Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (63 page)

When I had somewhat recovered I looked back and noticed for the first time Thalila held a rose in one hand. She ran the blossoms along her body and waved it teasingly at the demon king, smiling coyly and casting her eyes down. The demon squirmed in lustful pleasure, his talons needling out and withdrawing, over and over again.

Then horror chilled what passion remained as I saw Thalila dance off the platform and twirl toward Ba’land. She teased him for a time, coming forward, then retreating. But each sequence took her closer to him until she stood before his box. She laughed and held out the rose.

Ba’land’s paw stretched — slowly, as if in wonder at her offer.

Then he grinned hugely and snatched the rose from her hand. He kissed the flower and held up for all to see. His demon courtiers bellowed their approval. Thalila twirled gaily about, her gossamer veil swirling around her naked hips.

Once again she stepped forward and a pretty hand darted out and plucked a single petal from the rose. The demon reached for her but she danced away, shaking a teasing finger.

Ba’land rose from his seat and threw open the gate to his box. He lumbered toward Thalila but she retreated, moving back until she once more stood on the platform.

There she waited. Still. Trembling. Ba’land mounted the platform and went to her. He stopped, his yellow eye glaring at the court chamber crowd.

“Leave us!” he shouted. And the courtiers, human and demon alike, made a hasty retreat.

He turned back to Thalila. I thought I saw her shudder but if she did she quickly recovered, lifting up her lovely face to smile at the demon.

Ba’land clawed her into his embrace, his black cloak covering them both.

The court chamber was empty now. Save King Farsun, snoring on his throne.

There was a stirring among our group. We thought it was over and were frankly puzzled at the purpose of the display. Then Janela’s shadowy form moved and the scene of the unlikely lovers dissolved before our eyes — to be replaced by another.

We found ourselves looking into the room of the Queen’s witch. It had been empty when Janela and I first saw it. Now it contained a small, lacquered table covered with sorcerous symbols. Against one wall was a case filled with odd-shaped containers. The others were covered with tapestries with mysterious scenes woven into them. And standing at the table, grinding ingredients in a crucible, was a woman in a witch’s cloak.

She was tall with striking features and when I looked close I could see her resemblance to the Lake People. There were several silver leaves next to the crucible, which I realized were from the magical tree. She put them in and ground them up, one by one.

The door opened and Queen Monavia entered. “The King sleeps,” she said. “We must hurry, Komana.”

The witch said nothing but continued grinding with her pestle. There was a tap at the door and both women turned, startled. Then came a series of taps and they relaxed. The Queen opened the door.

To my surprise I saw the dancer enter. She looked frighteningly young and vulnerable in the white robe she’d donned since we saw her last. There was a faint trail of blood on her cheek.

“Ba’land waits for me in his chamber,” she said. “I have to go soon or he will become suspicious.”

The Queen embraced her. “I’m so sorry, Thalila,” she said. “If only there were another way.”

“Well there isn’t!” the witch broke in. “And do not pity only her. There’s price we all must pay for this night’s work.”

Komana gestured at the dancer. “The rose petal. Where is it?”

The dancer fumbled it from her sleeve. The witch snatched it and turned back to her work. Monavia and the dancer looked at one another for what seemed an eternity.

“I will love no other, but you,” Thalila said.

“And I, you,” the Queen replied.

“Ba’land may possess me,” the dancer said. “But he will receive only coldness, only hate from my embrace.”

The Queen wiped a tear. Then they both kissed; a long, lingering meeting of lips.

“I’m ready, now,” the witch said.

The two lovers parted. After one last look the dancer fled the room, her feet a ghostly patter on an ungentle stone floor.

The witch moved to the stone altar and drew out the box set in its center. She lifted the lid, set the petal inside, then closed it again. Long witch fingers pinched powder from the mortar on the table and sprinkled it over the box. The powder sparkled as floated down to coat the engraving of the dancer. Komana chanted:

Life from darkness,

Grace from evil;

Part the demon curtain

And let us walk free.

Dancer to rose

And rose to dancer

And power

From a demon’s kiss.

There is no barrier

From one world

To the next.

And I saw an eerie light glowing through the box.

But the witch wasn’t done. Komana set the box aside, then lifted a jug and poured clear water into the crucible and quickly mixed the dregs. I needed no one to tell me that the water was from the underground spring. Then the silvery liquid the witch created was poured into a small goblet.

She gave it to the Queen, saying, “Fill your mouth with it, your Highness, and hold it until the proper time. Don’t let one drop trickle down your throat, for it will kill you, and then where will your son be?”

The Queen nodded. “I understand,” she said.

We all watched as if in a trance as she did the witch’s bidding.

Next came the box. Without instruction Queen Monavia opened it and removed the petal.

She shuddered as she took it and the witch moved quickly to grab the box as it fell from her hand.

The Queen stood still, as if frozen. And then we saw a most marvelous form float from her body. It was the Queen’s other self, a self that I had once been, if only for a moment. The Queen’s ghostly self shimmered with life and power. She didn’t hesitate but walked away, the witch staring after her.

Monavia’s spirit didn’t bother with the door. She walked through it, leaving her temporal body behind. We were amazed witnesses to her progress, watching her move down long corridors through the walls of other rooms, past men and women who did not see her ghostly form.

Finally we were back in the darkened court chamber with the remains of the abandoned feast — and King Farsun who snored on his throne, his wine goblet still clutched in his hand.

The queenly ghost floated to him. It leaned over, gently turned his head and spit the liquid into his ear.

She floated back, smiling at her husband. And she said: “Wake up, my lord and master.”

King Farsun groaned up, silvery drops spilling onto his cheek. He brushed at them absently.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

And she said: “Hurry, my Lord. Your son awaits your throne.”

“Monavia?” he said, peering this way and that, but not seeing his wife’s spirit. “Where are you?”

He shook himself. “Too much drink,” he muttered. The bitch gives me nightmares. But wait ’til she sees her son’s head. I’ll cut it off tomorrow. Then we’ll learn whose dreams are sweeter!”

The Queen’s other self laughed and it was like garden chimes in a soft wind.

King Farsun swiveled, nearly falling from his seat as he looked to see where the sound came from.

Then the poison struck and he shrieked in agony, flinging his wine goblet to the floor and clutching his ear. The pain must have been awful from his cry.

Our blood turned cold but the Queen only laughed and floated away.

When the doors slammed open and the alarmed courtiers poured in, their queen was safely gone and their king lay dead on the floor.

Confusion reigned in that room for long minutes, as the courtiers ran about, saying “what’s to be done?” and “what could have happened?” and “I blame the doctors for this! They should have known he was unwell.”

A hush fell as Queen Monavia came through doors. This was the
real
Monavia, not the murderous ghost we had seen. She had a robe cast carelessly over her sleeping clothes as if she had dressed in a hurry. She saw the King on the floor and walked over — quite calm — ignoring the whispered condolences of her subjects. She brushed aside the doctors and knelt down by the corpse.

Monavia stared long at her husband’s florid face.

Then she hissed, “Coward!” And spit into it.

The courtiers were plainly shocked, although we saw nods of satisfaction from some. But they said nothing as their Queen rose and turned to them.

She said: “My husband is dead, no doubt from over indulgence.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

Monavia continued. “I want my son released tonight. He’ll assume the throne tomorrow and despite the ill treatment he received at his father’s hands I expect he’ll declare an appropriate period of mourning.”

The courtiers murmured approval. There were many smiles breaking out now it was plain which way the winds would blow. Farsun had not been a popular king.

The Queen looked at the remains of the feast and wrinkled her lips in disgust. “This has been a most shameful time in our history,” she said. “And this room and this palace has seen us all humiliated by Ba’land and his fiends. But that has ended, lords and ladies. My son, I expect, will order them from Tyrenia the instant he dons the crown.

“As for this chamber, none of us are ever again to set foot in this hall of shame. I want it closed up, you hear? Leave everything as it is. And shut the doors.

“The first thing I shall urge my son to do is to empty this entire palace and seal it off. We can build another, more worthy home for your monarchs. And I, for one, shall not sleep another night in these halls.”

The Queen stalked out amidst the applause of her citizens.

Then I heard Janela sigh, the scene dissolved and we were all back in the cobwebbed court chamber again.

My heart leaped when I saw Janela sprawled over the dancer’s platform.

I ran to her and lifted her up. She gave me a weak smile.

“Did they see how it was done, Amalric?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Now, rest, my dear.”

Tobray leaned over us. “Do as he says, my Lady. We can discuss this later.”

“Still,” she said. “You understand now, don’t you? There’s a gateway here. A gateway to the demon world.”

“Yes, yes,” Tobray said. “I understand. Now, rest. When you are well you can teach us how to open it.”

Janela nodded, then closed her eyes and slept. I didn’t think I have ever seen her look so peaceful.

* * * *

I took her back to her room and put her to bed. I followed the instructions she left, dribbling elixirs between her lips. Then I disrobed her and bathed her slender body with sweet-smelling potions, working them in as tenderly as I once cared for my own daughter — gone to the Seeker so many years now.

I covered her up and was about to depart when she murmured for me to stay. So I curled up beside her and held her until I too slept.

Late that night, I was startled awake. Janela was up, hastily pulling on a robe.

“What’s happening?” I said, speech slurred by sleep. “Get back in bed. You’re ill.”

Janela ignored this, saying, “Come with me, Amalric! Quickly!”

I bounded up and followed her out of the room. We ran to my son’s quarters and I cursed when I saw the open door and the sentry asleep at his post.

“Sorcery!” Janela hissed and ran inside.

The other sentry was slumped on the floor, also victim of a spell.

Another body made a heap in the center of the room. But this was a corpse — and blood was spattered about him in a wide circle.

It was Lord Modin.

Fear added strength to my limbs and I burst ahead of Janela and flung open Cligus’ door.

The room was a welter of blood. My son was stretched out on the gory sheets of his bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling in a deadman’s stare.

I stood over him, the room spinning as if I were at the center of a devil’s top.

Janela’s voice slipped through the mad whirl: “They aren’t just dead, Amalric. They’ve been drained. Soul and all.”

“Who?” I said, limbs numb. “Who did this?”

“Only a demon could have done it,” she said. “And even then... it was very powerful.”

“King Ba’land?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “King Ba’land.”

The grief I experienced over Cligus’ murder nearly overwhelmed me. If someone had said only a day before that I would feel so wounded I’d have called them a liar. But when I saw the soul-less husk that was his corpse all the pent-up emotion, all the anger and the guilt joined with a whole confusion of other human frailties to paralyze me. I didn’t weep. I didn’t faint. I stood there unable to move gazing at the man the gods had decreed would be my son.