King of Swords (The Starfolk) (19 page)

B
efore dawn, Rigel went for a swim.

After the meeting in the Gazebo, Fomalhaut had escorted his prisoners through a portal to a guesthouse in the Dziban domain, a “modest” twelve-or-so-room cottage on the edge of a lake with a beech forest behind it. This morning an invigorating rime of frost silvered the grass, luminous fish swam in the dark waters, and great sandstone boulders cried out to be dived off of. The previous evening Rigel had swum all the way across the lake, but this morning he stayed close to shore in case he was summoned.

Mira emerged from the house, took one breath of fresh morning air, and immediately vanished back inside. Then Izar came streaking across the shingle and plunged into the water like an otter. He wanted to see Rigel do “the most difficult, scariest” dive he could. Rigel told him he would need a diving board for that and disappeared underwater. About two minutes later, he grabbed the imp’s feet from below and pulled him under in mid-scream.

After that anything went.

Fomalhaut was a problem. The regent-heir trusted and praised him, but he was a Vildiar underling and had almost certainly engineered the massacre in Nanaimo. He was normally long-winded, sometimes curt to the point of rudeness, always arrogant, and could well be Rigel’s unscrupulous father.

Suddenly, the starborn himself appeared, and came to stand by the edge of the lake, watching his guests frolic as the sun rose over the forest, backlighting his hair in gold and his ears in pink.

Rigel said, “Race you there!” and let Izar win.

Gasping for breath, the imp made the correct bow and greeting to his host. Rigel waded out behind him and contented himself with a deep human bow, which seemed more reasonable for a nonperson, and provoked no snarl of correction.

Fomalhaut looked down at Izar. “Show me how strong you are now.”

The boy frowned. “My noble mother has warned me not to—”

“Your grandsire said I was trustworthy. I am asking for your own good.”

“Yes, my lord.” Izar screwed up his face in concentration. A pebble rose from the beach and floated in midair. A second joined it. A third, much larger, rose a few centimeters and then all three fell back with a clatter.

“Very impressive! You are well into the blue, very close to green.”

Izar flushed bright red with delight.

“Do you have a dog?”

“No, my lord.” Izar shot a worried glance in Rigel’s direction and mumbled, “Well, just a small one. He does tricks.”

“Then I shall give you one now. He’s no play dog, though; he’s a guardian who will perform only one trick. He will defend
you the way that Saiph defends Halfling Rigel. He will respond instantly if you are attacked, although he differs from a sword amulet in that he cannot be made to attack anyone. Also, you will need to use power to put him away again. Can you put an orange in a bottle?”

“Oh, yes, my lord! A small orange.”

“Then you should be strong enough to control… um, this one… or maybe even this…” Fomalhaut began pulling rings off his thumb, which held six or seven. He replaced all but the last one. “This is made from human bone, by the way, and you must never take it off, Starling Izar, or your dog could escape your control the next time you call him. Which finger will it go on?”

With his eyes shining almost as bright as his mother’s, Izar offered his left pinkie. The simple white circlet closed around it as snugly as it had on Fomalhaut’s thumb.

“His name,” Fomalhaut said, “is Turais, but you must not speak that word until I tell you to. Like I said, Turais will never attack unless you’re attacked, at which time he will appear automatically, but he will appear when you pronounce his name, and will threaten anyone who seems to be bothering you. I warn you not to expect a lapdog, because the sight of Turais can scare yesterday’s breakfast out of the toughest thug.

“The cogitation required to put Turais away is very similar to what’s needed to impel an orange into a bottle. You can tell him ‘Go home!’ or ‘Heel!’ or anything you like, but what matters is that the power of your will compels him back into the ring, so if you are ready, we can introduce the two of you now. Halfling, you stand over there—no, farther back. We don’t want the guardian to sense your amulet.”

Rigel hesitated, then obeyed. If a “great” mage were up to no good, there was not much a guitarist with a sword could do about it.

“If you find yourself in trouble, I will help you, Izar,” Fomalhaut said. “But if you can’t control him, you will have to be satisfied with a much smaller dog. Now say his name, point at me with the ring finger, and he will appear to warn me off.”

Izar took a deep breath, extended his left hand, and said,
“Turais!”

If the thing that materialized beside him was a dog, that was mainly because he was the wrong shape to be a lion. His shaggy coat was the color of frost on winter trees, his eyes glowed gold flame, and he could undoubtedly snack on timber wolves. Without moving from his place at Izar’s side, he bared teeth the size of chisels at the mage and growled in a rock-grinding rumble that Rigel could feel through the soles of his feet.

Fomalhaut retreated a few feet and the noise stopped. The mage took a step forward and it resumed, even louder. Turais edged forward. Again the mage retreated and peace was restored.

“You see? You may pat him.”

Beaming, Izar rubbed the beast’s shaggy ears. Barely even raising his head, Turais projected a black tongue the size of a shoe and spread slobber all over the imp’s face. Izar squealed with delight and wiped it off with his arm.

But then Turais noticed Rigel and raised a ruff like a hayfield. He growled again and bared his great fangs in Rigel’s direction.

“Put Turais away, imp!” Fomalhaut shouted. “He has sensed Saiph.”

“Heel, Turais!” Izar frowned and showed his teeth as he concentrated.
“Heel, I say!”

Drooling, Turais slunk around him and began to stalk Rigel, who now had to decide just how far to trust the mage. Saiph made the decision for him, flashing into view as a long, narrow rapier.

“Put him
away,
imp! He will try to take the halfling’s arm off, and then Saiph will kill him.”

Izar’s face twisted in agony. “Turais, go home!”

The giant dog continued its deadly advance, gathering itself to spring.

“Last chance, Izar!”

“Turais, heel!”
Izar screamed. The monster became transparent, flickered in and out a few times, and then vanished for good. Izar burst into tears.

Fomalhaut stepped over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done! Very well done! You were well up in green there, mage.”

The imp choked, coughed, and said,
“I was?”

“Easily. Not being his overlord, I would have needed to use red magic to stop Turais and that would have killed him, but from now on you won’t have any trouble controlling him as long as you don’t treat him as a toy or call him up just to impress your friends.”

“No, my lord. I would never! But is he going to attack Rigel every time I call him?”

“Oh! No, I think Turais will remember the lesson you just gave him and will accept the halfling as a friend in the future.”

Rigel put his sword away. Given the benefit of the doubt, Fomalhaut had deliberately frightened the boy in order to teach him an important lesson. The alternative was that he enjoyed terrifying imps.

“Oh, and one last thing. If Turais ever kills, you must let him feed before you put him away.”

“Feed?” Izar said faintly. Almond eyes stretched wider than papayas.

“Turais is serious magic, imp. He’s not a toy.” The starborn glanced at the height of the sun above the trees. “Take him over there, well away from the halfling, and let him get to know you. Wrestle with him. He will never hurt his overlord, no matter what you do.”

Izar shot off, his feet barely touching the ground. Rigel waited to hear what was about to be revealed for his private benefit. He did not have to wait long.

“Halfling, you are in mortal danger. You are mixed up in matters far beyond your comprehension or control, and have antagonized the two most exalted starborn in the realm. Both Vildiar and Kornephoros want to squash you like a beetle, and one or the other almost certainly will before this day is out. Talitha can no more protect you than Izar could. Historically, mortals who blunder into the affairs of the starborn have very short life spans—a day or two at most. It was my misjudgment to bring you here, and I am willing to make reparation by extroverting you now, while you are still free to go.”

“Wearing what I am wearing now, I assume? To Times Square, Trafalgar Square, or Tiananmen Square?”

Amber eyes blazed. “Insolent puppy! I will put you into the menswear department of a large store, after hours, in an English-speaking country, funded with a bag of cut gemstones. You and Saiph can vanish into the teeming anthill of Earth and peace will be restored to the Starlands. The alternative is a very early death. I speak with authority you cannot possibly comprehend.”

All his life Rigel Estell had done his best to avoid confrontation. His reaction to attention had always been to disappear into the undergrowth. But now he could not hide and
would
not hide. He offered a small bow. “Yes, I was impertinent and I apologize. Your offer is most generous, but I cannot accept. I have sworn to serve the princess as well as I am able and I must stand by my oath. I do have Saiph.”

“Not for long, I think” Fomalhaut sneered. “Your lust for the princess will cost you your life. Believe me, for I have ways of knowing. But if that is your decision, we must dress you for your court appearance, then find the earthling woman and be on our way.”

“Starborn,” Rigel said, “may I ask you a question?”

The mage’s amber eyes blazed like lasers. “No, you may not, Rigel Halfling.”

Court dress for an unsponsored halfling comprised a full-length gown and a separate cowl. Fortunately both were cut from moon-cloth, which was cool and almost weightless, but Rigel felt as if he were playing Saint Francis in a Halloween masquerade. He was certain, though, that the holy man wouldn’t have approved of the way his flesh glowed through the translucent material.

The mage opened a portal to the harbor basin, and Izar, Rigel, and Mira followed him through it. The dock itself was almost deserted, except for a gang of fishermen unloading a smelly catch. Gienah the swan was scratching herself under one raised wing. On the quay beside her stood Princess Talitha, whose beauty left Rigel breathless and made the giant
bird look positively ugly. She was accompanied by the swanherd Albireo Halfling and a green-haired elf whose name shortly became apparent as Baham, Izar’s previous bodyguard.

Izar’s feet began to drag until Fomalhaut put a hand on his shoulder and urged him forward. Bows and greetings were exchanged while Rigel and Mira waited, ignored, in the background. Izar had said that he “hated” Baham. Allowance for juvenile exaggeration might translate “hate” into “dislike,” but Rigel was prepared to agree that the former bodyguard did not impress at first sight. Still, the starborn could not be blamed for having hair and eyes of a peculiarly bilious shade, and his fixed sneer owed something to a very short upper lip. Besides, Talitha must have found some virtue in him or she would not have entrusted her son to his care.

“Izar,” she announced, “Baham and Albireo will take you home to Spica while Rigel and I attend the court.”

Izar clenched his fists and bent his ears to an uncooperative angle, but Fomalhaut spoke first.

“Last night His Highness instructed me to bring the imp to the royal barge so that—”

Talitha raised her chin and gave him a megawatt royal glare. “And this morning he instructed me to send Izar straight home. Do you question my word, Fomalhaut Starborn?”

Rigel did. Izar had inherited his poetic approach to truth from his mother. It seemed very unlikely that Regent-heir Kornephoros would have reversed his own orders so drastically without at least informing Fomalhaut of the change.

Pinned between two royals, the mage chose the safer course of recognizing a mother’s authority over her own child. “Never for a moment, Your Highness.”

“Mom!” Izar squealed. “My warning bracelet just started itching like crazy, Mom!”

“Yes, darling. Rigel and I will be home by lunchtime, I expect. You go home and have a nice ride on Narwhale. He will be missing you.”

Izar looked up at Baham’s sneer of welcome and shouted,
“No!
It really is itching, Mom, it’s itching like it never has! It’s warning me not to go!”

Alas, the shepherd boy must have exceeded his wolf guidelines too often in the past. Talitha very firmly said, “Do as you are told! You go with Baham right now, or no Narwhale for a week.”

Fomalhaut drew breath as if to intervene and then released it in silence. Rigel too felt twinges of unease. Granted, the imp was eager to come to the court hearing, but would he lie about a warning bracelet? Izar slouched angrily down the plank to the swan with Albireo and his bodyguard at his heels. Had Baham been informed that he was about to lose his job to Rigel? Would Izar be stupid enough to tell him?