Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (55 page)

And so for the second time in my life I entered the Far Kingdoms. The name was different. My motives more desperate. And many shames and many regrets scarred my soul.

But oh, the swelling in my breast, the spiced wine of victory coursing my veins and the sparkling visions dancing before my eyes were as fresh and glorious now as they were then.

We came to Tyrenia as pilgrims weary and soiled from the road. We came ignorant and humble to seek wisdom in the most ancient city in all of Te-Date’s creation. We came in awe of the Old Ones whose descendants these folk were. We came with trembling hopes and no little fear; for what if they were to spurn us or worse, mock our savagery? I was especially vulnerable. Failure, whose name was Cligus, groaned on a litter nearby me as we rode the Prince’s chariot up to the gates of Tyrenia.

The first thing I saw when I entered Tyrenia was a multitude that had gathered to fling praises and kisses into the air and flowers and gifts in our path.

The first thing I heard was my name and Janela’s shouted to the highest vaults of the heavens.

The first thing I felt was the otherworldly bewilderment of a man declared Hero by strangers when he knew best of all he was but a man.

I rode on Prince Solaros’ left, Janela on his right and he guided the chariot one-handed — waving at the cheering crowd with the other. He was evidently a popular prince and before long his subjects began to chant his name as well. His face was rosy with delight, his hair tousled by the breeze, his rich white cloak thrown back carelessly over his shoulder to reveal a broad chest clad in silver chain mail and a slender figure that drew longing looks from the women in the crowd.

We rolled along a wide smooth avenue paved with a pearly-surfaced stone that seemed to give under the stallions’ hooves like wet, hard-packed sand on an ocean’s shore. The chariot’s springs were magically-enhanced, absorbing all motion that might be a discomfort, so I felt almost as if we were flying. Above us colorful kites soared, trailing long tails of sorcerous smoke that filled the air with the essence of cool gardens and fruited orchards. There was music, such wondrous music I shed a tear for Omyere because she wasn’t alive to hear it. It came from the clouds, it came from the parks beyond the avenue, it rose around us from the very stones we rode upon.

The castle covered the entire mountain top and was linked to smaller fortresses on distant peaks by magical bridges that were slung on slender cables. It wasn’t one castle but many castles, each set inside the other, with gracious homes, rich windowed-shops and bountiful marketplaces edged between each succession of walls and turrets. But even as I marveled I could see knots of wary soldiers manning the walls and knew if ultimate danger threatened the homes, shops and marketplaces would be abandoned as the Tyrenian forces made a fighting retreat to the next defensible position.

Gate after gate was flung open and beyond each gate was another crowd to praise us.

Finally the last gates loomed before us — more massive than all the others. When they were parted I knew I was looking at Tyrenia’s ancient seat of power. The stone was a greenish gray and shot with lines of age. Sorcerous smoke boiled from the high towers and the triple domes of the central building glowed with an eerie light.

Sturdy grooms and servants rushed out to greet us. The Prince leaped from the chariot and issued a stream of orders concerning our care.

He turned to Janela and myself, a wry smile on his lips. “My father is an impatient man and he ordered me to bring you to him forthwith. I fear I must beg your forbearance and ask you not to take the time to freshen up. Your company will be placed in commodious quarters so you needn’t worry about their comfort.”

Janela nodded acceptance and quickly dug out a few items from her purse to make herself more presentable. I hesitated and Solaros caught my quick, worried glance at Cligus and Modin.

The Prince lowered his voice. “I’ll see they are well guarded... until you make your own arrangements,” he said in sympathetic tones. “I’ll have the royal physician tend their injuries.” He paused, then said: “You are a charitable man, Amalric Antero. My father thinks it a weakness. I disagree but... as you shall see, our opinions... differ... on many things. Still I’m not so certain I would have had the grace to do the same if I had been in your place.”

I suddenly became unreasonably angry but bit my lip to stem any outburst and merely shook my head as I summoned self-control.

When the emotional shield had once more been set in place I said: “Thank you, your Highness. Now if you please, lead the way. The King, as you say, awaits.”

Once again the Prince hesitated. Then: “I must warn you to guard yourselves. The glad greetings you received from our subjects will not be matched in my father’s court. It’s a complicated situation which I will explain later in detail. But know there are those who are greatly unsettled by your presence, while others see it as a great blessing that may reverse the tide against our common enemy.”

Janela nodded, saying: “I sensed as much, your Highness. Would I be too bold if I speculated that you and the King are on opposite sides of that dispute?”

The Prince sighed. “As opposite as can be. But please, have patience. I’m certain I can win him over... Although I fear there’s not much time.” He straightened his shoulders. “I mustn’t dwell on such things, now. When we’ve had a chance to talk all will become clear.”

And then he led us into the bleak fortress that was the palace of King Ignati.

* * * *

I was surprised when we entered the throne room although I’m not certain what I had expected — except to say that as the royal court of the last of the fabled Old Ones it was a chilling disappointment.

The chamber was vast, poorly lit and filled with gloomy statues and fierce-visaged idols of strange gods. The high walls were frescoed with scenes marking ancient wars between the Tyrenians and demon armies. It was sword against talon, wizard against devil and sorcerous siege engines battering ungiving walls. Interspersed with the frescoes were the royal portraits of Tyrenia’s kings and queens, many of them so faded by time that I could barely make out the features. Thousands of names were carved into the floor and I soon realized that interred beneath the stone were the remains of Tyrenia’s rulers and greatest heroes. It was like walking on a field of ghosts.

There was light at the far end of the chamber where shadowy figures moved about. As we neared it a dozen young lords stepped from a recess to join the Prince. Solaros introduced us in whispers, saying this fellow was Lord Emerle and that one was Lord Thrade and so on. I had to struggle hard to glue each name to a face for deposit in my memory.

Janela plucked my sleeve when we were introduced to one young man — who was tall, exceedingly slender and uncommonly pale. He face was long and horse-like, with wide-set eyes and overly large teeth that stretched his mouth. His name was Lord Vakram. As we touched palms in the Tyrenian manner of greeting my skin tingled with magical energy. I wasn’t surprised when I later learned he was the Prince’s wizard.

The King’s throne area was a wide curved vault that was softly lit by some magical source. The walls were draped by earth-colored tapestries and the floor was thickly carpeted with material of a similar color. Scattered about were scores of low tables and seats padded with dark, heavy cushions. Most were empty, their potential occupants knotting about the throne.

King Ignati raised his head as we approached, barely acknowledging our bows.

“Your Majesty,” his son said, “I have the honor of presenting to you Lord Amalric Antero and Lady Janela Greycloak.”

The King said nothing but leaned forward to peer at us through cold, narrow eyes.

He seemed to be middle-aged with still blond hair under his wide crown and a thick blond beard that fell nearly to his chest, then curled up to a point. His skin was fair but mottled with dark spots and his fingers were thin and long with sharp, polished nails. I couldn’t make out the color of his eyes but they seemed rheumy and old. The closer I looked the more I thought his age had been magically arrested. A fine network of lines etched his face — and his cheeks, which I had first thought flushed with health, had the faint purplish tinge of someone whose heart is greatly stressed.

He gave me but a cursory glance, spending most of his time on Janela — although I didn’t sense lust in that look.

“You’re prettier than I was told,” he finally said to her. His voice was high and full of irritability.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Janela said.

The King shook his head. “Didn’t mean it as a compliment.” He turned to a dark man in wizard’s robes. “I don’t trust pretty people, Tobray.”

The wizard smiled, bowing once to the King and then to Janela. “King Ignati meant no offense, my Lady,” he said.

“Don’t tell people what I mean and what I don’t, Tobray,” the King said to the wizard. Then, to Janela: “But it’s true, I meant no offense. Only speaking my mind.”

“None taken, your Highness,” Janela said.

The King waved, uncaring, then turned to me. “So you’re the great Amalric Antero?” he said. His tone was thick with sarcasm.

“I plead guilty to the name, Majesty,” I said, “but not to any greatness.”

Ignati chortled. For a sign of humor it made an unpleasant sound. “Clever. Very clever.” His head swiveled to Lord Tobray. “Always said he was a clever fellow, didn’t I, Tobray.”

“Indeed you have, your Majesty,” Tobray said. Then to me: “The King has often expressed his admiration of your intellect, sir.”

Ignati’s fingernails tapped impatiently on the arm of his throne. “Not
that
often, Tobray,” he said. “Only from time to time.”

“As you say, your Majesty,” Tobray soothed. “Only from time to time.”

“Don’t want these two getting the idea I’m so admiring,” the King said. “I’m not like that rabble in the streets that the gods have cursed me to govern. Mob fever, I call it. They think times are bleak when the fact is they’ve never been better. I give them peace, they think it’s surrender.” He glared at Tobray. “Don’t argue with me. I
know
what they think.”

Tobray, who’d given no sign of disputing his sovereign, kept that maddening smile on his face and shook his head. “Of course you do, your Majesty,” he said.

The King’s eyes swept back to us. “Mob fever,” he said again. “They see an ordinary mortal like themselves accomplish a wondrous feat... and I admit your expeditions match that definition... and they blow it all out of proportion. Start believing you might save them from the demons when the gods know very well I have that matter well in hand.
Very
well in hand.”

“I was as surprised as you, Majesty,” I said. “I know nothing of your situation here but it was apparent the moment Prince Solaros escorted us into your city your subjects are blessed with the wisest of rulers.”

Another chortle from the King. “Clever,
clever
fellow! No wonder you’re such a success.”

“We are fortune’s fools, your Highness,” Janela broke in. “The gods have smiled more often on us than on our enemies.”

Ignati hawked laughter, pausing to spit into a handkerchief before he spoke. “You’re clever too,” he said. “Just like your great grandfather Janos Greycloak.” His features darkened. He wagged a bony finger at Janela. “But you’re just as dangerous as he was, although now that I’ve met you I’m sure you don’t mean it.”

Janela looked concerned. “What have I done that is so dangerous, your Highness?” she asked.

“Oh, all that sorcerous meddling,” Ignati said. “Why couldn’t you be satisfied with curing boils, or making it rain when it ought and making it stop when it oughtn’t?”

“Simple curiosity, your Highness,” Janela said.

The King dismissed this with an impatient wave. “Yes, yes. I’ve heard that before. Well, I suppose you can’t be blamed, considering your dubious heritage.”

Janela only bowed, wisely saying nothing.

Now it was my turn to again enjoy the King’s scrutiny. “I suppose you know that your family has given us nothing but trouble.”

I spread my hands. “In what way, Majesty?” I said.

“All that adventuring and demon bashing, is what I mean,” he said. “Expeditions here and there. Supporting these Greycloaks in their silliness. I don’t blame your sister, so much. She was fighting a war. But I must say if you hadn’t gone riding wildly off to Vacaan the war never would have started. And yes, I know you had trouble with Raveline, who made his own bargain with the demons. But what of it? I was willing to concede a little more in the west. Nothing but barbarians there, anyway. Why couldn’t you do the same?”

The Prince cleared his throat to catch his father’s attention. “You’ll forgive me, father,” he said. “But his people are among those barbarians you seem so willing to give up.”

“Yes, yes... of course they are,” the King admitted. “I suppose their actions were to be expected — considering the circumstances. I’m only trying to explain to them what an awful lot of trouble they’ve caused us.”

“In the view of many, father,” the Prince said, “the only trouble they’ve caused is to the demons.”

“Same thing,” Ignati said. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. My duty is to be as much a juggler as a king. We’ve made war too long, and the only way to stop it is to try to see the other fellow’s view. Which in this case happen to be the demons’. What do they want? What do I want? Somewhere in the middle we find common ground. Without a damned war, mind you!”