leaved lilies, which wound about the serpentine edges of a reflecting pool. Beyond the courtyard a broad path led down through lawns to the Lhyl. Ishbel could just make out the river’s thick reed banks, and hear, very softly, the song of the frogs.
Her hand rested on her belly. The baby was moving, not much, just sweetly and gently, as if it were too languid to be bothered turning over completely in her womb.
She wondered where Maximilian was, and if he were thinking of her, or of the child. He seemed very far away, almost a dream. If it wasn’t for the child inside her, Ishbel thought it might be easy to forget him entirely, to let him go, let her memory of the marriage fade, just drift into the air…
She sighed, rousing herself slightly, thinking over the day, and finally allowing herself to think about Isaiah.
He was the god who had spoken to her atop Serpent’s Nest. A companion god to the Great Serpent.
He was also a tyrant who planned an invasion of her homeland.
What was happening? Was he the great evil from the south that the Great Serpent had warned her about? But if he was, then why were the Serpent and Isaiah—a god of the waters as represented by the frog—so obviously close?
And what did he know about the Lord of Elcho Falling? Why refer to her as this bleak lord’s priestess?
Ishbel did not know what to think. What she felt from Isaiah, once she got past that cold, arrogant exterior, was genuine warmth and incredible compassion, yet she could not reconcile that with the Isaiah who planned a massive invasion of the north, one which already, via Ba’al’uz, promulgated misery and death.
Ishbel’s mind drifted as she sat, and she remembered the warmth of his fingers, and the sweet whispers of the goblet.
Hold me, soothe me, love me.
Hold him, soothe him, love him.
At that very moment Isaiah strode into view from the far side of the courtyard. It was late, almost dawn, and Ishbel wondered where he had been.
She leaned a little farther from the window, holding to its frame for safety, to watch his progress.
She was not surprised, nor particularly perturbed, when he lifted his eyes and saw her.
A few minutes later Ishbel heard the door to her chamber softly open and close.
She was still sitting in the window, and did not look at him as he walked over to her.
“Where have you been?” she said, and then wished she could snatch those words back, for they could be interpreted so many different ways.
“I have been sitting in DarkGlass Mountain,” he said, coming to stand close to her and looking out the window. “Do you know of it?”
“Zeboath mentioned it, and Axis thought it might be the ancient evil rising in the south about which the Great Serpent warned me.”
He laughed. “But you prefer to think the ancient evil is
me.”
“Isaiah…oh, I don’t know what to call you…”
“Isaiah will do.”
“Isaiah, what are you doing? You are the god who spoke to me atop Serpent’s Nest, who embraced me with such compassion. Why this guise?” She gestured at his body, his attire. “Why the invasion? I cannot understand that of you…such cruelty.”
“Trust me, Ishbel. Please. All is not as it seems.”
“Axis does not know what you are?”
Isaiah gave a brief shake of his head.
“Why not?”
“I want Axis to distrust me slightly. He knows that I am far more than just ‘tyrant,’ and he knows I have great power.”
“Why would you want him to distrust you? He could be a dangerous enemy to you, Isaiah.”
“I do not think he will be my enemy. He is my friend, but I hope eventually that he will be a great friend to someone else. That is why I want him to distrust me, just that little bit. Someone else needs his entire friendship and trust far more than me. Someone else is going to need his advice and support far, far more than me.”
“Who?”
Isaiah’s mouth curved in a slight smile. “I cannot believe you slapped me on the wharf.”
Ishbel accepted the change of subject, and that Isaiah did not want to tell her everything. “You were stupidly arrogant.”
“I have an army and ambitious generals to control, Ishbel, and this fleshed form makes me vulnerable. Perhaps better to keep your ire at my arrogance for more private admonishments, eh?”
There was an edge of rebuke in his voice now, and Ishbel dropped her eyes.
“But you are very courageous,” Isaiah said, softly, the warmth back in his voice, “and that is good.”
“Courageous? No, I think not. I have spent most of my life trembling at one thing or another.”
“Like when people casually drop the name of Elcho Falling into the conversation. Ah, there you go again, tense enough to break should someone drop you.”
“His name causes me such pain, and loss, and terrible foreboding.”
“All emotions closely allied with the Lord of Elcho Falling.”
“Who is he?”
“A legend, Ishbel. But…”
“But?”
“But a legend for which many yearn.”
“Not I.”
“Your future is tied to him. I think you know that.”
“Isaiah, stop talking in riddles. Please, who is the Lord of Elcho Falling? What is his legend? And why should I be tied to him?”
Isaiah sat on the windowsill himself, facing her. “How brave are you, Ishbel? What if I said that to prove yourself courageous enough to hear the legend of the Lord of Elcho Falling, you should need to pass a test?”
“I am not a schoolgirl, Isaiah.”
“In this matter you are very much the untutored schoolgirl,” he said softly, holding her gaze.
Again she dropped her eyes from his, and Isaiah sighed, and changed the subject.
“Tell me about Maximilian. Tell me about your marriage.”
“You want a report? I am not sure I am willing to give you one. Leave me my secrets, please, as you choose to keep yours.”
“Does he love you, Ishbel?”
She wondered what to say to that. She could have lied, but she was too tired. “He blames me for the chaos in the Central Kingdoms. Ba’al’uz did not simply create the circumstances to favor your invasion, Isaiah, he destroyed my marriage. You and the Great Serpent sent me to marry Maximilian, but you also sent north the means by which our marriage has been destroyed. Maximilian hates me, Isaiah. For that blame either Ba’al’uz or yourself, I don’t care which.”
Isaiah sighed. “I apologize for Ba’al’uz, Ishbel. It was never my intention that he should attack either you or Maximilian, nor did I think Maximilian would blame you for the havoc Ba’al’uz wreaked. Maybe I should have thought more carefully before I sent Ba’al’uz. Maybe even gods make mistakes occasionally. But you are here now, and I confess myself glad. Isaiah the man is glad.”
“Go away and leave me be, Isaiah. I am tired.”
“And no wonder, for I must have caused you much disturbance on several levels today, Ishbel. I shall leave you be now and for the next few days. Then, perhaps, we shall test your courage, yes? To see if you are fit to hear the legend of Elcho Falling?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Deepend, and the Road from Deepend to the FarReach Mountains
Salome had traveled quickly from Narbon to Deepend, desperate to reach StarDrifter, who she knew was only barely ahead of her. Salome was not quite certain how she knew, but sometimes at night, when she tossed and turned in sleep, she dreamed of the Weeper and heard it call to her.
During the day, she followed the trail of that call.
Just as she was not entirely certain of the precise nature of her knowledge of StarDrifter’s location, neither was Salome entirely sure what she would do when she found him. Retrieve the Weeper, yes. Patently it wanted to return to her.
But StarDrifter. Salome blamed him for everything she’d lost. Her son, her life, her power. Everything.
And the degradation. The humiliation. They were what stayed with Salome the most during her long, silent trek east and then south. She could almost understand betrayal; after all, she had dealt enough of it in her lifetime, but the humiliation of herself and her son, their torture, her son’s disgusting manner of death, and all accomplished to the laughter of the Corolean crowds…that she could not forgive.
Two guides traveled with Salome. The Icarii who’d rescued her had given her money enough for the passage across the Widowmaker Sea and then to hire these guides for several weeks, should she need them. After that, when the money ran out, Salome did not know. It just meant she had to catch StarDrifter sooner rather than later.
Then the Weeper would be hers again, and the world with it.
They’d traveled quickly from Narbon to Deepend, but on the day they arrived at the port town, Salome began to feel so fatigued she needed to sleep for over twelve hours.
The next day Salome felt a little better, but only a little. The day after that such great fatigue, and a queasiness in her stomach besides, encased her once again, and she found it difficult to move from her bed, let alone summon the energy to leave Deepend.
The guides kept watch over her, acquiring food and shelter for her, but they could do little else, and Salome refused a physician.
She knew what was wrong with her, and it only increased her determination to find StarDrifter.
She hated him more than ever.
He would pay. He would.
But, oh, it was so hard to find the motivation to get back on her horse and move onward.
Maximilian and his party, on the other hand, were making good time. Despite the disparate natures of the different members, they traveled well enough together, and kept each other good enough company at night that their spirits remained high. During the day BroadWing and his companions surveyed the route ahead from the air, and Maximilian made good use of their eyes and subsequent reports to move forward as fast as possible.
The situation among the Central Kingdoms was now critically grave. In Deepend, Maximilian had heard news of the wars raging between the Outlands, Hosea, and Pelemere. Kyros was being attacked, too, although by whom Maximilian did not know. There had been several major battles, two outside Hosea, one outside Pelemere, and thousands of men had perished.
A nightmare was engulfing the Central Kingdoms, and Maximilian prayed it did not reach Escator.
He wished, suddenly, he had brought the crown of Elcho Falling with him.
What if someone else laid hand to it? If Ruen was attacked, and fell to invaders, then the crown might well be lost.
On the day that the Icarii had scouted the foothills of the FarReach Mountains, seeking a passage through for those on horse, Venetia came to speak quietly to Maximilian at the evening’s campfire.
“Maximilian,” she said,
“I know you have little cause to trust me, for you barely yet know me, but I have something strange to ask of you.”
“What?” he said.
“That we wait here a week,” she said. “There is someone coming behind us, a sad woman, and ill, who needs to catch us. We need her. I cannot say why.”
“Who is she?”
Venetia hesitated. “She is this Salome, who StarDrifter has injured so greatly.”
“She is behind us?”
“A week away.”
This did not surprise Maximilian. It reinforced his sense that somehow everyone was being drawn together.
Salome was needed. Nonetheless…“A week is a long time, Venetia.”
“That is how long it will take her to reach us. I’m sorry. Maxel, it is important she reach us. I know how badly you need to push ahead, but…perhaps BroadWing and his companions can use the time to scout a passage for us through the FarReach Mountains, and give them some time also to rest, as they have been doing so much work on your behalf, and—”
“Very well,” Maximilian sighed. “Another mouth to feed, then.” He gave a slight smile. “Look at what my realm has been reduced to, Venetia. A motley gathering of marsh women, reformed assassins, and crippled Icarii. Who would want to be king of this lot, eh?”
CHAPTER FIVE
At the Foot of the FarReach Mountains
What do you think it is, Maxel?”
Ravenna sat down by him as he sprawled on his sleeping roll by the fire, the Weeper lying just before him, one of his hands resting lightly on it.
Maximilian gave a slight shrug. “I am not sure.” He trusted Ravenna, but he did not wish to speak to her of Elcho Falling. Not yet.
“Aha, an evasive answer.”
He smiled a little, and Ravenna took the opportunity to put a hand on his shoulder and lean over for a closer look. “May I touch it, Maxel?”
He was very conscious of her touch and wondered what to make of it. “Yes, of course.”
The pressure of her hand lifted as she moved it to the Weeper, gently stroking it several times.
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