The Dark Lord (8 page)

Thyatis' eyebrows rose in surprise and she turned in her saddle, staring at the Duchess. "Do not trouble? He is monstrous, foul, a necromancer—the murderer of tens of thousands of citizens! We ride in devastation of
his
making! These things you declared yourself—when you set me upon him, a hound upon his fox, with strict orders to murder him by any means at hand." Thyatis stopped, unable to continue. The enormity of the prince's crimes rendered her speechless.

"I know what I did." Anastasia looked away, out into the night. "It was very foolish. I acted rashly, without consideration. Fear drove me, and you see this"—she lifted a hand—"is the result."

Thyatis reached over and took the reins of the mare. Obediently, the horse stopped, shaking its head in question. The redheaded woman leaned close, her face stricken. "Are you mad? This is the prince's doing—he was on Vesuvius for a reason—he
is
a monster." Thyatis stopped, a suddenly clear, terrible thought forcing its way into her consciousness. "No..."

Anastasia's eyes were still in shadow, but Thyatis felt the pressure of their gaze. "Yes, daughter. You have read the reports from the East; you have listened to the tales of those who escaped. A
thing
has risen up—something inhuman, insatiable, so far beyond the prince's blundering crimes as a man is above the worm. By the gods, child, the entire Eastern Empire has been shattered like a clay cup! The West is still weak, our numbers depleted by plague. Already, we have lost two Legions at Constantinople—"

"Oh, this is foul!" Thyatis ripped the cloak away from her shoulders, suddenly flushed with sweat. Her stallion started to buck, then danced sideways, disturbed by the violent motion. "Now the fair, pretty prince is an ally, a tool, a weapon against the Persians? What of all the Roman dead? Does all this"—her finger stabbed out into the dark—"mean nothing to you? Prince Maxian is a
murderer
—where is Roman justice now? Are you the judge of the twelve tablets?"

"You will be silent!" Anastasia's voice was sharp in the darkness. Thyatis recoiled, and the Duchess rose up in her saddle, face fully visible now, eyes flashing. "I am not a judge, but I have a duty to the Empire, as do you. Emperor Galen accepted his brother's return—in
full
knowledge of what occurred on Vesuvius—and he, and I, find no pleasure in the act. Maxian is terribly dangerous, but he is still a human being. He loves his brother, he loves Rome, and—
look at me!
—we need him desperately. He fought the dark spirit to a standstill, far from home, without any aid or support. Persia will press us—I know this—and we will need the prince and all his power."

Thyatis made to speak, but the grim look on the Duchess' face stopped her cold. "Very well." Thyatis nudged the stallion into motion again. "Very well."

Anastasia's breath escaped in a hiss and the mare began trotting to catch up. "Daughter, listen to me. You saw the wheel of fire, in the Emperor's library? The portal opened upon Constantinople?"

Thyatis nodded, though she did not look at Anastasia. The Duchess sighed, quietly. "There are things I must tell you—here, far from Rome and all its spies—there is work for you, if you will take it up."

"What kind of work?" Thyatis glanced over her shoulder, frowning. At the same time there was a tickling sensation in her stomach, a quickening pulse, the bright spark of interest. "I think I've had enough of the Emperor's business."

"This is not for the Emperor," Anastasia said quietly, her tone somber. "This is for the Archer."

"The Archer?" Thyatis was nonplussed.
Who is the Archer—oh!
"For the goddess?"

"This is Thiran business." Anastasia reined her horse in and motioned for the little light to be doused. Thyatis slid the pole back, then blew gently on the wick. The candle fluttered out, settled to a glowing stub and then died. There was no moon and the desolation was utterly dark. Only the stars glimmered down between silent, rushing clouds.

Anastasia waited, listening, until the night felt still and empty.

"The Daughters of the Archer have a sacred purpose." Her voice was soft in the gloom and Thyatis bent closer, straining to hear. "One part of our task is to ensure certain ancient secrets are not allowed to trouble the world of men. The thing you saw, the wheel of fire, is part of one of those secrets. That device, a
telecast
, is very old. Until I looked upon it for myself, I would not have believed the Emperors of Rome had come into possession of such a... weapon."

"A—" Thyatis felt a finger press against her lips and fell silent.

"I have learned there is—there was—a second telecast in Constantinople. The mechanism allows an adept to look upon faraway places, to see and to hear what transpires there. If two of the telecasts are conjoined, as the prince effected, a man can move swiftly, instantly, from one device to another. Of itself, this is a powerful tool. But there are more than just two of these devices."

The Duchess sighed again, and shook her head, cursing herself for letting such a critical matter escape her attention.
I knew Galen and Heraclius were carrying on secret correspondence! I should have marked its speed, and efficacy, and wormed out this secret... then there might have been time to do something. Before the Prince learned of the thing... before he stepped through the burning door!

"I do not know how many telecasts existed before the Drowning, but there is at least one more, hidden within Thira itself. That telecast has not been used in centuries and I pray it will escape detection. But I fear... I fear the prince and the Emperor will see the great use and advantage in war of these devices and they will seek to find more. If they do, then they may stumble upon Thira itself."

Thyatis laughed, an humorless acid sound. "You will wield one weapon—the prince—but not another? Isn't Rome worth it? What about your duty to the Empire?"

"You are insolent." Anastasia's voice turned cold. "I am a Daughter of the Archer, first, and a servant of Rome second. At the moment, I balance a precarious burden. Listen to me and think upon my words—what is the first edict of the Order? That
no man
ever be allowed to set foot on holy Thira itself. There is a reason, and the telecast held safe there is a great part of it.

"Possession of the telecasts will neither win nor lose this war for Rome, but their use might destroy Thira and the Order. The prince, if he were aware of the Thiran device, could call upon its power and step through, leaping across the leagues in a thought's instant. He would stand inside the depths of the mountain, within a chamber where no man has ever set foot. My sworn duty—
your
sworn duty as a Daughter of the Archer—is to prevent just such an event."

"Why? What will happen?"

Anastasia felt a sinking feeling, hearing the simple curiosity in her adopted daughter's voice. "I will not say," the Duchess said. "It is enough for you to know we must contrive a way to destroy the telecast now in the Emperor's possession and prevent any other such device from ever falling into his hands."

"Of course." The Duchess ground her teeth, hearing the smirk in Thyatis' voice. "Stealing from the Emperor isn't a crime..."

Rain drummed on mossy stone, sluicing down out of a leaden sky. Clouds clung to the mountainside, slowly rolling across the crest of a narrow ridge. Among massive granite boulders, dwarf trees clung to the slope, glossy green leaves pointing downhill. A path wound among the stones, itself a tiny running stream as the sky rumbled and cracked with distant thunder.

A figure appeared out of the mist, head bent, a thin white hand gripping a tall bone-colored staff. Water beaded from a heavy woolen cowl and the woman climbed slowly, exhausted by the steep ascent from the valley floor. Mud beaded on her bare white feet, slipping away from the skin like oil separating from water. The path ended, opening out onto a narrow way surfaced with fitted stones. Fallen limbs and broken stones lay scattered across the road; grass, flowers and long-rooted shrubs grew in cracks between the slabs. No one had dared use the road up the mountain in a long time.

The sky grumbled, flashing intermittently with muted silver light. On the road, the woman made better time, striding wearily along, her will refusing to admit exhaustion, flat tendrils of sleek wine-red hair peeking out from under the hood of her robe.

The road wound around the shoulder of the mountain, rising steeply, then twisted back like a snake and ended in a looming, dark gate of scarred and blackened stone. The peak itself ended in a massive wall of granite and shale rising up into the mist. Once, a heavy gate closed the tunnel mouth, but the portal had been torn away long ago and hurled down the mountainside in anger. Without a pause, the woman strode into the passage, deftly stepping over and around blocks of fallen masonry and a scattering of ancient, rusted metal.

"Children!" The woman's tired voice whispered through the tiny yard beyond the gate passage. Slit windows stared mournfully down into the court. Blooming roses and dark green ivy climbed the walls, slowly eating away at the mortar. A ramp of steps led up onto a battlement on the left and another tunnel opened out to the right. "Attend me!"

The woman grimaced, dried rose-petal lips sliding into a frown.
Where are the wretched creatures?

Standing in the shelter of the tunnel mouth, she flipped back her hood, revealing an elegant pale neck and colorless eyes. Despite the humidity, her hair did not tangle or run riot, but swept behind her head and over her shoulders like a bird's wing.

"If you do not come out to greet your Queen," she said, voice rising and carrying over muted thunder, "I shall come into this house and root you out, each and every one."

The soft padding of feet whispered out of the nearby tunnel. Yellow eyes flickered in the darkness, first one, then a dozen. A musky smell suffused the air and the Queen nodded, tucking the staff under one arm. "Come here, children, let me see you."

Something like a wolf, but with a longer, rangier body and larger head loped out of the tunnel and sniffed the Queen's feet. She smiled, teeth white in the dim light, and the creature whined and licked at her hands. Three more of the creatures slunk out of the tunnel, heads low, tails dragging on the cobblestones. The Queen laughed and pulled their ears and whispered to them, growling deep in her throat. At the sound—a merry greeting in their rough language—men and women crept out of the tunnel. Their hair was long and sleek, their tunics and shirts and woolen trousers simple and unadorned. They too bowed before the Queen.

"You are a ragged lot," she said, looking them over with a sharp eye. Rain continued to spatter out of the sky, but she ignored the soft mist beading on her porcelain skin as she went among her children. With care, the Queen examined their teeth, poked a long blood-red nail into their ears checking for mites, ran fine thin hands over their pelts, growled and bit at them. At last, she seemed satisfied. "Take me to my things, you rascals."

Grinning wolf grins, long red tongues lolling, the creatures coursed around her, leading the way into the depths of the old fortress. They did not howl or bay, but ravens and crows nesting in great numbers under the eaves of the castle fluttered up in a black cloud, cawing and wheeling in the dim white mist.

High above the storm, day reigned, the sun smiling down on a vast sweep of mountains buried in cloud.

The Queen stood at a window high on the side of the ruined fortress, looking out upon the surrounding peaks. The rounded granite helmets were bathed in sunshine. The storm had settled down into the lower valleys, drenching the little human farms and towns. Here, among the summits of the ancient peaks the air was pure as crystal. Below, in the courts and passages of the castle, there were intermittent sounds of banging and hammering. The Queen made a half smile. Her children needed pointed direction to complete complicated tasks.

The great ravens and crows nesting in the broken towers were far more willing to abide by her will—quartering the bright sky and spying on everything moving among the rumpled peaks and steep-sided valleys. The Queen was pleased with her refuge, a desolate, isolated land widely accounted to be worthless and hard.
Suitable... suitable for a long rest,
she thought.

"O Queen?" A gruff, rumbling voice intruded on her contemplation. Herrule stood at the door, massive shoulders brushing the stone frame on either side. "There is a man at the gate. He wishes to speak with you."

"Is there?" The Queen's eyes narrowed to slits, glittering like pearls. "Bring him to me."

The room was little more than a shell, with three mossy walls and a partial roof. At some distant time, a terrible fire had raged through the entire fortress, cracking the foundation stones and destroying anything supported by wood. Still the outer wall of the chamber remained and the simple arched shape of the remaining window pleased the Queen. Through its vantage, she saw the world framed and confined. She had not walked openly in the sun for a very long time—that would not have been prudent in her previous domicile—and the vast sweep of the world was dizzying.

"O Queen? Your guest, the man Shemuel." Herrule's voice rolled and rumbled and the Queen nodded, turning to look upon her visitor. The big Walach stepped out of the door and a small, round-shouldered man stepped into the room, his face rigid with tension. Graying curly hair hid under a small cap and a heavy dark wool cloak lay over his shoulders. His body showed the effort of climbing the mountain—shins caked with mud, an exhausted tremble in his hands—but his eyes were bright and aware. The Queen made a polite bow. She knew how the daywalker male felt.

"Good day,
rev
. Please, sit and take your ease. Herrule! Bring us wine, bread, something to eat." The Walach, still looming in the doorway, nodded and disappeared down the stairs.

The Queen remained standing by the broken wall, one slim hand on the windowsill.

"Why have you come to this place?" Shemuel's voice rasped—he was still breathing heavily from the climb. With an unsteady hand, he sat on a stone bench along the inner wall. "What is your business here, on this cursed mountain?"