Master of the Cauldron (47 page)

“In time,” Davus said, lowering his arms, “the hatchling will grow into a creature like the one in the Citadel now. A creature like the new king.”

The echidna struck the water loop by loop, sending a long column of spray to dance above the crumbled cliff. For a long moment, Ilna could hear nothing but the waves.

“Let's go,” Chalcus said quietly. He started to sheathe his sword, then paused and closed his eyes. Only when he'd opened them again did he slide the blade home. He whispered, “I hate snakes.”

“Only the two of you,” Davus said calmly. “I'll stay here at the tunnel mouth or another snake will take up residence. The power calls them, you see. It calls them to a treasure beyond the dreams of their scaly minds.”

“But…?” Chalcus said.

“Go,” Davus said. “Merota is your friend. And I must be here if we're to succeed.”

“All right,” said Ilna. She'd picked her yarn out and replaced it in her sleeve. With her back straight and her head high, she entered the tunnel.

She didn't know what was waiting at the top. Now that she knew what the new king had grown from, though, nothing but her sense of duty would have sent her to face it.

Ilna smiled wryly. If she'd believed in the Great Gods, she'd have thanked them for that sense of duty.

 

Sharina lay like a rolled carpet in the bottom of the boat, slowly getting her breath back. All she could see was the sky, the vessel's curved bronze sides, and the men aboard with her.

Her head was toward the bow. Though she heard Hani chanting words of power, she couldn't see him without twisting around uncomfortably. There was nothing about the wizard that would've justified her strain.

The hull hummed like a taut line in a breeze. Sharina might not have noticed it through her thick sandals if she'd been standing, but lying down, the vibration was more uncomfortable than the aftereffects of hitting the tree.

The People paid her no attention. They looked out over the landscape, rarely moving even their heads and not speaking that she heard.

The two humans who'd lifted her aboard were another matter. “Pretty little blond thing, isn't she?” said the man with the slit nose. He giggled. “I like blondes.”

“You like anything, Wilfus,” said the taller man who was missing fingers. “I've seen you, remember?”

“Yeah?” said Wilfus, flashing suddenly hot. “Well, at least I stick to living ones, don't I? Which is more than some people can say!”

“Ah, shut up,” muttered the tall man. “I was drunk, that's all.”

Wilfus sniggered again, making his nostrils quiver oddly. “Well,” he said, bending to fondle Sharina. “This one's alive, anyhow.”

Sharina thrashed at him as best she could with her ankles tied to her wrists. Wilfus' face settled into a hideous snarl. He stepped back and kicked her thigh in response. He was wearing velvet slippers, but Sharina would've preferred hobnails to the touch of Wilfus' fingers.

Bolor was in the stern with two somewhat older men, more likely colleagues than retainers. Sharina saw him grimace. She shouted, “Is this how the bor-Warrimans treat noblewomen, then?”

Bolor flushed. “That's enough, Wilfus!” he said.

The taller thug turned, and snarled, “You can't give us orders, Bolor! We're as good as you!”

Bolor stepped forward. The thug tried to dodge but bumped into Wilfus. Bolor hit him in the face with his clenched fist, knocking him down. Sharina twitched her legs up so that he didn't land on her.

Bolor smiled grimly, rubbing his knuckles with his left hand. One of his companions had drawn his sword. “Hani may need you, Mogon,” Bolor said. “I don't. Next time you can try breathing through the top of your neck.”

The older man who hadn't drawn his sword hooked his thumb toward Wilfus. “You two trade places with us,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Now!”

The thugs shuffled sternward along the starboard side of the hull while Bolor and his companions moved up to port. The man with his sword in his hand watched Wilfus and Mogon closely, but Bolor and the other noble who'd spoken knelt on either side of Sharina to lift her into a sitting position.

“I can't—” she said, but Bolor already had his dagger out. He cut the cord linking her wrists and ankles, then, after a moment's hesitation, freed her ankles as well. She stood up, careful because she was so stiff.

The People appeared to take no interest. The wizard in the bow said nothing either. He might not even have noticed; the effort of keeping them airborne must take most of his energy.

Sharina looked forward. The boat was traveling as fast as a horse could trot. Just ahead was the long, low building she'd seen as she sailed down
onto the island. This side was a blank stone wall instead of a colonnade like that opening onto the lake.

She turned to Bolor again. “Thank you for that,” she said, with a curt nod to the thugs glowering in the stern. Mogon was dabbing at his bleeding lips.

“Those two served the queen,” said the man with his sword still out. “There's more of them that've joined us. Too many, I'd say.”

“Why did you come here, milady?” Bolor said. He looked angry and embarrassed. Sharina noticed that though he didn't say, “Your highness,” he nonetheless gave her the honorific due a fellow noble.

“I accompanied your uncle, Lord Waldron,” she said. “He's hoping to talk sense into you and avoid bloodshed.”

Valgard had been as silent as the People. Now he turned his head and examined Sharina expressionlessly. He still didn't speak.

“There won't be bloodshed,” Bolor said harshly. “The people are rising to support the true King of the Isles, Valgard son of Valence. There won't be a fight because there won't be anybody standing with the usurper Garric!”

Sharina shrugged. Bolor's very vehemence proved he knew better than that. “People like your friend Wilfus support Valgard, you mean?” she said.

“Others as well, milady,” said the man who'd ordered the thugs to the stern. His voice was calm and perhaps a little tired. “Ornifal isn't to be ruled by a usurper when there's a true prince of the royal line present.”

Bolor glanced at him and grimaced. He looked embarrassed again. Obviously he didn't know how to treat a prisoner for whom he felt more respect than he did his allies. After a moment's further hesitation he said, “Calran bor-Ranciman. And his cousin Lattus thinks it's worthwhile to watch the dirt in the stern.”

Lattus turned, sheathing his sword with a
clack
of crossguard against the lip of the scabbard. “They could still bite, you know,” he grumbled to Bolor.

Sharina was frightened, and her whole left side throbbed. Standing and keeping her balance was even more painful than lying in the bottom of the boat, though she knew moving was the best way to get her strength and coordination back. Similarly, she knew she was better off acting like a princess before these rebel noblemen than she would be letting them know she was hurt and afraid. So—

“And does Valgard speak?” she said, glaring at the claimant.

“When there's need for speech, I speak,” Valgard said. He had a deep voice, well in keeping with his powerful frame, but it lacked fire. His words were a flat statement without the sneer that would've made them a gibe at Sharina's frightened talkiness….

The boat curved around the end of the building; the plaza in front extended into the lake. The keel was over the water for a moment. Sharina looked down as a fish jumped, but the ripples of their passage kept her from seeing what had driven it into the air.

Hani lowered his arms; the boat settled with a bell note louder than she'd expected from the keel's gentle contact with the pavement of stone blocks. The wizard turned, fatigue in every line but his eyes madly bright.

Sharina suddenly wondered just how old Hani was. Middle-aged she'd thought when he looked down at her from the bow of the boat, but there was a hint of something as ageless as black diamonds in those glinting eyes.

“Bring her out,” Hani said. “I think she'll be useful later.”

He giggled, and added, “Or at least her bones will, eh?”

Mogon and Wilfus didn't move, but a pair of People stepped close to lift Sharina by the elbows. She backed as much as she could, and said to the wizard, “Cut my hands loose, and I'll get down by myself. Or are you afraid I'll wring your neck if my hands are free?”

“You don't give orders here, girl,” Hani said in a tone of tired disgust. “Set her down, I said.”

Bolor drew his dagger and sawed the cord binding Sharina's wrists. “I'll take responsibility for her,” he said to Hani, with a touch of challenge in his voice. “She can't run far with bruises like that.”

“Thank you, milord,” Sharina said. “For acting like a gentleman.”

Though I might surprise you if I saw anyplace to run to,
she thought as she swung over the side of the boat, gripping the thin bronze gunwale for support. The effort made her body flash white with pain, but she didn't let herself fall, only stumbled a little when her left foot came down. She caught herself and smiled brightly at her captors.

“Faugh!” Hani said. Though Sharina didn't hear him give an order, the People who'd started to grip her lifted him out of the vessel instead. The rest of the passengers disembarked also. The thugs climbed over the stern, keeping well away from Bolor and his companions.

Though narrow, the building stretched a quarter mile in either direction from the central archway. The columns along the front were white marble but so simple they might've been turned out of wood by a jour
neyman cabinetmaker. They were neither fluted nor adorned with either bases or capitals.

Sharina glanced from the colonnade to the People escorting Hani. The stone pillars bore the same relation to what she'd have seen on an ordinary public building in Valles as the People did to the soldiers who might've been guarding that building.

She kept close to Bolor and the cousins, who seemed pleased enough by her presence. The Ornifal noblemen weren't the sort to consort with brutal criminals like Wilfus and Mogon under normal circumstances, and they'd have been unusual if they'd liked being around wizards either.

Sharina pumped her arms back and forth, hoping to work the stiffness out of them. The movement hurt as though she were splashing herself with boiling water. She was dizzy for a moment, but she
had
to make herself ready to run or fight when she got an opportunity.

Hani led them into the building. Though the whole front was open for the sake of light, the interior was several steps from the surface. A central staircase dropped to lower levels. Sharina glanced over the railing; the stairs went down farther than she could see.

The building was filled with waist-high tanks filled with cloudy fluid. Hani raised his athame and intoned,
“Maradha cerpho!”
in a harsh voice. A flash of blue wizardlight flooded the tank nearest Sharina, illuminating what the thick liquid had concealed. It wasn't a man, but it was what a man might be if his flesh were being deposited from the inside out on an armature that crudely resembled a human skeleton.

The light faded, returning the tank to white opacity. Hani swayed; one of the People reached out to support him.

“What do you think of King Valgard's army, princess?” the wizard cackled. “He'll take Ornifal easily. By the time he's done that, there'll be an even greater force to carry his authority over all the Isles, do you see?”

He started down the line of tanks, glancing into each one. After a few paces his body straightened, working out the fatigue induced by wizardry. The People walked with him; Bolor gestured Sharina forward and fell into step with her. Calran and Lattus were immediately behind, a barrier ahead of the two thugs.

“You tried that in the past, wizard,” Sharina said, feeling her stomach drop into a pit. There'd been tens of thousands of People when they attacked before; there'd be more this time, probably many more, or Hani wouldn't be so confident. “You failed. You'll fail again!”

“The army that invaded in Stronghand's day had no leader, milady,” Lattus said. He spoke as before, with the calm certainty of a priest reciting the ritual. His cousin Calran's expression was furious, though, and Bolor too looked as troubled as Sharina felt inside. “These men follow King Valgard. And follow us, the king's military advisors.”

“We have five thousand, maybe more, northern troops,” said Calran more forcefully. “As good troops as there are in your brother's army. And the men with your brother, they'll come over to our side when they realize there's a proper king!”

“Waldron bor-Warriman didn't foreswear his oath, Lord Calran,” Sharina said. “Do you think other of your neighbors are more apt to become traitors than he is?”

“It's not treason!” said Bolor. “Valgard's the
true
king.”

“And there're the troops
we
command!” Wilfus called from the rear of the entourage. “Nobody'll dare stand against us, and if they do, they'll get treated like they deserve!”

“Troops!” Calran muttered.

“Valgard's
their
proper king, maybe,” said Sharina. “Not king for a decent man like you, Bolor.”

Valgard, walking beside Hani, turned and smiled at Sharina. “I'm Bolor's king and your king too, mistress,” he said mildly. “As my loyal subjects will prove.”

He was big enough to have been Stronghand's son, and he could've passed for a portrait bust of the former king; but there was no heat in him. It was like looking at an image of fire cut from red silk.

As they walked down the line of tanks, Sharina saw that the fluid within became less cloudy, and the figures within were increasingly well formed. Those near the end looked like men sleeping in a vat of clear water; their chests rose and fell slowly, as though they were breathing. There was a clear similarity from one figure to the next, but they weren't identical any more than Lattus and Calran were.