Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (6 page)

“Good evening, Lord Antero,” she said, bowing.

“Good evening, my Lady,” I said. “Thank you for gracing an old man’s day. Please bless me further by revealing your name and what I might do to assist you.”

She drew a breath and firmed her nerves, as if this were a task she’d long awaited but was now hesitant to perform.

But when she answered her voice was steady and strong.

“I am Janela Kether Greycloak,” she said. “Great grand daughter of Janos Greycloak — the man you were once proud to call friend.”

I was rocked by her announcement — left gasping with amazement. For there was no doubt from the look of her and the sound of her that what she said was true.

But what came next struck harder still.

“As for the second question, my Lord,” she said. “I’ve come to ask you to accompany me to the
real
Far Kingdoms.”

I sputtered. “What do you mean?”

“You and my great grandfather were wrong, my Lord,” she said. “The Far Kingdoms have yet to be found.

“And only I know how to find them.”

I’ve been ambushed by that jester, Surprise, many a time. I like to think I’ve handled most such encounters with the harlequin well. I’ve bargained with cannibals, amused touchy giants and dodged demons who ate a hundred souls for dinner and coveted mine for dessert. But I never expected I’d be confronted with the ghost of Janos Greycloak, telling me it wasn’t over yet.

The young woman standing before me wasn’t a ghost and she wasn’t Janos, but she might as well have been. There was no denying her likeness. She had Greycloak’s far-seeing eyes, his sardonic smile, high, stubborn cheekbones and a voice that bade you listen. Even lacking demonstration I could tell she was a wizard. She had an aura about her of tightly coiled magical energy waiting to be released.

I needed time to recover. Time to think. So I said, as calmly as I could, “I believe we could both use a brandy, my dear.”

I called for a servant to fetch a bottle of my best and yes, thank you, we’d prefer to have it served in the comfort of my study. As I led her there, pointing out a few interesting treasures from my travels on the way, I could see the mask of calm I’d donned had been effective. She seemed pale, tense and there was barely-disguised wonder I seemed unaffected by her announcement. I thought what a cold, stony heart she must think beats in this old breast of mine. If only she knew how shaken I
really
was.

But by the time she’d had sip or two of spirits she was ready to recommence the hunt for the old lion in his thorny lair.

“I have proof, sir, of my claims of kinship to Greycloak,” she said. She didn’t hesitate to see if I would instantly demand it — which I would have. I’ve been tangled in too many lies not to be wary, especially from someone who used that name.

Janela drew back the flap of her purse. It yawned open — showing it was even more voluminous than it first appeared — and she reached inside. Although it seemed full of all manner of things, both mysterious and common, her fingers quickly found a sheaf of papers which she spread out on my desk. There were gilt-lettered documents of introduction from half-a-dozen kings and princes, all whom I knew well and whose word I was accustomed to accept.

She had other proof, including testimonials from wizards noted for being scholars of sorcery. They praised one Janela Kether Greycloak — great granddaughter of Janos Greycloak — as an able student who’d surpassed teacher after teacher, and who now, despite her youth, had the powers of a Master Wizard.

So I’d guessed correctly on that, I thought, leafing through the documents with fingers as numb as my brain. As final proof she unrolled a scroll from Irayas itself, proclaiming her as a daughter of a noble family who had the favor of the king.

I looked at the family name on the scroll. I saw a discrepancy and seized it.

“It doesn’t say Greycloak, here,” I said.

Janela nodded, eyes intent, determined to convince me. “My great grandmother, who was called Sendora,” she said, “was a Lycus. So that is the name you see inscribed. It’s a family renowned for the beauty of its women. Until Sendora, they were known for their purity as well.”

“Ah,” I said. “So you’re claiming you are the result of scandal? A child born on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Not just any bed,” she said with a wry smile. “It was Janos Greycloak’s bed my great grandmother crept into.”

“I knew him well,” I said. “Better than any man. And I never heard him speak of a child, much less a child conceived in The Far Kingdoms.”

“Irayas,” she corrected. “I’ve already told you, sir, that you and Janos were wrong. The Far Kingdoms lie elsewhere.”

“We’ll get back to that later, my dear,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. I know it’s out of fashion and some young women take offense these days but I’m too old to unstick that once-gentle phrase from my tongue.”

“You may call me anything you like, sir,” she said, “as long as it’s understood you are referring to a Greycloak.”

I sipped my brandy to cover the laugh bubbling up. Greycloak or not, this was a very impressive young woman. She’d come better prepared for this meeting than many a sharp businessman and refused to let me wander off the path she’d blazed with such care. From her short-cropped, easy care locks to the simple elegance of her traveling costume this was a woman who breathed confidence and efficiency.

“Go on,” I said. “If you please.”

“Do you doubt,” she asked, “that my great grandfather really left no children behind?” She laughed. I liked the sound of it. Although it lacked Janos’ boom it resonated with the same free and easy humor that had charmed me when first we’d met.

“His victories with women,” she said, “were the stuff of legend. Why, he bounced more eager damsels -virginal, or otherwise — on more mattresses than any man I’ve certainly ever encountered.”

From the flash in her eyes I could tell she was not a woman totally inexperienced in such matters. A passionate nature was another thing she seemed to have inherited from Janos, I thought. I grinned, remembering that Greycloak, who was also a master of many tongues, once said the best language book could be found in the arms of a charming native.

“How many languages do you speak?” I asked, idly.

She seemed surprised. “Oh, twenty or more, I suppose. That’s without accent. I can get on well enough in twenty others. Why do you ask, my Lord?”

“No reason,” I said, feeling a little ashamed for wondering if she favored the same learning devices as Janos.

I went on. “There’s no denying Janos’ reputation. But when we were in Irayas together, as foreigners we were kept away from the daughters of the high born. Janos dived into the fleshpots, to be sure. But to be frank, they were orgies of the most decadent sort and with the most decadent of people. I wouldn’t be so quick, if I were you, to shame your great grandmother by including her in such activities.”

Janela shrugged. “She was young,” she said. “No more than sixteen. When she saw Janos at court she fell hopelessly in love — which is not uncommon at that age. However, as you said, there was no normal way such a thing could ever be consummated. But, she was a determined young woman. She bribed a courtesan to let her take her place at an orgy Janos was attending. And she showed him so much ardor that their affair lasted some time. He didn’t live long enough to learn her true identity.”

“And Sendora became pregnant,” I said. “That
would
have been a great scandal.

“As soon as the family learned of her condition,” Janela said, “and who was responsible — a filthy foreigner and a dead one to boot — they took quick action. In a false act of piety they had my great grandmother make sacrifice at the Temple of Virgins.”

I knew of the temple. Several times a year maidens of some very religious families offer their virginity to the gods. They must accept the embrace of any man who presents himself during the night they spend there. It is presumed that a god enters the body of that man so he can accept the gift the maiden offers.

“In other words,” I said, “the child was said to have been conceived by a god.”

Janela chortled. “Considering my great grandfather’s vanity,” she said, “perhaps they weren’t lying as much as they believed.”

She sipped the brandy, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. “I’ve heard a particularly ugly beggar became a very lucky man the night Sendora made her sacrifice. He was so amazed to hold such fresh, clean beauty in his arms that he took his own life the following day, knowing nothing so grand would ever occur in his life again.”

“But even if your family went to such extremes to avert scandal,” I said, “there would still be doubters. There’d still be ugly talk.”

“Exactly why they married her off to a country lord,” Janela said. “Which was where my grandmother was born, only to wed another rural squire and produce my mother. None of the women bred in those marriages has ever been permitted to leave the countryside. All to protect an old family secret.”

“
You
left,” I said.

Janela’s face darkened with anger. “I am not a woman to bear shackles of any kind, sir,” she said. “My family disowned me for it, as I have disowned them. I’ve taken my great grandfather’s name... my birthright... and for ten years I have made it my purpose to see that his dream was fulfilled.”

“If your family has disowned you,” I said, “how do you live?”

“I have my own money,” she said. “My great grandmother learned more things than passion from her experience. She learned what it was to be helpless, to be forced to bow to family rule. She set aside funds her entire life in case her daughter should ever find herself in dire need of independence. My grandmother added to that and
my
mother as well. So, although I am not as rich as you, my Lord, I am quite well-to-do.”

“Was your mother among those who disowned you?” I asked.

“My mother is dead,” she said — so flat-edged I knew better than to ask the particulars. As one who suffered the same loss I was sensitive to her feelings.

“The reason,” she said, “I believe I was the first to break from that prison — and soft as it was, it was a prison just the same — is I am the only one who was born with Greycloak’s powers. I cast my first spell as a child — to repair a favorite doll that had broken. I was no more than three. It had a ceramic head which shattered when I dropped it, and I was desolate. But suddenly, it came to me that I could make it whole again. So I did.”

“Did you actually will the doll’s head to be healed.” I prodded. “Or did something else happen.”

She frowned. “To be completely accurate,” she said, “I thought of that doll as it had existed before I dropped it. Then I... reached into that place... and traded one for the other.”

I nodded. This was exactly how Janos once described a similar experience. Except it was a scorpion, not a doll. And we were more than desolate because we were dining with the Lord Mortacious at the time and he was a
most
difficult host. I shuddered at the memory.

“Do you accept who I am?” she asked, brisk and anxious to move on to the next part. The part I dreaded the most.

Still I had no choice but to answer, “Yes.”

She put the papers away and drew out something else. I craned to look but she kept it hidden in her palm.

“You can’t imagine how long I’ve dreamed of this meeting,” she said. “A Greycloak and an Antero together again. Over the years I almost made the journey several times. But I knew I was not only too young and inexperienced but that I would need absolute proof to convince you. To gather that evidence I’ve traveled from land to land, and court to court. I’ve studied with the greatest masters of magic and learned enough so that I someday hope to approach the abilities of my great grandfather. Wherever I went I sought and studied all the tales I could find of The Far Kingdoms. I’ve read your book as well. And your sister’s too, because although you may not know it, Rali added greatly to the solution of the mystery. To be truthful I’m not yet sure where the pieces she found to the puzzle fit, but I am certain that they
are
pieces.”

“I don’t care how much you studied, or how far you traveled,” I said. “You were wasting your substance. If you will only draw back you’ll see your fascination with Janos Greycloak has made you twist the facts to meet your dream of emulating him. Forget it, my dear. Take your talents, your energy and your intelligence and devote them to making your own life, not someone else’s. I was there, my good lady.

“Janos and I walked that road shoulder to shoulder. We buried comrades. We overcame much. But in the end we succeeded. We found the Far Kingdoms. How can I deny what I saw with my own eyes?”

“Deny this, then,” she said. And revealed the object hidden in her palm.

It was a small silver figurine. I recognized it immediately — Janos once had its twin strung on a chain. Janela’s fingers twisted and the figurine dropped, until it too hung from silver links. It was the likeness of a beautiful dancing girl, hands stretched above her perfect head, one holding a feather, the other a veil frozen in mid-twirl. The maiden’s face was alight with happiness as if she knew the next leap would set her free and she’d fly away like a bird.