Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (60 page)

“From this moment forward they would be welcome whenever they chose to visit his court. Furthermore, the demon king, Ba’land himself, would be arriving soon and a month of feasting would be decreed to honor his arrival.”

I sipped my wine, reflecting. “I wonder what was said?”

“No one knows,” Janela answered. “I’ve scoured all the old parchments for a hint. There was all kinds of speculation, of course. The life of the Crown Prince threatened. Or the Queen’s. The King was possessed, or he’d made a bargain to keep his throne. I’ve finally concluded it doesn’t matter and any further effort to find out would be a waste of valuable time. After all a demon’s greatest talent is delving into one’s most secret, most weak self, and using one’s greatest fear... or most shameful desire against you.

“More important is Queen Monavia’s reaction as Ba’land and his demon courtiers swarmed her palace and took increasing liberties. She did her best to resist, even threatened to break the royal marriage. But King Farsun locked her child in a tower and said he’d keep him prisoner there until he could make a child on another queen and when that child was born the Crown Prince would be assassinated.”

“How bold cowards can sometimes be,” I said.

“I thought the same thing,” Janela said. “Fortunately the Queen was no fool. And she was patient as well. She put on a royal face and braved it out for some years. Meanwhile she conspired with a woman she had in her service who was a very powerful witch. Her name is lost to history. Her birthplace, however, is not. One old historian who was a devil when it came to thickly-laid prose spent several glowing pages describing it. He said she came from a wondrous lake district where the River Of The Heavens is born.”

“Our river?” I asked.

“The very same,” she answered.

I just had to laugh. “So it’s likely this witch was kin to Queen Badryia?”

Janela grinned. “Remember how she lectured us like an old schoolmistress on the non-existence of Tyrenia?”

“
Very
well,” I said. “Badryia reminds me of a teacher I once had who insisted on the truth of facts that were nonsense. Such as — and he swore this to the gods — that women had fewer teeth than men.”

This drew a belly laugh from Janela. “Didn’t he ever count them?” she asked.

“No,” I replied. “But I did. My father dismissed him soon after. Thank Te-Date I was blessed with a wise father.”

“And he a wise son,” Janela murmured.

I flushed, feeling like a small boy hearing welcome praise.

“To continue,” Janela said. “The witch coaxed roots to grow from the stem of a magical leaf, a leaf from a rare tree that grew in her homeland. When it became a sapling she planted it by a spring whose waters were reputed to be an elixir of renewal and protection. It grew swiftly and before long it was one of the larger trees in the kingdom. Its roots were becoming a nuisance, boring through the foundation in some places. But the Queen would let no one touch it, declaring its leaves a beauty aid of much importance to her.

“The spring that fed the tree, by the by, was also used for the Queen’s bath, which the old historian said kept her from being harmed by the demons who knew she opposed them.”

I started to ask her a question but the tavern owner bustled over with large wicker basket. He assured my Lady Greycloak only the most excellent food had been prepared, with samples of their very best spirits to compliment each dish. Would she wish a servant to assist us while we picnicked? Janela said, thank you, no, but this was to be a very private affair. She winked. The tavern owner floated away on a wave of good humor.

Janela finished her wine and rose. “Shall we, my Lord?” she asked in mock formality.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I said, too distracted by her tale to take note of all the trouble she’d gone to. “But tell me one thing before we leave.”

“If I can.”

“What was the tree’s purpose?” I asked.

“That’s one of the reasons for the picnic,” Janela said. “I intend us to find out. But I do have a guess.”

“And that is?”

Janela tossed a silver coin on the table, saying, “She used it to murder the king.”

An arbored path wound around the tavern and tree. It emptied into a secluded garden the tavern owner rented for romantic trysts, such as he imagined ours to be. A colorful pavilion had been set up for our picnic but Janela only dumped the basket next to it and motioned for me to follow her to a wide spot between two mighty roots. The ground there was moist and covered with a carpet of thick moss.

She pointed to a depression about four feet square, saying, “That’s where we dig.”

She dropped to her knees and started cutting a furrow into the moss with her knife.

“Why, pray tell, do we need to?” I asked.

“To get into the old palace,” Janela said. “I’ve cast spells to find an entrance but they’re all either too deep or lack seclusion — such as through the tavern floor. Except for here. Now if you’ll only help me all we should have to do is peel away this moss.”

I did as she said although I was still mystified.

“I’ve been experimenting with measurements of sorcerous energy,” Janela explained. “And from what I can determine there is more of a disturbance in the ethers in this area than just the presence of the witch’s tree can account for. I don’t what it is although I have my suspicions. I thought it important enough to investigate. I found old builders’ sketches of Farsun’s palace and managed to trace the source of the disturbance. If fortune smiles we should soon learn if I’m right.”

With that she made a final cut and we gingerly rolled back the mossy carpet. The damp earth beneath it crumbled under our fingers and I could hear the sound of rushing water. Janela brushed at the dirt, revealing an old stone grate. Cool, sweet air wafted up between the openings.

“That’s odd,” I said. “I’d expect the air to be dank and foul smelling.”

Janela didn’t answer. She scratched a faint impression around the edges of the grate. Her knife glowed and the damp stone hissed where the knife touched. The grate fell away and splashed into the watery recess below.

Her action amazed me. I hadn’t seen her lips move in a chant, much less heard her mumble. But before I could ask how she’d accomplished it she fumbled firebeads from her purse and they’d barely winked to life before she’d swung over the side of the hole and was clambering down — using impressions cut into the stone sides as foot and handholds.

The hole was only ten or so feet deep and she quickly reached the bottom. I saw the firebeads shift this way and that as she investigated.

“It’s a culvert,” she called up to me, her voice light with victory. “Just as I hoped. Come on, Amalric. It’s not very wet.”

I dropped in after her and found myself standing on a stone path that rose above a stream of water. The culvert was quite wide and high enough for us to stand comfortably straight. I raised my own firebeads and saw the water came from a small pool that on closer inspection proved to be an overflowing well. The water ran along the culvert into a high tunnel that appeared to head off under the tavern

Janela bent to scoop up some of the water, drank, then nodded in satisfaction. I did the same. It tasted exactly the same as the elixir spring we’d encountered on the island. She motioned and we set off into the tunnel.

As we walked along the path I heard a roaring sound that grew louder until we couldn’t have made one another out if we’d talked. But we didn’t have to go far to find the source of the noise, for abruptly the tunnel widened and we came into a small chamber. The water was channeled through the center of the chamber, then plummeted over a rough, natural ridge.

I looked down but the bottom was so distant light couldn’t reach it. Janela nudged me and I saw an alcove cut into the opposite side. We leaped over the stream and went to it. I saw a heavy door made of some metal that didn’t seem to be affected by the elements, since it was as smooth as the long ago day when it was first cast in one solid piece.

There was a depression for a handhold and Janela got a good grip and heaved. But the door came open so easily I had to catch her when she lost her balance and nearly fell.

As I righted her she shook with mute laughter at her clumsiness. Her eyes were dancing with excitement and she gave me a quick hug and said something I couldn’t hear over the deafening sound of the waterfall. She shrugged giving up, and signaled for me to follow her.

We entered into a large room filled with shadowy objects. Janela shut the door, which was so well-designed the water’s sound vanished. She whirled the firebeads about her head and the whole room lit up as ancient, magical torches flared into cold life.

The objects were now clearly visible as well-made vases and jars of various sizes and shapes. We examined a few. They were wondrously decorated. The larger vases showed various scenes of women bathing in natural settings. The smaller ones had glazed picture of different flowers. Janela broke the seal on one and a delicious, sensual odor wafted from it.

“How lovely,” Janela murmured, dabbing a little behind each ear. “Still fresh after all these centuries.”

To one side was a pot large enough to hold a person. Beneath it was a small furnace with the coals and ashes heaped into it from a long dead fire.

“This is where the Queen’s maids came to fetch her bath water,” Janela said. “They went through that door to dip it out of the spring. They heated in that pot. Perfumed it with the fragrances in those jars. Then carried it in the vases to wherever the reservoir is that fed the bath.”

I had no doubt she was correct but as further proof she showed me a small door with a peephole about two-fingers wide. I peered into it and could make out the bath chamber we had seen in the tavern. By stooping and craning my neck I could even catch a glimpse of someone walking past the glass floor in the tavern above.

There was one other door in the chamber and on the other side of that was a long corridor with three more doors set into its length, which carried on around a dark bend. One door was warped by the heavy weight of rubble on the other side so it was impossible to investigate. Janela guessed it was Queen Monavia’s bedchamber.

A second door opened easily, revealing a warren of corridors leading into the ruined palace. The third was a little stiff on its hinges but when we looked inside we found a small empty room with what I at first took to be a raised stone pallet for a mattress. When we looked closer, however, we saw the familiar decorations carved into it. In the center was an even more familiar box-like recess. Except this one was empty.

Janela got out the stone box we’d found on the island and held it over the recess. It was the same size and shape. For a moment I thought she was going to place the box into it and I became alarmed, my heart quickening, palms perspiring as I recalled the mysterious and intoxicating incident on the island; an intoxication that both attracted and frightened me.

“Don’t,” I said.

Janela looked at me. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Something will happen if you do,” I said. “I’m not sure what. But I don’t think we’ll be pleased.”

Janela didn’t question me and to my relief she put the box away. Then she closed her eyes and stood very still for a long time.

Finally she opened them, saying, “You were right to warn me, Amalric. The Queen’s witch used this room for her magic. Perhaps even to charge the box with whatever sorcery she intended.”

“Is our box the same one?” I asked. “Or, its twin?”

“The same, I think,” Janela said. “If so, the witch must have returned to her homeland and made a holy place on the island to keep it safe in case it needed to be used again.”

I licked dry lips, not wanting to ponder long on what that use might be. Janela must have known something of my feelings for she gave me a quick kiss, then beckoned me out of the witch’s room and down the long corridor.

We walked along it for nearly an hour, Janela whirling the firebeads over her head every now again to cause the ancient lights to bloom and the shadows to retreat like an army that had lost heart. We came to other doors and other corridors but Janela barely glanced at them — staying close to the sorcerous trail she’d sniffed out.

Then the corridor sallied out into a vaulted chamber with mighty double doors on the far side. The metal of those doors was inscribed with the crown of a king. As we approached them I felt suddenly cold as if a draft were blowing beneath — although I felt no disturbance in the air.

Janela paused at the doors. She felt the metal, put her ear against it as if listening.

“This is it,” she said, low.

She stepped back and flung her arms wide. The doors swung swiftly open, booming loudly as they jarred against the walls. She took a few paces forward, whirling the beads and the great room beyond those doors burst into light.

We entered and found ourselves in the court chamber of King Farsun.

I could see the twin thrones where he and Queen Monavia had reclined in the dancer’s scene. I could see the white stone platform where she’d danced, the pit where the musicians had played — and on one side the boxed seats where the demon king had watched and lusted.