Darkness Weaves (15 page)

With backward glances, the court nervously filed out of the audience chamber. The guards followed, with all the reluctance of sailors leaving a burning ship.

"Now then," intoned Maril, once they were alone. "Despite your perversity, your obstinance. Despite your hostility and past treason. Despite all reason and judgment. I'm going out on a limb to show you mercy one final time. I may be a complete fool, but I'm going to give you a last chance to redeem yourself.

"If you can prove to me once more that you can be trusted, I'll let pass what has happened between us. I'll release you from confinement and restore to you all the privileges of your station. I'll give you leadership over the Imperial fleet. I'll even place you as my second-in-command, as though you were my son and true heir. Remember that you can still ascend my throne someday, Lages. But cross me just once again, and I swear to you I'll kill you even if you were my only son!"

Lages was startled--dumbfounded--for he knew the Emperor to be implacable. He had come to this audience fully expecting death; instead, his enemy offered to return his freedom and high position. Amazement at this incredible turn of fortune broke through his armor of hatred.

"What makes you think you dare trust me?" he wanted to know, wondering suddenly what devious trick Maril intended with this offer of full pardon.

Maril settled back on his throne, watching Lages carefully. "I think I know your heart, Lages. Even if you won't admit it, you know I did the only thing I could with your father. It wasn't some petty court intrigue--it was high treason he entered into. Custom and law alike demand only one end for conspiracy against the Empire. If Leyan was your father, don't forget he was also my brother. That was why I dealt with him as I did--giving him his chance either to kill me or to die honorably in equal combat."

Lages clenched his fists, but held back the anger in his reply. "Perhaps that's true--I won't say. A man's motives are his secret alone. But I know one thing for certain: custom also demands that I avenge the death of my father."

Maril nodded acknowledgment. "Yes, I realize this. Another reason why I haven't executed you."

"That doesn't mean I've tried to kill you only to satisfy custom. This quarrel is a blood feud between the two of us--man to man. I swear to you, there's no pleasure I'd crave more than to savour your death by these hands!" He raised both fists before him to punctuate his words.

Maril's eyes burned with reflected fury--but he answered with a harsh laugh. "Nevertheless, you're going to have to put aside our feud for now, nephew. Instead--if I understand your heart as I think I do--you're actually going to help me..."

"I'll help strangle you with your own guts!"

Maril ignored the outburst. "Yes, help me. We both seek to avenge your father."

Lages was taken off guard. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly, wondering wherein lay the cruel jest. Such deviousness was as alien to Maril's temperament as the show of mercy he had thus far extended to his deadly enemy.

Maril smiled coldly, pressing his advantage. "I didn't kill your father; you should know that. Sure, it was my hand that put a sword through his flesh--but I didn't kill him. Leyan was my brother; I had never desired his death, until fate demanded it. I'm no more responsible for Leyan's death than is the sword that cut him down. My hand and my sword were merely instruments of the dark fate that has caught us all up in its web--an evil fate woven by a cunning fiend who has plotted to destroy all of our blood.

"No, Lages. It was not I who murdered Leyan. It was the scheming witch who poisoned my brother's mind against me--who lured him into a black conspiracy to fulfill, her own twisted motives. It was Efrel who murdered your father. I say to you that Efrel murdered Leyan, just as surely as if her hand had plunged the blade into his heart!"

Lages stood silently scowling. The circumstances of Efrel's guilt had occurred to him before, to be sure--but the furious rush of his emotions would not let reason channel his rage to the dead sorceress. Often on sleepless nights he had tossed about in frustrated agony of spirit--cursing the beautiful enchantress who had destroyed so many with her treacherous schemes; But it was Maril whose victory meant his father's ruin and the collapse of his own hopes. Maril lived while the others died, and this Lagos could not endure.

"Yes, Efrel." The Emperor saw uncertainty in Lages face and drove relentlessly with his argument. "You knew in your heart that the witch was to blame for Leyan's downfall, but you wouldn't acknowledge it--even to yourself. Efrel was beyond your revenge, and I was someone tangible to focus your hatred on--an obvious villain when grief and shame fired your senses with blood-madness. So you raged at Netisten Maril, forgetting the venomous creature who seduced your father to his own destruction."

Struggling beneath an intolerable emotional strain, Lages bent his head and said in almost a whisper, "Efrel! Yes, what you say is true. I realize that now. Perhaps I've known it secretly all this time. But Efrel is dead, and I--"

"No!" interrupted Maril. A note of awe--almost of terror--entered his voice. "No, Efrel is not dead! In her lair on Pellin the sorceress still lives. I tell you, Efrel still lives--and by all the gods, I can't understand how or why!"

"What! How do you know this?" Lages's troubled thoughts reeled from yet another incredible reversal of what he had considered solid actuality. "It can't be true! What jest do you--"

"I've sensed something has been afoot for months now," Maril cut him off. "Agents have brought me reports of unusual movements of ships and men throughout the Empire. A number of my lords have been restive; others have discreetly withdrawn from my surveillance. And there's been an alarmingly high mortality among my spies. Especially have I found it difficult to obtain information pertaining to Pellin. The few humdrum reports of peaceful activity there made a suspicious contrast to the associated information--and to the sinister fact that most of my agents on Pellin had ceased to report at all. It was obvious that a plot was taking shape against me, but I have been unable to secure any specific information--nothing that I could pin down and move to destroy."

Maril scowled. "Of course, your own ill-advised efforts not only called for all my attention, but until recently obscured this deeper threat to the Empire. I had assumed, not unnaturally, that you somehow had a hand in the plot I sensed was taking shape." He did not add that one reason he had spared Lages was to seek to draw out his imagined co-conspirators.

"Then this morning, Cassi, one of my most capable spies, returned to me from Pellin, where he had ventured along with a band of cutthroats who had been told there would be work for them there. Even Cassi was barely able to escape from that accursed isle to make his report. He was half-dead when he finally was picked up by a fishing boat off Fisitia--after he'd jumped off a rebel warship at night and paddled toward the mainland with just a cork-stuffed pair of pants to keep afloat.

"But Cassi brought away with him the information I've been seeking. He tells me that Efrel is still alive--although badly disfigured after her ride through our city. Cassi saw her in the cellars of Dan-Legeh with his own eyes, so he swears. He can't explain how she managed to live through it, but her punishment did nothing to cripple the hellish cunning of her mind--and now the fires of hatred eat at her evil soul. Over the months Efrel has made far-reaching preparations to conquer Thovnos and to seize the throne of Empire. Cassi says the witch has amassed a dangerously large following for her rebellion. He also tells me that Efrel has appointed as her general some enigmatic outlander whom she brought in from the Lartroxian mainland. He calls himself Kane."

"Kane? I know of only one man to bear that name."

"Yes." Maril's voice lost its domineering assuredness. "This is another strange thing that plagues my mind. Cassi got close to the man on two occasions, and he says Kane even looks like the monster of legend. Further, he says that the rebels boast among themselves that their new leader and Red Kane, whose pirate hordes pillaged our coasts two centuries ago, are one and the same man!"

He paused for a moment, lost in speculation. "Wait, I'll summon Cassi. He should be somewhat rested from his ordeal. We'll listen to his complete report now."

Maril bellowed for the guards. Bodies crowded the doorway in an instant. "Guardsman! Bring Cassi to me!"

"The Kane of old, uncle?" Lages shook his head in bewilderment. "No, that doesn't seem possible. More likely this is more of the witch's cunning. Efrel has found someone of chance resemblance to Kane and is using his legend to give her rebels confidence."

"That's what I thought, Lages," replied Maril, noting with pleasure that his nephew had once again acknowledged their relationship. It was beginning to look as if he would be able to count on his loyalty after all. "But then again, it isn't possible that Efrel should have lived. Who can say what powers that sorceress commands? Events are taking a weird turn, and I don't like it. Not at all. I fear nothing of flesh or of steel--but sorcery..."

Maril spoke with compelling earnestness. "Then I can count on your loyalty in this matter, can't I? Will you give me your word of honor to end this pointless feud? Will you fight at my side to destroy this witch whose black crimes and foul lusts have affronted the gods and brought doom to the house of Netisten?"

According to his code, there was only one answer Lages could give. He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. You can count on my loyalty. I give my oath to help you destroy the witch. If it is true that Efrel has escaped her deserved fate, you can be certain that I'll never rest until she and her hellish conspiracy are wiped out. Efrel has my father's death to answer for, and neither a resurrected pirate lord nor all her sorcerous powers shall save the scheming whore from my vengeance!"

"I knew I could trust you to see reason," exulted Maril. He grasped his nephew's hand with convincing enthusiasm. "There's still hope that the rebellion can be nipped in the bud. We'll get a full report from Cassi--precise details on Efrel's plans and defenses, the names of the traitors in our midst. Then I'll send the Imperial fleet to Prisarte under your command. As much of the Imperial navy as we can mobilize in a short week should be enough to crush the rebels and burn the city and its fortress to clean ashes."

A guardsman entered the throne room. His face was pallid, and he was alone.

"Where's Cassi?" Maril demanded.

The guardsman licked his lips. "Milord, I think you had best see to this for yourself."

Maril glared at the unhappy guard. With an oath, the Emperor heaved himself from his throne and stalked from the hall.

Lages stood in the empty audience hall, arms folded across his broad chest, eyes pensive. His brow furrowed in speculation. Too many revelations in one hour left his mind in turmoil. This morning he was a prisoner, disgraced and awaiting execution. It was not yet noon--and he was free, restored to his rank, given command of the Imperial fleet, promised succession to the throne. Glory and power were his to strive for. The gods had given him the chance to win vengeance on Efrel, his place on the Imperial throne, and M'Cori for his wife. Ambitious plans--but with daring and ability, a strong man could conquer anything.

So the gods had chosen to alter the woven pattern of his fate. He smiled, remembering the prophecy. The priestess had known Lages was favored by the gods.

Lages's smile twisted into a snarl. "This changes nothing, dear uncle," he whispered to the shadows. "I gave you my word to be loyal until Efrel is slain. After that..."

Only the shadows heard his mirthless laugh.

Cassi opened one eye, saw the silken sheets and lush fur coverings of his bed, opened the other eye, saw the luxurious appointments of his quarters. He yawned, stretched overtaxed muscles and stiffened limbs. He was in the Imperial palace of Thovnosten. He was no longer a hunted man.

He was a wealthy man. Cassi scratched the stubble of his pointed jaw and mused upon the extent of the Emperor's generosity. From now on, he would live the life of an aristocrat--no more prowling about the alleys of Thovnosten. He would live in a splendid manor, stay drunk and well fed and well laid, worry how to keep his former colleagues from stealing his jewels and costly furnishings.

Something had awakened him. He glowered at the doorway to his chambers. Netisten Maril had posted enough guards there to keep out an army. The security was comforting, but right now Cassi wanted to sleep. If the fools would make a little less noise...

"Sir? Are you awake?" A guardsman stood at attention on the threshold.

Cassi savoured the sight of a member of the Imperial guard addressing him in such manner. He curled his lips to reply. "I am now. What is it?" He let his tone insinuate that the interruption had better not be over some trifle.

"Someone to see you, sir."

"Tell him to go bugger himself," Cassi yawned. A man of his station could not entertain casual callers, and if Maril wanted him, the guards would not be so circumspect.

"But I'd prefer that you do that for me, milord," purred a new voice.

Cassi sat up. Sleep was the last thing on his mind. "Netisten Maril sent me to you," she smiled. "Do you like me?"

She was lithe as a dancer, with a tight figure that pressed against the clinging folds of the sheer silk gown that she wore. Her hair was short and tightly curled, extravagantly dyed in the colors of autumn leaves. Her face was as somber and coquettish as a child's, and her nails were long and lacquered in black. Cassi guessed she could barely have reached her middle teens.

"Come here," he grinned.

"Milord, our orders are to admit no one but the Emperor himself," the guard protested. "There is danger that--"

She chuckled in a surprisingly throaty tone. "Do I look so dangerous, milord?"

Black-nailed fingers plucked at the fastenings of her gold-and-yellow gown. The folds of silk floated down upon her ankles. She was willowy and white, and she had followed the pattern of autumn-hued dyes throughout. She made a leisurely pirouette.
"Do you fear me, milord?" she smiled. "Do I hide weapons upon my person?"