The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) (38 page)

“Fire at will.”

The deck jolted as volley after volley of rockets were loosed.  Smoke trails stabbed toward the mountainside and flames blossomed against the slope, engulfing the shack.  A pillar of black smoke arose as if the volcano had sprouted a new vent.  The explosions reverberated over the city.

Brief silence followed as the embers of the shack burned.  Then from below came cheering, louder than ever before.  It went on and on and Landar, who had come down to watch the launchings, said, “All you did was destroy a single building and it's like you conquered a city.”

“Use your imagination,” Valarion replied.  “It could just as well be a city.”

And he thought of which one it would be. 

The crowds were still cheering as Valarion returned to the bridge.  The captain reported that one of the engines was behaving erratically and Landar recommended a return to base.  Valarion agreed.  Once the airship alighted upon the canyon floor, he transferred to the coach and rode back to the palace.  As he rode, he stared upward with new appreciation for the clouds which moments before he had mingled among. 

The streets were lined with well-wishers, smiles on every face.  His bodyguard had to get aggressive to keep the crowd from pressing in, and Valarion wondered something that he never had to wonder before:  whether it was possible to become too popular.

As he mounted the final step into the palace entry, a servant met him with a folded message.  It was on the accursed bland stationery.  Valarion's spirits were too high for much irritation.  He actually anticipated greeting the Mother as the temple guard conducted him on yet another seemingly random route to her most recent hiding place.  He had even composed a brief speech to recount the events of the flight.

When he arrived before the Box amid its court of temple guard and damp brick walls, however, he had no time even to open his mouth. 

Shouts came from behind.  Led by a growling hound on a leash, Imperial Guards swarmed around the corner of the tunnel, bearing torches and armed with crossbows.  Overwhelmed, the temple guard surrendered.

A little too easily
, Valarion thought.

The soldiers parted and Maldus broke through, glaring.  “Where is she, Valarion?”

“Maldus,” Valarion said.  “You fool!”

“Oh, I'm done being the fool.  I was a fool for thinking you were the best choice to replace a doddering old Hadron and save the Empire, and instead you nearly destroyed the Empire and got me killed too.  You don't know how many times these past weeks I've thought of slitting your throat – but it was too late, I'd cast my fate with you and if you went down, so would I.  However, now that the city is put together again, I see no reason to keep you alive.”

“You betray me, Maldus?”

“I expect such slow perception by someone whose jokes are as insipid as yours.”

“Did you kill Godant, or did he bribe you to do this?”

“Oh, he's dead.  His last words with head on shoulders were to promise me senatorial rank, but I knew I could do better.”  Maldus chuckled.  “Why settle for a stripe of purple when I can claim it all?”

“Maldus.  If you have me killed, the people will be outraged.  Didn't you see just now?  I'm a hero to the city.”

“The city will hear that there was a tragic accident.  A terrible fall from the ship when the rail broke as you leaned too hard against it.”

Valarion shrugged.  “Ah.” 

“Don't worry, Valarion, I will commend your courage in my eulogy and you'll have a fine statue on the Avenue of the Champions.”  Maldus pointed his sword at Valarion's neck.  “It's over, Valarion.  Just one more thing that I want from you.  Tell me where the leader of the Sisters is and your death will be painless.”

Valarion recalled the words of the prognosticator cube: 
You shall not die so long as you have your second by your side.
Even the Wizard had admitted it might be a form of prophecy. 

Valarion had thought of Maldus as his second.  Maldus, who had remained loyal through the worst, had seemed a fulfillment of the prophecy.  Valarion had even come to regard him as a charm.  And here the charm had turned against him.   

Yet perhaps, Valarion thought, the prophecy had not failed.  For it was clear to him that in this situation, Maldus was the one about to die. 

“Maldus,” Valarion said.  “You fool.  You can't defeat the Sisters.” 

“I have two hundred men in these tunnels, armed with arrowheads dipped in an acid that the Sisters are said to find most distressing.  And if that's not enough, I will have ten legions on call once I am emperor, to hunt the Sisters wherever they may hide.  So don't think that they will rescue you.  As for me, Valarion, I am not incompetent and I have no need for their support.  I certainly have no desire to share power with monsters.  Seriously, Valarion, you accuse me of betrayal, but should you not be on trial for the betrayal of humanity in subjugation to the inhuman?  Tell me where their leader is, or shall I begin stripping your skin from its flesh?“

Valarion eyed the blade that was centimeters from his face.  The Box, he well noted, was continuing to blink yet remain silent.  He wondered what the Mother was waiting for.  Perhaps, for the sake of her  sense of amusement, she would watch him be tortured to death.  She said she had replacements, and she certainly had no affection for him personally.  He doubted she experienced such a thing as affection toward anyone or anything.   

Valarion thought fast. 
Ego
, he thought.  The Box was without soul, but it still had personality; it had an ego.  By playing to its vanity, he could incite it to act. 

“Maldus,” he said.  “You have no idea what you've pitted yourself against.  The leader of the Sisters is not a mortal being.  It wouldn't matter if you had brought a thousand soldiers, or all the soldiers in all the legions.  You can't defeat her with mortal power.  She is on a different level than us, she is divine power.  Even now she can strike you dead where you stand.  Maldus, for your transgressions against a goddess, you will surely not leave this place alive.”

“Valarion, what are you blathering about?  Are you feigning madness now?  Tell me where the leader of the Sisters is, or I'll slice your nose and ears off right now!”

Valarion stepped aside and gestured at the Box blinking multicolored lights atop a pair of crates.  “There, Maldus.  There is the Mother of us all.”

Maldus scowled.  “What kind of joke is this?”

“How many times have you seen the murals installed by the Sisters in the Senate and palace?  What is here before you is the greatest artifact in all the legends:   The Box That Everything Came In!”

“A crude prop you've made to mislead childish minds!  I'm not amused, Valarion.”

“I warn you, Maldus, you must show respect.  I warn you, take another step toward the Mother, and you will die.”

Maldus might have had no intention of taking any steps toward the Box at all, but the gauntlet, as the saying goes, had been thrown.  Scowling again, he strode toward the Mother with sword poised. 

After three steps, the Box began to hiss.  Valarion smelled something sickly sweet.  He coughed.  His head felt as if it had become a balloon and might fly away.  The floor seemed to heave and for a moment it was as if Tyfon had angrily awakened after all.  But the Box was remaining firm on the crates and the torches on the wall were steady and the temple guard stood as if nothing were happening. 

Maldus and the Imperial Guard, though, were staggering.  Maldus sprouted a look of confusion, rolled his eyes and collapsed along with the rest of his men.  Valarion's legs gave out too and the floor came up to meet him and then there was only darkness, thoughtless and dreamless.

When he opened his eyes, he felt the cold stones on his back.  He sat up, cursing at the pounding of his head.  He looked around.  The floor was bare.  The temple guard and the Box were where they had been when he'd come, as if nothing had happened in the time between.

Valarion wobbled erect and bowed to the Mother.  “Maldus and the Guard.  Where are they?”

“They have been neutralized,” she cheerfully replied.  “Except for the dog.  It has very nice genes.  I've had it set free on the streets, where I'm sure it will fare well.”

Two hundred men dead, his Imperial Guard without a leader, and she thought he was concerned about a hound.  “So what was it this time that you . . . summoned . . . me here for?”

“What has happened is what I summoned you for.”

Maldus never had a chance, Valarion realized.  The Mother had seen the coup coming, and had known that Valarion never would have believed her bare accusation.  She had lured Maldus to her lair so that he would openly betray Valarion before Valarion's own eyes, so that she could execute Maldus without Valarion's objection.   

The Mother continued:  “Emperor Valarion.  Today you have shown the city of Rome the power of your emperor-ship.  The next step after a show of power is an application of power.  May I suggest the target be the city-state of Kresidala. How do you feel about that?”

He was still dazed from the enormity of Maldus's betrayal, while she was already thinking – calculating – ahead. 
Foil coup and execute traitor.  Done.  Next item on the agenda is . . . .
 

“I . . . concur.”     

“I will leave the details of the attack on Kresidala to your staff.  I do want to emphasize that the destruction must be comprehensive.”

“Comprehensive.  Yes, of course.”

When he was returned to the palace, he summoned the surviving officers of the Imperial Guard and informed them that Maldus and his men had died in a tragic cave-in within the sewers.  Their hollow stares told him that no one believed the story and no one would challenge it.

He appointed a new general for the Imperial Guard, a blob of a man whose primary qualification, in Valarion's mind, were eyes vacant of intellect and ambition.  In other words, least likely to usurp. 

Valarion sipped tea in his study.  He stared at documents and signed them without reading.  Couriers arrived with congratulation notices from various Senators.

Valarion found himself thinking of Matt, the boy from Britan, who as unimpressive as he'd appeared, truly was the Wizard from Aereoth.  The wizard-boy knew the Box of Rome was real, and so did the witch-girl and Archimedes.  However, no one in the Roman government knew the reality of the ancient myth, except for Valarion himself.  Even Landar, who had spoken with it through a thin veil, would think his Emperor mad if the truth were mentioned. 

What can I do against an evil that I can't even mention?
 

Valarion supposed he could command a raid on the sewers in a generic search for temple guards, but the Box had undoubtedly moved to another well-hidden location by then.  To search the whole of the city sewers might require the bulk of the Imperial Guard, and if the Box could so easily dispatch two hundred men, could even a thousand withstand her? 

Assuming they could find her before in retaliation she had him 'suitably' replaced.  No, he was trapped in her web for now.  He would have to act, however, before she found her sister Box in Britan.  He sensed that once that happened, she would dispense with him. 

In a fate worse than death
, he thought.  Like the old woman who had become possessed by Inoldia's spirit.  Or like Maldus, whatever 'neutralized' ultimately meant.       

Valarion stared at the papers again, rubbed his eyes, and summoned the head servant.  “Can you organize a party for tonight?  I want to celebrate the first flight of the airship.”

That evening, he put on a jovial act, laughing with everyone at his own jokes.  The guests were all thrilled about the airship and seemed for the moment more in awe of him as its rider than they were of his imperial status.  They listened raptly as he described every embellished detail. 

No one queried about Maldus.  In Rome, a rag merchant goes missing and it's the talk of Victory Square.  A high official goes missing, and people pretend not to notice, lest they go missing too. 

The evening wore on and the guests departed.  However, a young and attractive lady lingered to chat and while conducting her on a tour of the palace, Valarion blundered them into the very chamber where Hadron had been assassinated. The bedding, Valarion noted, had been changed. 

He was only half there and that half was drunk, but he managed to light the lanterns without scorching his fingers.  As he flopped on the rose-scented sheets she descended gracefully alongside, smiled worshipfully in the soft illumination, and told him he was wonderful. His mood brightened. 

Then she caressed his chest and tenderly asked, “What is it like to be the ruler of Rome?”

The gloom descended again, and he muttered,  “I wish I knew.” 

15.

The inn of John Pine's sister and brother-in-law was strategically located in the middle of the Land of the Trolls, according to the rectified photo-map that Matt had provided Carrot's exploration team.  It was a two story affair of white plaster and glass windows nestled amid the shade of trees a short trail off the main road.  The front of the building faced the road, but the travelers were led around back to the rear entrance.  They were, after all,
human
. 

“Now,” John said.  “We're going to have to do this right if this is going to be done at all.  Carrot, I know that it is as humiliating for a human as it is for a Henogalian, but henceforth you'll have to wear a collar at all times.  Is that all right?”

She closed her eyes and bowed.  John opened his backpack and handed her the collar.  Other than being something that belonged on a dog, it was rather nice:  interwoven strands of fabric that felt soft to her neck, dyed with a pink diamond pattern against a black background, cinched by a polished metal buckle, like a small belt. She adjusted the fit, attached the leash and bowed again.

“Very good,” John said.  He nodded to Norian and Mirian.  “For now, you two should hide in the woods  out of scenting range.  Being in the presence of five humans, two unleashed, is unnerving enough for any person and my brother-in-law is leery of humans as it is.”

Carrot noted the select usage of the word 'person.'

Once Norian and Mirian had departed, Bob blurted:  “John!  That little one with the arrows, she was standing right here and I could barely scent her!  Don't you find that, well, creepy?”

“I think she can still hear you, Bob.  Now stay with Carrot and our clients while I get Paul and Susan.”

Bob's eyes widened as he cast glances down the trail where Norian and Mirian had entered into the deeper woods.  For a moment, Carrot was mesmerized by his fingers, massive as rolling pins, which he was fidgeting above her eye level.  She was very mindful of how small her neck was in comparison.  She felt naked without a single dagger on her person, but so far the trolls had seemed harmless, and she especially wanted to make a good impression with her prospective hosts, and carrying concealed weapons often backfires that way.

Carrot faced the other humans, Trak and Sten, whom she'd learned over the course of the previous day's travels were merchants.  “So from here you go on to see the King.”

“Yes,” Trak replied.

“To see about a license to sell your dishes and other wares.”

“Yes.”

Trak had become recessive ever since the campfire the night before, when he'd asked how they had entered Henogal without having to cross the bridge and acquire sponsors, and Mirian had proudly proclaimed that they had flown above the 'Monstrous Hedge.'  Trak could not have lived in 'Human Britan' without hearing tales of the flying ship, but he had not seen it personally and he was dubious.  That skepticism apparently had caused him to question his initial acceptance of Carrot's queen-ship 

In his taciturn expression, Carrot thought she could read: 
I don't know what you are, except perhaps trouble.
  And how could she argue?  Fortunately, John seemed to hold to the philosophy that fair silver covers a multitude of sins, and so they had continued in his company.       

Carrot trained her ears toward the inn.  She heard low troll voices.  It sounded like a barely contained argument.  She shifted from foot to foot, ran a finger along the interior of the collar.  Bob, who was swinging the other end of the leash absent-mindedly, mumbled, “Doesn't sound like they'll have you.”

What would her party do then?  They had spent so much time in traveling here, and Matt was probably already on the Other Side of the world by now. 
I should have gone with him
, Carrot thought.  But she was certain that her team was on the trail of the Box of Britan.  It was Matt's quest whose worth was open to question, though she would never dare say that to his face.      

After a few minutes, the voices calmed, though they hardly sounded happy.  John emerged with two middle-aged trolls, male and female.  Carrot thought they looked rather pleasant, as far as her experience with trolls went, but the male troll reacted to the sight of her with a scowl and the female troll looked worried and writhed her hands.

John waved toward Carrot.  “Paul and Susan, this is Carrot.  Carrot, this is Paul and Susan Apple, my brother-in-law and sister.”

Carrot bowed deeply.  Scowls and writhing were the only response. 

John addressed the troll couple:  “You can see she won't take up much room and I've found her very agreeable.  She has silver to pay room and board, and she's volunteered to do chores.”

Paul's voice was flat:  “Let's see the silver.”

Carrot opened the bag and displayed the coins.

“It's the right color,” Paul said.  He picked up a coin and bit.  “Tastes right, too.”

John pasted on a smile.  “Then it's settled?”

“Didn't say that.  Susan, what do you think?”

“Humans have a reputation for violence,” Susan said.  “I just don't know.  Paul, you decide.”

“Violence,” Paul said.  “Yes.  We hear of their wars all the time.  I question the King's sanity in even allowing a few into the realm.  I don't know how you talked me into accepting a sponsor license, John, but I've a mind to tear it up right now.”

John chuckled.  “Look at her, you two!  She's hardly more than a stalk of grass and you're going on as if she's got an army on call!”

Bob glanced at Carrot.  Carrot glanced at Bob.  They had agreed there would be no mention of the complication that she was a 'queen' who had led an army in battle, but it was evident that John was certainly one for ironic hints.   

Paul frowned at the bag.  “How did a young girl come by so much silver?”

“Inherited it,” John said smoothly and without hesitation.  “Legitimately, I assure you.  I've fully checked her references.”  He had done no such thing.  “Now, you two consider.  It's the off-season and Susan tells me your funds are short.  Here is an opportunity to make some money with very little effort or risk.”

“We risk our whole business,” Paul said, “if our regulars learn we've got a human on the premises.”

“Did I mention she does chores?”

“Many times, but what kind of chores?”

Carrot blurted, “I can sweep.  I can gather firewood and make fires.  I can wash laundry.  I can wash dishes.  I can clean – “

Paul glanced at his wife, then back at Carrot.  “Can you cook?”

“I – I've never cooked troll dishes, but if you show me – “

“
What
did you say? 
What
kind of dishes?”

Carrot felt as if she had stepped into something deep and squishy.  “I meant,
Henogalian
cookery.  I am unfamiliar with it, but I have cooked many human meals, and surely the methods are the same if not the food itself.”

Paul sighed.  At first Carrot thought that he was going to reject her but then she noticed that he was still holding the haddie – and tightly at that.  He sighed again and made a swinging motion with his arm, as if to toss the coin back into the bag.  But the silver never left his hand.

“Well, Susan,” he said at last.  “You
have
said that you need help.”

Susan's hands had stopped wringing.  She scrutinized Carrot and nodded.  “She doesn't seem like she would be the kind to hurt people.  John, you do vouch for her?”

“On my honor, dear sister.  And as I said, I'll be back to pick her up shortly.”

The deal was swiftly concluded.  Carrot would stay at the inn for a silver coin a day.  For all the dickering, Carrot was surprised that Paul settled for what was a fairly reasonable price.  She dropped the first coin into his hand, bade goodbye to John and his companions, and walked to the inn following Paul, who had taken her leash.

Facing forward, Paul said, “I don't know how it is with humans, but I would assume 'Carrot' is your last name.  Do you have a first then?”

“Arcadia, sir.”  Her response was spontaneous, but she'd already started to wonder whether 'Carrot' was raising too many eyebrows to be safe in mentioning.

“A lot of womenfolk named 'Arcadia' in the north.  'Arcadia Carrot.'  So your name is of the People, at least.”

Carrot had never before heard of another 'Arcadia' in all of the Yuro Archipelago, and tucked in memory the thought that his remark might be a thing to ask about later. 

He opened the door and let his wife enter first.  Then he motioned Carrot inside.  They were in a kitchen.  Susan went to a table and chopped ingredients for a simmering pot.  Paul tied Carrot's leash around a post – a symbolic gesture, for even a dog could unravel it – and directed her to a sink full of dirty cooking and eating implements. 

Having worked in the household of the Chief Scientist of Rome, she was cosmopolitan enough to recognize the faucet spigot, and she grasped that she would not have to fetch water from a well.  Yet she said to Paul, “I'll need to make the water hot, so shall I gather wood and set another fire?”

He reached over to the faucet, and she noticed for the first time that there were
two
water valves.  He twisted the left one and said, “Water's already hot.”

In disbelief, she touched the stream emitted from the spigot – and quickly retracted her fingers.  It was scalding!  “How is this done?  That is, how is the water heated?”

“A sun box on the roof.  Now if you have no more questions of a technical nature, I shall tend to the customers.”

Perched upon a stool, Carrot filled the sink with water. 
Sun box
, she thought.  She would like to see that!  Surely Archimedes would like to see that! 

She filled the sink with the unwashed dishes, puzzling at the eating implements.  What was this thing with three prongs?  Revelation struck:  it could hold down food while cutting with a knife, in place of having to grasp the food with one's hands! 

“You need to use the soap,” Susan said.

“Sorry?”

“Dish-washing soap.  It's in the can there.”

“Oh.  Yes.”  They'd had dish-washing soap in Rome.  Mola had allowed only herself to pour it, as she said it was 'at a premium.'  Here was Susan, nodding Carrot to ladle it on her own.

“Just one scoop.”

“Yes.”

Carrot set to scrubbing, but Susan said, “Gloves.”

“Sorry?”

“Gloves for your hands.  There's a child's pair under the sink.  They should fit.”

They were made of a supple material, similar to one that Archimedes had used in some of his projects.  'Rubber,' he'd called it.  Carrot put on the gloves, then gingerly put her hands under the water.  To her amazement, the water still felt warm but no longer scalded.

Carrot worked diligently, reveling in the sense of calm and well-being that chores always brought.  If she had to explain her feelings, it was that household chores made her feel as if she were a part of normal humanity.  Though how well that applied while working alongside a towering matron whose apron strings were at eye-level . . . .  

As the morning wore on, the 'security procedures' became increasingly lax.  Paul tired of watching Carrot sweep, handed her the other end of the leash, and said, “Look after yourself, all right?” 

She was allowed outside to do laundry, and Paul wandered off.  She found him later at a wood pile. 

“Let's see you chop,” he said, handing her the ax.

She split the logs and stacked them.  Paul gathered the wood into bundles.  He scooped one bundle for himself and directed Carrot to take the other.

“You're stronger than you look,” he said.  “Almost as strong as a normal person.”

Carrot gritted a smile as she softly groaned under the load.  “Thank you, sir.”

“Call me Paul.”

“Yes, Paul.”

“Well, it's about lunch time.  Let's see what the missus has.” 

Carrot wondered what a 'missus' was.  They returned to the kitchen and set the bundles by the hearth.  From the other room came the murmur of troll voices; Carrot scented half a dozen males. 

Susan was pouring soup and said, “My, we never have this many this early.   Arcadia, can you set the trays and bowls?”

“Do you think that's wise?” Paul asked.  “After all, the plague came from Human Britan.”

“Arcadia is obviously in fine health and the plague is long over.  No more talk of the plague.”

Susan slammed empty trays onto the table.  Managing three full trays at once, she briskly glided into the dining room.  Mindful that something had transpired between the two, Carrot quietly poured soup. 

“She always gets bossy around meal time,” Paul muttered.  He shrugged.  “I suppose it has to be.”

He slurped his soup.  Seeing that they were alone and it was quiet, Carrot sought for a neutral conversational topic.

“Paul, I am curious about the sun box.”

“Well, contrary to what humans may think, it doesn't have a sun inside.”  

“How does it work?”