Red Tide (37 page)

“And so you see,” the emira was saying, “it was actually Rethell's daughter, Agenta, who was responsible for Imerle's death.”

Wirral wrung his hands. “I trust you do not think the Ruling Council had anything to do with this unsavory affair,” he said. “Rethell was our first speaker, yes, but I have long had suspicions about the quality of his family's bloodline. As for his daughter, Agenta”—he smirked—“I have always regarded her as nothing less than—”

“A hero,” Mazana cut in, her expression grave. “That's what you were going to say, isn't it? What else would you call someone who killed the traitor responsible for sabotaging the Dragon Hunt and murdering the other Storm Lords?”

Wirral's mouth hinged open, his chins wobbling. “Imerle … a traitor?”

“Unless you have a better word for it.”

Mazana was toying with the Gilgamarians, Romany knew, using their ignorance of the events of Dragon Day against them. Already she had had them fawning over the Revenant commander, Jodren, before announcing that he'd spearheaded the attack on Olaire; then clucking their tongues over the near annihilation of the Chameleon population in the city before revealing that the high priest, Caval Flood, had made his own play for power that day. Mildly entertaining, to be sure, but Romany had more important business at hand. Already she had begun the task of spinning a sorcerous web about the Alcazar, and the last few moments had seen a discovery that required her immediate attention.

“If you'll excuse me,” she said to no one in particular. Then she opened the door and stepped through before anyone could object.

Two Gray Cloaks flanked the doorway, and two more were stationed along the corridor. They gave Romany bored looks as she strode between them, but then no doubt mercenaries of their repute considered guard duty demeaning. The priestess passed the door to her own quarters and took a right turn before descending a staircase. The corridors were silent and empty of servants. There was a dustiness to the air that suggested this wing of the Alcazar had not been used for some time.

The passage that was Romany's destination looked the same as all the others. As the priestess entered it, she felt a sensation similar to that which she had experienced in the street outside the temple of the Lord of Hidden Faces in Olaire.
A crossover point between worlds—it has to be.

She halted.

There was nothing in the corridor to suggest a portal was here—no ripple in the air, no subtle variation in the light. But the threads of her sorcerous web were quivering, and she felt a tug like she was edging forward even though her feet remained still. While she could detect nothing of whatever realm lay beyond the portal, her web at least gave her an indication of the size and shape of the gateway: roughly spherical in nature, and extending through the floor, ceiling, and walls to either side.

If she'd known the circumstances in which the portal had been formed, she might have speculated as to who had made it and thus what world lay beyond. Unfortunately, her knowledge of the Alcazar was limited to what she'd been told by Mazana Creed on the walk up from the harbor. Besides, gateways such as this were created by the release of powerful magics, which meant its formation must surely have predated the building. But by how long? Centuries? Millennia?

The only way to find out more would be to open the portal.

Romany considered. Where was the harm in trying? Since she could determine how far the gateway extended, there was no danger of her inadvertently trespassing on the realm beyond. There was still the risk, of course, that someone in the Alcazar might stumble across her while the portal was open. But for now the corridor remained empty, and there was no sound of approaching footsteps—no sound at all, aside from the slamming of a distant door. And if anyone
did
come near, wouldn't her fledgling web give her warning?

Her decision made, she shifted her focus back to the portal. How to go about opening it? She reached out with her senses, met a resistance like she was pushing through a heavy curtain.…

The gateway snapped open, spilling darkness into the passage. Romany stumbled back a pace, almost tripped over her own feet, and had to throw out a hand to the wall to stop herself falling.

Ah, as simple as that.

She smoothed her robe with her hands. With the benefit of hindsight, perhaps she could have been a
little
more circumspect in her questing. She could also have tried to exercise more control over the portal as it opened, for instead of confining it to the corridor she had allowed it to expand through the walls to either side—meaning that if anyone had been resting in the rooms beyond, they were unlikely to be resting any longer.

No inquiring shouts sounded, though, no screams of alarm. And with a touch here and a touch there, Romany was able to shrink the portal to a more manageable size, bounded by stone all about.

No harm done.

Overlying the corridor was the image of a dark, barren plain. There were no twin blue moons that would have indicated the world of the Kerralai demons. Sheets of dust swept across the ground, yet Romany could feel neither the grit nor the wind that stirred it. There was something strange about the movement of the dust. It seemed slow to lift in the breeze, then quick to fall to earth again. Aside from that dust, the priestess saw nothing apart from clumps of swaying grasses and a pile of rocks.

Rocks, great.
As good as a map for pinpointing where she was.

She tried spinning her web through the portal, and the strands passed beyond easily enough. Good news, since it meant she would be able to explore the alien world without having to actually set foot in it. On the other hand, she had no way of knowing how far she'd have to extend her threads before she reached civilization. And then of course she'd have the challenge of trying to identify that civilization without being able to speak the native language. She scowled. And even if she
could
understand the locals, what guarantee did she have that they would know the name of the realm they inhabited? Did Romany know the name of her own world? “Home,” was the best she could come up with, and she suspected that that name was shared by more realms than just hers.

She tutted her disgust. A fine ability this world-hopping was proving to be. Utterly useless, in fact, unless you enjoyed trying to—

A light went off in her head. Perhaps she had been too quick to dismiss her new ability. Perhaps there
was
a use this portal could be put to—a use that was made more valuable by the mystery and remoteness of the world that lay beyond. If, for example, Romany happened to be walking along this corridor with Mazana, what was to stop the priestess opening the gateway and dragging the other woman through? Ordinarily Mazana couldn't travel the portal—only someone with Romany's ability could—but that would change if the priestess seized her arm. And once on the other side, Mazana would have no way of returning without Romany's help. True, the emira wouldn't be dead, as the Spider had wanted, but she might as well be. Plus the priestess wouldn't have to stain her hands with the woman's blood.

She smiled. Were there no limits to the bounds of her genius? No one would ever know where Mazana had gone, or be able to prove that Romany was responsible for her disappearance. In fact, the hardest part of the plan would be finding a way to separate the emira from the executioner and that shadow of a Guardian—

A footfall sounded behind her, and she froze.

Then a man's voice said, “I thought it was you.”

*   *   *

Senar watched Romany spin round. He couldn't have said what had made him follow her when she left the meeting with the Gilgamarians, but he'd plainly been right to heed his instincts. The priestess's hand moved to the hilt of her knife. He thought she would draw it, yet sense prevailed. She'd fought him once before, after all, and come off worst in the exchange.

“I knew I recognized you from somewhere,” he said. “You're the assassin I fought in Olaire. The change to your eyes threw me, but when you opened that portal…” He studied her. “But you died—in the temple of the Lord of Hidden Faces. The Watchman who found you was clear on that point.”

“If I died, then I can hardly be the person you think I am,” the priestess said in her usual scolding tone. Hers was a voice that made you feel small just to hear it. Or smaller in Senar's case.

“Must I ask you to remove your mask?” he said.

“Alas, my faith forbids it.”

“Lucky, then, that I am not a believer.”

Romany sniffed. “You think me an assassin? If I'd wanted to kill the emira, I could have done so a hundred times before now.”

The Guardian glanced at the portal. “But never with such a convenient means of escape at hand.”

“And what makes you think there are no portals in the palace at Olaire?”

Senar moved closer. If he was going to read the woman, he needed to see her eyes, but the shadows cast by her mask's eye slits were too deep. “Two weeks ago an assassin tries to kill Mazana—an assassin uniquely able to open portals that others cannot even sense. Then shortly after that assassin dies, you appear. You, who are sworn to the god whose temple the woman died in. You, who just happen to have the same ability the assassin had.” He waited for Romany's reaction, but she said nothing. “Any more coincidences like that, and I might actually start thinking your Lord exists.”

“I am not the assassin you speak of.”

That was it? That was the extent of her defense? “Then who are you?”

“Just a priestess of the Lord of Hidden Faces. A Lord to whom your mistress is indebted, I might add.”

Senar took another step forward. Romany didn't retreat from him, but she didn't close her portal either. “Really? Because it strikes me your Lord wouldn't have let Mazana kill Fume unless he wanted her to. That she might have done him a favor even as he was doing her one.”

“Fascinating conjecture.”

This was getting Senar nowhere. He could have discovered Romany holding a bloody knife over Mazana's corpse, and she would still have sworn innocence. And probably found a way to blame him for the whole thing too. He pondered his next move. Striking at the woman seemed ill-advised when there was so much going on he didn't understand. Besides, if he drew his sword she could just escape by stepping back through the portal. Maybe it was time to try another line of attack while he had her on the back foot.

“What's happening to Mazana?” he said. “The Founder's Citadel changed her. Or rather Fume did when she took in his spirit.”

“You think the god lives on inside her?”

“Does he?”

“The emira took in part of his aspect, that is all.”

“An aspect that is becoming stronger.”

“And yet an aspect no more or less dominant than her others. The desire for blood can be fought like any impulse.”

“Can it be reversed?”

“No.” Romany hesitated. “But there is something you could do to lessen the impact of the god's sway.”

“What?”

“The dagger.”

“The dagger she took from Darbonna?”

The priestess gestured, and the portal collapsed with a ripping sound, dispelling the darkness in the corridor. Daylight streamed through the windows to Senar's left, branding bright rectangles onto the wall opposite.

“It once belonged to Fume,” Romany said. “Plunge it into someone's flesh, and it will drain every drop of blood in the victim's veins. To Mazana, blood is power. And of course power in the wrong hands is addictive.”

“But if Mazana were to lose the dagger…”

His voice trailed off at the sound of footsteps behind. Had someone followed him, as he had followed Romany? He turned to see Kiapa approaching.

If the Everlord had heard anything of Senar's conversation with the priestess, it did not show in his expression. “Mazana wants you,” he said, drawing up. “Both of you. The Erin Elalese are here.”

*   *   *

As Romany followed Kiapa down the passage, she clenched and unclenched her hands. How could she have been so careless as to let Senar creep up on her? She'd been too fixed on the land beyond the portal and the opportunities it presented. For all her denials, it was clear the Guardian still believed her to be the assassin, and who could blame him? More important, her plan to drag Mazana through the portal was now in tatters, for Senar would never leave Romany alone with the emira. He might even tell Mazana what had happened here.

Would he want her to know they had discussed the knife, though, if he intended to steal it? Would he consider Romany a coconspirator in his efforts to stem Fume's influence?

She'd need to keep a close ear on their future conversations.

The Gray Cloaks standing guard outside the emira's quarters had been joined by two new soldiers.
Erin Elalese.
The men eyed each other with obvious suspicion, and the mood inside Mazana's chambers was no more welcoming when Romany entered. Four Erin Elalese had replaced the two Gilgamarian councilors. Introductions were under way. A rigid, heavyset woman in a soldier's uniform—Tyrin Lindin Tar, the priestess presumed—shook hands with Mazana. Judging by the sting in the women's gazes, they had each already recognized in the other all the qualities they looked for in a mortal enemy.

Such a positive omen for the negotiations to come.

Beyond the tyrin was a slab of muscle in a sleeveless white jerkin, while on this side was a young man with an armory's worth of metal pushed through his face. A Mellikian then, and a water-mage too, going by his blue robes. The final member of the Erin Elalese party was a balding middle-aged man with an assurance to his look that walked the line between confidence and arrogance. As his gaze met Romany's, he graced her with a smile that faltered as he caught sight of something behind her.