D & D - Red Sands (34 page)

"You do not eat," Marad said to Phraxa.

"My art allows me only the simplest foodstuffs. This repast is too opulent for me," he said, jadira wondered how simple his diet could be; he was at least a talent heavier than Tamakh.

When the choice part of the venison had been consumed, Frolder ordered the servants and guards from the room. He pushed himself back from the table and stood up.

"Let the entertainment begin," he said.

Jadira stared at her plate. She looked from Frolder to Phraxa and in a flash understood what was happening. "We're poisoned!" she exclaimed.

Fu'ad and Marad felt it, too. They jumped to their feet, hands to sword hilts. "What did I tell you, my brother?" Fu'ad said. "Treachery lives only for more

treachery!"

"Peace, peace. You are not poisoned. Show respect for Her Grace," Frolder said calmly. Reminded of the countess, Fu'ad relaxed. He and Marad sat down. For the beautiful lady's sake, he could play the refined gentleman—for a time.

"The game will be played thus: I will ask questions, and you will answer, but only with the absolute truth."

"How can you know the absolute truth when you hear it?" said Jadira.

"As you suspected, there was something in the food." Alarmed faces ringed the table. "Not poison, no, no; one of Phraxa's efficacious compounds. When taken, it compels the taker to tell only the truth."

The countess struck the table top with her small fist. She rose and made for the door. She found it bolted from the outside.

"Only my word can open it," said Frolder. He laid a hand gently on her velvet-clad arm. "Will you sit, Your Grace?" Liantha returned to her seat with a crush of crinoline.

"Now, who would like to be first? You, my boy?" He clapped Marix on the back. "Why are you here?"

Marix's face contorted as he tried to fight the effect of the potion. "The seal," he blurted. "I must—retrieve— the seal."

"What seal?"

"The seal of Prince Lydon of Narsia." Marix seized his own throat and tried to throttle the truth spilling from his mouth. "It must be taken to Tantuffa before the conclave on High Summer's Day."

Frolder said to Jadira, "What is your part in all this?"

She threw back her head and replied with pride, "I was a prisoner in Omerabad. Marix and I escaped together."

"What stake do you have in the politics of the Five Cities?"

"None, but I love Marix." When she said that, Marix took his hands from his throat.

Frolder had a cruel thought. "And you—does a son of Fernald return love to a nomad woman?" he asked.

"With all my heart."

The sheriff shrugged, his coup spoiled. He went on. "Tell us, Sir Fu'ad, why are you here?"

"Yni know why!"

"Tell us, gallant Invincible." Fu'ad gripped the edge of the table, but he was not strong enough to resist Phraxa's compound.

"I am afraid of . . . Emir Azrel! He will do terrible things to me if I fail," he blurted. "The emir has a savage temper and knows no mercy."

Marad stared at his captain in astonishment.

"You?" said Frolder. "An officer of the imperial army, afraid?"

"Yes! For my failure, he would pluck out my eyes, strike off my hands, and leave me a crippled beggar in the streets." He shuddered. "That was the fate he inflicted on General Dajal, my first commander, whose failure was less than mine would be. I saw him . . . stinking sores on his knees and flies nesting in his dead eyes! That Azrel had done to a great soldier and a fine commander!"

"So you would do almost anything to get young Marix and his companions back?"

"Not almost anything—anything!"

Smile. "Would you like to add anything, Sir Marad?" Frolder asked.

"Only that I am deeply disappointed that my brother

is so fearful of one man."

Fu'ad gazed at his empty dinner plate and said nothing.

Frolder moved on until he stood behind Countess Liantha. Phraxa licked his hps at the thought of what Frolder would extract from her. The sheriff composed himself a moment, looking with something like fondness at the back of her head. Her smooth black hair was coiffed close to her skull so that every detail, every fine line of her features would show with absolute clarity.

"Your Grace," Frolder began. He paused and said it again: "Your Grace.
You
are widely considered the most beautiful woman in the Five Cities, are you not?"

She nodded once, sharply.

"you think you're beautiful, don't you?"

Liantha twisted in her chair to see Frolder. Eyes blazing, she nodded again.

"The truth is manifest in your face," the sheriff admitted. "So why don't you speak to us? Tell us how beautiful you know yourself to be."

Liantha split the air with a chopping motion of one hand. Frolder stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. "The truth! You must: tell it! Speak the truth to us, Liantha!"

She swallowed, with great difficulty and pain. Faint gurgling sounds issued from her rose-colored lips.

" you must do better. Surely a lady as lovely as you has a voice to make the Mother Goddess jealous. Give us your voice, Countess."

"Leave her alone!" said Marix, sensing her humiliation.

"Be silent, whelp, or I'll ask you worse questions than you can imagine!" Frolder exhaled deeply and let his hands drop to his sides. "Speak, Liantha. Let your voice

be heard."

"Ah-ah-op-od—"

"Is she mute?" Fu'ad asked with the brutal candor of the potion.

"No, she can talk. Are you beautiful, Countess?"

"I-I aayam b-byutuffa." Her voice was a deep, horrid croak. Two glass tracks appeared from the corners of the countess's perfect eyes. Frolder went back to his chair. He sat heavily and drank the last of his beer.

"Let me tell you another story, my truthful guests. The story of a great family, a noble house from the western forests. The founder was a shrewd and cunning warrior who seized for himself an estate in the very teeth of the warlords of Dornwald. He made a fortune trading between the wild north and the settled south. But somewhere along the way, this great man committed a sin. Pride, lust, murder—any of these are likely. The exact nature of the deed was shrouded in secrecy by his descendants. It must have been terrible; great men sin on a great scale.

"The gods, in their wisdom, cursed this man and all his family for generations to come. They stole the great man's reason, and made every offspring of his house be born . . . flawed. The great man's name was Ondrin Breakstone, great-great-grandfather of Count Tedwin."

All eyes were on the countess. She was looking straight ahead, still weeping silently. Frolder continued.

"The heirs of Ondrin earned epithets according to their personal defects. There was Sismann the Blind, Thorlic the Toothless, and the countess's own aunt, Jessi-la the Bald. Other members of the family had even worse deformities . . . strange, ugly specimens without faces, without limbs. Our beloved lord, Count Tedwin, has a clubfoot. He is a rightful descendent of Ondrin Breakstone though, being cleverer than a hundred ordinary men." Frolder extended a hand to Liantha. "And then there was his younger sister. Beautiful Liantha, whose birth was attended by such celebration, as she appeared to be perfect. From babe to toddler, she was coddled and protected as the most precious shoot of the family tree. Then came the time for her to talk—and the curse showed itself. Beautiful Liantha can only croak like a sick frog."

This time, both Fu'ad and Marix leaped up in outrage. Jadira said to Frolder, "Why do you torment her this way? Does it give you pleasure to see her shame exposed to strangers?"

"No. I have pursued Liantha ever since I came to serve Tedwin, six long years ago," he said. His eyebrows rose in surprise at his own candid response.

"\bu do this out of love?" Jadira said incredulously. Frolder's jaw worked. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Yes! I love Liantha more than life!" Frolder finished his declaration and turned to Phraxa. "The potion—I must have swallowed some! But how?"

Phraxa was panic-stricken. "I know not, Sheriff! Perhaps the clumsy kitchen help spilled some in the beer . . ." This idea stayed his tongue. He'd drunk the beer, too.

"Aha!" said Marix. "So now the pike is in the huntsman's belly! Tell me, Sir Frolder, how did you know the Faziris were after us?"

"It was I who arranged the ambush of Sir Kannal's party, four moonturns ago."

"What!"

"I sent a message to Fazir proposing they seize the envoy from Narsia and prevent any alliance between the

Five Cities," said Frolder helplessly.

"Ignorant buffoon! What did you think would happen to Maridanta? What would you do when the Faziris took over the city?" said Jadira.

"I-I would be satrap and rule in Tedwin's place."

The countess covered her face with her hands. Jadira went to her side and pulled them firmly away. "Does your brother know you're here?" she asked. Liantha nodded. "Is he coming to fetch you back to Maridanta?" Another nod. To the sheriff, Jadira snapped, "you plan to murder him, don't you?"

"Yes. Tomorrow, after he arrives."

"And after coercing the countess into marriage, you can claim Maridanta by right as well as treachery," said Marix.

Frolder howled an affirmative. "You clumsy grave robber!" he shouted at Phraxa. ""Vbu've ruined everything!"

"My lord! The count knows nothing of the plot! He will still come, and will die as we planned!" the sorcerer babbled.

"That's not why he's angry," said Jadira. "His evil plot has been exposed to the countess. Now she'll never love him."

"Yes!" cried the sheriff. He reached for the fat magician with his large, battle-strengthened hands. Phraxa tried to put his invisibility charm in his mouth, but Frolder snapped the chain holding the silver disc before Phraxa could get it to his lips.

"You want to be unseen? I'll make you unseen, you fat, bloated, corpse stealer!" So saying, he threw himself on the magician. The two rolled off the edge of the tabie and crashed to the floor. Everyone stood. Before anyone could stop him, Frolder had pried Phraxa's teeth apart and dropped the charm in his gaping mouth. His eyes bulged, his cheeks puffed full to bursting, but the magician couldn't help but swallow. He wavered like a flag on the wind and vanished. The sheriff sank on his knees. "Choke on your own magic!"

"Now!" said Jadira. She and Marix overturned the table. The candles went out and darkness claimed the room. Jadira heard Fu'ad and Marad draw their scimitars. She backed up until she felt the wall behind her. Marix gripped her hand. He found the door latch. It was bolted, but he rattled the handle and shouted for help. The guard outside, alarmed about the disturbance, threw the bolt. In the wink of an eye, Marix had the door open, and he and Jadira were on the guard. Yells and cries from the darkened room alerted the entire citadel. Even as Marix and Jadira fled, they heard the pounding of soldiers' feet converging on the dining room.

A band of soldiers rounded a corner, their naked sword blades gleaming by the light of the wall lanterns. "What are these alarums?" asked a gray-bearded sergeant.

"There!" said Jadira with a wild fling of her arm. "The Faziris attacked Sir Frolder and are trying to seize Countess Liantha for the sultan!"

"Hurry man, save her!" said Marix.

The sergeant waved his men forward. Screams and shrieks rebounded through the wooden halls. The whole citadel was in an uproar, and the pandemonium grew with each new cry. Marix and Jadira came to a crossing of halls. Marix went left, Jadira right. Their arms grew taut, and they snapped back to the intersection again.

"This way!" they said in unison.

"The exit is this way!" said Marix.

"Tamakh and the others are
this
way!" Jadira countered. They went to the right.

The courtyard guards had abandoned their posts to find out what the row was about. Marix and Jadira butted the door with their shoulders. It flew open, and they stumbled into the dark yard.

Clouds obscured the stars, but torches on the log fence lit the scene, jadira went to Tamakh. The priest had slid down to his knees. His head hung forward limply.

"Tamakh," she said, patting his cheek gently. "Tamakh, can you hear me?" He mumbled a bit and his head lolled, but he couldn't respond coherently.

"He's still bewitched," she said. Marix had examined Nabul, Uramettu, and Elperex and found them also still under the spell.

"What do we do?" Marix said. "What can we do?"

Jadira started to speak, but something touched her face. She recoiled. It was just a brush—like walking into a cobweb—but very definite and inexplicable. "Something's here!" she said. "I can't see it, but it touched me!"

"Frolder!"

"Or the necromancer," she said. Though there was nothing to see, Jadira turned a full circle on her heel. "Who are you?"

Something went thunk in the sand. Marix stooped and found a falchion at his feet. He picked up the short, single-edged sword and saw another object materialize at Jadira's feet. It was a squat clay bottle.