King of Swords (The Starfolk) (38 page)

Beyond that lay a wide corridor of thick, soft carpet, richly decorated walls, and intricately carved doors. Rigel had been expecting some sort of dank dungeon in the depths of the infamous Giauzar crater, but nothing was too good for Hadar and his brethren. A few doors farther along, a passage led off to the left.

“That’s the way to the mess,” Graffias said. “We may be seen. You’ll have to trust me.”

“If I hear one squeak, I’ll kill you deader than Tarf. I swear I will.” Rigel distrusted his own oath even more than he distrusted his guide’s, but he stopped at the corner. Graffias walked across, looking to see if there were any watchers. On the far side, he halted and turned.

“It’s safe.”

Rigel crossed. The three steps it needed took hours.

“Do you trust me now?” Graffias asked, eyeing him earnestly. He had blue eyes and blond hair, blue at the roots. He must have extroverted recently.

“Not yet. Keep going.”

They reached an open door. Again Graffias halted.

“This is my room. There’s no one else in there.”

Rigel told him to keep walking, and followed close behind him. As he went past, he glimpsed a large, luxurious, but not very tidy, bedchamber. The corridor led to a dead end, and there Graffias stopped at a door like all the others.

“The imp’s in here. There’s no guard with him, as far as I know. I’m just a trainee, and they don’t tell me much. All I get is orders.” Graffias was either the finest actor in the universe, or he was terrified half out of his wits. His jeans were soaked, and he stank of urine.

But Rigel couldn’t be very fragrant himself, fresh from a swim in stagnant swamp water and a long ride on a cockatrice. “Any magic? Locks? Booby traps?”

“Not that I know of. Stars! I’m doing my best for you, halfling!”

“Open it and go in, then.”

Rigel followed him through. There was no luxury in this room, just bare stone walls and floor, bars on the windows, a slop bucket, and a metal bedstead with a flock mattress. Rigel left the door ajar, and waited a moment to make sure it would not try to close by itself, locking him inside.

Then he went across to the boy asleep on the bed. A brass chain connected his wrist to the headboard; all his amulets had been removed, but otherwise he seemed to be unharmed.

Graffias said, “He’s been like that ever since we…”

“Since what?”

“Since he was brought here,” Graffias finished, his face aflame with guilt.

“I meant it when I promised you a royal pardon,” Rigel said. “But stand farther back, just so I don’t get nervous. Izar? Wake up, Izar, it’s Rigel.”

The imp’s ears twitched and straightened, and then his iridescent eyes opened and blinked.

Izar smiled sleepily. “Knew you’d come! I told my self it mustn’t wake up until it heard your voice.”

I
t felt good to be a hero to somebody, even a child. Rigel swallowed the lump that had just appeared in his throat. “That’s what friends are for. The first thing we need to do is get that chain off you. Sit up. Hold your hand here.” He arranged the imp’s wrist so that the chain was draped over the top rail of the bedstead. “Now close your eyes for a moment.” Saiph cut the metal like wax.

The clang made Izar jump. He inspected the two links attached to his manacle.
“Doggy!
Oo, Rigel, I really need to go pee!” He swung his reedy legs over the edge of the bed. “It was so horrible what—” his voice trailed off in a wail.

“It’s all right!” Rigel said quickly. “Halfling Graffias is on our side now.”

He was so far, anyway.

“But he was shooting arrows!” Izar said shrilly. “He shot Baham! And Narwhale and—”

“But now he’s helping you escape, so he’s all right. I’ll explain later, but do your pee quickly, because we must hurry.” Rigel dearly wished Izar had not made those allegations just yet.

Graffias’s face had turned to bone, hard and yellow. He might believe in Rigel’s good intentions, but would he be willing to entrust his life to a babbling imp?

“There were other people shooting arrows at Spica, Izar, weren’t there?” Rigel asked, desperately hoping that the answer was
yes
. “And you couldn’t see which arrows came from which bows. But Graffias was just pretending. All his shots missed, didn’t they, halfling?”

“I tried to miss as much as I dared,” Graffias said. That would have to be his defense if he were brought to trial.

“And now you’re going to lead us to the portal?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And we’re all going to go join your mother, Izar.”

“I need a
long
drink of water,” Izar announced, having finished his business with the bucket. “Don’t think I’ve
ever
been this thirsty.”

Before Rigel could reply, an angry shout came from just outside the door. “What do you mean you can’t find them? You mean they’ve gone?”

Izar turned as pale as milk and his mouth stretched into a rictus of horror. Graffias looked little better. Rigel doubted if he did himself. The gap between the door and the jamb was too narrow to reveal the speaker, but he blocked the light all the way to the top of it. Only one starborn was tall enough to do that.

The reply was more distant, but still audible. “No, lord. I sealed the portal myself when I left last night, and now Tegmine is keeping watch to make sure nobody leaves. They have to be on the island somewhere.” That was Hadar’s voice.

Rigel shivered. His plan had been doomed from the start. He had never considered the possibility that the gang would
lock Giauzar off from the outside world, trapping both Izar
and
his guards inside.

Vildiar said, “I do wish you’d
find them
, for stars’ sake! Or at least find Graffias. If Graffias has gotten away, I’ll toast your balls on a fork.”

“He can’t have escaped, lord. He’s a loser. He was heaving his guts out at Spica. My guess is that the guilt curse got him, and he went to feed the polliwogs.”

“Your guess is worthless, Hadar. The guilt curse never affects halflings and never leads to suicide. It just kills. I don’t care about Hassaleh, but I will be
much happier
if I know for certain that Botein, Graffias, Sadalbari, and Benetnash are all here in Giauzar when you and I leave.”

“I like you to be
happy
, Father.”

So that was how it was done? A command had just been issued and acknowledged, yet both would be deniable on the Star of Truth.

With a finger over his lips to indicate silence, Rigel tapped Izar’s shoulder and pointed to the bed. The imp spun around and raced back to it. He flopped onto the mattress, adjusted the end of the chain under his wrist, and closed his eyes. His ears did not go fully limp, but what a great kid! Rigel stepped behind the door. Graffias moved in behind him. He wore many amulets, any of which could be a sword in waiting. Rigel’s trust in the young halfling was being stretched very thin. Considering how hopeless the situation now seemed, Graffias had to be tempted to try to win back his daddy’s love by turning in Halfling Rigel’s corpse with a hole in its back.

The door began to open, and then stopped. Vildiar spoke again.

“I can’t wait here while you search the entire island. Change of plans: I’ll take the imp and leave first.
I’ll be happiest
if you
keep everyone out of the way until I’m gone and if only you and Tegmine know I was here at all. If you can’t find Hassaleh, I shan’t mind if you leave without him. But I’d really like you to find Graffias or prove that he’s dead. And when you have the whole Spica crew in custody here, I’d like you to take the others and go. Today’s key to seal the portal is ‘Grumium.’ You need to say it three times; understand?”

“Yes, my lord. ‘Grumium’ three times.”

“When you’ve done that, I’d be
happier
if you moved the rest of the family to Zubenelgenubi. I’ll be at the funeral in Canopus. And remember that I want
no one
besides Tegmine to know I’ve been here. Go!”

The door swung open, and His Highness strode into the room, ducking under the lintel. He did not go over to the bed, perhaps not wanting to frighten the imp.

“Izar? Wake up, Son.”

Triumph! Rigel had only to raise his hand to that grotesquely long, bony back and then summon Saiph. One quick jab and the problem would be solved—the monster would be dead, and the portal would be accessible. Tegmine could not singlehandedly hold it against Saiph, even if Graffias didn’t defect back to his daddy’s team.
Victory pulled from the jaws of disaster!
But could Rigel Estell really kill Izar’s father right in front of him? Could he murder Vildiar in cold blood, evil though the starborn undoubtedly was? What would Talitha want him to do?

“Izar?” the prince said again. “I was very sorry to hear about what happened at Spica, Son. The people who did those terrible things are going to be punished.”

This was all a game!
Vildiar
must
know Rigel was there. That discussion out in the corridor had been much too convenient. Rigel had always despised stories in which the villains discussed
their plans right outside the hero’s hiding place. Such things never happened in real life; even in the Starlands that would be stretching fantasy too far.

The prince sighed. “I can tell that you’re not really asleep, Izar. I’m going to take you to your mother now, I promise. Why haven’t you tried to kill me yet, halfling?”

Izar shot off the bed on the far side and squeezed into a corner, as far from his father as he could get. His eyes stretched as big as his ears.

Vildiar turned around to stare down at Rigel from his impossible height, like a gardener inspecting a bug.

Before stamping on it.

“I was warned not to, my lord.”

“You have become a serious nuisance, mongrel. I warned you off last night. I shall not be as lenient next time.” He curled his lip at Graffias. “You didn’t take long to defect. Whose side are you on at the moment?”

“Justice’s,” Graffias mumbled, avoiding his father’s gaze. He had been tested too, and had failed. He should have tried to save his father by stabbing Rigel in the back when he had the chance. Backstabbing seemed to be out of fashion today.

“You were planning to betray us, your own family? Hadar was right when… But you heard. Answer my question, Halfling Rigel. Why didn’t you try to kill me?”

Rigel had no idea. Was he just too wimpishly scrupulous to stab someone from behind, even someone as odious as Vildiar? Was Vildiar’s magic powerful enough to neutralize Saiph? That was not what people had been telling him about his “ancestral” amulet.

“Because of what the Pythia told me, Your Highness.” Let the monster chew on that! Rigel was pleased to hear he had become a serious nuisance, and he wasn’t going to flinch under
the giant elf’s anger. He turned to look at Graffias. “Was Hassaleh present at the Spica massacre?” he asked.

“No.”

“But you were. That’s why you matter and he doesn’t. So, Your Highness, when Hadar has collected all the Spica witnesses and sealed them in, how long will you shelter them from the queen’s justice?”

Vildiar studied him with the disgust due a well-trodden dog turd on a Persian rug. “Are you ignorant or just trying to be funny? A prince administers justice within his domain. What happened at Spica was unforgivable incompetence. The guilty will stay here until they have eaten all the polliwogs, or the polliwogs have eaten all of them, or they have eaten one another. I don’t care which comes first. If Her Majesty wants to send them to the Dark Cells, I will gladly turn them over to her.”

“Tough love? Fatherly discipline? I came to escort Izar back to his mother.”

“So did I.”

“I wanna go with Rigel!” Izar shouted.

His father shrugged. “As you will. Will you lead the way, halfling, or shall I?”

Nobody moved. Vildiar was making another of his lighting fast U-turns, like the one he had made in court when Kornephoros tried to sentence Rigel to death. Izar was the key, of course. Had he not been here, the polliwogs would already be munching on Rigel and Graffias. But Vildiar could no longer deny knowledge of his son’s kidnapping, so he had to put himself on the side of the angels. He always had two roles to play and for now he was portraying the loving, caring father. Anyone who would believe that would try to buy pork in Jerusalem.

Rigel had an uncomfortable feeling that he was playing sixth in a Russian roulette tournament. “I think perhaps you had better lead, my lord.”

“And what happens at the portal?” Vildiar inquired scornfully. “Am I to be stabbed in the back or locked up here in Giauzar to die with the incompetents?”

“Neither,” Rigel said, “as long as you let us depart in peace.”

Vildiar ducked out the door without comment. Izar rushed to Rigel’s side and clasped his hand like a small child. They followed Graffias into the corridor and all three hurried after the tall starborn.

Rigel bent toward one of the imp’s big ears. “You remember Alsafi, Izar?” he whispered.

“Yes, Rigel.”

“Your mom is waiting there for you.”

“But you’re coming too!” Izar’s eyes sparkled as if he had been weeping, but that was just the Naos in him.

“I’m planning on it, but you will have to open the portal.”

They reached a large sitting room, furnished with rich rugs and a cluster of chairs and sofas. Its windows looked out onto a jungle faintly lit by predawn light, and opposite them stood a large double door, much like many of the other portals Rigel had seen. The storm trooper halfling who waited next to it walked forward to greet his father. It was Tegmine, who had accompanied Tarf and their father on the royal barge the previous day. He scowled at the sight of Rigel, and then sneered at Graffias.

“We should have left my darling baby brother in diapers, my lord.”

Vildiar ignored his comment. “Go and tell Hadar that I have located Graffias.” He watched his son leave before saying, “Does Izar know where his mother is?”

Rigel said, “Yes, my lord.”

“Then run along, son. I wish to speak with Rigel.”

Izar’s face fell like a shooting star.

“Rigel will follow you in a few moments,” his father said. “I promise.”