King of Swords (The Starfolk) (12 page)

Even so, as Elnath toppled, one of his mighty arms reached out to catch Rigel and drag him to the ground, pinning him. It shouldn’t have been possible for any being, whether human, starborn, or minotaur, to speak while spewing torrents of blood both internally and externally. Yet somehow,
in defiance of medical facts, Elnath looked down on Rigel Halfling with one gentle bovine eye and gurgled:
“Gracias!
”

And then he died.

R
igel extricated himself and scrambled to his feet. His sword had vanished, its work done. Judging by the sun, the fight had lasted much longer than he would have guessed. The audience was applauding. The imps at the back were bouncing up and down with excitement, but the adults were more interested in the refreshments being brought out. Only the killer mourned his victim.

Physically exhausted, emotionally nauseated, he trudged back to the grandstand, cloaked in the Minotaur’s blood like a flag of shame, with his face full of grit. He wished he hadn’t lost the red cloak somewhere in the battle; a dose of that might have done the elves a lot of good.

Muphrid rose and turned to address his guests. “So the murderous Elnath Minotaur meets his just deserts at last! Dear friends, after Rigel Halfling’s stirring demonstration of his ancestral amulet, Saiph, we have other exciting acts for you to witness. Our next performer will be Starborn Sadatoni, riding his famous hippogriff, Kabdhilinan, who will round up a fire-breathing chimera to display—
Oh, yuck!”

Rigel had jumped up and pulled himself onto the stand right beside the host. Muphrid had not expected this dirty, sweaty, and blood-drenched apparition.

“Barbarian! Go get yourself cleaned up immediately!”

“Me?” Rigel offered a gory arm. “I thought you would want to lick the blood.”

Starfolk cried out in revulsion and those in aisle seats practically climbed over their neighbors to put distance between themselves and the savage halfling as he stalked up to the portal at the back. The male imps were grinning, of course. Young Izar stuck out his tongue, offering to lick Rigel’s arm, but Rigel didn’t cooperate. Glancing back briefly, he saw that two slaves had brought out a horse and were tying ropes to the Minotaur’s ankles, ready to drag away his corpse.

Senator, in his hunter’s bush wear, displayed absolutely no expression as he opened the portal to sea air and the sound of surf.

A few minutes in the ocean washed the blood from Rigel’s skin, if not his soul, and the blood did not summon a frenzy of sharks to exact poetic justice, though that possibility did occur to him. Letting the wind dry him, he walked slowly back up the beach to the cabin. He could, he supposed, spend the rest of the day exploring the coast—he certainly had no desire to mingle socially with effete starfolk hypocrites.

On the other hand, he had never seen either a hippogriff or a chimera, and that part of the program had sounded relatively innocent. Leaving sandy footprints across the floor, he went to the magic door and gingerly opened it. This time it didn’t lead to empty space or the grandstand… it just opened onto the jungle behind the cabin. The door was magic no
more. Without it, the cabin was a comfortable prison, but a prison nonetheless. Baffled, he sprawled on a chair on the porch and tried to puzzle out what he would do if no one came to rescue him.

He didn’t have long to wait. He heard the door open and turned to meet familiar pearl-white eyes.

“Hey, come and sit down, most noble Starling Izar!” Noting the droop of his young friend’s ears, he added, “Something wrong?”

The imp nodded as he fell into a chair. “We’re leaving. I came to say goodbye.” For a moment deviltry flickered in his eyes, and his ears rose back up. “You missed a mem’rable demonstration of how not to herd a chimera.”

“Meaning?”

Toothy grin. “The chimera herded Starborn Sadatoni instead and roasted his famous hippogriff, Kabdhilinan. It was eating Sadatoni when Alniyat dragged me away. Now everyone’s going home. Why didn’t you let me lick your arm? That would
positively
have sent greatmother into labor!”

“She told me she was your sister.”

Izar squealed.
“Alniyat
did? She’s my great-great-grandfather’s mother! Don’t believe a word the old hag tells you.”

Rigel decided that there was one starborn he did like—Izar, even if the boy was odds-on favorite to win the Agility in the Abuse of Facts Award. “Why into labor? Is she pregnant?”

“If she isn’t, it’s not from lack of trying,” the imp said darkly. “Why did it take you so long to kill the Minotaur?”

“I didn’t kill the Minotaur. I promised him I wouldn’t try to kill him, but that he could die on my sword as soon as he made a serious effort to kill me.”

“But… You
promised
the Minotaur? It could
speak
?”

“Elnath was a lot smarter than I am, and very brave. Even when he knew he was going up against Saiph, he still insisted on fighting me to preserve his honor.” That was sort of true. No need to mention that the Minotaur had been bribed.

Izar’s ears went flat again. “That’s disgusting. That makes it public murder! Nobody ever told me that minotaurs could talk.”

“Then make that your lesson for today: You must always ask questions.”

“Everyone says I ask far too many. I wish they hadn’t canceled the fire fight. I was looking forward to that.” He glanced down at the collection of bracelets on his left wrist. “Oh,
schmoor!
The crone’s calling me. I have to go or she’ll burn my arm off. Rigel, I found out what happens if you don’t get status, and it really is pukey horrible!”

It would be pukey horrible if he
did
too. He’d have to earn his living by killing more than minotaurs. “I guessed it would be bad.”

“They put you in the Dark Cells!”

“Thanks for the warning, most noble Izar Starling.”

Ears drooped. “You don’t have to call me that, halfling. I made it up… there is no such title.”

“You seem noble to me. Give my love to your sister. Tell her I lust after her madly.”

The imp’s eyes popped wide in mingled horror and disbelief. “You do?”

“No, but she’ll enjoy hearing it. Now off with you! No, on second thought, I’ll come with you.”

He didn’t, though. As they reached the door, it opened to admit Mira. She stepped aside and curtseyed to the imp, but servants were only furniture in his world, and he brushed past her without even noticing. He left the door open, but it closed
itself behind him. Mira found a chair and set to work removing her boots with a buttonhook.

“They had an accident,” she said. “Some elf got killed by some sort of monster. So everyone’s going home, and the party’s officially over. They told me to go and attend my master.” She scowled.

Rigel knelt at her feet to help. “Then I hope your service will be more diligent than any I’ve seen so far. I heard about the accident. The first event went as expected.” He told her all about the Minotaur, and what he’d learned from it.

By the time he finished, they were relaxing on the porch with a bottle of wine that Mira had smuggled out from the kitchens under her petticoats.

“I hate elves,” he concluded. “They’re nasty, empty, pitiless, worthless, murdering, useless, thieving, promiscuous, baby-abandoning, slave-owning dilettantes. Good-for-nothings.”

“Very musical, though,” she said. “And remember, Alrisha is only one corner of one domain. The Starlands sound huge. If you had visited one Virginian plantation two hundred years ago, could you have judged the whole United States by it? The whole world?”

“All I want to do,” Rigel said, “is find the SOB who sired me and collect the eighteen years of child support he neglected to pay Gert. Then I can go home and hire a plastic surgeon to fake me a couple of nipples and a belly button.” He sipped the wine, which was delicious. “And buy a forged birth certificate.”

“I don’t like your chances of finding Daddy. And you’d better not waste any time. The world is about to end.”

“Huh?”

“I told you bits of it are disappearing,” Mira said in the tones of someone beginning a lecture. “I gather that starfolk can die by violence, but not of old age. They just fade away, like old
soldiers. They aren’t seen around as often. They get
rare
. The old queen, Electra, has reached that stage. She hasn’t been seen in decades, and everyone is worried. The problem is that the realm was begun by one of her ancestors, thousands of earthly years ago. ‘Begun’ as an idea, I think—‘imagined’ they call it, meaning sort of invented, which agrees with what Elnath told you about their reality being our fantasy. Generations of rulers have added to it and expanded upon it, and the lesser starfolk have all added their bits, their ‘domains.’ Muphrid stole the Moon Garden from Dubhe, but he added that lake park we saw yesterday. He worked on it for years, imagining it rock by rock and bush by bush.”

She paused, but Rigel held his tongue.

“Electra’s influence is fading away,” Mira said. “And the Starlands are fading, too, because Regent Kornephoros can’t hold it all together. The servants are seriously worried about this, because part of Alrisha itself disappeared a few months ago. They admit this might be Muphrid’s fault, but the West Orchards completely ceased to exist. Portals won’t open to it anymore. All of its inhabitants are gone too, not just elves but hundreds of human serfs also. There must be millions or billions of them in the Starlands and they’re all going to die if the queen completely loses her grip.”

Rigel emptied his glass with a gulp. “So what’s the answer?”

“The answer is that she has to bequeath the realm to someone. As you know, there are three contenders: Vildiar, Talitha, and Kornephoros. They’re all descended from her, but separated by more generations than humans can imagine. Kornephoros is the most likely candidate, because the queen named him her successor ages ago, making him a sort of vice-monarch. He is doing his best, but that won’t be good enough until he’s officially king. Everything could just crumble
away if Electra loses interest altogether before passing along her duties.”

“All the more reason to go home. Or just get drunk,” Rigel said, thinking of the Minotaur. He reached for the wine bottle.

A shadow swept over them.

“Now I know I’m hallucinating!” Mira said, staring upward. “That is an aerodynamic impossibility. Are you expecting company?”

Rigel left the bottle where it was. “I wasn’t, but I am now.”

A white swan the size of a double garage was circling overhead. It carried passengers and one of them was waving.

T
he swan dropped its feet as landing gear, and slid to a halt in the lagoon in a long rush of foam. It glided majestically to the beach, then waddled awkwardly ashore on ugly black legs taller than any starborn. When it settled down on the sand it became beautiful again, with its arched neck, snowy plumage, and strong black beak. The open box attached to its back held two adults and a child. The imp leaped over the edge, slid down a wing, and hit the sand running. The man opened a door in the side of the enclosure, and a flight of steps unfolded. Alniyat descended with dignity, and the man followed her down.

Striding down the beach to meet them, Rigel noted the angle of Izar’s ears and a mischievous gleam in his eyes just before the imp launched himself like a missile. Rigel caught him, whirled him around, then held him up so their eyes were level.

“Schmoor!”
Izar had trouble breathing while his chest was being squeezed so effectively. “You’re strong, tweenling!”

“No, you’re small and puny.”

“Am not! I’m big for my age. We’ve come to
rescue
you!”

Being rescued from the sadistic cathouse of Alrisha would be welcome indeed, but not being rescued out of a frying pan into a fire. Is the devil you know always better than the devil you don’t? Rigel bowed to Alniyat, who flaunted a parasol that matched her silver hair, but wore only the usual moon-cloth wrap and a fortune in jewelry. He saw at once that last night’s buy-a-boy smile had gone. Today was to be strictly business, and whether she was Izar’s sister or great-great-great-grandmother was irrelevant. Not that it would have mattered, with her figure.

Her companion was obviously another halfling. For one thing, he had wrinkles. For another, he wore a sort of Turkish pajama outfit of a loose shirt, baggy pants, and ornate slippers, all of which might be hiding some fearful disfigurement such as body hair. He did have the proper starborn ears, high and pointed, but his eyes were a muddy brown and his hair salt-and-pepper. Whereas every elf Rigel had met so far somehow proclaimed his name, this man’s name was hard to make out, as if it was hidden by static.

“Starborn Alniyat!” Rigel bowed. “And Halfling, er, Albireo? You are welcome to my humble cell.” He gestured as if to escort them to the cabin.

“Your host would not say so,” Alniyat said, not budging. “You must know by now, Rigel Halfling, that you have fallen into the clutches of some very unscrupulous starfolk. You can judge Muphrid for yourself; you heard him confess to grand larceny.”