Hearts in Cups (56 page)

BOOK: Hearts in Cups

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"Thank you,
Idris," Ian said. "We will heed your warning. You have had a very
trying time of it the past few weeks and I see that you are fatigued. May I
escort you back to your rooms?"

With a weary smile, Idris
pushed herself out of the chair in which she sat. "Thank you Ian, but my
rooms are very close. I will bid you both a good-night for I am, as you have
noticed, very tired."

When they were alone
once again, Ian yawned and, leaning back against the door, favoured Angharad
with a long look. "Well, my lady?"

Agreeably unsettled by
his unspoken question, Angharad nodded shyly. Earlier she had wondered what
would happen when they reached this point. Would he leave or stay? She wanted
very much for him to stay.

Amused by her
confusion, he said, "Could you tell your Lady Moira to inform my
manservant Evan that I will be needing a fresh change of clothing brought here
in the morning?" He crossed the room to where Angharad had risen and
encircled her with his arms. "I hope that you don't mind, but I intend to
make a nuisance of myself."

"No, Ian, I don't
mind at all," she replied earnestly, pulling his head down and meeting his
lips. "I promise that you will never be unwanted."

"Nor will you be,
my dear Angharad."

Pentarin Palace lay
sleeping in a web of moonlight. Guards walked the city streets, bright and
empty under a full moon. A portion of the population had returned after the
Duke of Mirvanovir's army had left, and the city had settled into a masque of
its old routine. Goods were sold, many to the soldiers who remained in control
of the city, and farmers whose crops had not been burnt or trampled by armies
brought their wares to the market place. But things were not as they once were.
It was a city occupied by an invader's army and people moved with suspicion,
ready to flee again at the first sign of renewed trouble.

From the palace, the
Duchess of Mirvanovir ruled. Most of the former palace servants had left or
been supplanted by ones from Mirvanovir. For the time being, all of the wings
that had formerly housed members and staff of the Great Houses had been emptied
and sealed shut. Only Mirvanovir's private quarters and the main halls of the
palace were currently being used.

A portion of the city's
inhabitants consisted of a group of minor nobles residing in the palace who had
not fled when the city was taken but stayed on, preferring to bid welcome to
the new rulers and so preserve their comfortable way of living. This group
formed the small court that Rashara now presided over. She knew very well why
they were still here, but she received a certain enjoyment from their
willingness to flatter her and abase themselves in order to remain in her good
graces. At first she hoped to find an interim companion or plaything among them
until Blaise or Niall returned. Unfortunately, she found none of them
sufficiently amusing to engage her interest. Besides, she now had other things
to occupy her time and her thoughts.

Discouraged after her
final interview with Malvasius, Rashara resorted to the compendium of notebooks
that she had gathered over the years dealing with matters arcane. Many useful
entries were to be found in the work she had done together with Malvasius when
she was still his student at the Scholastium, but it was from the odd and
esoteric books that her father had collected and bequeathed to her at his death
that she put together the core of her spell. From both of these sources she had
learned of powers existing outside of the world as it was known, and she now
felt that she had gathered sufficient information to enable her to tap into
those ambiguously hinted at powers. Indications of the enormous strength and
alien darkness that such powers might be allied to were also found, but she was
convinced that her skill was such that if whatever she contacted proved to be
too powerful or malevolent, she could break the spell and sever the contact.

Tonight Rashara locked
herself in her private room, warded it against all outside intrusion, resolved
to attempt to make contact with those energies she had thus far only read
about. From a shelf she carefully took down a small covered pot whose contents
she had spent many weeks accruing and preparing. The smell of the greasy, dark
sludge that filled the pot was repellent in the extreme, but she had grown used
to it and, after wrinkling her nose distastefully when the lid was removed, she
schooled herself to ignore the odor and not think of the ingredients comprising
it. Though touching it was even less appealing, she did not flinch as she
dipped her white fingers into it and began to draw. For a long while she knelt
on the floor, labouriously inscribing the circle and the strange arcane glyphs
of power that she had discovered in her extensive studying. When she finished her
work, using all of the contents of the pot, she washed her hands many times in
a bowl with sweet-soap before she sat down in her chair to survey her work.
Even before she began the incantation that would activate the circle at her
feet she could feel the latent power there. Calmly taking the necessary
measured breaths, she effortlessly slipped into a light trance. A trace of
queasiness at what she was about to try was ignored as she told herself that it
was too late for superstitious qualms. At worst the powers would not be able to
function in this world. When she had reached the level of calm necessary, she
began her incantation. The words had been gleaned from one of her father's old
books and were in an ancient, long-disused language. Monotonously she repeated
the chant and cast out with her mind for a hint of power.

When the contact came,
it was so violent and unexpected that she was literally flung out of her chair.
Instinctively she tried to evade the inky blackness that began to flow across
the arcane bridge she had built, but to no avail. Lying on the floor, taking
deep, ragged breaths, she felt a cold darkness invading her mind with a
terrifying intimacy. Powerless, she lay there in the grip of something far more
alien than she could ever have imagined. Not able to move or scream, she was
forced to endure this ultimate invasion of her being. Then it withdrew, back to
a neutral place on the arcane bridge that flared and pulsed within the confines
of the circle she had inscribed on the floor. She was left retching and
shivering on the cold floor.

"You called
me," a voice rang in her head and she knew that it belonged to whatever
had just possessed her. "Why?"

Too stunned and
frightened, she lay curled up on the floor shuddering and unable reply.

It waited patiently and
then spoke again. "This is a corporeal world. You seek power and I am
here."

"Who or what are
you?" Rashara summoned enough volition to cry out in terror.

"I exist outside
the boundaries of your world. You created a flaw in the structure of reality in
which I exist. You have called me and I am here." The voice resounded
through her ravaged mind.

Pulling herself into a
sitting position, she looked around the room. The arcane wards she had set were
still in place and the room seemed much the same except for a darkness in the
center of the circle of light that her eyes could not seem to quite focus on.
Gingerly she regained her feet and tottered forward to collapse in her chair.

The nightmare quality
of what was occurring confused and disoriented her. She closed her eyes and
felt the presence at a distance from her. The power she felt behind that
presence was staggering. Her mind wandered. To possess that much power... she
could do anything. There would be no limits. She could be the single most
powerful force in the Pentarchy. Not even the Archmage himself could oppose
her! Ideas and images swirled seductively through her mind. All that could be
hers. A disquieting tendril of concern crossed her mind but was gone before she
could make sense of its import.

"What must I do
for your aid?" her voice croaked.

"Little enough. I
am not of a corporeal world. It has been a very long time since I visited such
a world. I find your type of world to be...exciting. All I ask is a certain,
minimal degree of contact with it." The voice in her mind was now soothing
her with its reassurance. "We shall make a compact, you and I. You will
keep this arcane bridge open, I will teach you how, and from my world I shall
lend you my power and watch what you do with it."

Something nagged at the
edges of her mind, but she was as unable to concentrate on it as she focused
her eyes on the darkness in the arcane portal. "Earlier you...?" Her
body spasmed in remembered terror.

"You came into my
world...unexpectedly. I did not understand. It was a mistake." The voice
now was seductive, completely reasonable.

"Yes, I see,"
she heard her voice say. "What must I do?"

"I shall guide
you, step by step," came the reply.

The Pentacle War – Appendix

The Great Houses of the
Pentarchy