Queen of Stars (10 page)

Flakes of snow floated in the air and there was snow on the ground, too, although not much. That was reasonable, because the canopy overhead would be thick enough to catch most of it. Snow was rare in the Starlands. When he had asked Talitha why that was, given the elves’ preference for cool temperatures, she had told him that it was hard to imagine realistic snow, snow that would take footprints, and even harder to get it to return to its artistic, pristine state later. Too much bother, in other words. The snow in this vision had many patches of conifer needles mixed in with it. Token snow.

There was Halfling Rigel, leaning against an especially huge trunk. He was barefoot, wearing only his usual wrap and bronze helmet, but that was quite credible. He had no need of clothing until the temperature dropped well below freezing, although he had wrapped up on Earth to avoid drawing attention to himself. He must have walked on the pine needles on his way to the tree, because he had left no footprints. He looked quite relaxed, but he was holding his sword.

“I am in no hurry,” he announced. “I’d like to talk about men and women who make war on children.”

Who was he talking to? In contrast to the dense forest behind him, the ground before him was empty, just snow and needles and exposed roots.

A man said, “Boss, I’m worried the prisoner may escape. Shouldn’t we sort of fix him there somehow? I mean, nail him in place with an arrow?” He sounded as if he was standing in the pendulum, directly behind Watcher-Rigel.

The reply came, unmistakably, from Hadar. “I don’t think one arrow would do it. We’ll start with one and work our way up. Scheat, pin his left shoulder.”

A bowstring cracked, Saiph blurred, and an arrow sprouted in a trunk about a meter from Target-Rigel. He shrugged. “That the best you can do?”

Hadar said, “No. Schemali and Sadalbari. On the count of three. One…two…three!”

Bowstrings cracked. Again Target-Rigel’s right arm and sword blurred, and this time two arrows struck the trees behind him. A shower of snow fell off a low-lying branch.

Several people laughed: mostly men, but women too.

Back on Rigel’s second day in the Starlands, Regent-heir Kornephoros had mockingly asked how anyone could go about stealing Saiph, and Talitha had told him they could send a regiment of archers against it. That was what Hadar had somehow managed to do. There must be a whole gang of Family members lined up against Target-Rigel.

Why didn’t he escape into the forest? Once he started dodging away through those trees, they would never hit him. The answer must lie in that remark he had made about making war on children. They must have taken Izar hostage. Rigel would never desert him.

“Seems we must try targets that are farther apart,” Hadar said. “Scheat, the shoulder again. Sadachbia, dear, you’re a good shot. You try for his balls. On the count of three. Stop that, maggot!”

A child cried out and tried to say something, but the words were cut off.

“Prepare to fire when this brat turns blue,” Hadar said. The Family laughed. After a moment, he added, “Going to behave yourself now?”

Izar mumbled something.

“Very well, on the count of three.”

Watcher-Rigel tried to close his eyes and couldn’t.

That time the victim did cry out. One arrow fell in two pieces, but the other pinned his left shoulder to the tree behind him. Just one cry, then a hard swallow and silence. He went very pale and clearly could not move without hurting himself more.

There could be no doubt that Rigel was watching his own execution. Fomalhaut had warned him that the sight might drive him crazy. He should go now, before it got any worse. His feet wouldn’t move. He wanted to scream, and couldn’t make a sound.

“What’s going on here?” said a new voice, the horribly familiar voice of Naos Vildiar.

“Just softening him up a little, Your Highness,” said Hadar. “We got the brat here, too.”

“Good. Hold him tight. He’s a slippery little devil. Have you any last words, Rigel Halfling? I concede that you have caused me more trouble than I would have believed possible. But this is definitely the end. You are about to die.”

“I won’t bet against it,” Target-Rigel said. “But let Izar go, please. He should not have to watch this.” Blood from his shoulder had run down all the way to his feet. His face was chalky white.

“No, it is educational for him to view punishment and see the penalty for insubordination.”

“As soon as we’ve disposed of you,” Hadar barked, “our favorite little brother here will be going on to Unukalhai to begin his manhood training. This is nothing compared to what he’ll have to watch there…and learn to do himself!”

“Carry on, Hadar!”

“Yes, my lord. When I call out your name, shoot. Try to avoid vital areas, so that we can all have a chance to do our bit for the great cause.”

Izar screamed, “No!”

“Quiet!” his father said. “Or I will have you gagged. Proceed, halfling.”

Hadar shouted, “Diphda, Sadalbari, Schemali, Phact, Sadachbia, Rotanev!” A fusillade of bowstrings cracked.

The condemned man screamed. Some arrows had missed or been knocked aside by Saiph, but two had hit their mark: one through his right elbow and another in his belly. He screamed again. And again.

His sword and gauntlet disappeared, unable to help further. Only the silver bracelet remained on his immobilized arm. He tried to speak but there was too much blood in his mouth.

Watcher-Rigel was sobbing, and still he could not drag himself away.

Hadar said, “Hand around the bows so some of the rest of us can have a share of the fun. Maaz—”

“Stop!” Izar yelled. “Stop! Stop!”

“Izar.” That was his father. “If I tell them to stop torturing Rigel, will you promise to do what I tell you in future?”

“Yes, yes! Anything!”

“You promise?”

Again the dying man tried to say something and only blood came out of his mouth.

“Yes,” Izar sobbed. “I promise! I’ll do anything you say, Father.”

“Kill him, Hadar.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Rotanev, hold the brat for me and give me your bow. This is my job.” Brief pause. “Bye-bye, sucker!”

The scene went black. The window disappeared, leaving Rigel in darkness, clinging to the ladder, gasping and shivering. This was why Fomalhaut had warned him. Now he knew his own death. Nothing he could do would change that. Somehow he must try to remain sane while knowing how he would die. It wouldn’t be very long, though, for Izar had still been a child in the vision.

The last words Rigel would ever hear would be Hadar’s mockery.

Could a prophecy be defied? If we know the future, can we not escape it?

After a few moments he tried to haul himself up another rung. He wasn’t surprised when his helmet thumped against the top of the tube, a flat plate. He had reached the end of his life. Yet now there was a dim light far below him. He started descending and it grew rapidly brighter. The way down seemed only a fraction as long as the way up, and he could detect a slight tilt to the shaft. In a few moments he emerged into the brilliance of the crystal disk and heard voices shouting below him. Some of them were definitely telling him to jump, and the shrillest one was Izar’s.

The advantage of knowing that he must die at the hands of Hadar’s henchmen was that nothing else could be too terrible. Rigel let go.

He shot out the bottom of the disk and landed on a giant cushion, which broke his fall as if it were filled with soft dough. Izar, Talitha, Fomalhaut, and the apprentice mage Achird were all standing around watching him. Izar came running even before Rigel could struggle to his feet.

“What’yu see?” he demanded excitedly.

Among the onlookers, Talitha’s anger seemed less convincing than before, Fomalhaut’s sneer was more arrogant than ever, and Achird just looked relieved. Mizar must have still been at work in the seance court.

“You went first,” Rigel said. “What did you see?”
And how had he returned first?

“I saw
him
,” Izar said disgustedly. “So I just climbed down again.”

Fomalhaut raised golden eyebrows, but said nothing. Rigel glanced at Talitha, who also looked suspicious. Despite his elfin childishness, Izar Imp could be as devious as a Mafia boss. He certainly hated and feared Vildiar quite enough to have just turned around and left after catching a glimpse of his father in the conception scene. But he might equally well have gone on to view the highlights of the rest of his life. Time itself was distorted inside the Time of Life; otherwise he could not have managed to bypass Rigel on the way back.

“And what did you see, tweenling?” Fomalhaut demanded of Rigel. “If you presume to arrogate my occult contrivances without leave, the least you owe me is a detailed report of the consequences.”

“How accurate are these so-called prophecies?”

“They have never been wrong in four centuries.”

“That’s a relief,” Rigel said, smiling sweetly. “I assume if Izar had climbed all the way to the top he would have seen nothing but stars?”

“He would have heard the music of the spheres, but I’m certain that you did not!”

“No, I didn’t,” Rigel admitted. “But I did learn that I am not about to fulfill the last of the prophecies for a long time.” Not until after he had sired a child, in fact. Viva chastity! As long as he remained a virgin and stayed away from snowy forests, he could not die.

He had two prophecies from Fomalhaut now, and the last cancelled out the first, at least in terms of timing. Perhaps they were both utter lies, charades concocted by the mage in order to scare the unwelcome tweenling upstart into scarpering back home to Canada.

“Come along, all of you!” Talitha said angrily. “Izar should have been in bed hours ago. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

Her court mage ignored her. “Did you learn the name of your father, halfling?”

Rigel shrugged. “I already knew that, starborn. My mother told me before she died.”
My mother, the queen,
of course. He smiled blandly at the old elf’s annoyance and followed Izar and Talitha as they headed for the door, the royal barge, and Canopus.

Chapter 12

A
vior Halfling, the former Mabel Bonalde, was scalding her mouth on her fifth cup of strong black coffee when shrill screams drove through her head like iron spikes. Izar and a couple of slightly larger imps cannonballed into the far side of the pool in simultaneous eruptions. Where Izar went, could Rigel be far behind? She cowered over the table, trying to will herself invisible.

No such luck.

“Good morning, tweenling!” he caroled, striding in along the path. He stopped, towering over her. “Something wrong?”

“No,” she said. “Morning,” she conceded. She was not about to mention a pounding headache, a million bruises, nor certain intimate places that had been rubbed almost raw—all in a very good cause, admittedly, but hard to bear in the cold light of day.

He sat down, clattering the chair like a kettledrum. “Waiter! I want a tall glass of grapefruit juice and bring the lady a morning-after pick-me-up.

“They do their best,” he added softly when the mudling had gone, “but I did warn you about their intelligence. You have to ask specifically for everything you need.”

A pick-me-up sounded promising; she turned a bleary eye in his direction. The Starlands were packed with surprises. Rigel had not been gone from her room two minutes last night when Tyl had walked in with a full bottle of rum, which he had handed to her without a word. While she was taking her first swig, he had dropped his robe and climbed into bed, uninvited but welcome. He had assessed her needs very rapidly and proceeded to go one better than his Unukalhai three Rs training, Ravishing her Ruthlessly and Repeatedly with astonishing Reliability for the rest of the night, until they ran out of rum.

“Rigel!” Izar bellowed from the pool.

“The monster calls.” Rigel was disgustingly cheerful and hangover-free. “We do have time for a quick swim before court assembles, if you want. No? Well, here comes your fixer-upper. It will make you feel much better. By the way, you’ll do better to cover your head and leave off the wig. Excess hair offends the elves, because their own never grows long. It’s like chimpanzee fur, but don’t tell them I told you so. Halflings Tyl and Thabit will be joining us. Thabit is another of Hadar’s assassins who came in from the cold right after Tyl. They’re twins, the only twins in the Family. Excuse me.” He laid his helmet down on his chair.

He was gone with barely a ripple on the water.

The tonic arrived. Avior pulled a face at the smell of it and swallowed it in one gulp. It went off inside her head like a nuclear blast. When the fireworks stopped, she opened her eyes and watched the world spin slowly to a halt.
Crispies!
The pain had disappeared. A hangover tonic as effective as that would be worth billions on Earth.

She had company again. Rigel’s helmet was now on the table and Tyl was sitting on the chair opposite her, a satisfied sneer on his elfin face. He wore a pale long-sleeved robe, fastened to the throat, and at least a dozen sparkling studs in his cat ears.

“Good morning, Avior.”

“No, but it’s better than it was,” she admitted.

“I trust you slept well? The ugly wretch behind you is my brother, Orang.”

The man in the chair wasn’t Tyl, she suddenly realized. His name was Thabit. She looked up in alarm, not having realized there was anyone else present. Tyl was behind her, wearing a blue robe.

He said, “Shut up, Utan.”

Orang? Utan?…Red body hair…Right.

The twins were exact duplicates, alizarin eyes and all.

“Pay no attention to Utan,” Tyl said, smiling down at her with dentition stolen from a great white. “Ever since he finally reached puberty, he’s been insanely jealous of my superior prowess.”

“As well as being practically impotent,” Thabit retorted, “my brother is an outrageous liar. We are both very happy that you’re here, Avior Tweenling. We are eager to make your welcome to the Starlands both warm and memorable.”

“I have a trained eye for detail,” she said, “but I admit that you two are astonishingly alike, even for twins. Fortunately, I have the starborn trick of reading names, so I can easily tell you apart.”

Tyl said, “Why does it matter?” and Thabit, “Who cares?”

The palace was built on a cyclopean scale and seemed to cover more ground than a major airport. The giant statuary that loomed everywhere caught Avior’s professional interest, but mainly because it displayed such a weird medley of styles. Even when the figures were posed with stiff arms, left foot forward, and both heels on the ground, they were neither quite Egyptian nor Greek. Elfin ears showed up everywhere: on Buddhas, togaed Romans, Hellenistic goddesses, Aztec warriors, Chinese dragons. The building itself was constructed of pink granite and black diorite, miles of walls covered with the alien script that adorned Rigel’s amulet. Her eyes’ inability to comprehend it properly reminded her of Frederick Catherwood’s frantic efforts to draw Maya ruins that were so alien to his experience. Below all this gigantic grandeur teemed near-nude starfolk and draped mudlings, but there were also halflings, sphinxes, centaurs, even a few lumbering cyclops. Almost all sported bat ears, and the rest had their heads covered.

Tyl and Thabit brought her at last to a gap in a high wall, where their way was blocked by a menacing sphinx. He gave them a sudden smile just as she learned that his name was Algenubi.

“Tweenling Avior!” His voice was not as subterranean as Zozma’s, but it was deep enough. “The marshal mentioned you. Follow me. Better still, hang on to my tail.”

He padded through the opening into a corridor, whose opposite side was an endless wall of towering monoliths, and through the nearest gap into a solid mass of starborn. Most of them were facing to the left and Algenubi turned in that direction, but there were many thousands of starfolk assembled there. Having no elbows, he began a low, never-ending, bloodcurdling growl, which seemed to be the Starlands equivalent of a police siren, for the elves stopped their twittering and jostled aside with angry grumbles. Algenubi treated any who were too slow to react much as a snowplow treats obstinate drifts. Avior, towed along, tried to apologize at first and then just gave up. She assumed that Tyl and Thabit were following.

This enormous courtyard was evidently the court itself, and the crowd packed into it was waiting for the queen. The roof was a cloudless ultramarine sky, and the walls were granite slabs, four or five stories high, like god-sized dominoes set on end. Each one was a backdrop for an Egyptian-style animal-headed colossus, with the jackal-faced Anubis the favorite, but also many others, both male and female, clad or unclad. Avior could spend days exploring this courtyard alone. Not today, though.

She hated people in crowds; to be honest, she hated people, and the more of them, the worse. Yet starfolk did not repel her as a human mob would. Lacking signs of age or wear, they flaunted their bodies shamelessly and unerringly; they were gracile and entrancing, each of them glittering with gems. She felt that she was plowing through a field of tall flowers. Earthlings stank, but the starfolk smelled of grass and blossoms, not the overpowering chemical stench of scents from bottles. Their chatter was as musical as the chirruping of birds or the murmuring of doves. Their smiles were Komodo nightmares.

Algenubi brought her at last to the front of the crowd, where the foremost row of starfolk struggled mightily against the pressure of the crowd behind, which was threatening to push their bare toes across a thin blue line on the mosaic floor. The line itself was almost invisible, but two sphinxes were patrolling it, and those massive padding paws kept the elves from trespassing. Occasional howls of pain served as a reminder.

Beyond that lay a wide, mostly empty expanse, containing in its center a black inlaid star that had to be the notorious Star of Truth. Did it really have an ominous aura, or was that a product of her imagination?

On the far side of the gap, seven wide, shallow steps ran the full width of the court, the topmost holding a throne that was the most alien thing Avior had seen yet, a mass of gold and colored stone so subtle and complex that her eyes could not trace its lines. It repelled her and yet held her gaze hypnotically.

Either Tyl or Thabit poked her in the back. “Don’t stare too long at that thing. It’s neither elfin nor earthly, and it can sprain your mind.”

“Thanks,” she said, raising her gaze to the plain black monolith behind it, taller than any other. Flecks of golden light like fireflies moved slowly within it.

The sphinx delivered her and her escort to a small group standing off to the right, at the base of the lowermost step—elves and a few self-effacing halflings. Most were wearing jeweled disk collars and seemed to be officials. They glanced with disapproval at the three newcomer half-breeds and turned to continue their conversations.

“Wait here, halfling,” the sphinx commanded. “You may be called near the end, but Marshal Rigel thinks there will be too much official business today for them to get to you.”

“Good turnout,” Tyl remarked.

The sphinx turned his head to appraise him for a long moment with the studied stare that must characterize patrolmen everywhere in the galaxy. Eventually he said, “You have been here before?”

“I accompanied Prince Vildiar once, back in Queen Electra’s time.”

“How long ago?”

Tyl shrugged. “Forty years? Maybe fifty.”

Algenubi nodded and stalked away. Tyl had to be a lot older than he looked. But so was Avior, and age certainly had not blunted his prowess.

“How many thousands?” asked a nearby starborn wearing a collar of sapphires and emeralds.

“King Procyon told me once it can hold twenty,” said her companion, peering around. His name was Hyadum and his collar was of rubies and onyx.

“Must be close to full. I expect they’ve all come to get a look at her, this being the first time she’s held court.”

“Naw, they’ve come to sneer at that halfling lover of hers. And because the word got around that Vildiar’s commanded all his underlings to attend. They think he’s going to challenge her for the throne.”

Sapphires’ name was Azmidiske; she tinkled an effete laugh that set Avior’s teeth on edge. “
Democracy
? In the
Starlands
? Will he try, do you think?”

“Not a hope,” Hyadum said. “Not yet, anyway. But you heard that Chancellor Haedus went windsurfing and was returned by the tide facedown, right? I was told this morning that several other ministers are thinking of handing in their collars.” His voice dropped so low that Avior couldn’t hear it through her head cloth.

She returned to studying the scene.

Her two guards were standing very close on either side of her. Tyl tried to take her hand and she shook him off.

“What happens if I’m called?” she asked, realizing for the first time that she was terrified.

“Nothing much,” he said. “You have to prove that you’re a halfling, not a mudling, and you can do that by uncovering your unbuttoned belly. Then a starborn has to sponsor you, and the queen’s going to do that, Rigel says—”

“Why?” his brother interrupted. “The queen herself? That’s unusual.”

Since he seemed to be asking Avior, she said, “I have no idea.” Rigel had hinted that she might be able to assist him in his vendetta against Vildiar, but she could not imagine how.

The rumble of the crowd paused as a matronly human woman wearing a skirt and head cloth walked out from behind the throne. Carrying a gilded chair, she marched to the right until she was directly in front of where Avior was standing, then descended one step, and there she set the chair. She turned and retraced her steps. The crowd went back to its gossiping.

A few moments later, two sphinxes, one of them the huge Commander Zozma, stalked out from the same concealed door and took up positions on either side of the throne. Then came Rigel in his classical Roman helmet. He went to stand directly behind the chair—and the crowd’s avian murmuring changed flavor, from bland to acid.

“Well, I can see why she fancies him,” Hyadum said. “As long as he keeps the bucket on his head.”

“Oh, my dear, how could you?” Azmidiske declaimed, her voice poignant with angst. “Have you seen Starborn Ruchba’s anthropoid gardens? He has some male
Paranthropus robustus
who will undoubtedly appeal to you.”

Izar came out. With chin raised, lips tight, and eyes focused straight ahead, he strode past Zozma, descended one step, and moved over to the chair. He paused before it, then shot his arms out sideways and bowed to the court. To Avior’s astonishment, the assembled starfolk burst into cheers and applause. He sat down and turned his head to grin up at Rigel behind him.

“Stars! A standing ovation?” Tyl muttered. “Little bugger’ll be impossible now.”

“He always is,” his brother retorted. Neither sounded serious.

“Oh, isn’t he a
darling
!” Azmidiske said. “I do
adore
imps!”