This Scepter'd Isle (11 page)

Vidal Dhu had called them to stand before him in his ebony throne-room. That had been a bad sign. It had been worse that he had sent guards to bring them. But worst of all was that he had kept them waiting, cooling their heels in the antechamber, for nigh onto an hour before he had them brought within.

"You will have to be more specific, my lord," Pasgen said, reaching out to Rhoslyn as he spoke, gently pushing power at her. "About what were we fools?"

No communication accompanied that gentle probe of power; Pasgen did not dare form a thought of what he wanted for Vidal Dhu to pick out of his mind. The small finger of power would, he hoped, be lost in the general surge in Underhill and the roiling currents around Vidal stirred by his mood. Pasgen took no chance with the prince in so foul a temper; he never knew how deep the prince could read him.

However, he had not underestimated Rhoslyn's understanding. Her strength met his, and together they began to spin a web that could catch and dissipate any strike Vidal Dhu launched against them. The prince was unfortunately prone to striking first and thinking later. Likely he would regret it if he blasted those so useful to him, but then it would be too late for them. If they foiled his strike, he might even be grateful.

"You Saw the wrong child," Vidal roared. "You have spent months insinuating yourselves into Princess Mary's household, and she was never the one who is critical to the future we desire."

Now both Pasgen and Rhoslyn looked dumbfound. "But that can't be true, my lord," Rhoslyn protested. "Princess Mary is the ruler who will bring the Inquisition to England. She is already fanatically devoted to her religion. She has been taught by her mother to be almost as devoted to Spain and its causes. Moreover Queen Catherine will not conceive again—I have made certain of that. It would be unlikely that the child would live, as no others have, but I could see no reason to leave such a chance alive. That makes Princess Mary the legal heir to England."

"Legal heir," Vidal Dhu snarled. "In England the legal heir is who the king says is the heir."

"But there is no other he could name," Pasgen said, raising his chin stubbornly. "Why should you call us traitor? We have done all that was required to ensure Mary's coming to the throne—"

"There
is
another," the prince bellowed, springing to his feet. "And you did not See him or mention him. Was that apurpose? Are you so warped by that mother of yours that you secretly crave playing with the mortals and for that idle pleasure would deprive us all of the power that comes from their pain?"

At the sneering mention of their mother, Rhoslyn's release of power to the net surged so strongly that to Pasgen's eyes it took on a soft glow. Rhoslyn might often be impatient with their mother's clinging, cloying affection, but she would hear no other criticize Llanelli. Pasgen touched her arm.

"If Rhoslyn and I missed an heir to the throne, it was not by intention," Pasgen said with seeming calm. "For certain there is no red-haired infant—not even a distant cousin."

"A son." Vidal Dhu sat down again, now his expression as he looked down at the twins would have been suitable if they were excrement left by one of his creatures on the carpet. "A son," he repeated. "And you missed him. Henry FitzRoy—"

"We did not miss him," Rhoslyn said, flatly. "The son is nothing. I went with Mary's servant to bring him a little gift and I examined him." She shrugged. "He is six years old, and no infant. He is a bastard, and thus, not in the line of succession. And furthermore, he has none of the power that was hidden in the red-haired babe. He isn't specially clever. He isn't even specially pretty. He lives in obscurity—luxurious, well provided for, but with no hint of favor or special interest by his father."

"True enough," Pasgen agreed. "I made an occasion to talk to the Spanish mage . . . ah, Martin Perez is his name. He is a servant of Charles V, sent to England to keep the Emperor informed of everything political. Perez told me that the king displayed FitzRoy widely when he was born to show that he could engender a live son, but then he swiftly lost interest in the boy. It would take a miracle before England would accept a bastard as the heir to the throne."

Vidal Dhu's face had grown colder, more frozen, with each word they uttered. The twins fell silent.

"Stupid! Lazy, stupid fools!"

His voice was soft now and Rhoslyn and Pasgen braced themselves, but what he sent at them was not the massive blow of power they half expected or the ball of baelfire, both of which the net would have caught and dissipated. What flowed from the gesture he cast at them was a shower of tiny threads of brilliant colors—sick green, dirty yellow, virulent blue, bloody red—that wriggled through the spaces in the net and struck at any patch of bare skin.

There was enough of that. Rhoslyn's gown exposed her neck, her shoulders and arms, and her chest down to the cleavage between her breasts. Pasgen wore only a sleeveless tunic, open in the front to his navel, to expose his well-muscled shoulders and arms and the smooth swell of pectorals. Rhoslyn screamed and beat at her body. Soon tears poured down her cheeks and she whimpered. Pasgen hissed between his teeth, but made no attempt to wipe away the writhing threads. Instead he spoke three words, and the fire-worms faded. And when he raised his eyes to Vidal Dhu, there was that in them that made the prince gesture at Rhoslyn, who was instantly free of her torment.

"That was to teach you not to think you can avoid my punishment," the prince said to them. "And I see that you have not yet dismissed that useless barrier."

"My lord," Pasgen said, his voice flat. "We are aware of your infinite variety of punishments and did not intend to avoid your righteous wrath. What we intended was to avoid being struck down without true cause. Your wrath is fearsome, and when you are angry, it is difficult to reason with it. We have always and will always do our utmost for you, but there are others in your court who are jealous of your regard, and may persuade you of misdeeds on our part that we had not even thought up, much less performed. " He gestured broadly. "So we protect ourselves. Fire-worms—indeed, anything that can get through this net—I can deal with. If you had chosen to blast us with power or burn us with fire, the net would protect us. I would find it hard to reverse death."

Vidal Dhu looked at Pasgen for just a moment as if he were considering the meaning behind Pasgen's remark that he would find death "hard to reverse." The prince then turned his glance to Rhoslyn, but from his expression seemed to find little satisfaction in what he saw. Pasgen was aware of the growing coldness beside him. He had no idea what Rhoslyn was thinking, but knew that even Vidal Dhu's probes would be unable to penetrate the shields she had erected.

They had been careless, Pasgen thought. They should have known the prince would sense the concentration of power in the net. Each of them should have added some subtle shielding. But it would have been necessary to react as if the fire-worms were effective anyway, and Rhoslyn's reaction was the best thing for both of them . . . though she would not thank him for seeing benefit in her suffering.

"The price you will pay for your neglect—to put the most innocent interpretation on your dereliction of duty," Vidal Dhu said, seeming to have dismissed completely not only what he had done and his previous bad temper but also Pasgen's refusal to dismiss the defensive net, "is to bring here to me Henry FitzRoy, the bastard son of King Henry VIII."

Rhoslyn shook her head. "You have called me stupid and lazy, my lord. Perhaps I deserved your chastisement for the latter, but I am
not
stupid. Anyone could have made off with the child I visited. He was hardly watched, except by a nurse who seemed more interested in her knitting than in her charge. Thus, the price, according to all I know, is too low to repay our carelessness. " She frowned. "Therefore, something must have changed that makes the deed more difficult. Something has made FitzRoy more difficult of access, and you call us lazy because we were not aware."

"Exactly! You see how a little discomfort stimulates the brain?" Anger returned to Vidal Dhu's expression. "While you two played in your hidden fastnesses—" the prince smiled with chilling sweetness as he informed them that he was aware of their experiments in the unformed regions of Underhill "—Henry FitzRoy has been given honor upon honor. He is now duke of Richmond—in case you did not know, that is the title the king himself bore before he came to the throne. And Richmond has precedence over every nobleman in the kingdom except King Henry himself and the other heirs of the king's body."

"But the princess has been sent to Wales with a great household in the traditional role of the heir to the throne," Rhoslyn pointed out.

"And FitzRoy has been appointed Lord Lieutenant of the Northern March, given the same kind of household, and sent to rule in the north," Vidal Dhu spat. "The king has not yet named his heir, but to so favor a bastard could have only one purpose."

Pasgen's mouth formed a thin, bitter line. "My informant will suffer for not telling me this! I'll see that none of his spells work for a month."

"You should have applied the punishment earlier," Vidal Dhu snapped. "Or do you not know that he has been acting in your absence? He gave a spell to a pair of cutthroats who barely missed drowning FitzRoy."

After a shocked silence, Rhoslyn asked, "By your will, my lord?"

"No, of course not," Vidal replied, unconsciously rubbing his hands along his arms as if the ice in Rhoslyn's voice had touched him physically. "Why should I order the child's death when it would be so much more amusing to have him here?" He paused, then looked from one twin to the other and whispered, "Bring him to me."

That was the last thing he said, nor did he trouble to bestow so much as another glance at them. A contemptuous gesture of one finger dismissed them, and they wheeled around each other, still shoulder to shoulder so the web would continue to protect them, went down the three steps from the dais on which Vidal's throne reposed, and started down the long aisle lined with Unseleighe creatures.

Neither would have been surprised if Vidal had launched a blow at them once their backs were turned. It would be no attempt to kill, not now once he had given his orders, but it would amuse him no end to see them fall on their faces. That sign of his disfavor would invite the sly minor torments of the boggles, the goblins, the small trolls and half-grown ogres that lined the aisle. Both kept their faces totally expressionless but seethed within. It was typical of Vidal Dhu that he did not reprimand in private but did his best to shame anyone who had displeased him before the entire court.

They passed the Unseleighe Sidhe—not so many of those, but a few true elves were born on the dark side, and their number was swelled by emigrants from the Seleighe Court. Tastes in amusement and occupation among the Sidhe varied. A few found themselves made uncomfortable by the disapproval of their neighbors and sought welcome among others who enjoyed pain and misery; fewer had gone so far that Oberon had cast them out. But Rhoslyn and Pasgen knew they were safe enough passing the Sidhe; those dark elves would be quick enough to leap on them if torture to the death was their fate. To trip them or pinch them or squirt them with foul-smelling liquid, however, was beneath Sidhe dignity.

Beyond the Sidhe was a mixed mass of repulsive beings of all sizes. First a thing with the head of a frog, a long, pronged, snakelike tail and slimy-looking leathery wings darted across their path, spraying a noxious liquid that dripped down the web of the net. Rhoslyn ignored the imp; Pasgen kicked out as he took a step and caught it on its soft belly so that it flew into the grip of a troll who was just reaching out for a sly push or pinch. The troll popped the creature into his mouth and looked gratified.

Most of the Unseleighe creatures were not very clever, and a Hag, seeming to think that the sacrifice of the frog-faced creature to the troll had been to pacify it when it threatened Pasgen, reached long, clawed fingers toward Rhoslyn to tear at her. Without even looking at the creature, Rhoslyn sent a burst of power through the net that burned the Hag's fingers to blackened stumps and followed that with a spray of the same fire-worms that Vidal had loosed upon her. Glancing in that direction at the Hag's howls of agony, Pasgen just saw the outflow of fire-worms. He grinned. No one could say that Rhoslyn was a slow learner.

They had not quickened or slowed the pace at which they were advancing, but the fate of the frog-face and the Hag seemed to have made an impression. No further attempts to annoy the twins were ventured, and in a few more moments they reached the doors. Those did not open automatically, even resisted momentarily when Pasgen applied pressure, but when the black material of which the doors were constructed began to turn bright red where Pasgen and Rhoslyn were facing them, they swung apart.

Behind them was silence. Pasgen and Rhoslyn wheeled around again, still inside the net of power, and faced into the throne room, looking down the aisle of creatures toward Vidal Dhu's throne. In unison they began to raise their right hands. The doors slammed shut.

Pasgen breathed out a long sigh and Rhoslyn closed her eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath. Their glances met, and the net around them dissolved. As it did, it became obvious that the construct had been almost dissolved before each reabsorbed part of the small amount of power that remained in it. Unwilling to deplete themselves too much while in Vidal Dhu's presence, each had drawn on the net—Rhoslyn for the surge that burned the Hag and created the fire-worms, Pasgen for his assault on the closed doors that Vidal had tried to use to make them look weak and foolish.

"Your place or mine?" Rhoslyn asked.

"Mine," Pasgen said. "Mother might be at your place, and I don't want her to hear about this."

Rhoslyn nodded and they hurried down the black marble steps to the courtyard where, off to one side, the two not-horses were tied. The coal-black steeds turned their red-eyed heads toward their oncoming riders. One lifted its lip to hiss, showing teeth that were as large and strong as those of any horse, but pointed into tearing fangs.