The Usurper's Crown (25 page)

I should have stayed awake. I should never have closed my eyes
.

But he had not. Which left only the question of what he should do next.

Carefully, Peshek refolded the missive. “I should slit my own throat,” he muttered to the empty room.

Answering for what he had done before his gods and his ancestors certainly seemed a more attractive option right now than watching Isavalta fall to the hands of a foreign emperor. But he had orders. The question was, which should he disregard — those orders he had just been given or the one order that stood above all others? Should he chase after the empress, and be her guard, would she or no? Or did he obey her and go wait for Avanasy?

Now, my son, I will tell you a great truth about dealing with the nobles
. His father’s voice echoed back to him across the years.
You do what they tell you, but you never, ever get involved in their schemes. They know what they are doing, and you don’t. You are shelter for them, like the walls of the palace. Do the palace walls mix themselves in the doings of their inhabitants? They do not. And you, my son, are surely as smart as a pile of stone
.

So, he had his orders. He would go wait for Avanasy. Avanasy could find the empress in an instant if he needed to. Peshek had no magic in him, and knew no other sorcerer he trusted, and so had no choice.

Vyshko and Vyshemir watch out for her
. Peshek buckled on his sword and knife, and sheathed his knout. He wanted a shave, and food, but what he needed was a canal boat to Biradost, and a fast horse from there.

Be there, Avanasy. Don’t fail us, or I’ll have to spend eternity haunting you for it
.

Chapter Eight

Iakush, the Lord Sorcerer of Isavalta, stood on the balcony of his private apartments in the summer palace of Vaknevos and gazed down the cliffs to the lake. The view was stunning. The lake lay like a great sapphire in the midst of a landscape of emerald velvet. Its breeze freshened all the air, and as summer warmed it would prove to be lusciously cool in the torrid evenings. He always enjoyed the days here.

This day, however, he could not relax. Something was wrong, and he did not know what it was.

First, he had failed. Despite a full day closeted with the Portrait of Worlds, he had not been able to find Avanasy. Working with the Portrait was no easy matter, and required a deep familiarity with its ways, but still, he should have been able to find something. Even Avanasy, with all his cunning, could not have covered his tracks so completely. Now the Portrait was miles away from him, and he would have to find some other way to carry out the empress’s orders.

Wrapping himself in his wounded pride, Iakush had meant to have a private word with Empress Medeoan as they journeyed, to assure her that he would find Avanasy and carry out her will. But he had not been able to see the empress. Emperor Kacha would let none near her curtained litter where it had been placed on the raised deck of the barge, saying she needed complete quiet until the physicians met her at Vaknevos.

“Respectfully, Majesty.” Iakush had reverenced as best he could in the confined aisle of the rocking barge. “I do have knowledge in the healing arts. I may be able to bring her ease from whatever troubles her.”

“I thank you for your concern,” the emperor replied smoothly. “But I believe rest is what will be most beneficial.”

“Majesty …” Iakush began again.

“I have said all I mean to, Lord Sorcerer.”

He had spoken the words mildly, but Iakush had heard them before, and knew better than to pursue the matter any further. So, he reverenced again, and made his way back down to the common benches that he shared with the other members of the Council of Lords. The lords master eyed him, but said nothing, and Iakush was content to have it so.

As he took his place on the padded bench and watched the banks of the canal pass, he noticed who did not travel on the barge. Not one of the empress’s waiting ladies was in evidence. Not even Chekhania, who traveled constantly at Empress Medeoan’s side.

It was then that the first stirrings of disquiet settled into his blood. They stayed with him all the rest of the voyage, and even now, when his room was filled with the cheerful bustle of his servitors setting his chamber to rights and his eyes were filled with the beautiful and tranquil sight of the lake before him. Something was happening, something of which he was not being told, and it was happening too soon after the empress had petitioned him to find Avanasy again to be mere chance.

“Lord Sorcerer?” called his man Cestimir. “My lord, you are summoned.”

Iakush turned. Beside Cestimir stood a boy in a kaftan of royal blue bound with a gold sash. The page boy reverenced and said, “Lord Sorcerer, I am sent to say that the Council of Lords is summoned by His Imperial Majesty, and that your attendance is required.”

At those words, the disquiet that had filled Iakush turned still colder, and yet he could not have clearly said why. Perhaps it was because it was only the emperor who convened the council. That was a thing that had never happened before.

“Tell His Imperial Majesty I will not fail him.”

Again, the boy reverenced, and he hurried away.

Iakush stared at the door as it closed behind the page. Unbidden, memory of Avanasy standing before him in his room in Vyshtavos rose up.

“Why will you not at least look?” Avanasy had demanded.

Iakush remembered how he had waved the imperial tutor’s words away. “Because there is nothing to see.”

“My lord sorcerer.” Avanasy’s voice had strained to remain calm while pronouncing the title. “Clearly, there is something not right. Kacha’s hand, his eyes, the fact that he brings no sorcerer with him, when we
know …
”

“His Highness,” Iakush spoke the two words clearly, “was badly injured in his youth, and his bound-sorcerer will be arriving once the marriage has been made.”

Avanasy had pulled back then. “I did not know this.”

“Lord Avanasy, sometimes I wonder if you do not have an inflated opinion of how much you do know.”

Perhaps Avanasy should have said those words to me
. Iakush turned his slow gaze to Cestimir, who stood ready for any order he might give.

But what order could he give? What provision could he make when he had no idea what was to come? He dismissed Cestimir with a wave to return to the business of unpacking.

What provision could he make? Against he knew not what or whom? A thought came to him, and he almost dismissed it, but the same cold disquiet made him reconsider.

There was a clothing press that Iakush had taken charge of himself during the journey and that had been set down beside his bed. Iakush unlocked it with a silver key and lifted the lid. Leaving his men to continue their chores, he removed his kaftan and his shirt. From the press, he lifted a shirt of blinding white linen. He had woven its cloth with his own hands, then cut and stitched that cloth. He slipped the shirt on over his head, fastening the buttons. Then, he put his kaftan back on, also paying particular attention to how he tied his sash. Only then did he emerge from his chamber and stride down the corridor to the council chamber in answer to the emperor’s summons.

The council chamber of Vaknevos was a long, narrow room with a heavy table placed in its center and chairs on either side. On the low dais at the far end waited two chairs of gilded wood for the emperor and empress. Iakush entered to find the lords master and the emperor already assembled. His cautious gaze swept the room and found it as he remembered it, with one change only. A new carpet spread across the floor. Iakush’s eyes flickered to the other members of the council. Probably none of them noticed. But then, none of them was a sorcerer. They knew about knots and weaving, and all their power, but they didn’t comprehend it in their hands and their souls the way a sorcerer had to. They did not train themselves to notice every piece of cloth, of jewelry or carving that came into their view. They did not automatically try to decipher the pattern they noted, to see if it was a danger, or a hindrance, or perhaps, a help.

This carpet was blue and gold, so it looked very much in place in the imperial council room. Its pattern was nothing so blatant as interlocking circles or diamonds. The gold lines snaked through the bright blue background like the outlines of a maze — seldom crossing, seldom touching, each line involved in its own swirls and waves, and yet all of them held together by the expanse of blue.

It could be magical. It could be complexly and powerfully magical. Iakush felt the soles of his feet begin to itch, and his knees protested the need to bend, to touch it even through the cloth of his pantaloons, as he made the imperial reverence.

“Thank you, Lord Sorcerer Iakush,” said Emperor Kacha. “Sit with us.”

“Thank you, Imperial Majesty.” Iakush stood and backed into the waiting chair, sitting beside weathered, broad, Lord Master Seasta, Master of the Horse.

Emperor Kacha mounted the dais and took his own seat, facing them all, his hands, the strong hand and the weak hand, resting on the chair arms. Still, Iakush found his attention straying to the empty chair beside the emperor.

“I have two pieces of news for you, my lords master, and I desire your counsel,” said Emperor Kacha in his clear, precise voice. “The first is great good news for all of us, indeed for all of Eternal Isavalta. Her Imperial Majesty is with child.”

“But this is wonderful!” cried out Lord Master Tsepier. “Vyshko and Vyshemir themselves must rejoice!”

The other lords master raised their voices in a clamor to let sound their pious delight. Only Iakush sat still. His shirt cuffs had grown tight around his wrists, and the collar pressed close against his neck. Even his sash embraced him firmly.

Iakush struggled to keep his countenance. There was magic here. It was in place at this moment, seeping up from some prepared source to work its maker’s will. That source most likely lay in the new carpet underfoot. Iakush could not help but feel a cold admiration for the sorcerer who sat before that carpet and tied knot after knot, securing his magic and his purpose in a thousand-thousand strands of wool.

But who could be behind this magic? Avanasy? Was this the crime to which the empress had alluded? No. Surely not. If she had known so much, the carpet would not be here …

Then who?

“Our lord sorcerer remains grave,” said the emperor. “He understands the deeper significance of this news.”

Iakush shook himself. Now was not the time for introspection. Now was the time to take careful stock of all the men around him, perhaps the emperor most of all.

“Yes, Imperial Majesty,” Iakush said gravely. “It is not easy for a sorcerer, male or female, to bring forth a child. No part of a sorcerer’s soul touches the Land of Death and Spirit, which is the source of life’s beginning, as well as its end. This severance gives us our magic and our long lives, but it also denies us the ability to pass life on to another. Frequently the females die in the attempt.” That silenced all the lords, and settled them all back into their chairs.

Emperor Kacha nodded, his dark face a very mirror of sober thought. “So Her Imperial Majesty has informed me, and that is the real reason I have called you here, instead of allowing the keeper of the god house to make the first announcement as is customary.” His withered hand waved toward the door. “For the sake of her own health and that of her child, Her Imperial Majesty has chosen to go immediately into confinement. She will correspond closely with her court, of course, and read letters and petitions with great attention, as she has always done, but, she has asked me to say, there will be no more public appearances before she has been safely delivered of our child.”

The laces of Iakush’s shirt drew themselves tight against his chest. He imagined the room thick with magic like some invisible perfume, with all the lords master breathing it in deeply. To what end?

“You will of course deliver our immediate congratulations,” announced fat Lord Master Goriain, Master of the Archives. “Are we to assume His Imperial Majesty will be coordinating the receipt of the petitions?”

“I will, with your able assistance of course, Lord Master Goriain. Your secretaries and scribes will be much required in the coming months.”

“I am here to serve.” His words were echoed by the other lords master, and Iakush knew what spell oozed from the carpet. Belief. Credulity. They would not question this sudden removal of the empress from the public scene, and probably they would not remember that they had not questioned it. In their own memories, they would each have behaved ideally. They would have closely questioned the emperor, satisfying themselves as to the truth and necessity of the situation. If the spell were thoroughly thought out, they might even remember having demanded to see her, and being escorted to her chamber. All that would build itself into their hearts and minds until no doubt remained.

Iakush felt his collar constrict until he had to suppress a cough. Oh, yes. The maker of this carpet was very good, very strong, and very careful. This spell would do at least that much to these men, and perhaps more.

And the purpose it served was Kacha’s.

Iakush felt a burning rage rush through him. He wanted nothing more than to spring to his feet, his knife in his hand, to bring down this man who was doing this thing, who had done the gods only knew what to the anointed empress.

But he could do nothing. He could only sit where he was and continue to listen to every poisonous word.

“Which brings me to the other piece of news which I have,” said the emperor. “We have recently received word through the House Guard of a sorceress abroad in the land. She is mad, they think, or perhaps she is merely bold. She is claiming to be the Empress Medeoan, and making pronouncements in her name. Now, normally, such a thing would be ignored. She’d be picked up soon enough for vagrancy or some fraud, but I like not the timing of this appearance, nor does your empress. She asks me to convey to you how urgently we wish this woman silenced. You will coordinate with the lords master of the magusates, and she will be found and brought here before the lord sorcerer for judgment.” Emperor Kacha leveled his gaze fully on Iakush. “And it will be a stern judgment, my lord, will it not?”