The Sand Prince (3 page)

He rose to his feet and stood next to her. The top of her head came up to the middle of his chest.

"I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Look for me at dinner soon, as usual," he promised her. "These talks back at the Guardhouse can't last that long. They'll send me back very soon." Was she worried? The Eriisai made the best card players he’d ever encountered: you simply could not tell what they were feeling. He found he was actually concerned—the Eriisai ambassador’s absence and his sudden recall back through The Door to Mistra were probably coincidence, but it felt... off.

"I'll miss you." She affected a pout so he could see it. "It's boring without you. Just go and tell those silly old men what to do and come back to me."

They kissed.

"I'll see you soon, Hellne. This will all be over and we'll be together. I promise."

Neither of them could guess how long that would take.

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E
riis City

Three hours later

Under the palace

"Rushta!"
Hellne swore. The stair was dark and she’d caught the heel of her sandal on the hem of her sage and gold brocaded gown. She held the small, glowing chunk of crystal, the only light in the stairwell, higher up, but all it revealed were more stairs cut from dark tan stone, circling down and out of sight. It would have been so much easier, so much more convenient to shimmer to her destination—just think about where you’d like to be, and off you went. But where she was going, one did not simply appear, with or without an appointment. So she lifted her hem a little higher and continued down, down, far beneath the light filled palace she called home. Tonight she had a meeting with the Mage—the Zaalmage, as the chief of their mysterious order was called—and she wanted to make a good impression.

Generally, she didn’t care what sort of impression she made. Hellne was the princess of Eriis, the youngest child, her father’s jewel, and it was everyone else’s job to favorably impress her.

Malloy had impressed her. And now he was gone.

She took a calming breath and gathered herself at the great stone doorway to the Raasth. It appeared to be part of the walls around it, with neither hinges nor handles. She squinted at the door and moved the lighted stone back and forth, looking for a way in. She’d never visited the Mages in their lair before, why would she? They worked their magic in the dark; there were whispers and rumors about their favored ingredients, their unnatural practices. And they only accepted boy demons as students to the Peermage—even the humans on the other side of The Door took girls as novices in their Order, and everyone knew humans were a primitive race.

Malloy hadn’t seemed primitive, though.

As she prepared her best, most placid face, the stone door to the Raasth blew away like smoke, and the Zaal—for who else would be receiving her?—waved her inside. It was dark but she could see a circular room lined with bookshelves rising into the gloom and out of sight, and rows of well-used wooden tables and benches. She thought she saw robed and hooded figures peering out from other doorways on the other side, but it was dark and they were quickly gone. She wouldn’t begrudge them; the brothers of the Raasth never came out into the daylight, and who knew when they’d last seen a woman, much less a princess? Let them look, she knew they, at least, wouldn’t talk.

As she stood before the Zaal, she was somewhat disappointed to see a rather ordinary looking old demon, more white hair than black, and the typical tilted red eyes in a lined face. He looked like her father, if her father never went outside. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting; something more exotic; horns, or strange round eyes like a human. He bade her sit across from him, and waited for her to arrange her gown around her feet before sitting himself. At least he had some idea of how to behave. And as if to prove he wasn’t a manner-less peasant from the hills, he handed her a silver cup of water, and she took the required three sips before handing it back. Now they could talk.

"Quite a surprise, when you asked to speak with me, Princess. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a breath of wind such as yourself here in our humble Raasth before."

Hellne did not consider herself to be unusually clever—the realm had her older brother for that—but any woman in possession of her own wits could tell when she was being patronized. It was only due to his age and station as Zaal that she made no remark on his speaking first. And she needed his help, she reminded herself. And there was no injunction on shimmering out of this nasty, dark place once she was done. She sniffed. It smelled like dust, and age, and blood.

"Yes. I thank you for agreeing to see me, Zaal. I know the hour is late." She wondered if she could just get to it or if he would want to hear gossip from the world above.

"Princess, I am inclined to think this is not a social call, what with the hour. How may the Peermage be of assistance?"

She gave an inward sigh of relief. "I would ask your help. Something you can do. The Mages can do. I want—I would like you to protect someone. He is very important to me."

"Well," said the Mage, "if he is important to you, he must be vital to the safety and security of all of Eriis. What is the High Seat without its Princess?"

"It’s well tended by my father, and will be occupied next by my brother Araan. As you know." She was an ornament, she knew it, and she suspected he knew it. "This individual is important to me in a way that requires discretion. I can count on the Raasth for that, I trust?"

"Since my brothers have sacrificed their voices for the study of the power of the Word, I think you may rest assured against gossip." He paused and sipped his water. "Who is the lucky boy?" He paused and smirked. "I jump ahead. We do speak of a young man? You did say ‘he.’ It’s not mine to make assumptions..." She gritted her teeth and nodded politely. He continued, "I assume your father doesn’t know you’ve taken a... companion." She colored and he added, "Or perhaps he does know, and that’s why the fellow needs protection." He frowned. "Protection against the High Seat. This may prove to be costly, Madam."

She shook her head. "My father—and my brother—they don’t have anything to do with this. My... friend... has been called away from Eriis. I want to insure he is safe until I see him again."

"You’re having an affair with the ambassador? I didn’t think Preeve had it in him."

She drew back in her seat. "You assume much, Zaal." She was about to correct him, then thought better of it. "I would prefer not to use names unless it’s required by the Powers." She hoped Light, Wind, and Rain would not require her to confess the identity of her lover to this old man, but could instead read his name in her heart. "Can you help me? Can you keep him safe?"

The Zaal cocked his head and rubbed his ear. "Safe is one thing. Alive is another. I can guarantee your friend will remain alive. I can’t promise what condition you’ll find him in." She shrugged. Malloy was young and strong. As long as he lived, she knew he’d find his way back to her side. "I’ll need something your friend has had in his hand."

She reached into the pocket of her gown and drew out a small, flat package wrapped in silk, which she handed over. The Zaal laid back the fabric, revealing a book, bound in heavy paper and with a brightly colored painting of a pair of humans on the cover. It read, in ornate script,
The Claiming of the Duke
by Malloy Dos Capeheart.

"He gave this to me, just this evening," she said.

The Zaal sniffed the bright scrap of silk, and then the book itself, and made a face. "Your friend got this from one of the humans of Mistra, then? And he’s not here in Eriis?" He sniffed at the book again. "Human-made, it stinks of human. Even if it wasn’t in the Mistran tongue, the smell... well, you wouldn’t notice that." He shook his head. "Preeve aims high." Then he fixed a curious eye on her. "Though you did not actually name the ambassador, did you?"

Hellne drew herself up. "Who he is does not matter. Can you insure his life until I see him again? With this?" She indicated the book. She hoped he’d give it back, not that she intended to read it. She’d read enough of the earlier drafts and doubted it had somehow improved. She loved him well enough to encourage his hobby, but that didn’t mean she had to participate in it. But it was Malloy’s gift to her, and the wrapping was pretty, so she wanted it.

"Yes," said the Zaal. "We can guarantee his life. I remind you, only his life. Do you understand?"

Hellne was heartily sick of men telling her what she did or did not understand. So he might take an injury, so what? If trouble should come between the humans of Mistra and the demon kingdom of Eriis, the important thing would be Malloy’s life when the trouble blew away.

She nodded. "I understand. I assume you require a price?"

Here the Zaal laughed, or attempted not to laugh, since that would have been unforgivably rude even if the lady he laughed at wasn’t a princess. He quickly passed his hand over his face. She frowned but let it go.

"Yes, Madam, a price. You are correctly informed. Tonight, all I require is something you will hardly miss. The price will be named in due course. I don’t know what will be charged against you. I don’t know when it will come due. But it will. We do magic, and magic always claims its price."

Malloy, alive and with me
, she thought.
Worth it.
"Please do not attempt to scare me, Zaal. I understand I will eventually have to give up something of value, more than likely at the most inconvenient time."

He nodded, suddenly brisk and businesslike. He led her to the largest thing in the dimly lit room, a circular table marked and scored with grooves and indented here and there with narrow holes. It was ugly. She was glad for the low light, because it was stained and he apparently wanted her to put her hand on it.

The table bit her. She jumped back, surprised, and looked at her hand. The third finger of her right hand, nipped open, just exactly as if by sharp teeth. As she watched, the little mark faded and vanished.

"You are recorded, Princess." He handed her back the book and its wrapper. "Payment will be due."

"But he’ll be safe?"

"Allow me to repeat myself. He’ll be alive. This I say without hesitation. How he comports himself is up to him, safe or damaged, it’s all the same to the charm we just worked."

Hellne had never been so glad to shimmer, using her gift to take her back to her own chambers in one-two-three heartbeats. Her rooms were dark and Yaanda, her Prime maid had long since gone to her own bed, leaving one small stone lit on the bedside table, a slim silver pitcher of fresh water, and Hellne’s feather light silk quilt turned down. Feeling restless and not ready to retire, Hellne went out onto her terrace, taking a moment to trail her hand through a potted lavender plant, crushing the tiny flowers between her fingers. The scent, sweet and fragile, reminded her of Malloy. Malloy, who was now safe.

She went to the low rail and looked out over her city. It was quite dark, both moons had set, and most households had put out their stones. Gazing at the far distant line of mountains, she noticed a smudge on the horizon, dark on dark. It wasn’t the season for rain, but she supposed there was a storm coming in. She sighed and stepped back into her room, throwing her heavy gown on the floor, but then she picked it back up and retrieved her book from the slashed pocket.

Alive, I made sure of it. You’ll be fine and whatever happens, I’ll see you again.
She tenderly kissed the silk wrapped book and hid it in the back of her desk, behind an overflowing dish of necklaces and a jumble of pens, paper, and corked bottles of ink, and went to bed comforted that Malloy would soon be back at her side.

When the storm came, it was made of magic, not rain, and when it had passed, the life and the city Hellne knew were changed forever. Her father was dead. Her brother, like so many others, vanished. The Zaal and all the senior Mages, her father’s council and court, gone. Yaanda, her friends, clan brothers and sisters, gone. More than half the city was rubble and smoke. Her garden was gone, all the gardens were gone. The humans had struck with no warning and left no escape—The Door between the worlds was locked. The surviving demons would live or die as best they could in the sand and ash left behind.

The charm, however, held fast.

––––––––

The Duke rubbed one hand against the other as if his wrist was aching him.

It was an old injury, Cybelle knew, from the days when he'd fought, stripped to the waist and gleaming, in the basements and cellars of Mistra. It was after the War, and she thought he fought against his own memories as much as his unlucky opponents. He never lost. Had he conquered those terrible visions as surely as his opponents? She thought perhaps not.

-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 35

Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)

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M
istra

1 day after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar

Hours later, Eriisai calendar

The Guardhouse

"Nice work my lad." Malloy's friend David slapped him hard on the back, knocking him forward a step. "They said you weren't good for anything but scribbling love poems in your room, but I knew you had some meat in you." The young man paused on the stair leading to the great common room and added, "I hear she didn't suspect a thing. Ha! Classic Malloy."

Malloy followed his friend and the rest of the yawning, joking group of apprentices and novices. He rubbed his head, trying to figure out what David meant. Suspect what thing? And why did everyone think he wrote love poems? He'd told them it was an adventure story often enough.

Still grumbling, he took his seat on one of the benches in the long, dark room. The masters and clerics and tradesmen that came and went took their meals in pleasant rooms with light and air, but their errand boys sat and ate on rough wooden benches in a hall lit by greasy torches. The huge kettle of oatmeal hanging over the grate sent up a nutty smell that made his stomach rumble, despite the throbbing in his temple. He’d had a little too much wine to celebrate the rare night off; he was paying for it now. He'd fallen asleep early and awakened late, but at least he was on time for breakfast.