Fire Sea (35 page)

“The man's friend, the one who killed the dead, denied the report.”

The dynast looked up from his reading. “Denied it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. He said he knew that his friend, whom they called ‘Haplo,’ was alive.”

“He
knew
it, you say?” The dynast exchanged glances with the Lord High Chancellor.

“Yes, Sire. He seemed quite firmly convinced of the fact. It had something to do with a dog—”

His Majesty was about to say something, but the Lord High Chancellor raised a finger in a warding, albeit highly respectful, manner.

“Dog?” Pons asked. “What about a dog?”

“A dog entered the room while I was there. It went up to the stranger, whose name is Alfred. This Alfred appeared quite pleased to see the dog and he said that now he knew Haplo wasn't dead.”

“What did this dog look like?”

Tomas thought back. “A largish animal. Black fur, with white eyebrows. It's very intelligent. Or seems so. It … listens. To conversations. Almost as if it understood—”

“The very animal, Sire.” Pons turned to Kleitus. “The one that was thrown into the boiling mud pit. I saw it die! Its body sucked down beneath the ooze.”

“Yes, that's exactly right!” Tomas appeared amazed. “That's what the duchess said, Your Majesty! She and the duke couldn't believe their eyes. The duchess Jera said something about the prophecy. But the stranger, Alfred, denied most vehemently that he'd had anything to do with it.”

“What did he say about the dog, how it came to be alive?”

“He said he couldn't explain, but if the dog is alive, then Haplo must be alive.”

“Exceedingly strange!” murmured Kleitus. “And did
you find out, Tomas, how these two strangers managed to make their way to Kairn Necros?”

“A ship, Sire. According to the duke, who told me as I was leaving, they arrived in a ship which they left docked at Safe Harbor. The ship is made of a strange substance and is, by the duke's ac count, covered with runes, much like the stranger Haplo's body.”

“And what do the duke and duchess and the old earl plan to do now?”

“They are sending, this cycle, a message to the prince's people, telling them of their ruler's untimely death. In three cycles’ time, when the resurrection is complete, the duke and duchess plan to rescue the prince's cadaver and return him to his people and urge them to declare war on Your Majesty. The earl's faction will join with the people of Kairn Telest.”

“So, in three cycles, they plot to break into the palace dungeons and rescue the prince.”

“That is true, Sire.”

“And you offered them your willing assistance, Tomas?”

“As you commanded me, Sire. I am to meet with them this night, to go over the final details.”

“Keep us apprised. You run a risk, you know that? If they discover you are a spy, they will kill you and send you into oblivion.”

“I welcome the risk, Sire.” Tomas placed his hand over his heart, bowed low. “I am completely devoted to Your Majesty.”

“Continue your good work and your devotion will be rewarded.” Kleitus lowered his eyelids, resumed his reading.

Tomas looked at Pons, who indicated that the interview was at an end. Bowing again, the young man left the library alone, escorted through the dynast's private chambers by one of the servant cadavers.

When Tomas was gone and the door shut behind him, Kleitus looked up from his book. It was obvious, from the staring, searching expression, that he hadn't seen the page lying open before him. He was looking far away, far beyond the cavern walls surrounding him.

The Lord High Chancellor watched the eyes grow dark and shadowed, saw lines deepen in the forehead. A tingle of apprehension knotted Pons's stomach. He glided nearer, treading softly, not daring to disturb. He knew he was wanted, because he had not been dismissed. Approaching the table, he sat down in a chair and waited in silence.

A long time passed. Kleitus stirred, sighed.

Pons, knowing his cue, asked softly, “Your Majesty understands all this: the arrival of the two strangers, the man with the runes on his skin, the dog that was dead and is now alive?”

“Yes, Pons, we believe we do.”

The Lord High Chancellor waited, again, in silence.

“The Sundering,” said the dynast. “The cataclysmic war that would once and for all bring peace to our universe. What if we told you that we didn't win that war as we have so fondly assumed all these centuries? What if we told you, Pons, that we lost?”

“Sire!”

“Defeat. That is why the help that was promised us never came. The Patryns have conquered the other worlds. Now they wait, poised, to take over this one. We are all that remains. The hope of the universe.”

“The. prophecy!” Pons whispered, and there was true awe in his tone. At last, he was beginning to believe.

Kleitus noticed his minister's conversion, noticed that faith came rather late, but smiled grimly and said nothing. It wasn't important.

“And now, chancellor, leave us,” he added, coming out of his momentary reverie. “Cancel all our engagements for the next two cycles. Say that we have received disturbing news concerning the hostile enemy force across the Fire Sea and that we are making preparations to protect our city. We will see no one.”

“Does that include Her Majesty, Sire?”

The marriage had been one of convenience, meant to do nothing more than maintain the dynastic rule. Kleitus XIV had produced Kleitus XV, along with several other sons and daughters. The dynasty was assured.

“You, alone, are excepted, Pons. But only in an emergency.”

“Very good, Sire. And where will I find Your Majesty if I am in need of counsel?”

“Here, Pons,” said Kleitus, glancing around the library. “Studying. There is much to be done, and only two cycles in which to do it.”

CHAPTER
27
OLD PROVINCES,
ABARRACH

T
HE TIME PERIOD WAS KNOWN AS THE DYNAST'S WAKING
hour and, although the dynast himself was far away in the city of Necropolis, the household in Old Province was up and stirring. The dead had to be roused from their slumber time state of lethargy, the magic that kept them functional renewed, and their daily tasks urged on them. Jera, as necromancer in her father's house, moved among the cadavers, chanting the runes that brought the mockery of life to the servants and workers.

The dead do not sleep, as do the living. They are told at slumber time to sit down and not move about, for fear of disturbing the living members of the household. The cadavers obediently take themselves to whatever out-of-the-way spot can be found for them and wait, motionless and silent, through the sleeping hours.

“They do not sleep, but are they dreaming?” Alfred wondered, regarding them with wrenching pity.

It may have been his imagination, but he fancied that during this time when contact with the living was forgone, set aside until the morrow, the faces of the dead grew sad. The phantasm shapes hovering over their physical husks cried out in despair. Lying on his bed, Alfred tossed and turned, his rest broken by the restless sighs of whispered keening.

“What a quaint fancy,” said Jera, over breakfast.

The duke and duchess and Alfred dined together. The
earl had already broken his fast, she explained apologetically, and had gone downstairs to work in his laboratory. Alfred was able to obtain only a vague idea of what the old man was doing, something about experimenting with varieties of kairn grass to see if he could develop a hardy strain that could be grown in the cold and barren soil of the Old Provinces.

“The moaning sound must have been the wind you heard,” Jera continued, pouring kairn-grass tea and dishing up rashers of torb.
¹
(Alfred, who had been afraid to ask, was vastly relieved to note that a living female servant did the cooking.)

“Not unless the wind has a voice and words to speak,” Alfred said, but he said it to his plate and no one else heard him.

“You know, I used to think the same thing when I was a child,” said Jonathan. “Funny, I'd forgotten all about it until you brought it up. I had an old nanny who used to sit with me during sleep-time and, after she died, her corpse was reanimated and, naturally, she came back into the nursery to do what she'd always done in life. But I couldn't sleep with her in there, after she was dead. It seemed to me she was crying. Mother tried to explain it was just my imagination. I suppose it was, but at that time it was very real to me.”

“What happened to her?” Alfred asked.

Jonathan appeared slightly shamefaced. “Mother eventually had to get rid of her. You know how children get something fixed in their minds. You can't argue logically with a child. They talked and talked to me but nothing would do but that nanny had to go.”

“What a spoiled brat!” said Jera, smiling at her husband over her teacup.

“Yes, I rather think I was,” said Jonathan, flushing in
embarrassment. “I was the youngest, you know. By the way, dear, speaking of home—”

Jera set down her teacup, shook her head. “Out of the question. I know how worried you are about the harvest, but Rift Ridge is the first place the dynast's men will come searching for us.”

“But won't this place be the second?” Jonathan inquired, pausing in his eating, his fork halfway to his mouth.

Jera ate her breakfast complacently. “I received a message from Tomas this morning. The dynast's men have set out for Rift Ridge. It will take them at least a half cycle's march to reach our castle. They'll waste time searching, and then another half cycle's journey back to report. If Kleitus even cares about us anymore, now that he has this war to fight, he'll order them to come here. They can't possibly arrive in Old Provinces before tomorrow. And we're leaving this cycle, once Tomas returns.”

“Isn't she wonderful, Alfred?” said Jonathan, regarding his wife admiringly. “/ would have never reasoned any of that out. I'd have run off wildly, without thinking, and landed right in the arms of the dynast's men.”

“Yes, wonderful,” mumbled Alfred.

This talk of troops searching for them and sneaking about in the slumber-time and hiding completely unnerved him. The smell and sight of the greasy torb on his plate made him nauseous. Jera and Jonathan were gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Albert lifted a largish piece of torb off his plate and slipped it to the dog, who was lying at his feet. The treat was graciously accepted, with a wag of the tail.

After breakfast, the duke and duchess disappeared to make arrangements for the night's decampment. The earl remained in the laboratory. Alfred was left to his own dismal company (and that of the ever-present dog). He wandered the house, and eventually found the library.

The room was small and windowless, light came from glowing gas lamps on the walls. Shelves, built into the stone walls, housed numerous volumes. A few were quite old, their leather binding cracked and worn. He approached these in some trepidation, not certain what he feared finding; perhaps
voices from the past, speaking to him of failure and defeat. He was vastly relieved to see that they were nothing more alarming than monographs written on agricultural topics:
The Cultivation of Kairn Grass, Diseases Common to the Pauka.

“There's even,” he said conversationally, glancing down, “a book on dogs.”

The animal, hearing its name, pricked its ears and thumped its tail against the floor.

“Although I bet I wouldn't find mention of anything like you!” Alfred murmured.

The dog's mouth parted in a grin, the intelligent eyes seemed to be laughing in agreement.

Alfred continued his desultory search, hoping to come across something innocuous to occupy his mind, take it away from the turmoil and danger and horror surrounding him. A thick volume, its spine lavishly decorated in gold leaf, caught his eye. It was a handsome work, well bound and, although obviously well read, lovingly cared for. He drew it out, turned it over, to see the cover.

The Modern Art of Necromancy.

Shuddering from head to toe, Alfred attempted to place the book back on the shelf. His trembling hands, more clumsy than usual, failed. He dropped the volume and fled the room, fled even that portion of the house.