The Mirror Prince (49 page)
Authors: Violette Malan
“My guard can be our witness.”
Max shook his head. “No more than a score can go, and afoot. Custom requires that the Stone’s proclamation be witnessed by representatives of all the People.”
The Basilisk looked over his shoulder at where Moon still stood, near the soldiers. She inclined her head once.
“So the Songs tell us,” she said. “The High Prince is Prince for all the People, as the Talismans are for all the People.”
“Thunder Under the Mountain will witness for all Solitaries,
Trere’if
for all Naturals,” said Max. “Blood on the Snow will witness for the Wild Riders, and Lightborn for all the Riders you have given your word to leave safe. Sword of Truth I will have as well.”
Trere’if
for all Naturals,” said Max. “Blood on the Snow will witness for the Wild Riders, and Lightborn for all the Riders you have given your word to leave safe. Sword of Truth I will have as well.”
The Basilisk looked around him, quickly calculating. “Half a score of my men will go with us.”
Max bowed. “Choose them.”
Moon and Cassandra stepped forward immediately and waited to one side while the Basilisk’s guards divided themselves into two groups, the smaller of which dismounted and joined Cassandra and Moon. A commotion broke out when two men from the mounted group that would be left behind tried to separate the young Moonward Rider from Cassandra. He was not armed, but he clung to her with one hand as he snarled and struck out with the other. Even their Horses were reluctant to approach him, and the guards backed away, glancing uncomfortably at one another. The mounted commander approached the Basilisk and addressed him quietly. The Basilisk, his eyes never moving from where Max stood, shrugged, and smiled.
“Very well, let him come.” Max didn’t understand the Basilisk’s twisted smile. “Let
all
of my People be represented.”
all
of my People be represented.”
Max waited until those chosen to go were ready, standing in a rough circle in the middle of the Wild Riders’ camp. He managed to insinuate himself so that he stood between Lightborn and Cassandra. She had the unknown Moonward Rider to her left. On the other side of Lightborn was the Ogre. If he didn’t mind leaving everyone else to die, Max thought, he could take Cassandra now and go.
“Join hands,” Max said, taking Cassandra’s warm hand in his own and returning her squeeze. He had an instant’s wild desire to laugh as he looked around the circle. Ogre and Wood, Wild Riders and the Basilisk. They could be the guests at some expedient but distasteful political marriage, forced by custom and against their inclinations to take part in a round dance.
He looked at Cassandra again, and her smile caught the breath in his throat.
“I will take you to the Stone,” he said.
Chapter Twenty
THE STONE WAS A PINNACLE of rock, thrusting upward through banks of bright cloud hang-ing miles below its edge, as solid looking as any alpine meadow. The uneven platform of its summit was no more than fifty meters square, limestone gray, without grass or bush or tree. Rough and irregular, it looked like a block of clay squared off by a giant child. Three of the edges dropped off sharply into the bottomless gorge, and even the fourth side was only slightly rounded over. The sky was a cool azure, clear and bright, the light constant, casting no shadows. There was nothing else to see.
“It does not sound.” The voice was
Trere’if
’s, branches groaning. “No matter what you may do from this moment forward, Dreamer of Time, we are all witness to it.
Ma’at
does not sound. The Stone of Virtue rejects you. You are not the High Prince.”
Trere’if
’s, branches groaning. “No matter what you may do from this moment forward, Dreamer of Time, we are all witness to it.
Ma’at
does not sound. The Stone of Virtue rejects you. You are not the High Prince.”
No
, Max realized,
and Lightborn isn’t either.
He’d told himself all along, since the idea had first come to him, that it was only a chance, one in a million. But his hopes had been higher than he’d known. Only the rush of standing on the Stone itself for the second time this morning saved him from being crushed with disappointment.
, Max realized,
and Lightborn isn’t either.
He’d told himself all along, since the idea had first come to him, that it was only a chance, one in a million. But his hopes had been higher than he’d known. Only the rush of standing on the Stone itself for the second time this morning saved him from being crushed with disappointment.
It was impossible to remember, between visits, what it was like to stand here, with the rest of the Talismans, and be whole and complete. Not just the mouth that spoke, but all of the body together. This was what no one knew, that there were five Talismans, not four. The Stone, the Spear, the Sword, the Cauldron, and the Guardian. He could feel the blood hammering through his veins, the air sliding through his lungs. He could sense every rock, every crevice; he knew without looking that the Sword, Spear, and Cauldron were behind him on the fold of rock that formed the table waiting always for them here, on
Ma’at.
Ma’at.
Where they would wait forever, now that there was no High Prince. Now that the Cycles were at an end.
“How can it sound? I have not yet seen it. Bring it forth.” The Basilisk’s musical voice brought Max’s attention sharply back to the matter at hand. The Cycle wasn’t over yet.
“This
is
the Stone,” Max said, using his most condescending smile. “We stand upon it.”
is
the Stone,” Max said, using his most condescending smile. “We stand upon it.”
The Riders behind the Basilisk murmured uneasily.
The Basilisk spun, jerking his head back and forth, clearly wishing to deny it.
Let him try,
thought Max. This was a place like no other, and it was showing its effects on all of them. Even one or two of the Riders among the Basilisk’s men were relaxing, soaking in the extraordinary silence.
Trere’if
looked as though he might put down roots, and the Ogre had hunkered down, rubbing the Stone’s surface with the palms of her rough hands. The young, unknown Moonward Rider had finally let go of Cassandra’s arm and was looking around him, an expression of peace relaxing his face.
Let him try,
thought Max. This was a place like no other, and it was showing its effects on all of them. Even one or two of the Riders among the Basilisk’s men were relaxing, soaking in the extraordinary silence.
Trere’if
looked as though he might put down roots, and the Ogre had hunkered down, rubbing the Stone’s surface with the palms of her rough hands. The young, unknown Moonward Rider had finally let go of Cassandra’s arm and was looking around him, an expression of peace relaxing his face.
“You are here, the Talismans are here, the Guardian is here, and the Stone does not sound,” Blood said, his rough silk voice ringing in the still air. “You are not the Prince.” Another stir of movement ran through the Basilisk’s men and one or two eyed the edge of the Stone and shifted closer to their fellows.
Max saw a look of puzzled indecision pass across the Basilisk’s face. With nothing to lose, he stepped toward the Rider who had been his friend, almost his
fara’ip,
holding out his hands.
fara’ip,
holding out his hands.
“Dreamer, you see the truth now. Let the past go.”
Moon pushed forward and grabbed the Basilisk’s arm in both hands, clinging when he tried to shake her off. Her eyes looked indigo dark in her pale face. Max could swear she was sweating.
“Do not listen to him,” she said, tense as a cat. “He is trying to trick you, son-of-Solitaries as he is. This is not the Stone.”
The Basilisk relaxed, the look Max had seen fading, to be replaced by another, the eyes overly bright now, the smile strained and stiff.
He
will
deny it,
Max thought unbelieving,
he’s going to deny it after all
.
will
deny it,
Max thought unbelieving,
he’s going to deny it after all
.
“Of course,” the Basilisk said, his head nodding in little jerks as if in answer to Max’s thought. He flung Moon off and turned toward the rock where the Talismans sat.
“. . . . . . . . . . .” the Basilisk said.
Max put his hands up to his head. What—? He had
heard
that. Almost. A musical whisper tickling inside his head. The Basilisk went on speaking. Max backed away until he bumped into Blood on the Snow behind him. He was aware that Cassandra was calling out to him, that she was trying to reach him, her chained hands stretched out toward him, but that two of the Basilisk’s men had her by the arms and were pulling her away. The young Moonward Rider had fallen to his knees, and was covering his face with his hands.
Trere’if
stood suddenly still, his mouth open in a soundless scream, his head thrown back, his arms thrusting into the sky and spreading into leafed branches, his legs twining together, the tendrils of his toes thickening as they rooted, cracking and shivering the rock as the Natural took on his true form.
heard
that. Almost. A musical whisper tickling inside his head. The Basilisk went on speaking. Max backed away until he bumped into Blood on the Snow behind him. He was aware that Cassandra was calling out to him, that she was trying to reach him, her chained hands stretched out toward him, but that two of the Basilisk’s men had her by the arms and were pulling her away. The young Moonward Rider had fallen to his knees, and was covering his face with his hands.
Trere’if
stood suddenly still, his mouth open in a soundless scream, his head thrown back, his arms thrusting into the sky and spreading into leafed branches, his legs twining together, the tendrils of his toes thickening as they rooted, cracking and shivering the rock as the Natural took on his true form.
The Basilisk went on speaking.
Max’s knees gave way, and he felt Blood’s hands and Lightborn’s, lowering him until he was kneeling, leaning against the Table of the Talismans, head pillowed on his arms. As his eyes closed, Max saw Blood draw his
gra’if
sword, but he did not hear the sound of the metal clearing the sheath.
gra’if
sword, but he did not hear the sound of the metal clearing the sheath.
The Basilisk went on speaking.
The Chant of Binding,
Max thought, ice forming in his veins, as the Basilisk’s voice, perfectly audible now, indeed the only sound he could hear, rang through his head, dancing through his thoughts like a black Sprite, shutting doors and fixing chains, bolts and locks as it went. He shook his head, but couldn’t clear out the sound. And now he couldn’t open his eyes again. He felt himself dissolving as the Basilisk’s voice washed through his mind, felt his bond with the Talismans strengthen and harden, felt the chains moving to circle them all.
Oh, god
. His thought was a scream, despair rising like the head of a snake to strike at him.
The Chant of Binding
.
I should have killed him right away
. . .
I didn’t think it would work so fast
. . .
Max thought, ice forming in his veins, as the Basilisk’s voice, perfectly audible now, indeed the only sound he could hear, rang through his head, dancing through his thoughts like a black Sprite, shutting doors and fixing chains, bolts and locks as it went. He shook his head, but couldn’t clear out the sound. And now he couldn’t open his eyes again. He felt himself dissolving as the Basilisk’s voice washed through his mind, felt his bond with the Talismans strengthen and harden, felt the chains moving to circle them all.
Oh, god
. His thought was a scream, despair rising like the head of a snake to strike at him.
The Chant of Binding
.
I should have killed him right away
. . .
I didn’t think it would work so fast
. . .
Cassandra hardly felt the hands of the Riders holding her, bruising her arms as she struggled forward against them. All she saw was Max sagging against the rock that held the Talismans, changed and lambent now in this extraordinary light. Was Max losing color? Did he glow with an echo of their luminescence? What was it she’d been thinking earlier about plans going wrong?
Suddenly, her head cleared, and she had an instant to feel embarrassed, and glad that none of her students could see her making such an amateur’s mistake, dragging against the combined strength of two Riders. Use your opponents’ strength against them was practically the first lesson she taught anyone. She abruptly stopped fighting her captors and threw herself in the direction they were forcing her to go. Startled by the sudden lack of resistance, it was easy for her to yank them farther off balance and knock them into each other, the impact sufficient to free her from their hands.
Lightborn was shaking Max, and Blood was whistling a high, two-note signal as Cassandra launched herself into the Basilisk, striking him just below the knees and knocking him down. If only she could get her hands around his throat . . .
Riders in rough leather and
gra’if
came boiling up over the rounded edge of the Stone like wasps out of a nest. Wild Riders, she thought, seeing the Moonward Twins, her mouth widening into a grin. She
knew
Max would have a plan. Max
always
had a plan. He was no mean strategist after all. He could only Move a score, he’d said. But he hadn’t said how many times he’d already done it.
gra’if
came boiling up over the rounded edge of the Stone like wasps out of a nest. Wild Riders, she thought, seeing the Moonward Twins, her mouth widening into a grin. She
knew
Max would have a plan. Max
always
had a plan. He was no mean strategist after all. He could only Move a score, he’d said. But he hadn’t said how many times he’d already done it.
Cassandra shifted her weight, heaving herself over the prone Basilisk Prince, reaching around to get a better grip on his throat—these manacles weren’t attached to anything, and she was sure she could crack his neck for him even at this angle—suddenly her hands were pulled away by the darkmetal chain that hung between them. The Basilisk rolled away and smiled at her as he held up the chain, wrapped once around his own fist. It had not even occurred to her that her chains had been put on by the Basilisk himself and that, Keyed to him, they bound her to him also. She struggled anyway, digging in her heels and twisting her body against the uneven ground, but ultimately she was unable to resist the pull of the darkmetal. The Basilisk dragged her across the surface of the rock until all she could see through the hair that had fallen over her eyes was empty space.
Max felt a surge of power and clarity as the Chant stopped, and suddenly he could hear the sounds of fighting and one thin voice—he thought it was Moon—screaming. His heart tightened, and he struggled to his feet. He could think of only one thing that might make Moon cry out like that, and he ran toward the noise, pushing Riders, both friend and foe, out of his way. Thank god, either Blood or Lightborn had seen what was happening in time to call the Wild Riders he had hidden on the ledge under the rounded edge of the Stone.
Max stopped running.
The Basilisk stood at the brink of the abyss, Cassandra on her knees at his feet. Moon lay crumpled to one side, a red stain, brighter than the red of her dress, matting her hair on one side. She had tried to save Cassandra at the last, Max thought; whatever she had said before, she had tried to save her sister. The Basilisk looked up at Max and smiled. For an instant, Max thought he saw a cock’s head on the Basilisk’s shoulders, but then the image was gone.
“It appears you cannot be trusted after all, Dawntreader,” the Basilisk said, with a nod toward the Wild Riders. “I know your own death will not bother you, but perhaps this will.” He gave a jerk to the darkmetal chain he held, and before Max could move or call out, the Basilisk threw Cassandra over the edge and into the gorge.
“No!” the scream tore at his throat.
Oh, Christ, there’s no bottom.
Max flung himself to his knees at the edge of the precipice and found the retreating speck of darkness that was Cassandra’s body against the whiteness of the clouds. He imagined he could smell saffron flowers in the air where she had been.
Oh, Christ, there’s no bottom.
Max flung himself to his knees at the edge of the precipice and found the retreating speck of darkness that was Cassandra’s body against the whiteness of the clouds. He imagined he could smell saffron flowers in the air where she had been.
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