OrbSoul (Book 6) (4 page)

   'I wish to interview them before any price of your devising is paid,' said Pader. He thought of the red-headed nurse, most probably essentially an innocent, who now ran the terrible risk of becoming Fectur's scapegoat. Did she, or any others, have a tale to tell? If so, Fectur would be at pains to ensure it could never be told, other than on his own terms. 'Be very clear on that score,' Pader added. He made a mental note to have the nurse held over in his own custody. But he thought also of the dreadful notion that had assailed him earlier, and was gripped still with turmoil and terrible doubt. 

   Fectur nodded almost indiscernibly, showing no expression.
'Of course.'

   Now Pader let his anger show. 'The welfare of the Duchess Demawndella was your responsibility, Lord Fectur.
The entire royal family, in fact. You have failed them all. And you have failed me.'

   A muscle twitched on Fectur's cheek; his upper lip tightened. 'Both the King and the Queen acted entirely against my advice, as you well know. They overruled all objections that I placed before
them, and in certain instances acted without my knowledge.'

   'Still. . .' Pader hesitated.
So many questions in his mind. What could he believe? 'The fact is, my lord, that the Duchess's death places me in a very difficult position. In combination with all else it forces me to review, most seriously, the issue of internal security.'

   Fectur's face darkened. A vein pulsed dangerously at his right temple. He stepped up close to Pader, his eyes boring into the little Murinean's.
'"
Review
. . . internal security?” Are you aware to whom you speak, Lord
Protector?
'

  
'Fully aware, my lord. And fully aware also of the breaches in security that are tearing this kingdom apart.' Pader Luminis was hard-put not to quail under Fectur's baleful gaze. In the Lord-High Invigilate's eye he saw murder. He saw the capacity for any crime of any magnitude. He saw . . . something, dreadful, shocking and unnameable. Something utterly distant, pitiless and devoid of any understanding of human warmth or need. Pader recoiled within himself, yet somehow stood his ground.

   'I think you are wrong, Lord Protector,' said Fectur quietly through clenched teeth. 'I think it is the misguided, irresponsible actions of those who rule, or try to, that are tearing apart the kingdom. They place almost unbearable strain upon the Security Service.'

   'The fact remains,' said Pader, 'that neither I, as Protector, nor King Leth nor Queen Issul, know any longer who we can trust.'

   Fectur's gaze bored unblinkingly into him for some moments more,
then he turned away. 'You suspect my hand in Mawnie's murder, do you not?'

   'I have considered every possibility.'

   'Well, be certain that in me you chase the wrong prey. Ask yourself, Why?
Why?
What could I possibly gain by such an act?'

   'I have not failed to ask myself that question.'

   'And what answer have you arrived at?'

   'I
confess, nothing that satisfies. Still, it is true, is it not, that you endeavoured to interrogate her whilst she remained under the influence of her dementia?'

   'Interrogate? I would class it more in the nature of a conversation between friends.'

   'And in the course of that conversation, did you learn anything of interest?'

  
'Nothing. She raved.'

   'But you did not deem it unwise to leave a flask of strong spirit in her possession.
Even in her distressed state?'

  
'Precisely. Fortification, comfort and relief.'

   Pader held his tongue. He had learned that, after Fectur's visit, Mawnie had become voluble indeed under the influence of the plum spirit. Whether in her delirium or drunkenness she had revealed anything of importance - whether in fact she had anything to reveal - Pader had still been unable to ascertain. He was in no doubt, though, that Fectur had agents placed close to Mawnie.

   But had he killed her?

  
Or . . .

   Fectur's quiet rage seemed to have passed, at least for the moment. He observed Pader with a mocking half-smile.

   'Do you know of the whereabouts of the Duchess's daughter, Lir?' Pader asked, his voice shaking.

   'I do not. Why?'

   'I have been unable to locate her. She has not been seen since last night. I thought perhaps you might know something, for again, her welfare is of course your concern.'

  
Is there a connection here?

   'I will initiate an immediate search. No doubt she is hiding in a cupboard somewhere, or behind an arras or beneath a discarded blanket. She is usually to be found somewhere where she is not supposed to be.'

   'Should your searchers be more successful than mine, you will not fail to have her brought to me.'

   'It goes without saying.'

   'Or should you by other means meet with knowledge of her whereabouts.'

   'Other means?'

   'I do not question your resourcefulness, my lord.' Pader inhaled a deep breath. His ribcage had grown tight, his lungs constricted.

  'I note the absence of your faithful bodyguard,' observed Fectur.
'A pity. I had relished the opportunity of meeting him again.'

   Pader glanced towards the door, beyond which a squad of guards stood in attendance. 'Kol's injuries, by a miracle, are not serious. He should be back on duty within a couple of days.'

  
Post guards at Kol's bedside!
thought Pader with sudden, renewed disquiet.
By all the spirits and all the gods who may ever have existed, not one of us is safe!

  'Intriguing,' said Fectur, 'that the Queen should see fit to bestow such high status and extraordinary responsibility upon a stranger, a man she met for the first time but days ago. Don't you think?'

   'It is yet another measure of the uncertainty and distrust she feels within her own home. She no longer knows who she can rely upon. But Kol has proven himself to her over and over again. As he has to me.'

   'Still, it is unorthodox. And of course, Kol is not the only stranger to have risen suddenly to such privileged rank. What of this Shenwolf, a common soldier, no less. Recruited from . . . who knows where? And the other, a Murinean, like
yourself - Phisusandra is his name?'

   'Like Kol, they are men who have demonstrated to the Queen their loyalty, reliability and willingness, if necessary, to die for her,' replied Pader edgily.

   'They were prisoners of the Karai!' declared Fectur. 'Has it not occurred to you - did it not occur to the Queen - that these men might have been planted?'

   The notion startled Pader Luminis. 'Planted?
By whom?'

  
'Our enemy, Lord Protector. Who else?'

   'I- I deem that highly unlikely.'

   'But can you be absolutely sure? With things as they are? Just look at them. Look at where they are now. A canny foe could hardly have wished for more.'

   Pader shook his head adamantly. 'I respect the Queen's judgement in regard to these men.'

   'Be it on your own head, then. But be certain that not all of us are so willingly or wittingly seduced.'

   'Do you make accusations, sir?'

   'I voice my concern, nothing more.'

   Pader swallowed hard. Fectur went on, 'This Shenwolf, in particular, enjoys a measure of intimacy with the Queen that I find shocking and distasteful. I ask myself, why?
So suddenly? And just how far do their confidences and intimacies extend?'

   'I believe you will find nothing improper.'

   'Believe? Is belief not your enemy, Lord Protector? You, whose professed goal is Knowledge and Truth?'

   'Lord Fectur, you talk of conspiracy and suspicion. I would rather have facts.'

   Fectur slowly shook his head, his eyes not leaving Pader's. 'No, my lord. I talk of the possibility of treasonable acts.'

   'Treasonable! Bah! You sow seeds of doubt against those who are not present to put forth their own defence. You readily declare guilt where none is proven, or even suspected.'

   'I am alert to all potentials. Anything less would be unnaceptable.'

   'You would be better employed devoting your very considerable powers to eradicating the threats that are here, with us, now, both outside our walls and within.'

   Fectur nodded. 'To that end I wish to inform you that I may be -
ahem
- not easily located within the foreseeable days. I am undertaking a journey.'

  
'A journey?' Again Pader knew dismay. 'Where?'

   Fectur lifted a hand and pointed with one finger to the ground. 'Below.'

   'Overlip? For what reason?'

   'Certain information has come to light which I deem worthy of investigation.'

   'I should be informed. What is this information?'

  
'In due course, Lord Protector. At present there is nothing I can confirm. And it would be unwise to disclose the nature of the quest, given the circumstances. After all,' he gestured around him, 'we do not know who we may trust, and the walls may surely listen even as we speak.'

   'You go to the True Sept?' Pader was near-incredulous. 'You, of all people, will be in great danger down there.'

   'I am aware of the risks. However, under certain specifics, measures may be taken to reduce them.'

   'My own men must accompany you.'

   'No, Lord Protector. I go alone.'

  
'When?'

  
'At the time of my choosing. I deem it unwise to say more. And please do not attempt to have me followed. My agents will deal summarily with any persons they consider to be acting suspiciously. It may be difficult to distinguish between friend and foe. Now, I have much to do. I bid you good-day.'

   Lord Fectur turned and walked from the room, leaving Pader mutely staring after him, filled once again with deepest misgivings and the sense that he could not stand against the task that had been laid upon him. 

TWO

i

  
So it had not been a dream!

   Prince Anzejarl was on one knee before the open chest, his strange white face puckered in conflict and his gorgeous eyes wide in the recognition of revelation.

  
Not a dream!

   With the passing of turbulent days and nights and the progress of his campaign of unerring conquest, Anzejarl had had more than inklings that this was so. He had been reluctant to admit it to himself, but the dreams . . . there was a quality to them that was persuasive and almost tangible; they lingered dangerously in his mind, and did not vary. The dreams were one dream, repeated over and over, more like a memory.
A memory of something recurrent and real.

   Now here was the proof.

   Anzejarl had agonized with himself before finally committing himself to the search.

  
Agonized!

   That a
Karai warrior - a Karai prince! - should know such indecision was evidence of just how much of a change he had undergone. To agonize, to be irresolute, to question the validity of the simple act that his mind told him he must undertake . . . Prince Anzejarl bristled with deepest indignation.

  
The Gift! Awakening! What have I become?

   For a moment his focus shifted. He thought of his human enemies crouched high above, behind the massive protecting walls of Enchantment's Reach. Anzejarl drew back his lips, baring his teeth.
Leth, how you will know my sword! How your beloved city will burn!

   Anzejarl shuddered. His attention was pulled back to the small pale rose-coloured crystal that he gripped between the fingers and thumb of one hand. He stared at it feverishly.

   What did it signify?

   He had found the crystal deep in Olmana's bound oak chest, secreted among her clothing and personal effects. It was opaque, dull even, approximately ovoid in shape but roughly hewn and quite unremarkable to the eye. But in Olmana's hands Anzejarl had seen it changed when she was not aware that he saw. He had seen it pulse with a fierce red effulgence.

   Or he believed he had. The crystal now was dormant, showing no trace of the weird force that it had emitted then.

   Olmana . . . what did she do?

   Olmana holding the red crystal over him, chanting in some unknown and incomprehensible tongue. . . And he had felt drugged and helpless, unable or unwilling to move, heavy with sleep and yet somehow not sleeping, not dreaming. Not entirely.

   And then Olmana transformed - a grey-skinned creature, like nothing he had seen.
Eldritch and terrible, a thing of nightmare and malevolence. She had touched the cold crystal to Anzejarl's forehead and its red radiance had drained into him, overcoming the last remnants of his consciousness, sending him into dark oblivion.

   How many times?

   He had been aware - if it truly was awareness - perhaps a dozen times, maybe less. But he knew that Olmana performed ministrations upon him each night when he slept. She had made no secret of it. It was by this means that he received his Gift, and by this means it was maintained. Thus was he able to command slooths and troll-creatures, and who knew what other potent allies she might call from within Enchantment?

   Anzejarl turned the crystal in his fingers, suddenly doubting.
So much in his mind these days that had not been there before. Crowding; distracting. Was he prey to his imagination? The crystal was nondescript, lifeless and cold. Could it really have emitted such effulgence? Or could he have dreamed, after all? Could it be that the stone was just some inconsequential gem?

   Anzejarl shook his head, expelling the doubt. He gripped the crystal tightly in his fist.

   
Cursed rock!

   So if this rosy crystal was the effectuary, the key, what did it mean? What did it signify? Why did he feel such concern? Why did he have such a craving to know?

   Concern . . . Craving . . .  Again, these were concepts virtually alien to a Karai, at least in the form that he knew them now. A prompting to get things done, a sense of purpose, of duty and destiny. . . these things Prince Anzejarl understood. But these others. . . unknown infestations teeming in his mind . . .

    Again he closed his eyes, the
Karai in him stepping back to observe the storm of emotions that raged and threatened to burst out of his confining skin. He dwelt for long moments in a renewed passion of hatred for his enemy above. How he would make them suffer when finally he breached their walls and entered their city! And Leth, yes, it would be Leth upon whom he would wreak his most terrible vengeance.

   Then he thought once more of Olmana and his need for her, and of the things she did when he slept. The thoughts rolled over and over in his mind. How much was his imagination? He could not be sure. Why had he sought this crystal? It was to know, to be certain.
But why? And now that he had found it, how did he feel?

   He did not know.

   Reassured. Confirmed. Betrayed. Uncertain. Fearful. Angry. Resentful. Belligerent. Bewildered. Wondering. All these things, and more. Anzejarl's heart raced. He was confused. He knew, though, that were Olmana to learn that he had uncovered her secret, that he had pried into her intimate possessions, she would unleash a fury that he might not withstand.

   Anzejarl unclenched his fist and stared at the crystal again.
Is this truly what gives you power over me? What are you without it?  And what am I? What are we if I hold the crystal and you do not?

   He heard a shout from outside, and moved to the window. Looking down from this, the third level of Willowmere Manor where he had established his command-headquarters, he saw Olmana striding rapidly toward him. A squad of elite
Karai Guard flanked her, trotting to keep pace, their lilac cloaks billowing behind them in the chill, windy morn. Anzejarl quickly stuffed the crystal back into its green velvet pouch, and thrust the pouch back into the chest. He carefully rearranged Olmana's clothing and closed the lid. He stood moodily, determined to mull in depth  upon the discovery of the crystal, to consider it in all its aspects and fullest implications, when his mind was clear, when it didn't seethe and distract him.

   He watched until Olmana entered the building.

  
What are you, woman?

   Her moods had grown more mercurial of late, her furies more vindictive. Something troubled her more than she would say. Anzejarl had caught her from time to time muttering to herself in a dark reverie, almost as though she had forgotten he was there. He had heard the names slip from her lips again: Orbelon, Triune, Bartacanes, Urch-Malmain, the Orb. . . They were names that meant nothing to him, and Olmana never saw reason to explain herself other than to declare Orbelon an ancient enemy. But the names came from her mouth like foul and distasteful things. They seemed creatures of some unholy cabal, set against her. Whether unified or singly he could not tell, but they inflicted upon Olmana an ever greater urgency in her plans.

   And there was the Child that she sought - the very reason, as far as Anzejarl could gauge, that she had waged this campaign of destruction upon the world. Something had changed. Olmana said nothing directly, but her actions and moods spoke eloquently. She urged ever greater speed upon Anzejarl to accomplish victory over Enchantment's Reach, though she had known from the beginning that it would be a lengthy task. She spoke as though uncertain of the Child - still sure of its proximity, and yet . . . Anzejarl could not guess. He only perceived that not everything was progressing in accordance with Olmana's wishes.

   He had the impression, too, that Olmana had intended to bring another ally or force out of Enchantment to supplement those already gathered and aid her in the siege of Enchantment's Reach. The arrival of this ally was bound up somehow with the secret camp she had had Anzejarl's troops construct deep in the forest. The ally had not come; there was a problem of some kind at the camp. Olmana's temper worsened.

   There were times - and it shook Anzejarl to admit it - when he feared her. What might she visit upon him? A Karai knew no fear of death, but Anzejarl was no longer sure how much of him was still Karai. And it was not the thought of death itself that troubled him. It was more that he knew something of Olmana's power and knew that he could not resist her. She had him enslaved, and what he feared was that if she brought him to death, that death might not only be inglorious and ignoble, but wholly unlike death as he understood it.

   Prince Anzejarl crossed the chamber and seized a handful of bruised
ghinz
leaves from a table set against the north wall.  He pushed three or four leaves into his mouth and chewed in agitation, savouring the bitter juice as he waited for Olmana.

   She entered at a determined pace, a scowl on her face and eyes flashing. With barely a glance at Anzejarl she marched straight to the table and seized several leaves of
ghinz
. 'Well, what result?'

   'I have no way of assessing,' the
Karai prince replied. 'I think I can state with some certainty that we will have achieved a measure of havoc and success before being overcome.'

   The reference was to the previous night's assault upon Orbia Palace by a unit of war-trolls. Against his better judgement but in compliance with Olmana's increasingly hectic demands, he had permitted a dozen to be lifted over the walls. They were transported by slooths fitted with specially devised harnesses. The war-trolls were bulky, heavy beasts even without armour and weapons; each of them had required two slooths linked by the harness to transport them into the capital.

   Anzejarl's plan was to unleash the trolls at a later date, in concert with whatever other force Olmana might bring out of Enchantment. Anything less would be a waste. He wanted a single, decisive assault, at a time when the defenders of Enchantment's Reach were exhausted, dispirited and depleted after weeks of bitter siege and relentless night fire-attacks. With the trolls, special units of Karai fighters would be landed, to secure the gatehouses and open the way for the mass of the Karai army to flood in.

  
But not yet. The troops of Enchantment's Reach were still fresh, alert and keen for battle, and the trolls were limited in number, the slooths even more so. 

   But Olmana last night had been beside herself, incandescent and shrieking. She would hear neither reason nor denial. Anzejarl had never witnessed her in such a fury, and to appease her, concerned that in such a maddened state she might commit some rash and injurious action, he had agreed to send the trolls.

   'We lost two slooths,' he added.

   Olmana took this in silence,
then said, 'No way of assessing? Can you do no better than that, Champion Prince?'

   There had been no word from Anzejarl's contacts inside Enchantment's Reach for some time now. This was not entirely a surprise; King Leth was a thorough and well-organized ruler with a sophisticated apparatus of counter-espionage at his command. He was not to be underestimated. Moreover, the reputation of his Master of Security, the Lord High Invigilate, Fectur, was legend.  

   But a report upon the night's activities would have been useful, if only to demonstrate to Olmana the pointlessness of using up valuable resources at the wrong time. Anzejarl did not doubt that the trolls would have created immense disruption before finally being butchered. Ah, but how much? That would have been useful to know.

   'It is doubtful that we would have had reliable access to information from within Orbia at this time, even under more favourable circumstances,' Anzejarl said. 

   Olmana tossed her head and made a scornful sound. She strode across the room in agitation.

   Anzejarl watched her. The scarlet skirt that she wore swished around her shapely calves, lying close upon the curves of her slender thighs, buttocks and hips. He looked at her slim wrists extending from the sleeves of her blouse, the line of her neck and shoulders, eyed the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the material, and felt his blood surge.

   'Olmana, you must leave military matters to me. I know how urgently--'

   She wheeled on him. 'Do not tell me what to do!'

   'I know how urgently you seek this Child,' Anzejarl persisted. 'And I will do all I can to help you. I know your impatience, and that something troubles you, and I sympathize. Will you not tell me more? If other forces are ranged against us, perhaps I can establish counter-measures.'

   'I want nothing of your sympathy, you fool!' Olmana declared. 'You know all you need to know. I have warned you before. Do only as you are told.'

   Anzejarl fell silent, fuming and impotent. No other person could have spoken to him thus and lived. But she was not like others. She was . . .
what?

   He was helpless before her, and the knowledge of it roused his passions the more and turned his anger inwards.

   'This silence from within. . .' said Olmana after a silence. 'You are certain there is no mistake? Your contacts inside the capital will still rise at the proper time?'