Marune: Alastor 933 (18 page)

Baron Denzil said: “I will do so, Your Force.”

“A second matter. My friend and confidant Matho Lorcas disappeared during mirk.”

“Many persons disappear during mirk, Your Force.”

“This is a special case, which I must investigate. Baron Erthe, will you be good enough to initiate a search?”

“I will do so, Your Force.”

The aircar conveyed Efraim, Singhalissa, Sthelany, and Destian high over the mountains. Conversation was limited to formal exchanges. Efraim for the most part sat silently looking across the landscape. From time to time he felt Sthelany’s covert gaze, and once she essayed a wan secret smile, which Efraim looked blankly past. Sthelany’s charm had completely evaporated; he could hardly bear her proximity. Singhalissa and Destian discussed their cogences, a common topic during Rhune conversations. Singhalissa, among her other competences, carved cameos upon carnelians, moonstones, chalcedony, and chrysoprase; Destian collected precious minerals, and these particular cogences complemented each other.

The aircar passed above Whispering Ridge. Destian explained the geology of the region: “Essentially a great hummock of diabase broken by pegmatite dikes. A few garnets can be found in the outcrops and occasionally a tourmaline of no great value. The Fwai-chi chip them out and keep them for souvenirs, so I’m told.”

“The Dwan Jar, then, lacks mineral wealth?”

“For all practical purposes.”

Singhalissa turned to Efraim: “What are your thoughts regarding this bit of hillside?”

“It is a delightful site for a pavilion. The fabled whisper is discernible as a pleasant half-heard sound.”

“It would seem then that you have decided to implement the agreement between the Kaiarks Jochaim and Rianlle.” Singhalissa spoke half-musingly, with the air of one reckoning imponderables.

“You state the matter too conclusively,” said Efraim in a guarded voice.

“Nothing is yet determined. I must verify the terms and in fact the very existence of this agreement.”’

Singhalissa raised her fine black eyebrows. “Surely you do not question Rianlle’s word?”

“Decidedly not,” said Efraim. “Still, he may have mistaken the force of the agreement. Remember, an ancient treaty with the Fwai-chi controls the region and may not honorably be ignored.”

Singhalissa smiled her wintry smile. “Kaiark Rianlle might well concede the authority of this early treaty, if in fact it exists.”

“We shall see. The subject probably will not arise; we have been invited to a fęte, not a set of negotiations.”

“We shall see.”

The aircar dropped on a long slant toward Elde, Eccord’s principal village.

Nearby, four rivers had been diverted to create a circular waterway. At the middle of the central island stood Belrod Strang: a palace built of pale gray stone and white enameled timber, with pink, black, and silver banderoles flying from eighteen minarets. By comparison Benbuphar Strang seemed dingy and grim.

The aircar landed before the main gates; the four alighted to be met by six youthful heralds carrying gonfalons and twenty musicians pumping forth a frantic fanfare on their bruehorns.

The new arrivals were conducted to private chambers, in order that they might refresh themselves. The chambers were luxurious past the scope of Efraim’s experience. He bathed in a pool of scented water, then resumed his old garments rather than put on the flaring black gown lined with flame-colored silk which had been laid out for his use. An inconspicuous door led to a water closet and a refectory, where dishes of coarse bread, cheese, cold meat, and sour beer were laid out.

Kaiark Rianlle welcomed the four in his Grand Reception Hall. On hand also were the Kraike Dervas, a tall somber woman who spoke little, and the Lissolet Maerio, reportedly Dervas’ daughter by Rianlle. The relationship could easily be credited; Maerio displayed Rianlle’s topaz hair and clearly modeled features.

She was a person of no great stature, slight and supple, and carried herself with barely restrained animation, like an active child on its best behavior. Her amber ringlets and clear tawny skin invested her with luminosity. From time to time Efraim noticed her watching him with mournful solemnity.

Belrod Strang far exceeded Benbuphar Strang in splendor, though it fell short in that quality expressed by the Rhune term which might be translated as tragic grandeur. Kaiark Rianlle conducted himself with great affability, showing Singhalissa a conspicuous consideration which Efraim thought somewhat tactless.

The Kraike Dervas behaved with formal courtesy, speaking without expression, as if reciting phrases which had become automatic to persons among whom she could not differentiate. The Lissolet Maerio by contrast seemed self-conscious and somewhat awkward. Surreptitiously she studied Efraim; from time to time their eyes met and Efraim wondered how he could ever have been attracted to Sthelany, who during mirk had worked her toy puzzle. A young black wasp was Sthelany, in company with the old black wasp who was Singhalissa.

Rianlle presently took his guests into the Scarlet Rotunda; a twenty-sided chamber with a scarlet carpet under a multicrystalline dome, fashioned like a glittering twenty-sided snowflake. A chandelier of a hundred thousand scintillas hung over a table of pink marble, the centerpiece of which was a representation of Kaiark Rianlle’s projected pavilion on Whispering Ridge. Rianlle indicated the model with a gesture and a quiet smile, then disposed his guests about the table. Into the chamber came a tall man in a gray robe embroidered with black and red cusps; he pushed before him a two-wheeled cart which he stationed near Rianlle, then folded back the top to reveal trays and racks containing hundreds of vials. Maerio, sitting next to Efraim, told him: “This is Berhalten, the Master Contriver; do you know of him?”

“No.”

Maerio looked right and left, lowered her voice so that Efraim alone could hear.

“They say you have lost your memory; is this true?”

“Unfortunately yes.”

“And that is why you disappeared from Port Mar?”

“I suppose so. I’m not certain of all the facts.”

Maerio spoke in a voice almost inaudible. “It is my fault.”

Efraim was immediately interested. “How so?”

“Do you remember that we were all at Port Mar together?”

“I know this to be the case, but I don’t remember.”

“We spoke with an off-worlder named Lorcas. I did something he suggested. You were so stunned and shamed that your reason left you.”

Efraim made a skeptical sound. “What did you do?”

“I could never tell you. I was giddy and wild; I acted on impulse.”

“Did I lose my reason immediately?”

“Not immediately.”

“I probably wasn’t overwhelmed with horror. I doubt if you could shame me no matter how hard you tried.” Efraim spoke with more fervor than he had intended.

Maerio looked a bit confused.

“You must not talk like that.”

“Do you find me so offensive?”

She turned him a quick side-look. “You know better than that! No. Of course not.

You’ve forgotten all about me.”

“As soon as I saw you I began to learn all over again.”

Maerio whispered: “I’m afraid that you’ll go mad again.”

“I never went mad to begin with.”

The Kaiark Rianlle spoke across the table. “I notice your admiration of the pavilion I hope to build on Whispering Ridge.”

“I find the design most attractive,” said Efraim. “It is interesting and well thought out, and could easily be adapted to an alternate site.”

“I trust there will be no need for that?”

“I have conferred with my eiodarks. Like myself they are reluctant to cede Scharrode territory. There are also practical difficulties in the way.”

“All very well to talk of practicality,” said Rianlle, still heavily jovial.

“The fact remains that I have set my heart upon Whispering Ridge.”

“The decision really lies beyond my discretion,” said Efraim. “No matter how much I might wish to oblige you I am bound by our covenant with the Fwai-chi.”

“I would like to see a copy of this covenant. Perhaps it was established for some fixed duration of time.”

“I am not sure that a written version exists.”

Rianlle leaned back in his chair in disbelief. “Then how can you so staunchly affirm its reality? Where have you learned its provisions? Through your own recollection?”

“The Fwai-chi have described the covenant; they are quite definite.”

“The Fwai-chi are notoriously vague. On so tenuous a basis would you thwart the understanding between myself and the Kaiark Jochaim?”

“I would not wish to do so under any circumstances. Perhaps you will supply me with a copy of this agreement that I may show my eiodarks.”

Rianlle stared at him coldly. “I would find undignified the necessity to document my clear recollections.”

“Your recollections are not in question,” Efraim assured him. “I only wonder how the Kaiark Jochaim could bring himself to ignore the Fwai-chi covenant. I must search my archives with great diligence.”

“You are unwilling to cede Whispering Ridge on a basis of trust and cooperation?”

“I certainly cannot make important decisions precipitously.”

Rianlle clamped shut his mouth and swung around in his chair. “I commend to your attention the artistry of Berhalten, who has a novel concept to introduce.”

Berhalten, having completed his preparations, struck a rod with his knee, to sound a reverberant gong. From the passage seven pages in scarlet and white livery ran forth. Each earned on a silver tray a small ewer. Into each of these ewers BerhaIten placed a cylinder of a solid substance, layered in eight colors, whereupon the gages took up tray and ewer and set it before each person at the table. Berhalten then inclined his head to Rianlle, closed up his cart, and stood waiting.

Rianlle said, “Berhalten has discovered an amusing new principle. Notice the golden button on top of the ewer. Press this button; it releases an agent to activate the odorifer. You will be charmed …”

Rianlle conducted the group to a balcony overlooking a large circular stage, constricted to represent a Rhune landscape. To right and left waterfalls cascaded from stone crags, forming streams which flowed into a central pool. A chime sounded, to initiate a wild clamor of gongs and florid bruehorns, controlled by a staccato brazen tone which varied in only three degrees.
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From opposite directions advanced two bands of warriors in fanciful armor, grotesque metal masks, and helmets crested with spikes and barbs. They advanced with stylistic kicks and curious bent-legged strides, then attacked and fought in ritual attitudes to the wailing clatter of martial instruments. Rianlle and Singhalissa, at one side, spoke together briefly. Efraim sat at the far end with Sthelany beside him. Destian conversed with Maerio, his exact profile tilted to advantage. The Kraike Dervas sat staring at the ballet with eyes that seemed not to follow the movement. Sthelany turned a glance toward Efraim which in those uncertain days before mirk might have caused him inner palpitations. She spoke in a soft voice: “Do you enjoy this dance?”

“The performers are very skillful. I am not a good judge of such things.”

“Why are you so distant? You have hardly spoken for days.”

“You must forgive me; I find the effort of ruling Scharrode no easy matter.”

“When you traveled off-planet, you must have known many interesting events.”

“True.”

“Are the folk of the outer worlds as gluttonous and sebal as we tend to believe?”

“Their habits certainty are different from those of the Realms.”

“And how did you regard these folk? Were you appalled?”

“I was in no condition to worry about anything but my own troubles.”

“Ah! Cannot you answer me without evasion?”

“In all honesty, I fear that my casual remarks, should they be reported to your mother, might well be distorted and used to discredit me.”

Sthelany sat back. For several moments she watched the ballet, which now had reached a climax with the entry of the two legendary champions Hys and Zan-Immariot.

Sthelany again turned to Efraim. “You misjudge me. I do not tell everything to Singhalissa. Do you think that I do not feel stifled at Benbuphar Strang? I yearn for new experience! Perhaps you will think ill of me for my candor, but sometimes I constrain myself to prevent outbursts of emotion. Singhalissa glorifies rigid convention; I often feel that convention must apply to others but not me. Why should folk not decorously sip wine together as they do in Port Mar? You need not look at me with such wonder; I will show you that I too can transcend convention!”

“Such occasions might well relieve the tedium. However, Singhalissa would surely disapprove.”

Sthelany smiled. “Need Singhalissa know everything?”

“Very definitely not. Still she is an expert both at conducting intrigues and at sniffing them out.”

“We shall see.” Sthelany gave a breathless little laugh and sat back in her chair. On the stage Hys and Zan-Immariot had fought to mutual exhaustion. The lights dimmed; the instrumental tones descended in pitch and tempo, then became silent, save for a thrilling resonance of softly rubbed gongs. “Mirk!” whispered Sthelany.

Out upon the stage bounded three figures in costumes of black horn and lacquered beetle-back, wearing demon-masks.

Sthelany leaned closer to Efraim. “The three avatars of Kro: Maiesse, Goun, and Sciaffrod. Notice how the champions strive! Ah! they are slain. The demons dance in triumph!” Sthelany turned toward Efraim; her shoulder touched his. “How it must be on the one-sun worlds where day and mirk alternate!”

Efraim glanced sidewise. Sthelany’s face was close; her eyes shone in the stage glow. Efraim said: “Your mother looks this way. Peculiar! She seems neither surprised nor annoyed that we talk in an intimate manner.”

Sthelany stiffened and leaning forward watched the demons stamping the corpses of the dead heroes into the dust, throwing their heads low, tossing. them high, plunging arms low, thrusting them high.

Later, as the four guests took their leave, Efraim had a moment to pay his respects to Maerio. She said, somewhat wistfully, “I did not appreciate that you had become friendly with Sthelany. She is most fascinating.”