Lance of Earth and Sky (The Chaos Knight Book Two) (9 page)

“And your fellow directors—did they know about this ‘price’?”

“The directors were unified behind the cause of moving our world into its next great stage,” Justinian said. By now he had cleaned his plate; Vidarian's remained untouched.

“You didn't answer my question.”

Justinian's pale eyes suddenly became flat and serious. “Let's not be naive, sirrah. Truth be told you did me a great favor, upending the Court like that. And I know my compatriots,” his lip curled, ever so slightly, but the harshness in his voice was almost a kind of regret. “I held knowledge they did not, and I won our little gamble of world-changing events. They lost, and I am due the spoils. Things are as they should be.”

“And now?” Vidarian gestured with his teacup at the porcelain mask.

The look that came over Justinian then was part cleverness, part victory, and part ecstasy: a wild kind that he had last seen in those who claimed to follow the chaos goddess. Destruction inevitably resulted. “Now—I have ascended.” He wiped his fingers on a linen napkin and took up the mask again, tracing its painted eyebrows. “Our world is in shift, and these shifts have always seen the Company at its best. Now, though—” he cradled the mask between his two hands, running his thumbs along its cheeks as if to smooth it. “Now we wield the power to shape an entire age.” He looked up. “An age in which you play an important role, Vidarian.”

Even as he knew the familiarity of his given name was meant to agitate him, Vidarian had to work to contain the swell of outrage that lit in his chest. He stared at Justinian, and said nothing.

“Do you know why elemental magic faded from the world, until you opened the gate, Vidarian?” Justinian's voice was quiet, and still he looked at the mask, not across the table.

“The absence of the Starhunter—” Vidarian began, but knew his uncertainty to be obvious. None of the priestesses, or the gryphons, had ever answered that question.

Justinian shook his head ever so slightly, but enough to interrupt. “Population,” he said, and now he looked up, lifting the mask to point at the overgrown greenery. “Human populations. Gryphon populations. Sentient populations—growing, thriving—blocking out the light.” He looked back at Vidarian, and his eyes, old, but too young for the thoughts behind them, were piercing. “The Starhunter opens up the elements, channels energy between them, refreshes them—but only for a while. She is not a solution.”

Vidarian pushed himself to his feet, suddenly aware of where Company logic would lead this line of thought. He wanted no part of it.

But Justinian rose also, smoothly, as if he'd intended to all along. “Imagine a world without suffering,” he said, reaching across the table to pick up one of the glowing blue lights. He set it behind the porcelain mask, causing eerie blue light to pour from its glass eyes. “Imagine this garden, properly pruned, where sunlight touches every leaf, and every plant flowers and fruits.”

A dull rumble sounded from the ground below their feet, and Vidarian jerked, looking for its source. When he returned his attention to Justinian, the man was smiling again—and holding out his hand to an adjacent alcove.

“Right on time,” Justinian said, and started in that direction. “Follow me.”

V
idarian followed Justinian, not because he wanted to, but because it would be dangerous to do otherwise, in more ways than one. He needed to know what Justinian's survival meant—and why Oneira and the emperor had no knowledge of it.

In the next alcove, the primly dressed young man who had summoned Vidarian to the Arboretum waited beside an iron-handled trapdoor set into the floor. At Justinian's gesture he hauled it open, and the older—Vidarian tried not to dwell on how
much
older—man immediately trotted into the opening.

A set of steep and tightly winding stone stairs followed, and they would have been in darkness almost immediately if not for the small glass cube that Justinian produced from a pocket, which glowed blue as soon as he breathed on it. “The last Alorean grand enchanter favored blue, and so nearly all our remaining artifacts glow thus,” he said in an aside, “I'll give you that tidbit for free.”

The stairs ended at a blank wall. Justinian set the glowing cube on a nearly invisible ledge at the wall's center, and streaks of light immediately spidered out from it. When the light reached the four edges of the wall, the stone contracted, melting away from its center until there was nothing left but a kind of thick, glowing threshold.

Despite gryphons, despite his own elemental magic, Vidarian's heart quickened at the sight of such magic. Justinian wielded no magic of his own—Vidarian was sure he would have sensed it—and yet these devices, and his knowledge of them, allowed him tremendous power. In his wonder and astonishment at the skyship, he had never considered the existence of other enchanted devices. How many now were at work in the world? And how many more were waiting to be found?

All this swirled in his head as Justinian crossed the threshold, leading the way into a chamber lit at four corners and ceiling with more elemental lights, each of these in a different color. The diamond-white light above them seemed to be a smaller replica of the Arboretum's sun-sphere, and it cast a clear, gentle light down on a man encased in intricately engraved copper armor lying atop a massive stone slab.

A shiver of superstitious anxiety trickled up Vidarian's spine—clearly this was a tomb. He cursed himself for not knowing more imperial history; he hadn't known of the existence of the Arboretum, much less who might be buried beneath it.

Then the armored man sat up.

Vidarian reached for a sword he wasn't wearing, and then lifted his hand, all unthinking, a shield of water energy flaring out around his fingers. His bruised senses shrieked a complaint at such sudden use, but pure instinct had driven him, and couldn't now be taken back.

Justinian looked from Vidarian to one of the glowing lights, a turquoise-green one, which now flared brighter than the other three. He lifted an eyebrow, but turned toward the stone slab without comment.

The sitting man was turning his head to look around, and several things about him became apparent, chiefly: he was covered with glowing lavender gems, he radiated complex elemental energy, and he was not human. It took Vidarian several moments to reconcile this last, but upon close inspection it was obvious: the hinge-points at his arms, knees, and neck were far too thin to be covering flesh and bone. He wasn't wearing armor—he
was
the armor.

“You're Iridan, if my readings are correct,” Justinian said.

“
I am,
” the metal figure said, head swiveling toward Justinian to fix him with glowing lavender eyes. His voice was inside and outside of Vidarian's head at the same time, the meaning of his words so immediate that Vidarian could not have said what language they were in. It was disconcerting, to say the least. “
I apologize for my ignorance—I don't believe we are acquainted?
”

Vidarian's heart beat faster at the—creature's?—eloquence, but Justinian took it in stride. “It is not ignorance, my dear friend,” he said, and Vidarian would have bet money on the sincerity in his voice, “you have been asleep for just over a thousand years.”

Iridan drew back, the joints along his arms and shoulders rattling. “
Yet that would mean…I recall…Parvidian bringing me here, I was so very tired…tell me, is he…?
” The lavender lights flickered as he stared at Justinian.

“The Grand Artificer, I am sorry to say, left us about two decades after your sleep.” At this the metal man's shoulders shuddered again, but he did not speak, his head turning stiffly to regard his hands. Grief rolled out of him, radiating from that strange hybrid of telepathy and speech. “I am deeply sorry to wake you to such terrible news,” Justinian said, stepping closer to Iridan, and now his voice and body language were all caution and care. “And I must ask you, Iridan, if you know the whereabouts of your brother and sisters?”

The copper head turned back toward Justinian, lavender eyes flaring and dimming. “
My brother and sister—were away from the imperial city when last I woke. Do you know if they have yet awakened?
”

Justinian watched Iridan, giving no sign he had heard the metal man claim only one sister. “We do not yet know,” he said, and again his voice was heavy with sympathy, “but had counted on your assistance in finding them. Before this, though,” he turned and gestured to his assistant, who lurked in the doorway, “let us see to your comfort, and repair, if need be. Your joints must be feeling the effects of your long sleep.”

Iridan lifted one of his hands, and in the glow of the elemental lights Vidarian could make out the intricate gears and curls of wire that formed it. The hand opened and closed, glittering.

*
Miraculous,
* Ruby murmured, stirring so suddenly from her long silence that he jumped. *
Only four were made…
*

What?
Vidarian thought. But no answer came. He reached out with his mind, flailing, trying to reach Thalnarra or Isri. He had virtually no ability to speak of, but beyond that, this room was strange; where previously he had been aware of Isri's general location, thanks mostly to
her
skill, now it was as though this room was sealed off to the outside, as surely as if they'd been separated by a thousand feet of stone.

“
I would be quite grateful,
” Iridan said, and Justinian moved forward to place his hand on the copper shoulder. Did a creature of metal sense touch, Vidarian wondered—but the emotion that echoed with strange clarity from Iridan was appreciation for the gesture, nonetheless.

Then Justinian turned toward the doorway, motioning Vidarian after. The assistant passed them, moving for Iridan, carrying a steaming porcelain bowl, rags, and a flask of oil. Vidarian followed Justinian back up the stone staircase.

They emerged into the shaded alcove, pale white light filtering down through the trees. Justinian went back to the table, picked up his mask, and fitted it gently to his face. He turned back toward Vidarian, solemn beneath the painted smile. “You have begun this,” he said.

An imperial summons reached Vidarian before he could retreat back to his rooms. The emperor planned to ride in the acres of parkland north of the palace, and wished for Vidarian's company. He wasn't dressed for riding, but was told a coat and boots would be waiting for him at the imperial stables.

The coat—imperial black and gold—fit with the same uncanny accuracy as the rest of the clothing, betraying Renard's hand. The boots less so, but serviceable, and waiting with them was a stablehand and a saddled black gelding. Being only the second horse Vidarian had ever ridden in his adult life, this one, called Aluhaar, reminded him of Feluhim, also night-black, also Irivedian, an Ishmanti breed long in favor with the imperial court.

His muscles cried out in complaint when the stablehand helped him into the saddle, and he landed awkwardly, earning flattened ears and a dissatisfied snort from the fine horse. The stablehand looked him over dubiously from beneath a mousy forelock, her hands moving automatically to calm the gelding, but led him out to the trailhead nonetheless. Eager to prove he wasn't a total tyro, he picked up the reins and rode ahead, thanking her with a wave.

The emperor was waiting, looking out over the low brush, just beyond the first bend in the trail. Vidarian wasn't sure whether to interrupt his contemplations, but Aluhaar decided for him, whickering as he caught scent of the emperor's horse and breaking into a trot—sensing with the strange wisdom of horses that Vidarian's inexperience meant he could take charge.

When they drew close, a familiar but shocking bark revealed what the emperor had been watching so closely: Rai, the wolf pup, launched out of the brush, and this time Aluhaar squealed and pranced, threatening to both unseat Vidarian and stomp the little predator.

Before either could happen, the emperor kneed his own mount close and reached across to grab Aluhaar's reins just below the chin. With his head restrained, and the other horse so near, the gelding rolled his eyes at the wolf, ears flat, but settled down. Rai, on the other hand, danced excitedly, barking—and then dashed back into the brush before Vidarian could correct him.

“My apologies,” the emperor said, gradually releasing Aluhaar as the horse settled, “for both the surprise ride, and bringing your little—companion. I thought he might enjoy the park, and it would give my stewards a bit of a respite.”

Embarrassment and panic rippled through Vidarian in turns. Of course the palace servants would not have restrained their complaints, particularly with how often Rai had been left unattended…

“Please, Captain, I truly mean no critique,” the emperor said, his pale eyes gentle with concern. “I drag you into the heart of Val Imris unprepared, and you come to find the world has changed even more than you thought. Am I correct?”

“You are, your majesty,” Vidarian agreed, striving to keep the dismay out of his voice, “though the responsibility for all this is mine.”

“You give yourself too much credit, my friend,” he said, but again the gentleness in his words removed all sting. The emperor kneed his mount closer again, looking Vidarian closely in the eye—searching, he thought. “I do not believe that any of us can escape our destinies. Nor should we linger unto paralysis on the strange times we find ourselves in. It is certain that the world will demand the best of us.”

Vidarian met the emperor's gaze, marveling again at how so young a man, confronted with, as he said, such strange times, could maintain such an even keel.

*
He speaks truth, or thinks he does,
* Ruby offered, breaking the silence she'd inhabited since witnessing Iridan.

How do you know?
Vidarian thought.

*
Years of trade alliances with far better liars than either of you.
*

It was a relief to hear something of the “old” Ruby again, and Vidarian smiled.

The emperor smiled back, and indicated the trail. “Shall we ride?”

“Lead on, your majesty, and I will follow.”

A surprised pleasure caught the emperor's face then, a mask pulled down, and for a moment they were only two men, gratitude rendering them equals.

They turned the horses down the path, and once the emperor took the lead, Aluhaar gamely followed. For a moment Vidarian worried that Rai was gone, but the pup tracked their progress, racing across the trail every hundred steps or so only to disappear back into the brush again. Both horses, after touching noses with the pup on one of his visits, decided that he was no threat and proceeded to ignore him entirely. Presently they rode into a copse of trees, their thin leaves golden, white branches carefully trained to arc over the trail to form a living tunnel.

“It's a heavy task I ask of you, Captain, but we need not weigh down our excursion with business,” the emperor said, leaving a note hanging of what he would rather discuss.

Vidarian could guess at it, and Ruby clucked sardonically in his head. “My friend, the lady Calphille, seemed quite taken with your majesty,” he ventured, and knew he'd struck true when again the mask of office slipped free of the emperor's face for just a moment.

“You know more of her than I do. Is it true she knows nothing of cities?”

“Her people…come from a small holding far to the south, beyond the Windsmouth,” Vidarian said, hoping his voice did not betray him.