The Seascape Tattoo (33 page)

When he encountered a soldier, he let the man run by if possible. But every member of the Hundred, every red robe, he slew without mercy before they could mumble their spells or point their wands. He was almost surprised at how easy it was. Most of their magic must have been invested in the time tunnel, with little remaining for their personal safety.

Bad planning.

He entered the round red building, the compound wherein the Hundred found strength. And here he encountered the most fanatical guards. Four of them surrounded him.

“General Silith,” the largest of them said. “In the name of the One, we are forced to ask for your life.”

“Take it if you can,” he growled. Silith reversed his sword and stabbed the man behind him, then leapt to grab him. With his left arm, he used the man as a shield, twisting him this way and that to take the sword blows that would have fallen upon his own body, until the human shield was a red ruin and the men who had stood at his side lay bleeding on the ground like broken dolls.

Silith panted, his great chest rising and falling as the killing passion rose within him.

One last thing to do. Kill Belot, the One. He'd seen this male-female apparition several times in his life. He didn't know enough of Belot, and he knew it, but how hard could it be to kill?

He stalked that narrow, dark hallway back to the living quarters of the man-woman he wished to kill. Threw open an impressively massive metal door and stopped in shock. He was looking at himself.

A little too far away. He'd have to charge.

“General Silith,” the apparition said. “Good for you to come to me.”

Silith laughed. “More tricks. Looking like me won't help your skill.”

“No,” the apparition said. “But when you're dead, I'll take yours.” Then, before Silith could speak, the One raised his hand. There was something like a small hand cannon in it, and there was a flash of fire and a roar, and General Silith felt a terrible blow in his chest.

Right through the bronze armor.

He tried to raise his sword, but to his surprise all the strength seemed to have drained from his limbs. He tried to speak, but his lips couldn't seem to fit around his thoughts. And then … darkness.

His very last thoughts were,
Jade, my love. I am so sorry
.

And,
Kasha, be careful.

 

THIRTY-SIX

Sanctuary

Aros and the women moved through the streets of Shrike as panic blossomed around them. They were noticed—a big dark warrior guarding three royal women with a weirdly shaped, massive sword—but never accosted.

The freed captives had spread in all directions, seeking to blend with the population. He wished them well, but the fighting men were setting fires and stirring chaos, distractions as the alarms went up, and the odd blue-white lights crackled behind the barricade.

Princess Tahlia seemed to be rising from a stupor. “I never asked. Who are you? Where is Neoloth?”

“I don't know,” Aros replied. “But I know where he will be waiting for us. I'm Aros, but call me Kasha.”

“Where, then?”

They were moving fast down a narrow, morning-dark street. Footfalls from the other direction, a row of guards, as there was another explosion from the direction of the barricade. Fire raged, and the entire capital seemed to be awakening.

“It's best you not know yet, Princess,” he said. “You're moving well. Not like a prisoner.”

“I exercised. Stretched. Drasilljah made me, until they separated us. Where are we headed now?”

“To the palace,” he said. “It is the only place Jade and Mijista will be safe now.”

There was little more talk, but lots of sinking back into shadows and careful silence. They would have been accosted by now, he thought, if Flaygod had seemed an ordinary sword. Aros was just too weird.

Jade was taking the lead now. “I know a way into the palace,” she confided as a phalanx of men ran along the boulevard. Somewhere, a man screamed in mortal terror. The armed prisoners were making an attack on the Tower, perhaps seeking to free more allies. He wished them well.

Jade led them to a house butted against the wall around the palace and knocked.

There was a pause, and a hidden slit in the wall—not the door itself—opened. “Madam Silith!” The eyes opened wide. “What is your need?”

“To see the king,” she said. “And sanctuary for my friends. There is danger tonight. My husband fights for the crown.”

The slit closed and then the door opened, and they were ushered in. This kingdom, Aros thought, seemed riddled with passages. Did no one trust anyone here?

The seven of them were ushered through the house and then down into the basement. One of the walls was pushed aside to reveal a tunnel, and they were ushered along it by a doughy woman who looked as if she had not slept in a month. After a few minutes along the panel, they rose up into another room, through the back door of a cupboard stocked with bags of flour and hanging sides of beef.

The woman opened the outer door and issued them into a small kitchen, perhaps one serving the servants' quarters.

The servants seemed nervous, which was easy to understand considering the noises outside: chaos in the streets; shouting; and, even as he stopped to hear it, the sound of another explosion.

The freed prisoners were keeping their word.

They were ushered through another hall into a well-appointed waiting room, with enough chairs for most of them to sit. “Wait here,” the doughy woman said, and left them.

Aros stood, hand on Flaygod's hilt, uncomfortable in the extreme. The last weeks had taken him to places in the world, and within his own heart, that he had never visited, nor thought to.

Jade Silith held his arm, seated, as if afraid that she would slip away into a shark-ridden sea if she lost it for a moment. Mijista held his other arm, and Tahlia watched him closely. In some way he had become a center of strength in the room for all of them.

Damn. Wasn't
this
a strange development!

Princess Tahlia was on Madam Silith's other side. She was in a strange land, surrounded by danger. She had no solid reason to trust any of them. But Jade Silith's obvious sorrow and quiet dignity spoke volumes.

The door opened, and two guards entered the room. “Come with us,” they said. One cast a glance at Aros's sword but did not attempt to take it away from him, which was very good for the guard.

They traveled down another corridor, but the appointments were becoming lush now, and he could feel that they were heading deeper into the castle.

They emerged in the throne room. The king sat on his throne, a phalanx of guards on either side of them. Most of them were halted behind a hemp rope, but Jade Silith and Princess Tahlia were beckoned forward.

King Corinth was swathed in a fine robe, but Aros had the sense that he had awakened recently and not had time or interest in donning his usual garb. “Madam Silith,” he said, “do you have information for me on … on…” A robed advisor whispered in his ear. “Ah, yes. The nature of these disturbances? Riots.”

“Your Majesty,” Jade said. “My husband has uncovered a terrible plot against the crown and is even now risking his life to expose and end the traitors. We ask for sanctuary.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. And … who is this?”

“She is the Princess Tahlia—”

“May I speak, Your Majesty?” the princess asked.

The king seemed a little taken aback. “Why, yes, of course.”

“I am Princess Tahlia of Quillia.”

“What are you doing here, my child?”

“My ship was attacked by pirates, and my lady servant and I kidnapped. We were brought here and held in a tower, where terrible things happened that I will not trouble Your Majesty with. Until this night, I had assumed that these things were an act of war against Quillia, but now I see that Your Majesty knew nothing of it, that it was the action of some traitors who have deceived Your Majesty. It is a tale of magic and horror, my lord, and I am grateful to find safe harbor.”

Now Aros saw in the princess what Neoloth had seen. Despite her appearance, humbled by starvation and deprivation, her clothes and hair a ratty bird's nest, there was a natural gentility and power within her that called to him. This was a remarkable young woman. He believed that Neoloth could indeed genuinely love her.

Or she could be a wonderful path to power. Wizards, after all …

“What would you have me do, my child?” the king asked.

“Return me to my mother,” she said. “If you can do that, I will promise that no actions will be taken against your kingdom. Rather, it will be a symbol of faith and trust—”

“Hold!” a voice called behind them, and striding into the throne room came …

General Silith.

Jade almost collapsed with relief the instant she saw him, and Mijista also seemed ready to weep with joy. He was scarred and bleeding but still a towering figure. Jade ran to him, and he embraced her.

“Sire!” Silith said. “I have terrible news for you. There has indeed been a conspiracy of vipers under your very heel, involving members of your loyal corps, the Hundred.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. But, at great cost, the traitors have been killed, and soon peace will be restored.” He smiled at the princess. “Princess! I am so glad to see that you are well. Come with me, and we will see you safely home—”

But as he spoke, Jade Silith's face had tightened. She drew back from him, face slack, and then angry.

“You are not Sinjin,” she said. “This is not my husband!”

The room grew quiet. Silent. The guards fingering their weapons, while the troops who had followed Silith in the chamber fingered theirs.

“My dear,” Silith said. “I'm afraid that the night's affairs have strained your mind. Please forgive her, Your Majesty—”

Jade had torn herself away completely and stood back glaring at the man at her side.

“You are not … my husband.”

Silith made a placating gesture to the king. “Please, Your Majesty. Understand that the stress of her recent brush with death has unbalanced my wife.”

“I understand,” the king said. Aros watched the tableau with fascination, unable to speak. What did he think?

“Is something wrong with Madam Silith?” Aros whispered. “It is the general!”

Mijista stiffened. “I trust a woman to know her husband.”

“But how…?”

“There are magics,” Mijista snapped. “I have heard of such things. This one is called
glamour
.”

There was something in her voice that made Aros look at her again. She was as intent as he, but he noted that her hand had tightened on his arm.

“I too have seen such things,” the princess said. She seemed to be coming out of her trance. “My lady in waiting can do this.”

The king watched them all. “Ah, well, General … knight to queen four. Mate.”

General Silith flinched, and then relaxed. “Well played, Your Majesty.”

The king's eyes glittered. “You know … for some time I've known that all of you have considered me a fool. That there was something … were things going on in my kingdom that were not of my making. There was little I could do about it, because the power of the priesthood and the military seemed to have been aligned and turned against me.”

He appeared to have regained his full stature. “But I believe that Madam Silith is correct. You are not the general. I believe you are Belot and do not know the small games that we play. And if you are imitating the general, then he attempted to move against you and failed. The plot has splintered. And this would be a very good time indeed to become my father's son once again.”

There was a slyness in the king's eye that glittered, a sense of power that Aros had not seen before but suddenly recognized. A man who knew his throne was precarious, that his enemies were too powerful to confront directly, and that only if he played the doddering fool could his life be secure.

“This is the wizard, Belot! Seize this creature!” he said to his guard, who hesitated.

“Silith” swept his sword out of its scabbard. For all the speed and smoothness of that draw, Aros knew in that moment that it was not the general.

But the general's men did not see, did not notice. They were entranced by the situation. “On them!” the impostor snarled.

“By the serpent!” Aros snarled and drew his sword. And for a moment he was terribly tempted to dive forward and engage.

Retreat felt like swallowing fire. “Ladies, behind me,” he said, and he watched to be sure they'd done that before he began to back away.

The One's grin was a bit wrong. He hadn't noticed what was happening behind him. He laughed, not quite like the general. “No? No fight left?”

“Silith would have known I have promises to keep. Behind you, wizard.”

Belot sneered, then looked anyway.

Half of Silith's troops were dropping back, lowering their weapons. More followed. An officer shouted, “General Silith or no, I stand with my king!”

“Guards, attack! Take them, you cowards!” the Silith figure commanded. More dropped back.

Belot lashed out. Two men fell. Silith's remaining troops parted in martial order, leaving him a wide path. The One ran lightly from the throne room, and a score of troops followed.

 

THIRTY-SEVEN

Shadows

The city burned around them. Somehow, and Neolith was uncertain when it had happened, the fight had shifted. It was not between the escaped sacrificial subjects and the city guard. Now the conflict was between the king's loyal guard and the general's remaining troops.

In the time that they had crept through the streets heading south toward the bay, violence had erupted, and Neoloth figured that he knew who and what was responsible for freeing these victims turned warriors. He saw Aros's handiwork in this.