The Usurper's Crown (61 page)

The corridors seemed endless, an interminable stretch of painted pillars, gilding and works of art Ingrid could barely discern for the press of the dead. Her resolve ebbed with every step. She wanted to throw herself on the floor with her eyes shut and her hands pressed over her ears. She wanted to scream and scream until someone made these hideous visions vanish.

Then at last, at
last
, the servants stopped in front of a green door painted over with gilded sigils.

“Honored Sir, Honored Lady, in deference to the customs of your nation.” There seemed to be a small deprecative sneer in the voice, but Ingrid could not be sure, her head was reeling so badly. Next to the servant, the ghost of a crone reached out her crabbed hand, trying to pluck at his sleeve, her mouth shaping one word over and over. “We have been instructed to see you housed together,” he was saying. Bowing low, he pushed the door open.

The first thing Ingrid saw about the room was that no ghosts stood within. She practically ran across the threshold before she remembered she was still watched, and recovered herself enough to stand up straight and look about with something like detachment.

Thankfully, this chamber seemed to be designed with comfort more than grandeur in mind. The low, carved benches were laden with pillows. The hangings on the walls were pleasant landscapes of lakes and mountains. Feather mattresses had been piled high on the beautiful bedframe. Curtains of sapphire silk hung from the canopy. A fresh breeze and the scents of flowers and ripening fruit told her that the lacelike wooden screens against the far wall concealed open windows, or possibly doors to a verandah. Ingrid found she could breathe normally again.

Avanasy stepped up beside her, his own gaze sweeping the room, and nodding with approval at what he saw, particularly the plates of dainties laid out on one of the tables.

“This will be quite satisfactory,” he said in the same utterly confident tone he had used before the emperor. “We will send for you if we have need.”

The chief among the servants blinked in surprise. Ingrid knew enough now to understand how strange the dismissal would sound to him. Nonetheless, he and his fellows simply bowed without other comment and slipped out the door.

No sooner did the door close behind them than Ingrid collapsed onto the nearest bench, pressing her palms against her eyes.

“Vyshemir’s knife!” exclaimed Avanasy, coming at once to sit beside her. “What is it, Ingrid?”

“Ghosts,” she said. She couldn’t look up, not even at him. She had seen too much and needed to be in darkness for awhile. “This place is full of them. Hundreds of them. They’re … they’re in pain, Avanasy. They’re crying, and they’re begging, and I can’t hear them. I can’t ask them what they want.”

Avanasy’s arms wrapped tightly around her and drew her close to his chest, holding her safe from all that she had seen. She relaxed into his embrace. She had thought she might cry when this moment came, but she did not. Fear and pity had drained her dry for the moment, and she needed no more than Avanasy’s warmth to sustain her.

When at last she was able to push herself away and look Avanasy in the face, she said, “I wanted to tell you, there were ghosts in the throne room. I think some of them were old emperors, and there were soldiers, and some women. I don’t know who they were, but when you started talking about Medeoan being escorted here, they all started laughing. Not kindly either.” She shuddered remembering their mocking gestures and pointing fingers. “It was as if they were making fun of us.”

Avanasy let out a long, slow breath. He pushed his hair back from his forehead. “So, I did feel it. Medeoan is already here.”

Ingrid felt her brow furrow with perplexity. “Surely not. They would have told us.”

“Not if they are keeping her prisoner.” Avanasy rose swiftly and crossed the room. He folded back one of the elaborately carved screens and revealed a stretch of lawn trimmed with drooping trees and brightly colored blossoms. It ended in a high wall painted with saffron and bordered in black. Several wooden gates had been set into the stone, all of them solidly closed. Avanasy’s shoulders slumped and then stiffened as he gazed at that well-built wall. “When a spell is being worked, a sorcerer nearby can feel the making of it. I know the touch of Medeoan’s working quite well.” Ingrid could hear the soft smile in his voice, but it faded quickly. “While we stood before the emperor, I thought, for just the briefest instant, I felt that touch. This place is such a warren of spells and workings being constantly employed to protect the people within … I thought I must have imagined it among all the other currents, but no, I did not.” He turned and his face was grim. “The empress came here before us, and the emperor and the Nine Elders are holding her captive until they can decide what to do with her.”

“What should we do?” asked Ingrid softly.

Avanasy looked over his shoulder at the high wall and the closed gates. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “Yet.”

Pa K’un, the Heart of Heaven and Earth, sat in the summer garden, to all appearances contemplating the small waterfall where it ran over the perfectly rounded gray stones. The sound of it was pleasant, especially when mixed with the rustle of the leaves around him and the warmth of the summer sun on his skin. The servants, secretaries, soldiers and elders had retired to various discreet distances, which gave him rare and welcome room to think for himself.

His thoughts, however, were far more troubled than the chattering water in front of him. Counts of troops, of supplies, of moneys, of stores whirled through his head, and they were far from enough to repel a determined invasion. He held what would be a valuable hostage under normal circumstances, but if the goal of the enemy’s game was conquest, even the anointed empress would not be hostage enough.

Now there came these two “messengers,” also with tales of usurpation. They came in the name of the empress of Isavalta, but obviously had no idea where she was. The first of them, Lord Avanasy, was a known name, and was a close advisor and tutor to the empress before her marriage, but then was sent into exile. Which led to the question, did he truly come in the empress’s name, or did he secretly serve the usurper?

The silent woman who accompanied him in the station of his wife was a complete unknown, but the elders felt an oddness about her, as of someone who might not be a power, but who had most certainly been touched by power.

There had been no answer yet from his missive to Hastinapura, and Pa K’un found himself beginning to fear what that answer might hold. For the first time in several years, he felt himself too young for his sacred office.

Movement off to the right caught his eye. He turned and saw Dieu Han, the dowager empress, kneel on the grass before him. She performed the obeisance carefully, conscious of the fall of her silken sleeves and of the gold and jade ornaments adorning her lacquered hair.

“Please rise, Honored Mother,” said Pa K’un, torn between relief, as she was the one person to whom he could speak of these matters freely, and annoyance, as he wanted to think more, and knew she would have her own firm opinions on what should be done next. “Sit with me.” Here in the garden, he could speak without the Voice. This earth was sacred, and plowed deep with spells of peace and protection long before the first stone of the Heart of the World was laid. Even the Minister of Air acknowledged that no malevolent magic could be brought to bear here.

Dieu Han rose as gracefully as she had knelt, giving her robes time to settle back into their proper lines. A pair of servants instantly slipped forward with a low chair for her and placed it behind her where she might sit without having to rudely glance away from the emperor.

Pa K’un contemplated the dowager. She was not his blood mother. She had not been the mother of the two emperors before him, both of whom had died when they were still boys. Her blood son had been Jian Ayd Cao, whom she bore to Emperor Seong Kyung Cao when she still bore the more humble title of Beloved Companion, and was only the first among the concubines in the women’s palace. Emperor Seong had at once raised her to be empress, and she bore the change, they said, with all appropriate dignity. But Emperor Seong had died in battle against feuding overlords, and Emperor Jian had died of a fall in the arms of a careless nurse when he was only three. That left Dieu Han as dowager, with the responsibility to choose the next emperor, with the guidance of the gods and the Nine Elders, of course. Should such advice lead her to one who was under the age of manhood, then she also had the ruling of Hung Tse as regent until the imperial boy could rule in his own name.

Pa K’un was not so foolish as to believe it was mere coincidence or divine will that had led Dieu Han to choose three boys in a row. Nor was it accidental that he was the first to have survived past sixteen. He had ever been diligent about making sure his “mother’s” wishes were attended to, and that her voice was always heard in council. Never forgetting other facts, Dieu Han could be an excellent advisor on certain matters. This might well be one of them.

“So, Honored Mother,” said Pa K’un. “How do you think we should dispose of these northern visitors?”

The set of Dieu Han’s jaw and the glint in her dark eyes told Pa K’un that she was not in the mood to waste words on ceremony. “My son, you must let them escape.”

Pa K’un blinked. He had been expecting an audacious answer, but nothing like this. “And why should I do this thing, Honored Mother?”

“Because,” replied Dieu Han in a voice that was little more than a whisper, “when the empress of Isavalta is gone, it will force the Nine Elders to do what they will not do otherwise — summon one of the four guardians to protect us all.”

Pa K’un took a moment to let the implications of that suggestion settle in. The possibility had been raised before, when last he had spoken with Dieu Han in the throne room, as a matter of fact. He had given it lip service then, but now he forced himself to consider it seriously.

None of the immortal guardians had been summoned in three hundred years. To do so was to demand the sacrifice of one of the Nine Elders. If that was not reason enough to give one pause, there was also the well-documented fact that such a summoning could be a two-edged sword. The four guardians would indeed protect Hung Tse from her enemies, but once summoned, they had been known to decide that one of those enemies was a rash and careless emperor.

A fact which Dieu Han was as aware of as he.

“I may not order such a thing,” he said, reminding the dowager of another fact which she also knew perfectly well. “The Nine Elders are preeminent in the magical defense of Hung Tse. In this area, even I may not interfere.”

“Which is why the northerners must escape,” murmured Dieu Han without even the show of demure deference to her emperor. “We may be honest here, you and I, my son. Hung Tse is weak. We know this. Hastinapura, the pirates, the rebels in the east and our own lords. There has been too much for too long and we are a hollow land. Our enemies will know this soon. We cannot wait for them to make this discovery.”

“You are very sure of this, Honored Mother.”

“I have outlived three emperors to choose you for the throne, my son. I may outlive you. We cannot know what the future holds, but I am growing old, and I have seen the way of things for a long time.”

The emperor regarded her steadily, understanding full well what she had said, and what she had not said. Around them, the wind blew in the leaves, the waterfall chattered, and the warmth and scents of summer wafted on the breeze, yet it seemed to Pa K’un he sat in the middle of a profound stillness.

“It would be a thing which must be most carefully accomplished,” he said slowly.

“As you say, my son.” Dieu Han finally let some deference creep into her tone, if only because she knew she must not push him too boldly now that he appeared to be leaning toward agreement. “The orders must be given only to those whose loyalty is absolute.”

“Do you know of any such?”

“I do.” The confidence in her voice was absolute.

She played a dangerous game. There were so many possibilities, and once the guardian was summoned, they were in no one’s control, not even the gods. The guardian would surely defeat the invaders on the northern border, but what else would it do? It might decide Pa K’un was weak and unfit, and devour him, leaving Dieu Han to choose yet another emperor and regain the rule of Hung Tse.

But it might also decide that Dieu Han had played one too many games with the sacred rule, and there would be no more dowager in Hung Tse.

If this was a gamble, it was one of legendary proportions. Pa K’un carefully considered the state of readiness his generals had outlined to him again, and again he saw how badly short it fell. He had inherited a much-weakened empire, and he could not be the only one to see that much of that weakness was attributable to the woman who sat across from him, and all her cleverness. How long had she planned this? Why should she desire it? Or was it that she finally realized that she had brought Hung Tse to the brink by all her years of surreptitious rule?

Pa K’un gazed at the woman who had adopted him as her son. It was not possible that her face paint had been poorly applied, so the shadows under her eyes must be real. Perhaps she was afraid. They were weak. He knew that, and she might know it better than he.

He would have to accept her wager, and pray hard to be granted a pure heart as he did.

“Then, Honored Mother,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady as he did. “I will trust you to see this thing properly done.”

The dowager empress slipped from her chair to her knees, making the departing obeisance. Her gold, jade and silk sparkled in the clear light. Holding herself still as she did, she might have been some beautifully carved statue. “You honor me, my son.”

“But mother,” he went on. “Have a care when you contemplate which of us will live the longest. My gratitude at you placing me upon the throne is great, but I am no longer a boy. I have held the seat for some years now, and there is every sign I may hold it for many years yet.”