Queen of Stars (7 page)

“The Family had ruled the roost for twenty years with hardly a bruise to show for it. Then within a couple of days, it lost eight people, thanks to Rigel. Now it’s started again—this afternoon they set up an ambush to kill him and lost three more.”

“But Rigel didn’t kill them! Izar’s dragon did.” She could see Rigel and the dog walking up a wall.

“I didn’t say he did. He didn’t kill all the eight, either. Starborn Fomalhaut is the ranking mage in the Starlands. He gave Imp Izar a Lesath amulet. That was an insanely irresponsible, criminal act!”

“The dragon, Edasich?”

Tyl chuckled. “No, a dog named Turais. The present Turais is just a dog; the first one, his namesake, was a nightmare. But why in the stars did Fomalhaut do that? I think it was because of Rigel. Like most starfolk, Fomalhaut despises halflings as part animal, but he’s a red mage and probably has a powerful prescience. He sensed this new boy was a mover of mountains. Rigel is as deadly as the queen on a chessboard. Avior, the kid has worn Saiph all his life! Literally since the hour he was born. That amulet has shaped him, made him into the warrior it needs. If you want to see what reflexes and agility are, try him on the squash court. Or tennis. My brother Thabit’s a fantastic tennis player and I’m just as good, but Rigel can beat the pair of us together. I could break him in half in hand-to-hand, except he’d have a lock on me before I touched him.”

His reflexes hadn’t saved him from her punch on the dock.

“Rigel soon proved that he was a game changer. The day he arrived here in Canopus, he stormed V’s house on Front Street singlehandedly and took on Tarf, Adhil, Muscida, and Hadar. All of them wore top-rated sword amulets, but the new boy with the sword gave Hadar the worst fright of his life and killed the other three. Hadar only barely escaped, and Rigel almost got him the next day. Hadar claims to fear nothing, but he’s terrified of Wonder Boy.”

Avior tried to equate this blood-and-thunder story with the diffident youth with whom she’d spent the afternoon. Tyl was not on the Star of Truth now, but he seemed sincere, and she could not imagine Rigel arranging to have his praises sung this way. The testimony was genuinely felt, if not necessarily correct. The constant reminders of Rigel’s youth were just to keep her from changing her mind about the late show.

“He seems very loyal to the queen,” she said.

“Ha! The rumor has it that the court mage, Fomalhaut, has prophesied that he will die very soon if he remains in the Starlands, but he won’t leave Talitha.”

“How does she feel about him?”

Tyl’s leer was answer enough. He took a sip of champagne. “She certainly keeps anyone else’s hands from getting too close to him.”

The hints were coming at her like snowflakes in a blizzard. “She’s the queen, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but even queens can’t indulge in gross indecency, which is what balling a halfling would be. The starfolk can accept him as Izar’s bodyguard, because they all know why the imp needs a bodyguard and why an elf would be no good. They are deeply resentful that she made him marshal of Canopus, but most of them can see that he’s doing a good job. The sphinxes and centaurs worship him. But not in a thousand years will the starborn ever tolerate a half-breed as the queen’s gigolo.”

“His mother was the previous queen?”

“Yes, but she only confessed to copulating with a mudling when she was minutes away from dying. It was the scandal of centuries, and it has made them all watch Talitha that much more closely. And since the guilt curse doesn’t apply to killing halflings, very soon it will be bye-bye, Rigel Halfling. I think that today the court mage tried to fulfill his own prophecy.”

Then the loyal, lovesick superman in question came trotting back, closely followed by laden waiters, and conversation took a backseat to the best food Avior had ever tasted, bar none. They finished the champagne, with her doing most of the work, and Rigel ordered another bottle. When talk resumed, it was about travel plans that needed to be postponed because court would be held on the morrow. Avior had gathered by then that Tyl and the unseen Thabit were Rigel’s deputies in guarding Izar, and that the starling’s instructors were educating Rigel as well.

“He’ll throw a tantrum at missing the buffalo roundup,” Tyl remarked.

Rigel grinned. “So will I. Let’s tell him that someone’s going to tell lies on the Star of Truth. That’ll reel him in.”

“Or that he may be called as a witness. The little terror would love the attention.”

Avior waited for some discussion of her future. It did not come, so she asked.

“You haven’t told me the real reason why you rescued me, and what you want of me.”

“Just like I told you; we try to save all the halflings we can find.” Rigel was not a good liar.

“Stack of bibles?”

He grinned. “Small stack. That was reason enough, I swear.”

“But…?”

“But I have to kill Prince Vildiar. On Earth he would be called a psychopath. He’s a serial killer with a private army, and he’s also the strongest starborn mage alive. I’ve done quite well in the past against his goons, but Vildiar himself is in another class altogether. I had my sword at his back once and his defenses were too strong even for Saiph. Maybe if he were to attack me—because Saiph is a defensive amulet, not an assassin’s weapon…”

“Why you?”

He grinned. “I’m a megalomaniac. I know it has to be me.”

“What happened to the person who was windsurfing, the one the queen mentioned?”

“Her prime minister, Chancellor Haedus,” Rigel said, pulling a face. “Elves don’t die unless they meet with nasty accidents, and they do tend to take risks that would be absurd for humans. But they can be murdered. The queen and I have been wondering what Hadar’s next move will be.”

Tyl said, “Oh, crap! You think Hadar’s starting in on the cabinet?”

Rigel emptied his glass. “We expected it, and even if he didn’t order Haedus’s death, this’ll surely put the idea in his head. If the queen’s ministers start dying in quick succession, the rest will flee. Starborn are just not built to withstand violence; it’s too foreign to their thinking. The ruler’s duties are amazingly light, but Talitha cannot govern alone. So I’m running out of time to rid the Starlands of Prince Vildiar.”

“And me?” Avior asked. “Where do I fit into this bloodbath?”

He evaded the question with a shrug. “You make your decision first, to stay or go home. There are no conditions on the offer. You can decide tomorrow or wait awhile. If you do stay, you might be able to help us—nothing risky or violent. The court tomorrow should be interesting. I’ll call for you when it’s time.”

Perhaps he didn’t trust Halfling Tyl quite as much as he said he did. He had certainly not told her everything, far from it. But suddenly she was struggling to choke back a yawn.

“’Scuse me,” she mumbled. “I think today has gone on quite long enough.”

That was the signal to open the rutting season. Tyl brightened and gripped the arms of his chair, but Rigel was already on his feet.

“All’s well that ends well. I’ll see you safely to your room.”

Chapter 8

A
fter all that champagne, Avior was disinclined to risk the journey by herself, for her door was now in the roof. She had not been offered a choice of companion, but she flashed Tyl a wink behind Rigel’s back to let him know that she’d still be interested in exploring orange body hair just as soon as she disposed of the beanpole American Express logo in sandwich wrap.

Seemingly unaware, Rigel led the way. He was careful not to touch her, and the world duly rearranged itself around them. They arrived at her door without any embarrassing incidents such as her falling flat on her face. Overhead, the waiters were clearing the table they had just left and Tyl was in the pool again, floating on his back, staring down at her.

“See you in court tomorrow,” Rigel said, smiling inside his absurd helmet. “It should be very educational.”

“I have nothing else on my calendar.” She reached for the handle. “You don’t want to come in?”

What she meant was,
I need a man now, and you know you’re only a boy, don’t you?
It might have been the champagne, or maybe it was the rum, but the words didn’t come out with quite the emphasis she’d intended, and Rigel beamed a huge smile.

“Love to!”

He advanced eagerly. She backed up. He closed the door while he still had his back to it and she heard the lock click, so perhaps he was not quite as unobservant as she’d believed.

Now she had to deal with a blinding close-up of gleaming, pearly teeth, as Rigel waited politely for her to confirm what she had just implied. But his eyes were no longer white to match the teeth; they were all black iris, and bright as diamonds. He had his chest out, chin in, and his already flat abdomen was pulled in against his spine. Fists rested on his hips to display his arm muscles, and he was standing much closer to her than before. Possibly this was all unconscious, but she was an artist, an observer. Whether he knew it or not, Rigel Halfling’s body was announcing in fanfares that it was now available for DNA transfer.

Where are you when we need you, Queen Talitha?

So be it. Despite his schoolboy looks, he was a killer, no cherub. He could, presumably, hold his own. He’d shown an interesting streak of ruthlessness earlier, and a lesson in humility wouldn’t hurt him, if that was all he was going to get. She had to outweigh him by fifty pounds.

“Just wanted to ask a personal question,” he said. “If you don’t mind. Why do you wear a wig?”

Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t that. “I do mind.”

“Oh. Sorry. Well, pleasant dreams, then. Mustn’t keep Tyl waiting.” He was actually blushing, and she could not remember when she had last seen a man do that. The body language had all been unconscious.

“Wait! You invited yourself in. I’m going to be powerfully insulted if you just turn around and walk out.”

He smiled nervously. “A goodnight kiss, then?” He pulled her into his meter-long arms and kissed her as she hadn’t been kissed since she’d deflowered virgins in middle school. She bit his lip hard and raked his back with all ten nails. He yelled and broke loose, staring at her in dismay.

“Jesus, lady! What was that for?” He rubbed his back with his hand and examined the smear of blood.

“For not knowing how to kiss a woman. Come here.”

He backed off. “I’m sure Tyl will appreciate the lesson more than me.”

Never mind Tyl. This promised to be fun.

“Then I’ll answer your personal question if you’ll answer one of mine.” She dragged off her wig to show him the scar tissue around the auditory canal openings high on her head.

Most men reacted with revulsion, but Rigel just nodded. “I suspected something like that. What did they do to you, for God’s sake?”

“He cut them off. Every time they grew back, he cut them off again. Later he burned them, and that worked better. My mother held me down.”

Rigel shuddered. “It’s illegal to make a halfling look like a starborn, but healing injuries is okay. I think magic could make your ears grow back—elf ears, of course, not human. If you decide to stay. We can ask.” He hesitated. “What was your question?”

She took hold of his waistband. “You’re very tall. I want to see if you’re well proportioned.” She investigated. The bulge already felt promising.

He detached her hands but did not release them. “I’m sorry. It would be really fun, but I am promised elsewhere.”

Who wrote his script: Jane Austen?

“One kiss, I insist! You owe me that much. But dump that bucket first!”

“Just one. Kissing 101, but no further than—” He removed the helmet. “Oh, hell! No! Sorry, gotta go.”

Then she saw those celebrated reflexes in action again. Faster than a cat he had unlocked the door and disappeared.

Chapter 9

H
e slammed the door on Avior’s spray of abuse. Tyl was still nursing a drink on the patio terrace, halfway up one wall. Giving him a wave to indicate that the coast was now clear, Rigel tore off along the balcony, hoping the gashes on his back weren’t too visible. The alarm ring on his left index finger burned like fire. He gave it a twist to end the signal. When Avior had asked him about his stealth helmet earlier that evening, he had mentioned its name, Meissa, and that had activated it until the moment he took it off.

Why had he been naive enough to step into Avior’s bedroom without realizing what she would expect? To add injury to humiliation, his frustration was already showing up as a sickening ache in his groin, just like when he’d tried to pass as a human boy with human girls. It had never worked. And although nothing more had happened this time, he felt a barrel-load of guilt. He had betrayed Talitha, despite all his protestations of love. They had sworn no oaths of celibacy, but the understanding was there. Her council was still trying to bully her into pairing with a highborn elf just to quash the rumors. So far she was still refusing, but why should she keep that up if he was going around kissing female tweenlings?

Avior was seriously weird, but that was forgivable, given her background, and her weirdness was exactly what might make her useful in his campaign against Vildiar, assuming that she would want to help him after tonight.

He sprinted all the way to the roof exit, which happened to be downstairs at the moment. Out on the roof, the wind struck him like a tsunami. The sea itself was a vertical wall, with waves rushing upward to break on a dark and rocky sky, but the wind at his back swept him along to the corner turret at the far side of the castle in about eight seconds flat.

The door knew him and opened for him. With a blast of rain and storm he burst into Izar’s bedroom and wrestled the door closed. Turais sleepily thumped his tail on the floor. Izar was curled up in a tiny ball at the far end of his bed, eyes wide with fright, keeping as far away as possible from Thabit, who was sitting on the chair, obviously having little success in calming the imp.

“You weren’t there!” Izar cried. “The parrot started screaming and I used my signal ring and you didn’t come!”

Rigel wiped rain off his face with an arm and picked his way through the inevitable clutter. “I’m here now. Go back to sleep or put your wrap on. What’s the trouble?” he asked Thabit. He could hear the parrot still squawking downstairs.

Thabit rose and yawned. “She wants you,” he said. “Won’t respond to me.”

Thabit was Tyl’s identical twin, and just as hairy. He had a towel wrapped around his loins, but that wasn’t enough; he knew better than to let Izar see him like that. The imp’s irrational dread of body hair dated from the childhood years he had spent with Hadar and his innumerable other half brothers. Male starborn were no hairier than their female counterparts, but tweenlings could take after their mothers’ male ancestors.

Rigel cursed and descended the spiral staircase by balancing on his hands on the rails and sliding. He almost fell flat on his face when he reached what was officially his bedroom, although either Tyl or Thabit occupied it when he wasn’t there. This was the first night he hadn’t been and, of course, the first time Talitha had ever called for him.

On a gold stand in the corner the mechanical parrot was shrieking his name and flapping polychrome wings. Anywhere else in the royal city of Canopus messages were carried by harpies, but even harpies could not fly to Vertigo Villa.

“I’m here,” Rigel said.

The parrot stopped flapping. “Where were you?” Its voice was that of Queen Talitha in a towering rage.

Thabit and Izar had come hurrying down the stairs after him and would hear whatever he said. Even Turais was with them.

“I was with a friend, Your Majesty. What can I do for you?”

“You can guard my son as you swore you would!”

Thabit laughed softly and threw himself backward, landing on the bed spread-eagled.

“I’m all right, Mom,” Izar said in a voice of innocence, leering at Rigel. “And he doesn’t look as if he’s come to harm.” The imp clearly thought he could guess what Rigel had been doing with the friend, and was amused that his guard had been caught playing hookey. “’Cept for the blood on his back. And his lip’s all swollen.”

“And the hickeys,” Thabit murmured, although Rigel knew there were none.

“What’re hickeys?” Izar the Terrible asked loudly.

“I’m at Fornacis,” the parrot snapped. “Come here at once.”

“No!” Rigel protested. “You can’t trust—”

The bird closed its jeweled eyes and tucked its cloisonné head under a silken wing as if going to sleep. Rigel glanced at Izar’s shock and Thabit’s frown.

“Don’t go!” Izar squeaked. “We were betrayed there yesterday.”

“Maybe,” Rigel conceded, wondering what Talitha was up to now. She was prone to making snap judgments, but a queen must be obeyed.

“Don’t leave me!” Izar moved closer while keeping a wary eye on Thabit.

“Get dressed!” Rigel snapped at Thabit. He would have ordered the twins to shave their chests if the Starlands possessed any grooming aids other than cutthroat razors and ordinary soap. Elves did not even need combs. “No, wait.”

He must make his own snap judgment. One beer and one glass of champagne should not be enough to warp his judgment much. Yesterday a trap to dispose of him had been sprung in Fornacis; today there might be another complicated plot to separate him from Izar for good. Taking the imp along would be doing the unexpected, always a good idea. Besides, Saiph and Edasich were an unbeatable combination of defenders, and Izar would do what Rigel told him, which he wouldn’t for anyone else. Made sense.

“All right. Let’s go, Izar.
Turais, stay!
You’re off duty, Thabit.” Rigel headed for the door, Izar trotting along at his heels.

He did not suggest that Tyl might need help, but the thought crossed his mind.

Out in the musty-scented guard room, Kalb Sphinx and Muhlifain Centaur crouched on the floor, playing chess. Other guards of both species lay dozing on straw, but all heads rose as Marshal Rigel and Imp Izar trotted through. Rigel called out their destination on his way past them. Since Saidak was almost certainly at Fornacis with Talitha by now, he opened the portal to Mabsuthat and stepped through into one of the strangest places he knew in the Starlands.

The sky was starlit but moonless, so the land should be dark, but trees in Mabsuthat glowed with a silvery phosphorescence. The grass underfoot was as soft as mohair, the breeze bore scents of exotic spices, and the massive boulders and menhirs that dotted the glade took turns at humming sad, uncanny melodies. In short, Mabsuthat fairly crackled with magic, as befitted the royal hippogriff ranch. Even stranger creatures were reputed to lurk in the woods, so that wandering far from the portal was unwise, but Rigel had never needed to.

The great dark shape pacing forward to meet him was Kitalphar, the hippogriff who usually consented to transport him and always seemed to know when he needed her. She was capable of refusing, just as she was capable of biting his head off or ripping him apart with her talons.

He bowed to her. “Imp Izar and I have been summoned to Fornacis, Your Ferocity, and would be greatly indebted if you would consent to transport us.”

Kitalphar bowed her eagle head in gracious acceptance. She turned her tail to him, spread her great wings, and crouched so that he could scramble aboard and lift Izar up. Her front half was eagle and her rear half horse, both halves a glossy black, but no horse ever foaled or bird ever hatched could have contributed parts of adequate size. Hippogriff riding was a dicey sport. Kitalphar’s great beak would bite through any girth, and probably take off the hands of anyone stupid enough to try to saddle her; she would certainly snap a steel bit like a pretzel. She had no mane on her great neck, only plumage, which she would not allow a rider to grip. Fortunately a crest of tough hair along her back provided a precarious handhold. The posture was a wide straddle for even Rigel’s long legs, and Izar preferred to kneel in front of him.

Luckily Kitalphar’s ride was as smooth as a boat on a pond. Without ever flapping her enormous wings, she soared up into the night like a balloon, buoyed up solely by magic. Silent and graceful, she banked slightly as she turned to the east.

“How come,” Izar grumbled, leaning over dangerously, “I can see stars
below
Mabsuthat? It has an
edge
, see? You don’t have to hold me so tight. Why can’t I see daylight down there if the sun goes there at night?”

“Dunno,” his guardian countered. “You’re the expert on magic. Is that a lake?”

“It’s either a lake or a hole right through,” Izar decided. He wriggled around to peer past the other side of the hippogriff’s great feathered neck. “
Stop
squeezing my arm!”

“It’s either that or flying lessons, imp,” Rigel said.

The presence of a direct highway between Canopus and Fomalhaut’s Fornacis made the journey brief, but it crossed a significant boundary, because Fornacis was rooted in Prince Vildiar’s domain of Phegda. That made Fomalhaut one of the prince’s underlings. While the starfolk insisted that the relationship between overlord and underling might have mattered eons ago but now was merely ceremonial, they continued to recognize it. They could all recite their own overlords all the way up to the queen herself, and they deferred to them. Talitha was convinced that her court mage was totally loyal to her, but either Fomalhaut or his pupil Mizar must have rigged Rigel’s reversion staff to trap him in Alathfar.

Starborn with highly ranked magic competed to see who could imagine the most fantastical yet convincing domains, and Fomalhaut was a mage of the red who had been at the game for thousands of years. From the outside, Fornacis was a scattering of ancient-looking stone buildings perched on the rim of a volcanic caldera. At first glance the grouping appeared unimpressive, a deserted hamlet of peasant hovels, but that was deliberate—a sort of reverse snobbery. What afficionados would notice was that it was convincingly natural, as if the buildings had grown out of the slaggy black landscape. That artless look ironically took great skill to create. Even the obligatory swimming hole did not seem as improbable as a lake on a rocky mountaintop should. Eastward the huge dome sloped gently away to a distant ocean, where stars were starting to vacate the sky in expectation of dawn. On the other side was a sheer drop into a vast crater, whose flat, basalt floor was home to dragons and salamanders. Glowing fountains played in the central lava lake.

As Kitalphar glided in, a pair of patrolling griffins swung close to inspect the newcomers, then veered away again. That was evidence that Talitha was indeed there, and soon Rigel made out the royal barge on the pond, and then a couple of sphinxes patrolling the enclave. He felt hungry and sleep deprived. That thought made him yawn.

“Who were you humping?” Izar demanded. “Avior Tweenling?”

“Mind your own business!”

“Thought so. Pretty fast work! Good ride, huh?”

“That does it, Potty Mouth! No buffalo roundup for you today.”

Izar moved one bony shoulder in a half-shrug. “Good. I wanna go to court and watch Mom fry whoever tried to squidge us yesterday. Why’re you laughin’?”