King of Swords (The Starfolk) (18 page)

“I do not, no, but you were observed fondling the half-breed.”

“I never did! You accuse me of badmouthing Vildiar, and then you spread such filthy lies about your own daughter?” Her face was flaming.

Her father smirked. “You told me a few minutes ago that you had an interest in him.”

“Izar has taken a liking to him. He impressed both of us as honorable and certainly courageous. He saved our lives today. I have appointed him as my son’s bodyguard, and I will personally sponsor him.”

“A woman? A
princess
sponsoring a male halfling? Can you imagine the gossip, Daughter? Whose body will he be guarding, they will ask.”

So now Rigel knew what was alarming his amulet. Talitha’s plan had collapsed.

She stamped a foot in frustration. “Father, you disgrace yourself by even thinking such thoughts, let alone vomiting them out in public. You assigned me Albireo Halfling’s bond without a thought.”

“Albireo,” the regent-heir said icily, “had been a trusted retainer for a hundred years. This cub is fresh out of the jungle. If you do not enjoy scandal, you should not provoke it with scandalous behavior.” He turned his frown on Rigel. “You are a stranger here. Do you know the punishment for tweenlings who desecrate starborn women?”

Saiph was throbbing so violently now that Rigel suspected he would find bruises on his wrist. “No, Your Highness, but if your courts are fair I have nothing to fear. My intentions and actions toward your noble daughter and grandson were, and always will be, completely honorable.”
Your grandson, anyway. Your daughter’s virtue is still negotiable.

Talitha tried again. “Father, the problem is not Rigel Halfling, it is the amulet Saiph. That is a royal amulet, and you must not let it fall into the hands of Prince Vildiar! I beg you to sponsor the halfling so that the amulet remains under royal control. I believe he would make an excellent bodyguard for Izar, but that decision can wait. The important thing is to determine who controls that amulet!”

Now the truth was out.
It’s not me you love, it’s my bracelet.

Kornephoros ignored her. “Who was your father?”

The change of subject threw Rigel off balance. “I have no idea, my lord. I should much like to meet him, so I could teach him some family values.”

“By which you mean seducing women and abducting young boys?”

“I mean loving one’s children, Your Highness.” It was a good retort, but it was also stupid backtalk to a ruler.

Kornephoros frowned, slit-eyed. “I think we can identify him and bring him to justice.” He turned to one of his attendants. “Recorder Mekbuda, what did you discover about the recent history of the amulet Saiph?”

Mekbuda’s disk collar was almost as large as the regent’s, but made of rubies and emeralds. “I summoned your curator, Highness. The last Saiph-bearer he knew of was Wazor Starborn, who volunteered to destroy a dragon that was ravaging the northern range of the Thuban Mountains some two hundred
years ago. Queen Electra assigned him Saiph to aid him in his quest. Wazor slew the dragon but died of burns. We can assume that the amulet was returned to the royal treasury at Canopus, but that must be verified by consulting the records there.” He beamed proudly, as if he had just won a Nobel Prize for research.

The regent nodded sagaciously. “We shall do so when we take the prisoner to Canopus for his hearing. His father probably stole it. The charge sheet is filling up against that unknown starborn. Clearly he committed an act of criminal miscegenation. And he either stole a reversion staff or performed an illegal act of red-grade magic, because he hid the mule on Earth, which is another serious…” The regent turned to look back at Rigel. “You do realize that you are a mule, don’t you? Halflings are invariably infertile, which makes them attractive to starborn women of low moral character.”

Rigel had never thought of that possibility.
Mule?
So he was truly nothing: not a man, not an elf, and not even a fully functioning male. It might never matter, since Kornephoros obviously planned to send him to the Dark Cells or hand him over to Vildiar, but it still hurt, and the nasty old man had told him out of spite.

Talitha said, “Come, Izar. We must leave. Your grandfather is drunk.”

“Far from it,” Kornephoros said. “I am seeing more clearly now than I have in years. Your shameful behavior has opened my eyes at last. So now, Companion Rasalhague, you may open the door.”

Baby-faced Starborn Rasalhague’s collar was made of silver and pearls; he looked sweet in it.

Like so many doors in Dziban, the door at the back of the balcony didn’t lead to anything at all, just the exterior of the building. In this case, opening it was a signal. A blast of cold air swirled in, followed by four men floating up from below: two starborn in the lead, and two halflings in attendance. One of the elves was golden-haired Fomalhaut, who had rescued Rigel and Mira in the Walmart in Nanaimo. The second bore the opalescent mark of Naos and the name of Vildiar. The balcony was filling up.

Izar screamed in terror, hurtled across the room, and threw himself into Rigel’s arms.
“Don’t let him take me!
”

Shocked, Rigel hugged him tightly and glanced around the faces while he assessed this new disaster. Talitha looked sick, her father outraged, and Prince Vildiar contemptuously amused. Legally, no one else mattered.

But in practice the two halfling retainers might matter very much if the tone of the meeting deteriorated any further. They were dressed, obscenely, in the black uniforms of Nazi storm troopers—jackboots and riding britches, belted tunics with red swastika armbands, and high-peaked military caps. Their names were Hadar and Mintaka.

Hadar, whom Talitha had described as the leader of Vildiar’s assassins and wearer of the amulet Sulaphat, was too beefy for an elf and too tall for a human—he had to weigh a hundred and fifty kilos. His ears were wings, big even by elfin standards, their edges studded with jewels, but his jowly cheeks bore a heavy beard shadow that no starborn would ever display. His uniform was slathered with medals, insignia, and miscellaneous gold braid. He was the leading suspect in today’s attempted murder.

Unlike the swarthy Hadar, Mintaka had fair coloring and blue eyes. He was as slender as an elf, but small-eared and short even by human standards. Mutt and Jeff. Hired killers, both.

Meanwhile Rigel was clasping a hysterical child. One glance at Talitha confirmed that he had just met the enemy.
This
was why her child needed a bodyguard.

“Izar!” he said. “That is no way to behave. You remember when I was crawling along the swan’s neck and the dragonflies were attacking me? Well? Do you?”

Mumble: “Yes.”

“When you told your grandfather about it, you said I wasn’t scared at all, but you were wrong, Izar. I was, terribly, horribly scared.” He waited for a moment, but everyone else was waiting too. “But I did what I had to do. And that’s what being brave means. It means doing what’s right even when you’re frightened, and you don’t want to do it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Sniff. “Mm.”

“Now what should you have done when Prince Vildiar came into the room? Even if you were scared, what would a brave boy have done?”

Silence. The imp was as jumpy as a cricket in a blender.

“You should have greeted him politely, to show everyone how well your mother has taught you. Shouldn’t you have, Izar?”

A chin nodded against his shoulder.

“Then do it now. I’ll come with you.” At least he’d be able to get off his knees. He rose, keeping hold of Izar’s hand, and led him over to Vildiar, who was frowning at this unexpected partnership. The prince was bizarrely tall, even for a starborn—close to two and a half meters, Rigel guessed—and absurdly slender,
as if he had been stretched like hot taffy. His hair and eyes shone in rainbow brilliance, emphasizing the fish-belly pallor of his skin. He was the least human of the starfolk Rigel had met so far, and yet there was something oddly familiar about his scowling, emaciated face.

Izar released Rigel’s hand so that he could spread his arms for a starfolk bow. In a small and shaky voice he whispered, “May the stars shine on you forever, noble Father.” But when he straightened up, he kept his eyes lowered.

“And may
our
progeny outnumber the stars, Imp Izar,” Vildiar retorted. That was not the correct formula. His two henchmen chuckled at their lord’s wit, but nobody else did.

Rigel gave Izar a gentle push. “Why don’t you go and stand out of the way beside your mother?”

Izar ran.

Rigel bowed to the prince and strolled back to where he had started. He didn’t kneel again. Saiph had almost stopped quivering—now
that
was interesting! He glanced at the regent-heir and decided that the Ancient One had caught every speck of that little dustup. Even a narrow-minded, prehistoric bluestocking like him had to wonder why a boy would be so terrified of his father.

“Prince,” Kornephoros said, “we must return to our guests. Outline briefly the petition you presented to me earlier.”

Vildiar made a half bow to him, but his words were aimed at Talitha. “I informed Your Highness of your daughter’s whorish behavior at Alrisha. I requested that she be forced to surrender the unsponsored halfling she abducted so that he could be dealt with as the law requires. I also stressed to Your Highness the poor moral environment that she is providing for my son, and the reckless disregard for his safety she displayed during her flight from Alrisha.”

Talitha looked ready to fry him the way she had fried the dragonflies. “Perhaps you suggested that Izar would be happier at Phegda, where he could play with all of his brothers and sisters?”

The implications of that speech hit Rigel like a falling piano. Talitha was implying that Vildiar was
breeding
his team of halfling assassins. And why not? Starfolk had all the time in the world and the prince undoubtedly owned large herds of human livestock he could choose from. Mintaka and Hadar were physically dissimilar, but they could be just half brothers. It was obvious by now that halflings displayed their mixed heritage in many different ways. The problem with hired guns was that they could always choose to point their weapons in the wrong direction, whereas even illegitimate and sterile sons would probably feel some family loyalty. What Vildiar was doing was undoubtedly illegal, but the prince was probably immune to prosecution as long as he kept on the regent’s good side, where he obviously was at the moment.

Suddenly the rest of the orchestra came crashing down too. How could Rigel have missed it?
The regent does whatever the prince tells him!
Obviously, if Vildiar had pruned the Naos royalty from thirty down to three, the regent-heir must know that he was the storm troopers’ most probable next victim. For Kornephoros to refuse Vildiar anything now would be tantamount to suicide; the boys would come calling immediately. Vildiar wanted Saiph for his death squad and the regent-heir would see that he got it. If he was willing to sacrifice his daughter’s reputation and his grandson’s happiness, he certainly wouldn’t hesitate to throw an unknown halfling under the bus.

Izar screamed, “No! No! Don’t send me back to Phegda!” and tried to climb into his mother’s lap. He was much too large to be held like that.

“Izar,” Rigel said. “Would it help if I came to Phegda with you?”

He felt Saiph practically spin around his wrist, but a dumb amulet might not understand that sometimes it was better to
pull
than to
push
. Besides, it was well worth the risk to watch how everyone reacted—Vildiar and his SS brutes’ smirks turned to frowns as they tried to puzzle out what the halfling was up to, Talitha looked completely baffled, Izar’s face was bright with relief and gratitude, and an unmistakable flush of anger rose on ancient Kornephoros’s boyish face.

“Are you giving me orders, halfling, or just instructing me in how to rule?”

“I humbly beg Your Highness’s pardon. I was distracted by the boy’s distress.”

Kornephoros growled, but Rigel’s ploy had made sending Izar to Phegda a much harder option for him: His grandson wanted a bodyguard when sent to visit his dad? And if Rigel did not turn up in court, then Talitha’s claims would be proven correct. That might not help the late Rigel Halfling, but it would expose Kornephoros as Vildiar’s lackey. Did the man have any pride left at all?

“Fomalhaut Starborn?”

The mage stepped forward. “Highness?” Was that a hint of a smile playing on his thin lips?

“If I return your prisoner to you, can you hold him?”

“That is largely up to him, I posit, my lord, because, while I have means of controlling most fugitives, I would be loath to wield them against an amulet as ancestral as Saiph, but if the halfling comprehends now that, while he is powerful, he is by
no means invincible and submission to properly appointed proceedings remains his best, and indeed his only, chance for a comfortable future life, whereas resistance or flight will inevitably bring him afoul of the state and have serious, conceivably fatal, consequences, then no untoward or regrettable events should occur.”

After working his way through the word forest, Rigel decided that it required a response from him. “I do understand those things, my lord. My intention was never to avoid the hearing and Her Highness never suggested that possibility to me. I gladly give you my parole, for whatever a halfling’s solemn word may be worth to you—on the understanding, of course, that your lordship will see me safely delivered to the court.”

The storm troopers snarled, and Vildiar said, “Watch your tongue, mongrel.”

The regent rose as if his time had run out. “Halfling, we return you to the custody of Fomalhaut Starborn, an old and trusted friend and one of the most potent mages in the realm. He will accompany you and the earthling woman to Canopus tomorrow.” But he still had not solved the custody problem, and he chose to procrastinate. “Fomalhaut, why don’t you take the imp also and bring him to the barge in the morning? We can discuss this over breakfast.”

Rigel offered a hand and Izar rushed to him, still teary, but happy again. Rigel glanced to Talitha, who nodded. He raised an eyebrow to Vildiar and suddenly remembered where he’d seen that face before. It could have been the model for all those arrogant, scowling giant stone heads on Easter Island. Instead of staring eternally out to sea, though, this one was looking down at Rigel with the dispassionate, calculating look of a homeowner inspecting mouse droppings while planning what to do about the mouse.