The Road to Amber (33 page)

“What should we do, my lady?” he asked.

“You said that the Prince said that some of the heroes are already returning?”

“Yes, he did not specify which, but he seemed pleased.”

Rissa nodded “The day for the wedding and coronation will be set soon. You shall become my eyes and ears in the city. There is no way you can return to the Temple, for the Prince clearly meant to have you dead.”

Lemml nodded. “I fear leaving the skull untended. What if the Prince sends someone to steal it or damage it? It is a powerful magical device and the last remnant of the Fallen Sunbird.”

“A good point,” Rissa said. “As soon as darkness falls, you must steal over to the Temple and bring it here. I will rinse the worst of the filth from your robes.”

“What if the Prince sees me leaving?” Lemml asked. “He must wonder that my body has not been found.”

“A good point,” Rissa agreed. “I shall give him a plausible story to cover for the absence of your body—the palace has been fraught with magical phenomena lately—and you shall leave the palace dressed in a gown belonging to a member of Rango’s late family. You can change into your own robes when you are safely away.”

Lemml began to protest at this slight to his dignity, but his words died unspoken. The Princess was right and her expression brooked no argument. This was a lady who knew her own mind, not a palace-bred royal pet.

For a moment, he almost pitied the Prince, but only for a moment.

“Domino’s Tale” by Jane Lindskold tells of the transvestite General Domino Blaid’s efforts to dispose of the scroll Gwykander. She loses it and then regains it after battling Necrotica. She realizes that Kalaran may not be dead after all and that he may have possessed Prince Rango. She decides to return with the scroll, intending to cast an incantation over Kalaran with it. The tale ends with Domino planning to meet with her fellow questers (all members of the upcoming bridal party), ostensibly to plan the bridal and stag parties.

T
he day of the wedding and coronation dawned bright green and gold. The gold came from the risen sun, the green from the trio of comets that arched in slow, spectacular passage across the blue sky. In the palace chambers, surrounded by twittering maids who were dressing her for the festivities, General Domino Blaid reflected that thus far nothing had gone quite according to plan.

On her return to Caltus, she had settled her troops, reported to Prince Rango, and checked the Onyx Eagle to see who else was back. Jancy had left word—and in any case they saw each other at the interminable fittings for the bridesmaids’ dresses.

Spotty was late. When he did arrive in the capital, he admitted that he’d gotten caught up in a poker game with the dragon Schmirnov from which he had been dragged bodily by his dwarven companion, Ibble. Gar Quithnick had not shown up at all and, from what Domino had been able to pry from Prince Rango, neither he nor Spido had been heard from for some time.

The only good thing was that Princess Rissa had been receptive to their suspicions. Jancy had sounded her out with the blunt delicacy of her fine-honed ax and the Princess had confessed that she had developed her own suspicions during the weeks they had been apart.

Domino obediently sat so that a woman could try to do something artistic with her short-cropped hair. From the adjoining room, she could hear Jancy thoroughly cursing someone who was removing curlers from her blond locks. The phrasing was particularly good—Sombrisio’s influence no doubt.

Wishing that she had the resources of both Sombrisio and Mothganger, Domino let her thoughts drift to Jord. He and Spotty should be carrying out the first stages of their plan just abour now. They had the help of the renegade priest, Lemml Touday, so she was little worried. How much trouble could subduing one elderly Chief Priest be?

* * *

Waiting outside the sacristy of the Cathedral of Dym, Stiller Gulick and Jord Inder listened for Lemml Touday to give them the all clear.

“The blessings of all the Gods, Goddesses, and Demi-deities of Light be upon you, your Reverend Grace,” they heard him greet the Chief Priest.

Fenelais, the new Chief Priest, was known for his idiosyncrasies—one of which was his desire to garb himself in privacy and have some moments of meditation before any religious service at which he was officiating. Despite knowing of his eccentricities, the comrades in arms were startled by his response.

“A good day, perhaps for me, foolish intruder,” growled a controlled voice, “but for you it means your death!”

They burst into the sacristy to find an elderly man with a freshly shaven head standing over Lemml’s crumpled body. Blood leaked from the priest’s nostrils. The elderly man was partially garbed in the ceremonial robes of the Chief Priest and a sand-cast gold sunburst with a starburst of diamonds at its heart rested upon his breast.

“Udan Kann!” Stifler swore, his complexion immediately blossoming with pale blotches.

“You know me, ill-favored one,” Udan Kann hissed. “No matter, this knowledge will only hasten your demise.”

Stiller unsheathed his sword and dove at the
hingu
master. Udan Kann twisted his torso with the suppleness of a high-priced prostitute and avoided the blow. Then he tapped Stiller lightly on the arm and sent the warrior reeling.

Jord was about to charge into the fray when the grating voice of Calla Mallanik sounded in his ears.

“Move, poet,” the elf said. “Domino would never forgive us if we got you slaughtered.”

The elf raised his silver-strung bow and let fly with the arrows of fiery elf-wrought gold that never failed to find the life of evildoers at whom they were shot. Two arrows raced toward their target—overkill by a hundred percent—yet Udan Kann plucked both arrows from the air.

He tossed them like darts back at the astonished elf. One sliced the silver bowstring into glittering twine, the second pinned the elf’s floppy-toed boot to the floor.

“I will tend to you in a moment.” He laughed.

“Not if I have my say!” Stiller Gulick cried, charging back, his sword angled to give the assassin a new spinal column. Udan Kann didn’t even turn as he twisted to poke Spotty in the eyes.

“Snake eyes!” He giggled. “Or don’t you play dice?”

“That piece of jewelry you’re wearing,” Jord Inder said, “it’s Anachron, the amulet that Gar Quithnick was supposed to return to Gelfait!”

Udan Kann lurched as if struck, then he grasped the amulet in one hand, sparing the other to pluck a flight of arrows from Calla’s newly strung bow from before his breast.

“Yes, it is Anachron. The Pariah has failed you as he failed me. In both cases, his obsession with the perfection of his art made him less than the demands of his task!”

“Damn Gar Quithnick!” Spotty Gulick cursed, struggling to his feet.

“I never trusted Gar Quithnick,” Calla agreed, reaching for another arrow.

Udan Kann lurched twice more, his supple hands paving at his chest. His humorless eyes bulged from head. Falling to his knees, he moaned.

“Gar, my son, I did you ill to call you Pariah,” he gasped, his voice coming thinner. “What a beautiful use of the delayed death touch! Truly, I should have named you
hingu-Grashanshao!”

With a final moan of chest-crushing pain, Udan Kann crumpled to the ground, embracing at last the death that had been his best student’s final exam.

“Well, I guess Gar did come through for us after all,” Stiller Gulick said, looking at the dead assassin with respect, the blotches on his countenance fading slightly. “Is the priest still alive?”

Jord checked the body, “Yes, thank the Gods of Light. I guess that Udan Kann planned to play with him first.”

“I wonder why Gar let him get away with the amulet?” Calla mused as he wiped the blood from the priest’s face and began to administer first aid. “Clearly, he could have slain him.”

Jord knelt by Udan Kann and began to remove the ceremonial robes. “I think that he had grown suspicious and let Udan Kann return as a warning to us.”

“He could have come himself,” Stiller commented. “It would have been a hell of a lot safer.”

“True,” Jord agreed, “but I don’t think he knew that Kalaran had possessed Prince Rango, only that the Fallen Sunbird was somehow still active. Gar did not dare risk that Udan Kann’s failure to return would warn his master.”

“I guess it makes sense—for a
hingu
master,” Stiller said. “I hope that Gar’s alive, wherever he is.”

“I wonder,” Jord replied. “Legend says that Anachron will return to its previous bearer when the first is slain. It rests yet upon Udan Kann’s chest.”

“I guess that means Gar is dead, then, though I would have given odds on him,” Stiller said sadly. “He was a creep, but he was our creep.”

Calla Mallanik cleared some litter from a bench and lifted Lemml up, then he started back in surprise. “Spring’s bouncing balls!” he exclaimed, “I’ve found the Chief Priest and he’s breathing!”

“I guess that Kalaran didn’t want any more problems the religious establishment than he could help,” Stiller said. “Now let me tend him. I’ve a dangerous job for you.”

“Do you want me to climb into the eaves and serve as a sniper?” the elf asked.

“No.”

“Go and see if any other
hingu
assassins are lurking in the bushes?”

“No.”

“Carry a secret message to the Princess?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I want you to put on Gar’s outfit and get ready to take his place in the wedding party.”

“How is that dangerous?”

“Have you thought about how Gar would feel if he hurried back here all the way from Gelfait and finds that you’ve taken his place?”

“Oh.”

Somberly Calla began to put on the groomsman’s uniform. “Wait, I thought you said he was dead, so why are you worried?”

“I also said that I’d give odds on him,” Stiller said. “Hurry, they’re starting to play the music.”

* * *

Trumpets blared the opening of the triumphal march of the Royal House of Regaudia as Princess Rissa’s carriage drew up in front of the Cathedral of Dym. Daisy, elegantly garbed and inordinately proud in her new role as Dame of Protocol, ordered the footmen to open the carriage doors.

“I’ve been going into battle since I was a child,” Domino mused, “and I never was afraid. Why am I scared now?”

“Maybe because you don’t have a horse between your legs.” Jancy chuckled, then she softened. “Sif, I went into my first battle before I was born—my mother was a warrior woman like me—and I’m nervous, too. How are you doing, Rissa?”

The Princess looked up from the enormous bouquet of white roses, baby’s breath, apple blossoms, and tulips in her lap. “I’m nervous. Who wouldn’t be, knowing what we know, suspecting what we suspect? I only wish we didn’t have to do this so publicly.”

“You know why we must,” Domino reminded her. “Kalaran would not sit through the exorcism. Our only hope is that he will fail to notice that Jord is reading not the wedding text but the exorcism from the scroll of Gwykander. Jord has been memorizing as much as he can, so that he will not need to make obvious what he is doing, but…”

“There are lots of buts,” Jancy interrupted. “We can do no more planning. Now is the time for battle and praying for the blessings of both your Gods of Light and those of my battle-loving Northern Gods.”

“Amen,” Rissa breathed. “Amen.”

They processed into the Cathedral of Dym amid a cheering throng of the citizenry who pressed against the uniformed guards to bombard the bride and attendants with flowers, birdseed, sugared almonds, small coins, and light wheaten cakes.

“Fertility charms,” Jancy explained to the puzzled Princess.

“Damn,” Domino swore.

When they entered the Cathedral, Prince Rango, Stiller Gulick, and Calla Mallanik strode from the sacristy. Stiller bore a broad tray with the newly minted crowns of the Faltane. Calla bore a slightly smaller tray holding four beautiful daggers. The Chief Priest followed them more slowly, bearing in his arms the heavy, leatherbound Book of the Service.

“Is that Jord?” Jancy whispered.

“I don’t know,” Domino answered.

“Hush,” Princess Rissa said.

The first one to process down the aisle was Seth. The little girl was crowned with a diadem of pink rosebuds and bore a basket with dried rose petals that she scattered along the aisle. “Walk slowly, slowly, ducky,” Daisy coached her. “Now you, Captain Ibble.”

The dwarf wore a set of knee britches and matching vest with a white shirt. His feet were in open-toed sandals and he puffed a large pipe of the finest tobacco. He carried the wedding rings carefully balanced on a satin pillow.

“Behold the bearer of the rings!” Daisy said reverently. “Isn’t he just precious?”

Ibble shot her a dirty look before heading down the aisle, a measured distance behind Seth.

“Now you, General Blaid,” Daisy said, “and Jancy just a few paces behind.”

The march swelled to a triumphal crescendo as the bride finally advanced down the aisle. From above, the ticket holders sprinkled the wedding party with more flower petals. From the aisle seats the guests smiled and waved, bursting with the peculiar somber pride that only comes when one is part of a wedding of someone very special indeed.

Spite, in its guise as a green elf maid, stood beside Rafe and his wife in the pew reserved for comrades, along with Piggon and Rolfus, the surviving sorcellets. A few other members of Domino’s Company filled out the row. The quests had been singularly hard on the other companions.

When Rissa had reached the sanctuary and stepped to stand beside Rango, the congregation turned as one to face the front. The orchestra finished the last few bars of the march and fell silent.

“Dear people of the Faltane,” came a rusty voice from beneath the Chief Priest’s veiled shawl, “we come here to join two people in holy matrimony and to celebrate the coronation of our new King and Queen.”

The congregation burst into enthusiastic applause. Jancy glanced at Domino as if to say “Is that Jord?” Domino shrugged.

She tried to catch Stiller’s eye, figuring that he would give her some signal, and found that he was studying the Prince’s Guard with a faintly quizzical expression marring his poker face. He had the advantage of her in that he could see the ones lining the side aisles and the back of the Cathedral. Domino, at least, could see the ones in the sanctuary without craning around in an undignified fashion.