The Orb And The Spectre (Book 2) (21 page)

   Fectur filed the notion away in a secure compartment somewhere in the back of his mind, for future consideration. Possibilities would suggest themselves.  He was resigned to the fact that he had to begin to plan again, for the future. His immediate aspirations lay in tatters about his feet. How it galled, but he could not stand against Issul, at least not yet. Not directly against the Crown.

  
But if she were shown to be an adulteress. . . .

   Yes, he could make use of this. He was down, temporarily disadvantaged, but not beaten.
Far from that. Nothing was unsalvageable. The future beckoned, and his shadow extended there.

   "I said, 'it is through Shenwolf's courage and heroism that I am able to stand here today,' Lord Fectur," repeated the Queen.

   Fectur's mouth twitched. "Allow me to express to you my overwhelming gratitude, and that of the Realm, Shenwolf. Our precious Queen is returned, safe and well, and for that we give unqualified thanks. You will not be forgotten."

  
"Now, about your business, Fectur. Have the Assembly convened by midnight at the latest."

   Outside, Issul strode down the corridor from Fectur's office, trembling, wanting to scream,
needing to weep, unable to think of anything but her children and Leth. Would she see them again? Would she ever know their fate?

   She spoke, quietly, in an unsteady voice, to the young cavalryman at her side, "Mark him well, Shenwolf. There stands an enemy perhaps more vicious and determined than any other I may face."

II

   In the dark silent hours Issul stood at her window and gazed across the barely discerned rooftops, the straining, crowded towers of her beloved Enchantment's Reach. She looked past the city walls, to the void beyond the scarp, and she felt nothing of the elation that had gripped her earlier in the day as she had ridden with her three companions up the climbing road towards the city gate. Dawn's first pale tints had yet to illumine the eastern sky; Issul could see nothing but the innumerable lantern-lights and little communal fires of the city-castle, the dense starclouds so infinitely far above, and the far-off glow of the weird-lights of Enchantment.

  
I have seen you
, she said to herself, and her pulse quickened
. I have been within you.

   She had been within a mysterious tower inside Enchantment, had spoken with a threefold child-being which called itself Triune. She had gazed upon bright, blazing mountains and watched the shifting, changing colours of the air. And still she was no wiser. As if Mystery might be the natural state.

  Her heart swelled. Tears streaked her pale cheeks. To return here and find such turmoil and uncertainty, such betrayal, mistrust, anger, fear. Her children gone, her husband gone, Enchantment's Reach being torn apart from within even as it was assailed from without. And she had returned with nothing. No answers, no way through the darkness. She felt more desolate now than in even her darkest moments in captivity.

   The night had gone well, in its own manner. The Assembly had convened in the Hall of Wise Counsel at midnight. Issul had occupied the Seat of Sovereignty, Lord Fectur and one of the senior knights upon her right, Pader Luminis and the Commander of the King's Forces upon her left, the assorted nobles, ministers,
grandees, sundry officiers and faction heads of Enchantment's Reach ranged before her. It was an impressive turnout at such short notice, which both pleased and concerned her. If she had their support, all would be well. But if the majority put themselves against her she could be rendered powerless. She had tried studying their faces to gauge the mood, but could read little in what she saw.

   The ceremony was brief and to the point. Lord Fectur stood and formally welcomed the
Queen, expressed his heartfelt gladness at her safe return. His manner was subdued. With the minimum of words he renounced sovereign authority in her favour. Issul had suppressed a bitter smile, wondering how much those few words were costing him.

   When he had done she briefly addressed the assembly. She gave them her thanks for their loyalty and spoke of her intention to rule resolutely and justly in her husband's
stead, and to respond to the current crisis in the manner she believed Leth would approve. Leth's disappearance had not yet been made public, and for the present she left it at that. Re-seating herself she scanned the faces before her and saw scepticism, indignation, disappointment on a significant number, but many were with her and when she departed the Hall she was buoyed by the sound of rousing cheers.

   Once alone again her fears had mounted. She could not sleep, though she was exhausted. Too many things upon her mind, and how she missed Leth, how she missed Galry and little Jace. How she feared for them.

  
Be safe! Be safe! Be safe!

   As she gazed towards the distant lights she fingered the little carving absent-mindedly. Was Fectur being truthful about this? She was inclined to believe so, for he would surely not have handed it over so readily had he discovered anything of interest. But if the carving lacked significance, why had the stranger made a gift of it to the Child?
Coincidence?

   She would probably never know. The Child had vanished.
The old woman also. And the identity of the stranger who had given the gift would almost certainly never be learned.

   Issul heaved a desperate sigh, racked by waves of despondency and guilt. She had brought disaster upon her world; without her the Legendary Child would never have lived. And still she knew almost nothing about the Child.

   There was a soft knock at the door. Issul dabbed at her eyes with a silk chiffon, gathered her gown about her and went to answer.

   "Pader," she smiled wanly, genuinely pleased to see the little Murinean. "Thank you for coming. I need so much to talk to you."

   "And I you." Pader Luminis stepped lightly into the room, the steward who had brought him fading back into the depths of the royal apartment. "But what is this? Issul, my child, my bright young Queen, you are sad. Your eyes are pools of sorrow, your brow clouded with worry, your cheeks deprived of colour, your lips adroop with remorse. Come. Come now. We can hardly talk when you’re like this. Oh, look! Oh my, what have we here?"

   Following his gaze Issul glanced across the chamber. A brilliant shower of radiant golden stars danced in a column before the window. Countless, they spun, twirled, darted and suddenly flew in a bright plume straight towards Issul. She stepped back, lifting her hands. The stars were transformed into a score of tiny finches, multi-hued and loudly chirruping. Their fluttering wings stirred the air as they encircled Issul, playing upon her loose hair and gown.

   Issul laughed. She spun, trying to follow the movements of the tiny birds, reaching out to try to touch one. The finches became stars once more, shimmering blue this time. They whirled in a cloud, floated to the window and were gone.

   Issul smiled, clasping her hands.
"Pader! Oh Pader, how I love you!"

   "Ah, sweet child, that's better. It gladdens my heart to see a smile light your face once more. Now come, let’s sit. I’m anxious to learn of everything that has befallen you since you took leave of Enchantment's Reach."

   "And I rely upon you to tell me all that has happened in my absence. I return to find Fectur as Regent, my husband and children gone. Pader, how is this? What has happened here? But wait! Before you attempt to answer that, there’s something I must tell you. A confession. Will you listen, Pader, and promise not to speak of what I say to any other? You are the only one I can trust."

  
"Only I?" Pader clicked his tongue, adjusting his robe to sit. "I think that is not so. What of the dashing young cavalryman who has seen you home, and your other two companions? From what I hear they’ve proved themselves worthy of your trust?"

  
"Shenwolf? Yes, he risked his life again and again to save mine. We’ve become. . . good friends. I think I can safely say that. Certainly he’as earned my trust. But in truth I know very little about him. His background, his past . . . . He shies away from my enquiries. Phisusandra and Kol have also proved themselves." She smiled briefly to herself, remembering their faces when they had entered the city with her and finally learned her true identity. It had been a moment to savour. "Yes, all three are good, brave and loyal men. Even so, as Leth isn’t with us, what I have to say now I dare impart to no one but you."

   "Then I’m honoured."

   Issul's look became sombre and inward. "Pader, my sister, Ressa, gave birth to a child."

   Pader's wrinkled head, which had bowed slightly in an attitude of attentiveness, came up sharply.
"Ressa? Issul, what are you saying? I know of no child."

   "I know. I know. Just listen. You know she was attacked, as was Mawnie. The full details were never made known. Our parents put out the story that they were mauled by a bear. But you were told, about the creature."

   Pader nodded.

   "You weren't told everything, Pader. I knew more, but I told no one. Not Leth, not Mawnie, not our mother and father. Ressa made me swear." She hesitated a moment, frozen in the horror of recollection. "I was at her bedside just a couple of days before she passed away. She had been in a feverish, unbroken sleep for some time. But she woke, suddenly, and looked at me, and said, quite clearly, 'Iss, when my baby comes, tell no one. They will be shamed. Tell no one.'

   "I took her to be in a delirium. We knew nothing of a pregnancy, and there were no signs. Duke Hugo was courting her, was besotted with her and had let it be known that he intended to ask for her hand, but even so . . . . I began to say something, something to do with Hugo, but she grasped my hand, fiercely. I can feel it now, burning hot, and the intensity in her eyes. 'It’s not Hugo. No one must know, Iss. No one, but especially not Hugo. Promise me. Swear to me that you will never tell a soul. And promise me you will take care of my baby. Take it somewhere, in secret. Look after my child, Iss, dear Iss, but let know one know. I’m trusting you, you alone. Not Mawnie, no, never tell Mawnie. Do you promise?'

   "What else could I do?" said Issul to Pader Luminis. "It made no sense. She was fevered and deluded, but I promised, mainly to calm her. She gripped my hand even more tightly, then closed her eyes and slept again. Two days later she was dead."

   Issul paused, gathering the courage to continue. "On the day before Ressa's funeral I went to her room to be with her one last time. She lay upon her bed, draped in her funeral gown, so peaceful, too young and beautiful. I stood there and wept silently, enraged at a world so cruel as to permit such an injustice as this. I spoke to her, a few final parting words, and was about to leave. But as I turned away. . . Pader, it is so painful to describe. As I turned away, she moved. Ressa moved. Pale and still and dead, yet her body gave a twitch and then was suddenly convulsed. Her back arched; something shifted beneath her gown. She seemed to be undergoing a most terrible, terrifying struggle, yet her face remained serene and lifeless, her arms limp at her sides.

   "I don’t know what I did, Pader. I was transfixed, I think, rooted to the floor. Ressa's poor body writhed and bucked, her
legs. . . 
splayed
. It was terrible, Pader! Terrible! Terrible!"

   Pader Luminis took the young Queen's hand in his, calming her with soothing words yet barely able to contain his own feelings, so shocked was he at what he was hearing. Leth's fears had been borne out.

   "And then the blood," continued Issul, her face haggard. "Dark blood, soaking through her pale gown, so much of it, soaking the bed beneath her. And Ressa was still. Nothing was moving. I don't know how long I stood there, just staring, sobbing, so terrified, not knowing what to do. And then, a sound.  A thin, tiny cry. And the smallest movement, almost nothing at first, beneath her gown where the blood still spread between her lifeless thighs. And the cry again. I did not know. . . oh, I was so frightened. But I stepped forward, so afraid, and reached for her gown, lifted it, exposing her, not knowing what I would see. And there it was. I could not. . . I didn't. . . a baby, perfectly formed, so small, smaller than any child I had ever seen. A boy, impossibly. Pader. How? How? Ressa's son!"

   Issul voice had risen to a querulous
soprano, and now she broke down, the tears streaming freely down her cheeks, her hands rigid before her face.

   Pader sat in numbed, troubled silence, grappling with the images she had presented. Presently he rasped, "You are saying, this child, this baby, was the result of Ressa's having been raped upon Sentinel's Peak?
But that happened just weeks earlier."

   "It was an unnatural child, Pader. It had given birth to itself, three days after Ressa's death. There was no indication - she did not swell, nor lactate. Yet there it was, a tiny baby boy, human in every respect, except. . . ."

   "Except?"

   "Oh, I don't know, but its eyes. The way it looked at me, intelligently, as though it knew me.
As though it was fully aware. But I was distraught, I hardly took anything in. I gave no thought to the father at the time. Only afterwards did I admit to myself that it must have been that monstrous thing on Sentinel's Peak."