King of Swords (The Starfolk) (39 page)

The imp opened the door, and disappeared into a swirl of salty wind and ocean scent. He left the portal open, but it closed itself behind him. Now the grown-ups could get down to serious business.

“You look bushed, halfling,” Vildiar said graciously. “Please sit down.” He scowled at Graffias. “You will be more comfortable standing, I expect. Now, Rigel, where did you meet the Pythia?”

Rigel sank into a delightfully soft, velvet-upholstered chair and promptly yawned. “Pardon me, my lord. I’ve been up all night. On Tarazed.”

“Cockatrices? Ingenious! Does that explain what happened to Hassaleh?” The Naos’s mind was sharper than razors.

“Yes. He was petrified, and he was attacked by one of the creatures in the lagoon before I could fish him out. It was an accident.”

The prince’s lips twisted into a cynical smile, one without humor. “My family has had a serious run of bad luck lately. I’ve never heard of the Pythia prophesying for a halfling before. What did she tell you?” He was being very sweet for a mass murderer—no bluster, no veiled threats, just princely courtesy. He had all the time in the world to get what he wanted, and he was content to wait. He was as deadly as a third rail.

Fighting more yawns, Rigel wished he had chosen a less comfortable chair. “She quoted a poem she knew I would
recognize. It’s by William Shakespeare. You know of him, my lord?”

“I saw him act once. Tell me.”

Rigel said,

“It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:

’Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes

The thronéd monarch better than his crown.

“ ‘Becomes’ means ‘adorns’ in this case, of course.”

Vildiar studied him with eyes of rainbow. He was taking the upstart halfling more seriously now than he had before, which was both flattering and terrifying. “I give up. What’s the answer?”

“Mercy. Or, rather, the attribute of being merciful. She was warning me not to stab you when I had the chance.”

“You didn’t have the chance. Saiph or not, I’d have burned you to ashes.”

“But I didn’t know that, did I? The Pythia did.”

“That doggerel does sound like the sort of thing that Jacobean scribbler spouted, and the Pythia is typically obscure in her prophecies, but your logic escapes me.” He paused, and then suddenly changed tack, “Who gave my son the killer amulet?”

Oops!
“I am not at liberty to answer that, my lord.”

The giant was pacing aimlessly as he spoke. “Never once have I given Talitha cause to hate me, Rigel, but she does—virulently. She has a spiteful tongue and no scruples about telling the most appalling untruths. Despite what she has told you, I am not a monster. I admit I have faults, as we all do. I
despised Kornephoros as an incompetent prude and Electra as a wastrel who has neglected her realm for decades. I am eager to show that I could be a better ruler. Is that so terrible?”

The end, perhaps not. The means, yes. Tactfully: “I am not competent to judge either the political problem or your noble self as the solution, my lord.”

Vildiar continued on as if he had not heard. “I enjoy earthling women, a shameful perversion that I have tried to shake off many times without success. But I am generous. I make sure that the women are willing beforehand and well provided for after, and any children that may result are given an education and lifelong employment.”

Miscegenation sounded like an expensive hobby, but no doubt all those eager young tweenlings managed to earn their keep somehow. Rigel fought desperately against another yawn.

The prince stopped close to him, and stared down at him again. “There are not so very many of them when you consider my age—about one every ten years or so. And they are not assassins and terrorists, as Talitha would have people believe. We all know that halflings can be dangerous, don’t we? Yesterday you broke into my domain, claiming to have authority from a queen who hadn’t been seen since before you were born. Of course my sons challenged an intruder they knew to be armed—what would you expect? Before they even had time to open the paper you claimed was a royal warrant, you drew your sword and disemboweled my son Tarf. Only magic stopped him from dying instantly, and you finished him off later, him and two others. You started the fight. Who bears the blood guilt, Rigel?”

Rigel was in very serious trouble. And Vildiar was standing with one foot between his, so that he couldn’t even rise from his chair.

“Your daughter was the first to draw, my lord. That was folly when she knew I wore the ancestral Saiph. Shall we discuss Spica?”

“Spica?” Opalescent eyebrows rose. “By all means, let us discuss Spica. Talitha disobeyed the regent’s express orders by sending our child to her domain instead of taking him to Canopus. When she was informed of this, my daughter Botein—who is Izar’s half sister, of course, and known to him—went to Spica to explain the situation to the imp’s attendant, Baham Starborn. Baham agreed to escort the boy to Canopus as the regent had commanded, but Izar invoked a
Lesath!
You know the term? An especially baneful amulet. It is a capital offense to own or make a Lesath. To give one to a child is utter madness.”

“The amulet did not slaughter the entire population of Spica, my lord.”

“But it began the bloodshed. I told you how the perpetrators will be punished, but is it a wonder that they went berserk? Three of their siblings were killed in front of their eyes, and Botein herself was horribly savaged. The wonder is that they did not kill Izar out of hand. If the imp had not been given that Lesath, not one drop of blood would have been shed.”

Rigel could not bandy words with the starborn. He was out of his league, and every cell in his body ached with fatigue. “Well, he did not get it from me, my lord.” He set his hands on the arms of the chair to show that he wished to rise.

Vildiar did not budge. “Even so, here you are, trespassing in my domain again, and now another one of my sons has died. And you dare to call me murderer?”

“By your leave, Halfling Graffias and I will go now, for I must escort my sponsor to her father’s funeral.”

The prince shrugged, stepping out of Rigel’s way. “You are an extraordinarily resourceful youngster, Halfling Rigel. I do
wish that you had accepted me as your sponsor yesterday. If you ever change your mind, I will be happy to take you on. I promise that there will be no revenge. And despite all the lies you have been fed, there will be no murders, either.” He looked across at Graffias. “You wish to go with him, Son?”

Graffias nodded several times before he managed to whisper, “Yes, Father.”

“And you hope to buy your life by selling your brothers’ and sisters’?”

It would not take Vildiar long to talk the turncoat into a complete 360 degree revolution. Rigel hauled himself upright.

“I have promised him a royal pardon, my lord.”

“Did you, now?” Vildiar tried, but he could no more depict surprise than could his lookalikes on Easter Island. “On your own authority?”

Dangerous question! Royal blood did not turn a halfling into a prince and never would, even if Electra was ever willing to reveal her outrageous secret in public.

“Having just returned Izar to his mother, I am certain that I have enough influence.”

The resulting stare went on dangerously long as the prince tried to guess just how much Rigel knew and how much royal favor he might possess.

“Nice helmet,” Vildiar said at last. “Take Graffias by all means, but you will need to find another sponsor for him, and he is a pathetic thing, even for a half-breed. This has gone on long enough. I must go to Canopus.”

Graffias dived for the portal and swung it open. Rigel bowed to the prince and followed. He did not try to seal the portal behind him with the
Grumium
password, because he was certain that the mage would simply use an override to open it again.

H
e stepped through into another starfolk playground, like the Alrisha swimming hole. It was a sheltered bay ringed by steep cliffs with only a narrow channel connecting it to the sea. There were all the usual conveniences on hand: shady trees, a waterfall, a sandy beach, and mossy banks. A few meters away, Talitha was still embracing her son, and the look of relief that swept across her face when she met Rigel’s eyes made every moment of the terrible night seem worthwhile. Graffias turned his back on her, hiding his shame.

Rigel said, “Race you, halfling,” and sprinted toward the water. They hit the surface together. It was a very brief dip, followed by a quick sprint to the waterfall to rinse off, but it rid Rigel of the swamp smell and turned Graffias’s jeans a uniform wet blue. By the time the two of them returned to the beach, Izar was recovering some traces of his customary toothy smile. He had seen horrors, but his ability to turn himself off at will had hopefully saved him from serious trauma.

Talitha gave Graffias a cold glare. “Izar tells me that you were one of the raiders at Spica, but that you’re on our side now?”

“I have much to tell, Your Highness.”

“That is good, very good. It is long past time. Consider yourself under arrest at present, but I am sure Her Majesty will grant you a full pardon if you answer every question put to you on the Star, in which case I shall be happy to sponsor you.” Then she turned to Rigel with a smile that demanded to be instantly and thoroughly kissed.

So he did.

After a while, Izar said, “I thought grown-ups laid down to do that?”

Rigel released her, which wasn’t easy. Graffias looked appalled—a princess allowing a mere halfling to take such liberties?

Talitha turned away and headed for the portal. “You left in such a hurry,” she said over her shoulder, “that we didn’t set up a proper rendezvous. There are a dozen portals in Alsafi. I came here because I knew it was Izar’s favorite. Cheleb is watching another. So that is where we must go first.”

She led the way to a cobbled yard enclosed by stables and sheds on three sides, and a rambling, thatched house on the fourth. It had a dovecot and pigeons and a sleeping dog, as if inspired by some syrupy calendar art. The only otherworldly touch was the open carriage that sat at its center. It had the customary large wheels at the back and a smaller pair at the front, two upholstered benches, and a canopy, which was currently folded down, but it lacked shafts to hold a horse, and had no visible means of propulsion—unless, Rigel decided, one counted Starborn Cheleb as such. She was dozing on the coachman’s box, her back erect but her head down, hair shining copper in the dawn sun, ears drooping.

Izar said, “Where’s Dschubba? I wanna see Dschubba!”

“I expect he’s still asleep,” said his mother. “His father said we could borrow their carriage.”

“Doggy! You going to drive, Mom?”

Cheleb came alert, swept her gaze over the arrivals, and deigned to grant Rigel a nod of approval. “I did not expect to see you again, halfling. Very well done.”

Praise indeed! He bowed and said, “Thank you, starborn,” with all the grace he could muster.

“Will you drive, please?” Talitha asked her. “And let Izar ride on the box? Halfling Graffias has turned queen’s evidence. I must hear some of his testimony so that I can properly advise Her Majesty.”

Izar’s happiness fizzled in an instant. “Wanna stay with you and Rigel. I’m not comp’etely recovered yet. You have to be specially consid’rate of my needs.”

“Starborn Cheleb wants to hear all about your adventure.”

His lip trembled. “I have to sit between you two so you don’t misbehave.”

Talitha kept her patience. “You keep telling me you want to start highway training. Starborn Cheleb will give you a lesson. Won’t you, starborn?”

“Of course,” the mage said, although her expression would have turned princes into things much lowlier than frogs. Izar hesitated while he evaluated the bribe, then he grinned and scrambled up to the box in a swirl of twiggy limbs.

Talitha had a royal knack for getting her own way. Rigel handed her up to the carriage, then joined her on the rear bench, wrapping his arm around her. Graffias sat facing them. The carriage soared upward, narrowly clearing the rooftops, and swung around to the east.

“We don’t have long,” Talitha said, being very businesslike despite—or perhaps because of—the nearness of Rigel’s hand to her right breast. “I don’t recall meeting you when I lived at Phegda.”

“No, Your Highness. I just graduated from Unukalhai three months ago.”

“Tell me what you know. I promise that nothing you say on this journey will be used against you, although you will be interrogated later on the Star. You’ve been extroverting?”

Graffias nodded guiltily. “It’s part of the training. To qualify as full members of the Family…”

“Go on!”

“We have to kill an earthling—a wild one, not a domestic.”

“Stars!”
Talitha looked at Rigel in horror.

He shrugged, not surprised. He guessed that there would be even more lurid revelations to come; Graffias would best help his cause by making his testimony top every rumor. “Tell Her Highness about Spica.”

“Oh, that was Botein’s doing, my lady. She was at Canopus with a squad of us, standing by in case V… that’s Prince Vildiar, our father. In case he needed us. Tegmine arrived and said that V wanted Izar, and Izar had been sent to Spica. Botein decided to make a grab…”

Graffias’s story closely followed what the Pythia had told Sphinx Praecipua. Five men and two women had gone to Spica in two carriages. It had seemed like an easy prospect—ambush the imp in the fields, kill or intimidate his attendant, Baham, and leave with both of them. Alive or dead, Baham could be fed to the polliwogs at Giauzar, and there would be no evidence. The plan had gone terribly awry when Izar unleashed Turais.

“We never thought,” Graffias said, “that an imp like him would be trusted with anything like that. A
Lesath
! None of our amulets worked on it! It killed Ain and Homam and Haedi and damned nearly ripped Botein’s hand off. I put three arrows through its heart before I dropped it.”