Domes of Fire Part 13

Alcan, the queen's maid, was quite another matter. Her mind was very ordinary, but her nature was such that people automatically loved her. She was sweet, gentle and very loving. She had brown hair and enormous, soft brown eyes. She was shy and modest and seldom spoke. Kalten looked upon her as his natural prey, much as the wolf looks upon deer with a proprietary sense of owners.h.i.+p. Kalten was fond of maids. They did not usually threaten him, and he could normally proceed with them without any particular fear of failure.

The s.h.i.+p in which they sailed from Madel that spring was well-appointed. It belonged to the Church and it had been built to convey high-ranking churchmen and their servants to various parts of Eosia. There is a certain neat, cosy quality about s.h.i.+p cabins. They are uniformly constructed of dark-stained wood, the oily stain being a necessary protection for wood which is perpetually exposed to excessive humidity. The furniture is stationary, resisting all efforts to rearrange it, since it is customarily bolted to the floor to prevent its migration from one part of the cabin to another in rough weather. Since the ceiling of a s.h.i.+p's cabin is in reality the underside of the deck overhead where the sailors are working, the dark supporting beams are substantial.

In the particular vessel upon which the Queen of Elenia and her entourage sailed, there was a large cabin in the stern with a broad window running across the back of the s.h.i.+p. It was a sort of floating audience chamber, and it was ideally suited for gatherings. Because of the window at the back, the cabin was light and airy, and, since the vessel was moved by her sails, the wind always came from astern, and it efficiently carried the smell of the bilges forward for the crew to enjoy in their cramped quarters in the forecastle.

On the second day out, Sparhawk and Ehlana dressed themselves in plain, utilitarian garments and went up to what had come to be called 'the throne-room' from their private cabin just below. Alcan was preparing Princess Danae's breakfast over a cunning little utensil which was part lamp and part stove. Alcan prepared most of Danae's meals, since she accepted the child's dietary prejudices without question.

There was a polite knock, and then Kalten and Stragen entered. Kalten bore himself strangely, half crouched, twisted off to one side and quite obviously in pain.

'What happened to you?' Sparhawk asked him.

'I tried to sleep in a hammock,' Kalten groaned. 'Since we're at sea, I thought it was the thing to do. I think I've ruined myself, Sparhawk.'

Mirtai rose from her chair near the door. 'Stand still,' she peremptorily ordered the blond man.

'What are you doing?' he demanded suspiciously.

'Be quiet.' She ran one hand up his back, gently probing with her fingertips. 'Lie down on the floor,' she commanded, 'on your stomach.'

'Not very likely.'

'Do you want me to kick your feet out from under you?'

Grumbling, he painfully lowered himself to the deck.

'Is this going to hurt?' he asked.

'It won't hurt me a bit,' she a.s.sured him, removing her sandals. 'Try to relax.' Then she started to walk on him.

There were crackling noises and loud pops. There were also gasps and cries of pain as Kalten writhed under her feet. She finally paused, thoughtfully probing at a stubborn spot between his shoulder blades with her toes. Then she rose up on her toes and came down quite firmly. Kalten's shriek was strangled as his breath whooshed out, and the noise that came from his back was very loud, much like the sound which might come from a tree trunk being snapped in two. He lay face down, gasping and groaning.

'Don't be such a baby,' Mirtai told him heartlessly. 'Get up.'

'I can't. You've killed me.'

She picked him up by one arm and set him on his feet. 'Walk around,' she commanded him.

'Walk? I can't even breathe.' She drew one of her daggers. 'All right. All right. Don't get excited. I'm walking.'

'Swing your arms back and forth.'

'Why?'

'Just do it, Kalten. You've got to loosen up those muscles.'

He walked back and forth, swinging his arms and gingerly turning his head back and forth. 'You know, I hate to admit it, but I do feel better-much better actually.'

'Naturally.' She put her dagger away.

'You didn't have to be so rough, though.'

'I can put you back into exactly the same condition as you were when you came in, if you'd like.'

'No. That's quite all right, Mirtai.' He said it very quickly and backed away from her. Then, always the opportunist, he sidled up to Alcan. 'Don't you feel sorry for me?' he asked in an insinuating voice.

'Kalten!' Mirtai snapped. 'No!'

'I was only-' She smacked him sharply on the nose with two fingers, much as one would do to persuade a puppy to give up the notion of chewing on a pair of shoes. 'That hurt,' he protested putting his hand to his nose.

'It was meant to. Leave her alone.'

'Are you going to let her do that, Sparhawk?' Kalten appealed to his friend.

'Do as she says,' Sparhawk told him. 'Leave the girl alone.'

'Your morning's not going too well, is it, Sir Kalten?' Stragen noted.

Kalten went off to a corner to sulk. The others drifted in, and they all sat down to the breakfast two crewmen brought from the galley. Princess Danae sat alone near the large window at the stern where the salt-tinged breeze would keep the smell of pork sausage from her delicate nostrils.

After breakfast, Sparhawk and Kalten went up on deck for a breath of air and stood leaning on the port rail watching the south coast of Cammoria slide by. The day was particularly fine. The sun was very bright, and the sky very blue. There was a good following breeze, and their s.h.i.+p, her white sails spread wide, led the small flotilla across the white-cap-speckled sea.

'The captain says that we should pa.s.s Mirusc.u.m about noon,' Kalten said. 'We're making better time than we expected.'

'We've got a good breeze,' Sparhawk agreed. 'How's your back?'

'Sore. I've got bruises from my hips to my neck.'

'At least you're standing up straight.'

Kalten grunted sourly. 'Mirtai's very direct, isn't she? I still don't know exactly what to make of her. What I mean is, how are we supposed to treat her? She's obviously a woman.'

'You've noticed.'

'Very funny, Sparhawk. What I'm getting at is the fact that you can't really treat her like a woman. She's as big as Ulath, and she seems to expect us to accept her as a comrade in arms.'

'So?'

'It's unnatural.'

'Just treat her as a special case. That's what I do. It's easier than arguing with her. Are you in the mood for a bit of advice?'

'That depends on the advice.'

'Mirtai feels that it's her duty to protect the royal family and she's extended that to include my wife's maid. I'd strongly recommend that you curb your instincts. We don't fully understand Mirtai, and so we don't know exactly how far she'll go. Even if Alcan seems to be encouraging you, I wouldn't pursue the matter. It could be very dangerous.'

'The girl likes me,' Kalten objected. 'I've been around long enough to know that.'

'You might be right, but I'm not sure if that'll make any difference to Mirtai. Do me a favour, Kalten. Just leave the girl alone.'

'But she's the only one on board s.h.i.+p,' Kalten protested.

'You'll live.'

Sparhawk turned and saw Patriarch Emban and Amba.s.sador Oscagne standing near the stern. They were an oddly matched pair. The Patriarch of Ucera had laid aside his ca.s.sock for the voyage and wore instead a brown jerkin over a plain robe. He was very nearly as wide as he was tall, and he had a florid face. Oscagne, on the other hand, was a slight man with fine bones and little flesh. His skin was a pallid bronze colour. Their minds, however, were very similar. They were both consummate politicians. Sparhawk and Kalten drifted back to join them.

'All power comes from the throne in Tamuli, your Grace,' Oscagne was explaining. 'Nothing is done there except at the express instruction of the emperor.'

'We delegate things in Eosia, your Excellency,' Emban told him. 'We pick a good man, tell him what we want done and leave the details up to him.'

'We've tried that and it doesn't really work in our culture. Our religion is fairly superficial, and it doesn't encourage the kind of personal loyalty yours does.'

'Your emperor has to make all the decisions?' Emban asked a bit incredulously. 'How does he find the time!'

Oscagne smiled. 'No, no, your Grace. Day-to-day decisions are all taken care of by custom and tradition. We're great believers in custom and tradition. It's one of our more serious failings. Once a Tamul moves out of those realms, he's obliged to improvise, and that's when he usually gets into trouble. His improvisations always seem to be guided by self-interest, for some reason. We've discovered that it's best to discourage these expeditions into free decision-making. By definition, the emperor is all-wise anyway, so it's probably best to leave these things in his hands.'

'A standard definition isn't always very accurate, your Excellency. "All-wise" means different things when it's applied to different people. We have one ourselves. We like to say that the Archprelate is guided by the voice of G.o.d. There have been a number of Archprelates in the past who didn't listen very well, though.'

'We've noticed the same sort of thing, your Grace. The definition "all wise" does seem to have a wide range of meaning. To be honest with you, my friend, we've had some frightfully stupid emperors from time to time. We're rather fortunate just now though. Emperor Sarabian is moderately accomplished.'

'What's he like?' Emban asked intently.

'He's an inst.i.tution, unfortunately. He's as much at the mercy of custom and tradition as we are. He's obliged to speak in formulas, so it's almost impossible to get to know him.' The amba.s.sador smiled. 'The visit of Queen Ehlana may just jerk him into humanity. He'll have to treat her as an equal-for political reasons and he was raised to believe that he didn't have any equals. I hope your lovely blonde queen is gentle with him. I think I like him-or I would if I could get past all the formalities-and it would just be too bad if she happened to say something that stopped his heart.'

'Ehlana knows exactly what she's doing every minute of the day, your Excellency,' Emban a.s.sured him. 'You and I are babies compared to her. You don't have to tell her I said that, Sparhawk.'

'What's my silence worth to you, your Grace?' Sparhawk grinned.

Emban glowered at him for a moment. 'What are we likely to encounter in Astel, your Excellency?'

'Tears, probably,' Oscagne replied.

'I beg your pardon?'

'The Astels are an emotional people. They cry at the drop of a handkerchief. Their culture is much like that of the kingdom of Pelosia. They're tediously devout and invincibly backward. It's been demonstrated to them over and over again that serfdom is an archaic, inefficient inst.i.tution, but they maintain it anyway-largely at the connivance of the serfs themselves. Astellian n.o.bles don't exert themselves in any way, so they have no concept of the extent of human endurance. Their serfs take advantage of that outrageously. Astellian serfs have been known to collapse from sheer exhaustion at the very mention of such unpleasant words as 'reaping' or 'digging' . The weepy n.o.bles are tender-hearted, so the serfs get away with it almost every time. Western Astel's a silly place filled with silly people. That changes as one moves east.'

'One would hope so. I'm not certain just how much silliness I can-' It was that same flicker of darkness at the very edge of Sparhawk's vision, and it was accompanied by that same chill. Patriarch Emban broke off turning his head quickly to try to see it more clearly. 'What?-?'

'It'll pa.s.s,' Sparhawk told him tersely. 'Try to concentrate on it, your Grace, and you as well, if you don't mind, your Excellency.'

They were seeing the shadow for the first time, and their initial reactions might be useful. Sparhawk watched them closely as they tried to turn their heads to look directly at the annoying darkmess just beyond the range of sight. Then the shadow was gone.

'All right,' Sparhawk said crisply, 'Exactly what did you see?'

'I couldn't see anything,' Kalten told him. 'It was like having someone trying to sneak up behind me.' Although Kalten had seen the cloud several times, this was the first time he had encountered the shadow.

'What was it, Sir Sparhawk?' Amba.s.sador Oscagne asked.

'I'll explain in a moment, your Excellency. Please try to remember exactly what you saw and felt.'

'It was something dark,' Oscagne replied, 'very dark. It seemed to be quite substantial, but somehow it was able to move just enough to stay where I couldn't quite see it. No matter how quickly I turned my head or moved my eyes, it was never where I could see it directly. It felt as if it were standing just behind my head.'

Emban nodded. 'And it made me feel cold.' He shuddered. 'I'm still cold, as a matter of fact.'

'It was unfriendly, too,' Kalten added. 'Not quite ready to attack, but very nearly.'

'Anything else?' Sparhawk asked them. 'Anything at all-no matter how small.'

'There was a peculiar odour,' Oscagne told him.

Sparhawk looked at him sharply. He had never noticed that. 'Could you describe it at all, your Excellency?'

'I seemed to catch the faintest smell of tainted meat, a haunch or a side that had been left hanging for perhaps a week too long.'

Kalten grunted. 'I caught that too, Sparhawk, just for a second, and it left a very bad taste in my mouth.'

Emban nodded vigorously. 'I'm an expert on flavours. It was definitely rotten meat.'

'We were sort of standing in a semi-circle,' Sparhawk mused, 'and we all saw-or sensed-it right behind us. Did any of you see it behind anybody else?' They all shook their heads.

'Would you please explain this, Sparhawk?' Emban said irritably.

'In just a moment, your Grace.' Sparhawk crossed the deck to a sailor who was splicing a loop into the bight of a rope. He spoke with the tar-smeared man for a few minutes and then returned. 'He saw it too,' he reported. 'Let's spread out and talk with the rest of the sailors on deck. I'm not being deliberately secretive, gentlemen, but let's get what information we can from the sailors before they forget the incident entirely. I'd like to know just how widespread this visitation was.'

It was about a half hour later when they gathered again near the aft companionway, and they had all begun to exhibit a kind of excitement.

'One of the sailors heard a kind of crackling noise like a large fire,' Kalten reported.

'I talked to one fellow, and he thought there was a kind of reddish tinge to the shadow,' Oscagne added.

'No,' Emban disagreed. 'It was green. The sailor I talked with said that it was definitely green.'

'And I spoke with a man who'd just come up on deck, and he hadn't seen or felt a thing,' Sparhawk added.

'This is all very interesting, Sir Sparhawk,' Oscagne said, 'but could you please explain it to us?'

'Kalten already knows, your Excellency,' Sparhawk replied. 'It would appear that we've just been visited by the Troll-G.o.ds.'

'Be careful, Sparhawk,' Emban warned, 'you're walking on the edge of heresy.'

'The Church Knights are permitted to do that, your Grace. Anyway, that shadow's followed me before, and Ehlana's seen it too. We'd a.s.sumed it was because we were wearing the rings. The stones in the rings were fas.h.i.+oned from shards of the Bh.e.l.liom. The shadow seems to be a little less selective now.'

'That's all it is? just a shadow?' Oscagne asked him.

Sparhawk shook his head. 'It can also show up as a very dark cloud, and everybody can see that.'

'But not the things that are concealed in it,' Kalten added.

'Such as what?' Oscagne asked.