Liar's Island: A Novel (10 page)

“I've known kings who lived in worse places,” Hrym said. The room was huge and round, with a bed big enough for five people, several well-cushioned armchairs, low tables holding books and bits of statuary, lamps both conventional and alchemical, tapestries depicting scenes like those from the friezes in the hallways, and a washbasin next to a fountain that bubbled endlessly. Doors filled with glass panes stood open, white curtains drawn back, giving access to a balcony that was larger than the best room at an Andoren inn. A table on the balcony held bread and fruit and a pitcher of something that proved to be very fine pale wine.

Rodrick leaned Hrym against one chair on the balcony, then dropped into another, poured himself a second cup of wine to savor, and sat looking out at the gardens below and the high wall beyond. “This is acceptable,” he said. “Don't you think? We've landed on our feet quite nicely. I mean, I have. You don't have feet.”

“We don't even know why we're here yet,” Hrym said. “You think it's going to be all free wine and garden views?”

“You never know. We
did
save the world from the depredations of a demon lord, you know. Saraswati told me about something called ‘karma'—the idea is, if you do something good, good things will happen, and if you do something bad, bad things will happen, with no tedious waiting around to be judged in the afterlife first. Maybe this is our just reward for our virtuous acts.”

“Ha. I think our bad actions still outnumber our good. Maybe, at best, we've achieved neutrality.”

“Here's to neutrality,” Rodrick said, and poured a third cup of wine.

*   *   *

Rodrick woke with a start, slumped on the balcony, to find a shaven-headed servant bedecked in gold clearing his throat loudly.

“He's been doing that for five minutes,” Hrym said helpfully from the other chair. “I told him to smack you on the side of the head when you wouldn't wake up, but he refused.”

Groaning, Rodrick looked into the wine cup, which held only dregs, and then into the pitcher, which was in a similar state. Oh well. It had been very good wine. Most of the day had passed, it seemed, the sky tinged with colors as bright as those of the silk banners that fluttered over Niswan, all violets and oranges and reds as the sun set beyond the gardens.

The servant bowed. “May I help you prepare for the feast?”

Rodrick rose to his feet. He hadn't been asleep long enough to develop a hangover, so that was something. After picking up Hrym he followed the servant back to his rooms, and from there out into the hallway and toward the baths. The opulence there was a fit for the rest of the palace: marble columns, dizzyingly high ceilings, friezes on the walls of people bathing in rivers and waterfalls, and the pools themselves, tiled in pale blue, one cold and still, one warm and still, and one hot and bubbling, but apparently magically, and not because it was boiling. Each pool was big enough for a dozen people to bathe without jostling one another, though no one else was there. “Does everyone in the palace bathe here?” he asked.

“This bath is for guests such as yourself.”

So much for the hope of seeing a few Vudrani women dressed in nothing but flowing water. Rodrick bathed, enjoying the warm pool and the cold, letting the servant scrub his back with a sort of rough sponge on a stick, and declining the array of oils, perfumes, and unguents offered while he toweled off. He wrapped himself in a robe and went back to his rooms, where another servant was laying out a suit of clothes in the local fashion: loose white trousers, silk shirt, embroidered vest, and shoes that were more like slippers, all of the finest cut and cloth. A golden scabbard lay on the bed, too, studded with sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. “Hrym!” he called. “They have a fancy scabbard for you!”

Hrym, still leaning against the chair on the balcony, said, “You know I don't like being cooped up in those things. I can't even
see
.”

“Hrym, the thing is literally made of gold. Or at least gilt—I suppose if it were pure gold it would be abominably heavy. But still: you could rest
inside gold
.”

A pause. “I suppose that might be all right, but you have to take me out when we get to the feast. I like to see what's happening.”

If the servants found the conversation strange, they didn't give any indication. They must be used to even stranger things than a talking sword. Rodrick glanced at them. “So are these things gifts, or loans?” The servants blinked at him, and he sighed. “Do I have to give back the clothes and the scabbard and things when the thakur's done with me, or do I get to keep them?”

“They … are yours, of course, sir,” one said, a man with a curiously high-pitched voice. “We would not give any guests clothing or gifts that had been used by another.” He shuddered delicately at the very idea.

“Excellent. The thakur's hospitality is justly famed.” The jewels in the scabbard alone would make this trip worthwhile, even if there were no other riches to be had on this little expedition. He put Hrym on the bed while he dressed, buckling on the bejeweled sword belt that held the empty scabbard. “If you'd wait in the hall, gentlemen? I'll be right there.” The two servants exchanged glances and the slightest of frowns, so Rodrick said, “I need a few moments to pray to my own gods. It's important to do so before a meal.”

They seemed to understand reverence, because they bowed out and shut the door. Rodrick picked up Hrym and went out to the balcony, just in case the servants were listening at the door. “Well, old friend, here we are. I try not to worry too much about momentous events that are off in the future, because they may never arrive—the ship could have gone down with all hands on the voyage over, or we could have been eaten by leviathans, and then all that worry would have been wasted. But it seems quite likely we're going to end up at a feast soon, and will be at some point in the presence of the thakur, who will presumably tell us what we're
doing
here. I find the immediacy of that prospect a bit alarming. Don't you?”

Hrym harrumphed. “What are you suggesting? If we tried to go for a stroll in the garden in the general direction of the front gate, we'd probably be herded back like sheep, with djinn as the shepherds. I wouldn't want to fight my way out of this place. You drank the wine and put on the clothes—they've paid for you, so we might as well find out what they think they bought. Besides, it could mean more gold.”

“I just wanted to take a moment to recognize the gravity of the situation. Usually when authorities want to see us, we make a point of running
away
. But perhaps I'm nervous for nothing. I just hope they don't mean to marry me off to someone. Maybe word of my prowess as a swordsman has spread, and they want me to audition for a place in a House of Perfection.”

“Or to put me in the hands of a halfway competent swordswoman, to see what
she
could do with someone as wonderful as me,” Hrym said.

Rodrick sighed, rising, then slid Hrym into the golden scabbard, where he fit perfectly. “I'm capable of facing reality. I know it's more likely they're interested in you than they are in me—or that they're interested in me mostly because I am presently your wielder, and the only person you can be trusted not to freeze into a lump of magical unmelting ice.”

“Oh, good. I'm glad you can admit that. I didn't want to say anything, because I know your feelings are delicate.” Hrym's voice was muffled but perfectly comprehensible.

Rodrick frowned and put his hand on Hrym's hilt, realizing something. “Wait.
You
never got an amulet to let you understand the languages these people are speaking, or to make them understand yours. How are you communicating?”

“Hardly anyone talks to me
anyway
, it's very rude, but as for how … well, they make as much sense to me as any of you humanoid creatures do, and I suppose I can make myself understood. I must have picked up their tongue somewhere.” Hrym had potent magical properties of absorption—he'd gained his ice powers by stealing them, over the course of long years, from an ice dragon, and had picked up a demonic taint after a much shorter period of time in proximity to a demon lord, so maybe at some point he'd soaked up other abilities as well. His memory was fragmented, though perhaps not so badly as he claimed, and there were depths in Hrym that were hidden from Rodrick, and possibly even from Hrym himself.

“Hmm. You're full of surprises, but I'm glad I don't have to play translator for you. Speaking of voices, though, did you hear that servant? He could sing the soprano part in a choir.”

“He's a eunuch, Rodrick.”

Rodrick blinked. “What, you mean someone cut his … particulars … off?”

Hrym snickered—not the creepy demonic titter, but his more usual crass indication of amusement. “You male humanoids are so attached to your reproductive organs. Even you, though as far as I can tell you never have any intention of reproducing, at least not intentionally.”

“I enjoy going through the
motions
, though,” Rodrick said. “Why would they unman the man?”

“I don't know much about the Vudrani, but I know it's not uncommon in their culture to do that to servants. Cut off that part of a boy before he starts to become a man, and he's made more reliable in various ways, or so it's generally believed. Do
you
always think with your head, Rodrick, or do other parts of you sometimes make the decisions?”

“I have made some choices based on suggestions from my lower regions that, in retrospect, were unwise. Cutting them off seems a bit extreme, though.”

“Humanoid carnal relations are baffling and disgusting to me, of course, but I gather some men in power feel better if their women are attended by men who can't, ah, compete with their masters in certain respects.”

Rodrick made a disgusted face. “I suppose it makes a sick sort of sense. I've never demanded faithfulness from any woman, myself. It's true I'm frequently dishonest, but asking for
that
would be downright hypocritical. It's not as if the eunuchs have their tongues and fingers removed, though, so it seems a half-measure at best … I'd worry about a eunuch revolution, personally. I can't think of many things that would make me more likely to go into a frenzy and try to kill someone than having
those
cut off.”

“Do the cutting early enough and they don't know what they're missing,” Hrym said.

“Poor bastards. I mustn't
tell
them what they're missing. There's nothing sadder than a weeping servant.”

He slid Hrym back into the scabbard and strode out into the hall, toward destiny—or, at the very least, a free meal.

9

The Thakur's Proposal

The servants, moving fast without ever exactly running, led Rodrick through the palace to yet another gorgeous hall of marble and columns, this one full of long tables made from exotic (by Inner Sea standards, anyway) wood, with chairs carved so delicately they seemed constructed of lace. There were scores of people in the room, most already seated, a few standing and mingling in little groups, the women in scarves and veils, the men in loose pants with broad sashes, except for those in monk's robes in various hues, doubtless denoting their religious and martial affiliations.

Rodrick was fairly adept at reading the composition of a crowd of nobles in most of the kingdoms back home, but his ignorance of Vudrani ways limited his capacity here. Who were the true powers here, and who were the strivers? Was it even worth his while to know? He picked up a tall fluted glass of something bubbly from the tray of a passing servant—another eunuch, he suspected—and took a sip.

“Ah, good, you've arrived.” Nagesh appeared at his elbow and gently herded him toward one of the tables. “You will be seated not far from the thakur's table, beside one of the teachers from the Monastery of Untwisting Iron—your mutual interest in weapons should make conversation pleasant.”

Rodrick smiled instead of groaning. Was there anything more tedious than talking about the merits of various sorts of swords? Clearly magical swords of living ice were best, but when he made that point, it was seldom well received. He was surprised, when he reached the table, to find an elaborate sword stand beside his chair, made of silver and gold.

“For Hrym,” Nagesh said, and Rodrick couldn't contain a grin. Lots of people preferred to pretend that Hrym was just a sword, however remarkable, and it was nice to see his partner treated with respect. He drew the sword, perhaps a bit too hastily as the room rapidly went silent, heads turning to look at the man holding a few feet of glittering magic in his hands. He raised his other hand in a wave, gave his most rakish smile, and set Hrym point-down on the stand beside his chair.

“Mmm. This is all right,” Hrym said. “Make sure you get to keep this stand, too. It's not as good as resting on a big pile of gold coins, but it's better than being propped up against a wall.”

“There's the thakur,” Nagesh murmured, and Rodrick looked where he gestured. At a table raised a little higher than the others, a dozen Vudrani even more richly dressed in silks and jewels than the rest—presumably important members of the Maurya-Rahm—surrounded a figure seated in the center. The thakur was on the early slopes of his later years, and had a grandfatherly aspect, all smiles and nods, with laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His clothing was relatively simple, but impeccably made, his beard perfectly trimmed and iron-gray. His eyes seemed to catch Rodrick's, for a moment, and those eyes were
sharp
, dark and intent and all-seeing despite his smiles. Not a man Rodrick would choose as a potential mark for cheating, so he hoped he wouldn't be forced to try.