Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (21 page)

To make sure it seemed like no more than an inspection, I’d promised horrendous punishments for dirty equipment or compartments not being shipshape such as two weeks kitchen duty, a month’s worth of nightwatch, no permission to leave the castle for a week, all indicating our stay would continue.

Both Janela and myself were shaken by our vision atop the mountain and I was exhausted from the climb.

Janela sent for me shortly after our return with a request I make haste. I was sitting in my chambers wanting a nap but having to listen to Pip babble on about how he hadn’t known things were going to be like this and he surely wouldn’t have contracted under these circumstances and surely the gracious Lord Antero would be willing to discuss the terms of his payment to include benefits in the unlikely event of his not returning to Orissa and so on and so forth.

It was Pip’s old familiar song that I’d heard on other expeditions. I laughed and said if he expected more gold he’d best put out more work and hope there’d be a handsome bonus on our return. Our familiar by-play complete, I went to Janela’s chambers, wondering what she needed.

She had her bag open on the table and sorcerous implements spread out. A beaker of some awful-looking and worse-smelling liquid sat in front of her.

“Amalric,” she said, without preamble, “we have problems.”

“As if I didn’t know that.”

“
This
you don’t know and I’m afraid I must show it to you, rather than tell you. Sit down. Hold out a finger. I need a bit of your blood.”

I obeyed and she nicked me with a tiny silver scythe, not gold like the ones I’d seen used in spells before. She held my finger over the beaker and squeezed out three drops of blood.

“Perhaps I’ve been sensitized by the ceremony on the mountain,” she said. “Once more I’ve been feeling that sense of dread, of menace, like unknown enemies have been watching. The last few hours I felt it not just here, which I ascribe to Modin and his sorcery and from whatever we shall face to the east, but behind us, too. From an unexpected place. I’ll say no more.

“Now hold out your hands, palms up.”

She began smearing a yellowish salve onto them.

“You say you don’t have any of the Talent, which I know to be false... hush, I’m tired of the argument. I am now going to send you, in spirit, back down the river to the sea. Then south and east — toward Orissa. I fear I know what you will see. If my incantation doesn’t work I’ll tell you what I think is happening and take whatever oaths you require to ensure you believe I’m telling the truth.”

I put my hands down just a bit angry. “Janela. Stop that at once. I need no oaths from you.”

“For this... you might.” She looked at me and her face held infinite sorrow. “I’m sorry, my Amalric. So very sorry.”

She held out her palms like a priestess and began chanting:

Blood finds blood

Blood seeks blood

Blood will find

Blood will see

Blood will find

In a normal tone: “Now, drink the potion.”

I did, holding it awkwardly between the heels of my hands, to the dregs. It tasted sweet, then bitter, then galling, almost making my throat close.

Before I could gag, protest or even set the beaker down I was torn from my body and sent reeling into space.

When I was a boy there’d been a brief fascination in Orissa for cycloramas. These were paintings on long strips of canvas. The viewers sat in chairs and the cyclorama was reeled from one cylinder to another in front of them. In this way one could experience a voyage by boat from Orissa to the river’s mouth or along the Lemon Coast or by carriage from the city into the mountains. They were prized for their detail and length.

Now it was if I were hanging over such a cyclorama, one being unreeled at dizzying speed. The river twisted below me like a beheaded snake and I saw Marinduque and then I was hurtling over the ocean, heading back toward Orissa. Below me on the unrelieved sea I saw dots and I was diving on them. Then the dots became ten ships and I saw the welcome banner of Orissa flying from their mainmasts.

I recognized the ships — they were mine, part of the Antero merchant fleet. But these had been rigged for war — anti-boarding nets were strung from the yards and catapults or trebuchets were mounted on the forecastles. On their decks were men wearing leather battledress and practicing with weaponry.

Then I was aboard one ship, the flagship I somehow sensed and hanging in the air, invisible, above the quarterdeck. Below me stood Cligus! Why was
my son
on his
way to Irayas?

Cligus was dressed for war and was in deep conversation with a Guards officer I’d seen before dancing attendance on him but whose name I couldn’t remember. I wanted desperately to hear their conversation and then I could. Not clearly as if I were next to them but as if I were halfway down a tunnel, or perhaps hearing them from the depths of a fever so only an occasional word came clear:
“...what we can... arrest... a trial, of course... permits... explanation... turncoat... when I return... proof... all Orissa will know... and then Hermias will be doomed along with him.”

Then, most clearly, as Cligus spread a look of mock sorrow that didn’t mask the glee in his eyes:

“My own father! In Te-Date’s name, how will I ever bear the shame!”

I was smashed back to Irayas, returned to my body, slumped in a chair in Janela’s chambers. She looked at me, knew what I’d seen, got up and went to a window, pointedly staring away. I fought for control and failed. Futile tears took me, then rage spread through their midst. In a dull tone I reported precisely what I’d heard and seen. “How could...” I managed to find other words as I spoke, “...Orissa listen to that?”

“Amalric, I know this is a blow but you
must
keep your wits sharp about you. You told me Cligus said something to the effect that all Orissa will know, once he returns with the evidence or with you. And you said those were your ships. You said before that Cligus had powerful friends. I’d wager that he was able to get an expedition authorized, at his expense, to investigate some charges he concocted. As yet you’ve not been read out from whatever Orissa uses for a Traitor’s gate. Certainly you still have friends there. Cligus was cursing your heir, Hermias, so he must be standing firm and still be safe. And I can’t believe Palmeras would believe anything Cligus told him.”

“I know he wouldn’t.”

“What is important is this thing about bringing you back. Do you believe Cligus is telling the truth about his intent?”

Cligus could not bring me back alive. No matter what evidence or false witnesses Cligus had manufactured, there’d be no way the charges would stand once I returned to Orissa. So Cligus had coldly planned something that could only result in patricide.

“How could he do this?” It was a pointless question on my part, but came from the soul.

“I’ll not answer one part of that... he is what he is and I won’t be the cause of more pain to you. But there is another how — the practical one. How could Cligus succeed in such an audacious farce that no one capable of thought could listen to? I said I sensed magic, sensed some malevolent force ahead and now behind us, just as I sensed someone I thought to be Cligus pursuing us. The forces are one and the same. Someone... something... to the east has linked forces with Cligus.”

“Forces like Senac?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Does Cligus know,” I asked, clinging to the straw, “or is he just their pawn?”

“I can’t answer that. Perhaps he’s but their tool, although that should be of scant comfort since a pure spirit cannot be so corrupted. But openly in league with whoever our enemies are, I’m unsure. He might not be since there were no great sorcerous forces opposing me when I made my visit. I would think if there were a demon actually aboard those ships I would have been found out instantly and had to make an immediate escape.”

Again grief took me. I buried my head in my hands.

“You’re right, I suppose,” I managed. “My mind is a muddle. I need some time to clear it.”

“We don’t
have
time, Amalric. That’s why I sent for you in such haste. Cligus’ ships are less than two weeks from Irayas and we’ll need at least a week to sail downriver to the sea.”

She was right. I sat there like a rock, like a boulder. Then from somewhere I gathered strength. Perhaps Janela was sending me some of her own that had carried her for so many years through so many realms, I
was
a boulder, a mountain. Power grew within me. What I felt for Cligus I would delve into at another time. What I would do about it must also wait. But I could not sit here sniveling like a dotard. There had been worse pains, such as the deaths of my beloved Deoce and my firstborn daughter Emilie that nearly caused me to give up, accept the embrace of the river and the Dark Seeker. I’d lived through those.

A dark, cold calm came. I stood.

“I’ll make plans for an immediate departure,” I said, “and I’ll send a message to the King requesting a farewell audience.”

Janela reached a hand out to me. But I didn’t take it. If I allowed even a crack to appear, the boulder, the mountain might well crumble.

* * * *

There was more to come.

Within the hour a dispatch arrived. It was from Lord Modin, requesting the honor of my presence and that of Lady Lycus, now known as Greycloak, in the King’s audience chamber at the fourth hour after sunrise two days hence. We were to be prepared to answer certain questions the Highest might wish to put.

The message was not carried by one of the palace’s functionaries but by a Warden, accompanied by two armed fellows.

We were trapped. I had no idea what questions King Gayyath might have or might have been prompted to think of by Modin but the cold note of the missive, that Janela was referred to by her native name and the armed soldiery, made me know it was not casual or friendly.

Even if these questions could be answered, it would surely more than a week before we could conceivably get permission to sail... and by that time Cligus would be on us.

Trapped in the vise, feeling it tighten, I had no thoughts, no plans, no ideas. I decided to walk out onto the docks and stare at the water. We Orissans have always used our river to calm us, to bring ideas and peace. Perhaps something would occur to me or at least I’d feel less like a thick wit and then I could consult with Janela.

It was dusk when I went out of the castle.

I pretended not to notice Quatervals, who stayed far behind me, trying to appear invisible.

I sat on the edge of the wharf, seeing the small waves lap against the sides of our ships, ships so carefully equipped that now looked they’d never see the usage we’d dreamed.

Something fell from the sky, drifting like a feather, like a snowflake. I reached out a hand and caught an ash.

Then I looked up and saw Irayas explode into flames.

* * * *

The sky was lightening as if the sun had reversed its course, the birthing of a firestorm. Not fire but fires, I realized, seeing other flickering glows across the sky. I thought the closest fire was somewhat to the south of the royal palace in what passed in Irayas for a poor district.

One fire could be accidental... but these? I counted three, no, eight a-building. Had an enemy of Irayas somehow crept up on the city and attacked it? Impossible. There could be but one foe so well-concealed. The people themselves must have risen.

Quatervals was beside me. I knew exactly what must be done. The sight of the inferno had seared away all indecision, all uncertainty.

“Turn the men out,” I ordered. “We sail within two hours. Make sure none of our household spies are able to leave the castle and spread the word.”

A great smile spread across Quatervals’ face. “Thank the gods! Now we’ll be shut of these bastards and their scheming.” He ran toward the castle doors, bellowing for his sergeants and the ships’ captains.

I went for Janela’s quarters. She was already in the courtyard, bag over her shoulder and her sword belt buckled.

“I see some gods have intervened in our favor,” she said, very calmly. “Shall we seize the moment, my friend?” She sounded exactly like her great-grandfather at the moment of battle, when all around were panicked, afraid, and Janos grew cooler and more level-headed.

* * * *

It took less than an hour to be ready. Lienor and his staff were locked in one of the inner banquet rooms, the doors into the serving halls and kitchens nailed shut and furniture piled high against them. One or two of the men, I found later, importuned their bosons to let their ladyloves of the moment aboard, but were refused.

Quatervals had my kit aboard the
Ibis
, but I remained dockside, determined to be the last to board, as much as I wanted to be safe and away.

I knew for certain now that Irayas had exploded into civil war. I’d seen one of the Warden’s patrol craft skittering wildly out of a canal, pursued by several shabby public transport gondolas. The men and women packing them were shouting and waving torches and weapons. The gondolas trapped the Wardens’ boat and the screams began. When they stopped, I was close enough to see what one woman was waving on the end of a boathook. It was a man’s head, still wearing a red helmet.