Red Tide (57 page)

The servant drew up just inside the room, puffing like she'd been chased here by the man she escorted—an impression reinforced by a certain wildness about her eyes that reminded Senar of the luckless horses he'd tried to ride in his time. The reason for her unease became apparent when her stone-skin charge capered into the room. It might have been quarter of a bell before dawn, but there was a skip to the man's step like he'd sprinkled sugarcrack on his oats this morning. His hair stuck up at all angles, and his face was a lattice of scars as if his flesh had been sliced up and sewn back together. One of the scars beneath his left eye wept blood. Senar wondered what all those scars denoted in their bearer. Besides lunacy, of course.

As the stone-skin reached the center of the room, he spun like a dancer, then bowed to Mazana.

“Emira,” he said, “allow me to introduce myself. I am Hex of the Augeran Empire.”

A heavy silence followed his words. Romany was inscrutable behind her mask. Mazana stared at the newcomer like he was some apparition stepped from a bad dream.

The Gilgamarian servant hastily withdrew.

“A privilege to make your acquaintance,” the emira said at last. “I assume you are here to apologize for your kinsmen's conduct on Dragon Day.”

“Apologize for what, pray tell?” Hex replied. “You seemed to have emerged from the affair rather well. Hee hee!”

Mazana clutched her hands to her chest. “And you did it all for me, yes? I'm curious, how would your leaders have responded if they were the ones attacked in my place?”

“I'm not here to justify what happened on Dragon Day—if indeed it needs justification. I bring a message from Subcommander Sunder, leader of the Augeran expeditionary force.”

Senar sat up straighter.
Sub
commander Sunder? Meaning Amerel's attack on his superior had succeeded?

“You are referring to the force currently docked in the Rubyholt Isles?” Mazana said.

Hex did not reply. If he was surprised at the extent of her intelligence, he gave no indication.

“Tell me, how did your discussions with the warlord go?”

“Excellently, if you'll forgive the boast. Dresk Galair made for a most genial host.”

Senar's eyes narrowed.
Boast, host?
Was the man rhyming his sentences?

Mazana said, “You must have made quite an impression on Galantas too, if he agreed to ferry you here from Bezzle. His ship, the
Eternal,
was recognized as it came into port—as I'm sure was your intent.” She paused then went on, “No doubt there's a good reason why one of your own ships could not have made the journey.”

“No doubt.”

Senar's thoughts were a whirr. Because Caval and Karmel had already destroyed the stone-skin fleet, was that what Mazana was suggesting? No, even if the Chameleons had marked the Augeran ships, it was too soon for the dragons to have swum north from the Southern Wastes.

The stone-skin gave a smile that creased the scars on his face. “If your questions are finished, perhaps I can deliver my message. Subcommander Sunder extends his regards and requests that you deliver to him at once the head of the Erin Elalese emperor, Avallon Delamar.”

The emira blinked.

From beside her, Romany gave a snort that degenerated into a fit of coughing.

If there had been any wisps of sleep still clouding Senar's head, they were blown away now.

“The head of the emperor,” Mazana repeated sardonically. “Of course. Was there anything else while you're here?”

Hex performed a clumsy turn that set his red cloak swirling. “Would you have me believe it is not in your power? Your forces in Gilgamar outnumber Avallon's, that much I know. The servant who brought me here swore it was so. Hee hee!”

Know, so.
The man was indeed rhyming his words. To Senar, this whole meeting was beginning to get an unreal feel about it. Did the budding poet intend to give them a recital when they were done?

Mazana fiddled with that knife of hers again. “My
forces
are guests of the Ruling Council,” she said. “Perhaps you should speak to them.”

Hex looked disappointed. “Oh, come now. My grasp of your politics is rudimentary, for sure, but the Council's support you can doubtless procure. Does it not pay you tribute? Is it not relying on you to clear the dragons from the sea?”

The emira did not respond.

From the corridor outside came footsteps, then raised voices. Avallon, perhaps, come to object to the meeting? Whoever it was, they wouldn't get past the executioner stationed outside.

Hex's foot started tapping along to whatever music was playing in his head. “I sense your mind is not yet resolved,” he said to Mazana. “So think on this. The emperor comes before you offering his hand, but it is not the hand of friendship, as he claims. Rather consider it the hand of a shipmate in a storm, offered in desperation as he slips overboard. Clasp it, and you risk being swept to your doom, even as he.”

Mazana considered this before looking at Senar. “He has a point.”

The Guardian scowled. “And you think you would fare better with the stone-skins as allies? What does it say for their credibility that they should send such as this”—he gestured to Hex—“to speak with you?”

The Augeran's nose was in the air, scenting like a bloodhound. He held up a hand. “Wait, what's this I smell? Cynicism. Desperation. With just the merest hint of
Guardian
as well.”

Senar studied him. “You've encountered one of my kind before, have you?” Amerel, most likely.

“Encountered, yes. And taken her measure in the doing.”

Meaning Amerel was dead? Senar wasn't sure how he felt about that. He'd grown up with the woman at the Sacrosanct. An earnest type she had been, more at home among her books than on the road. For a while she and Jessca had been fast friends. But Amerel had drifted apart from Jessca in the same way that she had drifted apart from everyone else—and by her choice too, it had seemed. Cracks had appeared after her very first mission with her master, Colat. But not everyone was made to be a Guardian. The privilege brought with it a heavy … responsibility. Some bent under that load, and some broke.

Outside, the Erin Elalese voices took on a demanding tone. Demanding of the executioner? Good luck with that.

Hex swung his gaze to Mazana. “No doubt the Guardian has told you what happened when our two peoples last met. No doubt he has told you that, this time, the result is not set. Unlike him, though, you don't have to let your judgment be colored by mindless optimism.”

“Then what should I base that judgment on? Your words here?” Her voice had a smile in it. “Or perhaps on the information I gained from your kinsmen. You know, the ones I recently caught stirring up mischief in Olaire. Caught, and interrogated.”

Mazana was bluffing, Senar knew. The only stone-skin she'd taken alive had died before he could give up anything useful. Hex wouldn't know that, though, and it was heartening to see the first hint of sourness creep into his features.

“Careful, Emira, who you choose to provoke,” he said. “Perhaps you think the Storm Isles safe behind the Dragon Gate. But the lessons of Dragon Day you would be fool to disdain. We reached you there once, we can reach you again. Hee hee!”

Mazana said, “So that would be the stick. Time for the carrot, I think. If I agree to deliver the emperor's head, what do you offer in exchange?”

Senar opened his mouth to protest, but she waved a hand to forestall him.

“Besides our eternal gratitude?” Hex shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” Mazana repeated.

Senar threw up his hands. “This is a joke! The fool can't even be bothered to pretend his offer is genuine. But then his purpose was accomplished the moment he set foot in this room. Did he try to arrange this audience in secret? Of course not. Because the only reason he is here is so he can sow distrust between you and the emperor. The longer this meeting goes on, the more damage he stands to inflict.”

In the corridor, the voices faded away. And with them any chance of an alliance between the Storm Isles and Erin Elal, perhaps?

Hex hopped from foot to foot. “I offer nothing, Emira, because ‘nothing' is the limit of my authority. Subcommander Sunder leads the expeditionary force, not the Augeran empire. I am certain, though, that when the Triad hears of your cooperation, you will be paid in keeping with your service.” He spread his hands. “Like the emperor, I could have offered something beyond my power to provide. The fact that I was open with you, that should make your doubts subside.”

The emira rubbed at her wrists. “You can't offer me an alliance against Avallon. You can't even guarantee you won't attack the Storm Isles again.” She pretended to consider. “Perhaps if I knew
why
you were planning to attack Erin Elal, I would be better able to judge your intent.” It was said lightly, but clearly the matters she'd discussed with the emperor yesterday still preyed on her mind.

Hex did not respond.

“If revenge is your motive,” she went on, “I might wonder at its cause. If conquest is your goal, I might wonder whether your ambitions stop at Erin Elal's borders.”

The stone-skin sighed. “Alas, I am but a humble messenger in this. I am not privy to my superiors' innermost counsels.”

Mazana turned to Senar. “Where have we heard that before?”

*   *   *

Romany closed the book. Fifty pages in now, and every one of them had been an exercise in tooth-clenching tedium. And what had she learned from the accounts of Augera's conflicts with its neighbors? Nothing, save that those neighbors had possessed a modicum of sophistication, thus giving context to the ease with which the stone-skins had overrun them.

If there was any entertainment to be found in the book, it was in the author's description of Erin Elal's hapless attempts to forge alliances with the kingdoms separating it from Augera. It seemed Erin Elal had not been afraid previously to engage in its own spot of empire-building, and having played the wolf for so long, its new sheep's clothing had drawn suspicion from its would-be allies. That suspicion had hastened Augera's victory, and no doubt Avallon would argue history was in danger of repeating itself now. Indeed the more Romany read of the book, the more she wondered whether that had been his whole point in giving it to her. If that was so, it was a grievous insult to the priestess's intelligence. Imagine thinking she wouldn't see through such a feeble attempt at manipulation!

Time to do some more exploring along her web, she decided. Conversations didn't overhear themselves, after all.

Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to drift free of her body.

Hex's quarters first. As Romany glided toward her destination, she was surprised to find that her web in this part of the Alcazar was corroding. It was almost as if she were back in the Forest of Sighs, and the magic of the Book of Lost Souls was devouring her power. Such was the delicacy of her web, it was prone to unravel at the slightest touch of inimical sorcery. But she could sense nothing now to account for the degeneration.

A mystery for later.

She entered Hex's room. The Augeran lay on his bed, apparently asleep. As Romany approached him, she felt an uncomfortable sensation like the man might open his eyes and look up at her. Impossible, of course. In spirit-form, she would be invisible to the Augeran unless she wanted him to see her. She studied his face. One scarred cheek was smeared crimson. Had it not been for his scars, she might have wondered if the man's skin were truly made from the granite that it looked like. It occurred to her that granite came in more colors than just gray. Black, green, pink …

A pink stone-skin? That would be something to see.

It was difficult to imagine this man as a member of a powerful civilization. Or a member of anything, for that matter, except maybe a circus troupe. And it was strange to find him sleeping when he'd been bouncing off the walls in his meeting with Mazana. But then there was little about the man's coming to Gilgamar that didn't puzzle Romany. She was forced to agree with Senar Sol—something she avoided doing as much as possible—that the Augeran's sole purpose was to stir up bad blood between Mazana and Avallon. As if they needed help on that score. Earlier, when the emperor had learned about the meeting, he'd thrown a bottle of wine across his room. Such a waste.

If he was so enraged, though, why hadn't he sought out Mazana to confront her? Why weren't his minions breaking down Hex's door now to question him?

Another mystery. And Romany hated mysteries, unless they were her own.

Jambar's quarters next. The priestess's web was more degraded here than it had been even in Hex's room, but again she could find no reason for the deterioration. The shaman was apparently in the middle of a reading, for on a table at the center of his chamber was his bone-strewn augury board, covered in incomprehensible characters. Jambar circled the board, muttering all the while. He peered at the blood-speckled bones from every angle, trying to unlock the meaning behind their arrangement.

Romany regarded him thoughtfully. Before the meeting with Hex, she'd caught the end of a discussion between Mazana and the shaman, and it had revealed much as to the man's state of mind. The discussion had been about Erin Elal. An edge had entered the Remnerol's look at every mention of Avallon's name, and that edge had left Romany in no doubt as to his feelings toward the emperor. Perhaps, she mused, those feelings explained the patchy nature of the shaman's predictions. Perhaps he'd been pleased to learn of the Augerans' coming, if it meant the Erin Elalese might suffer the same fate as his people had at Avallon's hands. If so, wouldn't he be disinclined to share his forecasts with Mazana, thinking she might pass them on to the emperor?

Whatever riddle Jambar sought the solution to, clearly he didn't like the answer the bones gave him, because he scooped them up and whispered something over them before dropping them onto the board again. More peering, more muttering. Romany wondered if her presence interfered with his reading. She was tempted to make life still more difficult for him by spinning her threads about a bone and tugging it out of position. Something made her hold back, though. She watched Jambar scratch at an armpit, shake his head, stare out of the window for inspiration.