Marianne, the Magus & the Manticore (28 page)

"Marianne disabused me of that notion." The man plopped himself down comfortably, stroking his wife's hair as he went past her. "Said she'd many when she was ready and not before.

I didn't believe it, thought it was all just youthful exuberance, thought she'd be tired of the work in a month. But she carried the day, convinced me. Very convincing young woman, my daughter. She did take a break in the middle of her education—

traveled through your country, kinsman. Said she had always wanted to see it, know what it was like." He smiled hugely, very proud for all his protestations. "What do we call you, my boy, '"Your Excellency'? Just occurred to me that 'my boy'

probably isn't
de rigeur."

"My name is Makr Avehl.
Macro vail.
It has a meaning 'as old and esoteric as your own, but I ignore that. If you say it properly, it sounds vaguely Scottish and acceptable." He was hardly following the conversation. So Marianne had traveled in Alphenlicht. In what world, what time had that been? Her father, all unaware, boomed on.

"Ha. I like that. Scottish and acceptable, is it? Well, and what's unacceptable about Alphenlicht? Nothing I know of.

Sorry I left the place, sometimes. Though, back then, the family thought there'd be conflict of some kind. You've done well, Prime Minister. Kept the villains at bay."

"We've had help," smiled Makr Avehl, not surprised that they both interpreted this to mean help from the U.S. Neither of them had known anything of the Cave of Light, or of the real power of the Magi. Well, he hadn't expected that they would.

Both of them looked up, across the meadows, and he followed their eyes across the granite balustrade where a horse emerged from the wood and galloped toward them over the pastures, the rider so well seated that she seemed almost to be part of the animal. Mrs. Zahmani followed his glance, nodded.

"Marianne. I knew she'd be coming in soon. First thing when she gets here for the weekend is a ride, then next is a ride, then after that, a little ride...." She laughed. "That love of horses. I outgrew it myself, when I was about sixteen. Not so Marianne. Her love of horses has continued—despite everything." She shook her head, sad for some reason Makr Avehl was not privy to. "Well, she'll be surprised when I introduce you and tell her how you found us."

Makr Avehl was not sure of that. He was not sure of much at the moment, least of all what it was that Marianne would know, or be surprised at. He himself had not really been surprised to find her father and mother still alive, healthy, still living the life of grace and elegance which had been mourned by the Marianne he had known. He had started his search very near this place, for Ellat had remembered what Marianne had said about her childhood home though he, Makr Avehl, had not. Having found the parents, it had not been difficult to find the daughter. After his lengthy conversations with Ellat and Aghrehond, he had not been really surprised by anything.

A whisper of sound drew his attention to the doors behind him, thrust open from inside and held while a wheelchair was pushed from the house onto a ramp and then down to the shaded lawn, a white-clad attendant moving beside it. Makr Avehl frowned. The woman saw his expression.

"Marianne's half brother," she whispered in explanation. "It was a great tragedy. In fact, I sometimes cannot understand Marianne still being so fond of horses."

"Paralyzed?" asked Makr Avehl. The shrouded figure made no movement except that Makr Avehl saw the eyes shift toward him, as though the person there had recognized his voice.

Stunned, he looked full into that immobile face. He knew that face, knew it as well as he knew his own. Harvey Zahmani, who had tried so hard to kill Marianne. Who had killed the couple standing beside him—in another world, in another time.

"Completely paralyzed," the woman whispered. "He had just returned from a visit to your part of the world—the trip was a graduation gift from his father. He had visited an aunt in your neighboring country, Lubovosk. His mother came from there. He had been home less than a day when he and Marianne went out riding..."

"Marianne told us it was a pack of wild dogs," said Haurvatat Zahmani. "No one had ever seen them before. No one ever saw them after. They came out of nowhere. The first we knew was when Marianne came riding in. Her horse was all lathered, but she was steady as a rock even though she was only twelve at the time. Told us what had happened, where to find him. Thrown. His head and back must have hit a stone.

He never walked again. Never spoke again." The man sighed deeply, reliving an old tragedy.

Makr Avehl did not answer. His eyes were utterly fixed upon the woman riding to the stairs he stood upon, fixed upon Marianne, his Marianne. His hungry, predatory soul reached for her in glad possession, his sagacious, ruminative self eager to learn of her, rejoice in her....

She looked up at him, smiling slightly, welcoming, as though she had expected him, something lightening in her eyes as if a shadow raised, a lusty gladness showing there which brought the blood to his cheeks.

Behind her on the lawn he could see what had been Harvey S. Zahmani in the wheelchair, motionless, powerless, unable to do any harm, to anyone... ever.

Deep inside, Snake whispered an unheeded warning.