Evening all, and hands up everyone who's surprised this is even updated
::looks at own hand:: Yeah, me too! Well, I am hopefully back into
something of a rrrroll with this one, so more regular updates, generally
longer chapters and slaving.
Huge, huge thanks to everyone reviewed last time round; you are utter angels, and thoroughly deserve chocolate and fluffy bunny rabbits. As ever, proper thanks are at the end of the story.
I adore hearing what you think; your thoughts are pored over, revered, cheered and occasionally feared, venerated, adulated and assimilated. Criticism is welcomed with open arms and mind, though 'you suck *because*...' is ever a step above 'you suck, die b*&ch die'.
A brief disclaimer: time and place is very confused in this story. When it's done, I'll go back and sort out the kinks. For now, it will have to remain a kinky story. I apologise humbly for this, and can only blame utter stupidity. Or, wait...don't blame it on the plot line, don't blame it on the free time, don't blame it on the craxed mind - blame it on the boogie.
I hope you enjoy, Sugar high Ki
~*~ A Lady's Shield ~*~
Chapter Nine: Tasted of Desire
She shaped the world in fire.
And she was undone by desire.
Love was her weakness, she would think later when she was the Phoenix again, soaring above the world in a trail of lightning and scented smoke. When she was no longer the woman, but the legend. Love was her weakness, and because of it, she was betrayed.
All her life, she dedicated herself to her calling, and gave her life for others, piece by piece. Every wound was a part of her soul doled out in trade for people nameless, faceless, voiceless.
She gave them a name. A face. A voice. All of them hers - she gave them someone to pray to, more tangible than the distant, dreamy gods. More tender than the metal chop of kings and commanders.
The Phoenix was the possession of everyone; their legend, their hope when times were hopeless and life unbearably cruel, their unspoken promise of deliverance. They blessed her name, and never saw the tears she wept sometimes, deep in the shadows of her soul.
She gave up everything to be the Phoenix.
Everything.
The Phoenix was the possession of everyone - and had not a single possession of her own.
Until him.
Until the day when she stumbled upon a lone man, bleeding heavily and almost dead in the slippery sludge of a river bank. Under the willows, where the waters ran slow and the rushes grew thick. He was only a man, with one eye swollen shut, and bruises purpling the length of his body. A fallen king.
She had meant to move on, to sear new paths of light in a murky era, but she stopped for one dying man. She took him to her camp, and tended him there through his feverish spring nights, and the fresh promise of the days. And when he asked her name, she did not speak of the legend, but of the girl who had been born in the mountains, of the truth that had been long banished under the thrill and glory of her myth.
He did not love the legend, but the truth.
Love is weakness, love is wondrous, love is a cross we all bear. It is our holy symbol and holy self; our deepest wish and darkest desire, our phoenix blazing in the cold black night, shining out bright - and doomed to perish.
He loved her, and destroyed them both.
* * * *
"No." Ryan said it flatly, and meant it. "I ain't teachin' you to steal. D'you *know* how much trouble I can get into?"
Princess Kalasin flashed him a confident, cool smile. "You'll be in more trouble when all those nobles find out where their jewellery's been going."
"Blackmail's an ugly phrase," he hinted. "But 'I'll tell your pa' is an uglier one."
She crossed her arms, but not before he'd seen the scuttle of spidery pain through her eyes. "Who will he believe - his own daughter, or some thief?"
She had a point there. Most nobles might be thick as two short planks, but they were also thick as thieves. Ryan had no urge to be seeing the business end of an axe. Still, he wasn't going to give in that easily.
"It's dangerous."
She flicked her fingers. "That's life. I would have thought you, of all people, would have known that."
Ryan gritted his teeth. She had him by the...throat, and she knew it from the little sparkle in the sapphire depths of her eyes.
"It's illegal."
"Didn't seem to bother you."
"It's morally wrong," he tried for desperately, but as his own halo was not so much tarnished as non-existent, that one didn't hold up too well to the princess's single disgusted look. "All right, all right! I'll teach ye- "
Her smile was softer this time. "Good."
"-but ye do what I say, when I say," he finished sharply. "Agreed?"
That famously sulky mouth curled up a tiny bit at his tone, and for a horrible moment, Ryan thought she would refuse. "Very well," she said at last. "If you really feel it necessary. Is it that dangerous?"
Did she live in a castle in the clouds? Disbelieving, Ryan pulled back the sleeves of his shirt to show her the marks that laced his arms. Some thin, some thick, ranging from a clean shiny pink to a poisonous purple, they latticed his arms like a cage of scars. The cage he had lived in all his life, until magic had broken the bars.
"What...?" she breathed. There was horror and shock in her voice, in the way she flinched back. "Who did that?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. Lots of people. These ain't anythin' special. Just got 'em from fights, an' brawls - couple of them were a warnin' when I fleeced someone too important." He looked straight at her. The petal-pale skin was white now, except for two spots of crimson colour on her cheeks. "This is what you're goin' into. I'll do my best to look after ye, but I can't promise to - 'specially not if ye talk to street people the way ye talk to me. Ye'll last ten minutes, and nine of those minutes will be spent flat on your back."
She gawped at him. Probably no one had talked to the Princess that way in years. He could tell she was about to say something cutting, before her gaze flicked once more to the mess of his arms, and she nodded.
"What do I need to do?" she asked.
* * * *
It was a white piece of wood, thin as her fingernails and the same pearly white. A blank screen, with two holes for eyes and rudiments of human features. This was who she would be now, this was what her future was.
Faceless. Voiceless. Nameless.
Not even Shang, but learning. Learning every day, and here was one of the hardest lessons. If she wanted this, it would be secret. It would be silent; there would be no one to share this with, because she would only be a mystery clad in white wood. Her friends could not know; her family certainly could not.
She would have to give up herself for Shang.
"What do you think?" asked the Horse mildly, from where he was warming up with a staff. It spun blindingly fast in his hands, a whir of wood that moved about his body. "You'll find it difficult at first, obviously - it restricts your vision, but bigger gaps might mean someone recognises you."
"We'll work on that, though," put in the Wildcat with a neat, feral grin. The woman was leaning against the wall in her harmless old lady pose, from which she could drive her fist through someone's throat.
Pip turned the mask over in her hands. It wasn't the ornamented craft of the Court masquerades - it was nothing but a slightly shaped piece of wood that was rough to the touch with slapdash paintwork. But that was all it needed to be.
"How will it stay on?" she asked, frowning down at it. There were no strings, nor even any holes for them - it would just fall right off.
"We've had it magicked," confessed the Wildcat with a small flick of her head. The woman had disappeared for an hour or so, and returned with the mask.
Pip knew Eda Bell was wary of the Gift, and knew what a concession it was for the Wildcat. Magic, she had said once, was the poison of Shang. It made the fastest kick, the most powerful punch useless. It denied everything Shang were.
"Thank you," she said softly.
The woman only nodded. "Before you put it on - some rules. While you wear it, you aren't Lady Phillippa ha Minch. You aren't anyone but our mute, reserved student. So when you wear that mask, you don't speak. You don't make a sound, girl. I know it's harsh, but if we're found out...well, let's say I've seen the Shang Circle in full fury, and they could make a flock of angry Stormwings look harmless as a bunch of schoolgirls plaiting each others' hair."
"I take it they wax wroth rather well then," murmured Pip dryly.
Hakuin flicked up a dark eyebrow. "The only thing they wax is the floor, with anyone who displeases them."
"I understand," Pip told them, looking from face to face. "I promise - not a word."
"Shrieks of pain are allowable," the Wildcat threw in. "Even knights squeal like stuck pigs when their elbows are being twisted behind their heads."
"Oh, wonderful," she said under her breath.
And again, she was looking at the mask. It seemed such a small thing to change so much.
Slowly, Pip lifted it to her face, and felt the cool tickle of magick about the lines of her face as the mask settled. The edges of her world curved into darkness; suddenly the Horse was gone from her vision, obliterated by the blinker effect of the mask.
Her back prickled - gods, she was so easy to attack now. Half her vision was gone, and it panicked her. All these last weeks, she had become accustomed to using her peripheral view to see the first signs of an attack. It was like having her thumbs chopped off.
She turned her head to see the Wildcat watching her.
"Unnerving, isn't it?" The Shang straightened, pushing her wiry body away from the wall. "You don't realise how much you rely on sight until you lose it."
"You did something similar once, didn't you, Eda?" commented the Horse. Pip whipped her head round to see him. Even though neither of them had made a move towards her, she felt vulnerable.
"I did," the Shang confirmed. "It was decades ago though, and I don't know how *you* know about it, my lad, because I certainly didn't tell you."
The Horse's cheerful grin beamed out. "Word gets around. Especially word of the Wildcat in orange ruffles."
"It was a disguise," she muttered. "Even wildcats put their claws away to lure in the mice."
Hakuin guffawed. "Say what you like, Eda. I heard what you did to that poor man."
"Enough," the Shang ordered, though Pip was much amused to see her mentor shift uneasily from foot or foot. "If you want to gossip, Shang Horse, put on a dress, flutter a fan and join the Court. We're here to train our student, not discuss my social graces."
He took the sledgehammer hint. "And train her we will."
The staff spun again.
"No more tender treatment," the Yamani said, and there was no smile at on his face. She was so fixed, alarmed at the thought that they considered the last weeks tender, that she never noticed his eyes dart behind her.
But she certainly noticed when the Wildcat kicked her, and she was fighting to stay upright.
Amidst the flurry of blocks and blows, she thought she heard his rueful voice rising over the chaos.
"The real work starts here."
* * * *
"...and this is the Hall of Stars," finished Andrea somewhat weakly, careful to keep well out of Kyrios Davir's reach.
It was a lovely room, a vast circular place that lay open to the blue arch of the sky, cut from silky marbles and gleaming mica. The hallowed silence of a temple filled it, and gazing up at the heavens so serene and so distant, she felt something of just how small and trivial she truly was. She just wished it would affect Davir sin Porphyros that way. And silence him.
"Pretty name," remarked her companion in that lilting accent. "Pretty decorations. Does it serve a purpose, or is it just another sop to your King's ever-expanding ego?"
He was rude. He was *abominably* rude.
"The astrologers watch heaven from here."
A small and assured smile curled across his mouth with a wicked little tilt at the corner of his mouth that only suggested what that stare, dragging over her like the brush of black velvet, demanded. "Only watch?"
"They can hardly go there," she snapped, wishing she had never agreed to help him. Maybe Ryan was right; charity might give you a peaceful glow, but greed would give you peace and quiet.
He gazed up thoughtfully at the sweeping sky. "My dear, if you've never been taken to heaven, I'll happily oblige."
The *cheek* of the man! ""How charming," she said primly, trying not to blush under the feline mockery in his face. He was doing it to embarrass her, she was *sure*. "Any more thinly veiled suggestions you'd like to make?"
Andrea was starting to hate that little knowing arch of his eyebrows. His voice was cool, except for the purr of promise that caught on the ends of every words. "Well, if we speak of thin veils, I certainly have a suggestion for those..."
Equal rage and mortification wrestled in her mind. It was on purpose! The wretched man could see he was making her uncomfortable. "I don't have to listen to this, you know!"
"Had enough pillow talk, have we?" he drawled. "Finally - I thought you'd flirt all day."
Andrea mouthed furiously. And to think she'd thought Ryan was bad - next to Davir, he was saintly as they came. "Don't be so - so disgusting!"
Those shadow-soft eyes swept her from head to foot until she was aware of every mark on her skin, every hair out of place and had to fight an urge to shrink into a corner. He wasn't a handsome man - nothing to the clean chiselled looks of Roald, or Faleron's boy-next-door appeal - but he was arresting.
His face was all feline curves and angles, from the narrow, bladed eyes above the swell of his cheekbones The line of his jaw was utterly stubborn, and his curving smile made midnight promises his stare said he might or might not keep. It was proud face, maybe a cruel face if it hadn't always been lit with his odd sardonic humour that flashed in the lift of an eyebrow, the flick of his fingers, the playful arch of his voice.
And he carried himself with complete confidence.
It was something in the way she moved, Andi thought, that made her afraid to walk too close. The lazy, long steps, his head high and ever studying the world, drinking it in as if it were a fine vintage.
It seemed to her that saunter could just as easily become a strike.
"Disgusting?" he murmured at last. "My apology if I offended you, Andrea. I was only playing. Perhaps Tortallan games are not as - informal as those in the Carthaki court."
"I wouldn't know," she answered quietly. "I'm no noble."
He looked at her, and then laughed, yet gently. She wouldn't have suspected there was anything gentle about him.
"Am I so amusing?"
"Not at all." One shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. "I'm just no palace peacock myself, but I learned their ways fast when my Emperor took me in. I learned - and I lived. Carthak is a dangerous place to be noble at the moment, especially if you are an imperialist. There are many factions who would have my cousin's power for their own."
"You..." She stared at him. But he was so assured. "You're not noble?"
He slanted a conspiratorial glance at her. "I was born noble. The Emperor flung my family to the wolves when my father defied him. I'm just another grubby urchin really. Donations welcome."
"You?"
"Me," he confirmed. "I'm afraid I grew up without any respect for authority. And you are so delightful to tease..."
But he acted so...
Well, she thought, Ryan can be just as churlish and obstinate, and Numair can be more lordly than anyone you'd care to name - and neither of them are noble. "It's just hard to believe."
"It's true." His voice was dispassionate, but something close to fury darted in his eyes. "My mother saw her own daughter hung, and she went to her grave hearing the trapdoor drop, and the rope squeal. My father followed not long after. I was lucky."
Just as quickly, that flicker was gone and his sure smile was gleaming.
"I...I'm sorry."
He gave her a distinct leer. "How sorry?" Under her withering stare, Davir only grinned unrepentantly. "Do calm down, you'll strain something."
"You're straining my patience," she muttered. "Can't you turn it off?"
"Oh, I'd much rather turn you on," he flicked, and held up his hands when she turned on him. "I'll stop. Probably. I have no designs on your body, my dear and deadly mage. Now take me to this astrologer, and we shall say no more about it."
"Promise?" she said suspiciously.
"On my honour. Or possibly something that exists - on my life."
She sighed. Despite herself, she was starting to like him. "Just try to be polite to Prava Mavres. He didn't like *Numair* visiting him, never mind me and Ryan. I don't know how he'll react to you."
The impressive door on the other side of the room was the entrance the Court soothsayer's quarters. It looked like a battering ram wouldn't knock it down, plated with iron and copper runes. Davir gave it a single unmoved look, and then pounded on it with his fist.
* * * *
"What *are* you doing?" The arch of the Stormwing's voice was razor sharp, the high keen of bees in summer swelter. "Little girl, that is not the correct way to punch."
Kel fiercely resisted the urge to belt the woman in the shins. It wasn't nice to beat up the wounded, and besides, the wretched woman would probably just get up and criticise her technique. As she had criticised everyone and everything in the camp, until even the placid Dom was looking distinctly frazzled.
They were camping for a day or two in a sly bid by Raoul and Buri to avoid the trappings of Court life. The horses were tied up, coats gleaming from the not-so-tender ministrations of Leraint who was muttering darkly about some Court girl waiting for him. Fires crackled, sending gouts of smoke up into the blasting blue of the sky, and the smell of cooking meat arose.
"What a pity," Kel answered evenly, bending to pick up her glaive, admiring the brief wheel of sunlight over the blade, "It is how I was taught."
"Then you were taught wrongly."
Kel pressed her lips together tightly, and unleashed a little of her anger into swing of her weapon. "It has served me well enough."
From the corner of her eyes, she saw the woman look down that sharp nose that dominated her face like a beak. "Have you ever faced a Shang-trained warrior, girl?"
Kel stopped short, and slammed the butt of the glaive onto the hard ground. "Stop calling me girl. My name is Keladry. *Squire* Keladry, to be exact." Her voice was polite; she was pleased with that because the Stormwing danced on her nerves like a troop of morris men. "Lady Stormwing, I will glad to listen to your advice, but so far there has been none."
The black eyes glittered like the moon fracturing upon water. How strong that face was, yet sharply lined about her eyes and mouth for all that the woman could not have been older than Dom. "Words will not teach you what a good thrashing will."
"If I want that pleasure, I'll join the flagellants," she replied smoothly, picking up the glaive again to begin the light, even dance that so fascinated the men of the Own. Several had shyly asked where they might find glaives, and a teacher. She hadn't the heart to tell them it was primarily a woman's weapon and the blacksmith back in the palace had several orders placed with him.
She was surprised to see a small smile on the woman's face.
For a while, there was soft silence, the humdrum of the camp fading into the background on Kel's senses until the swish and sweep of the blade was all her world. How she loved the smooth way her muscles moved; not for the little, rhythmic steps of the balls and soirees - here was her dance, cut in steel and stealth.
"I have not seen your weapon before," the woman said at last.
Still standing like a stubborn mule, Kel noted, despite the healer's best flapping and fussing. The Stormwing refused to sit and heal like a good patient; instead, she had pointed out how uneven the stitching was, and how she expected her cast to be a pristine white, not this stained, beaten linen...
"It's from the Yamani Isles."
"I'm sure." The woman stalked forward, ignoring her limp as if it was a brief inconvenience. "I have not been there. I have no wish to meet another tyrannical emperor."
Her voice was harsh, catching on the last word.
Kel slowed, sweat trickling down her back from the gentle exertion. Despite her vow to keep as far away from this icy woman as possible, she was intrigued. Upon learning just who their guest was, Raoul and Buri had both muttered words under their breath that would have shocked a priest, and promptly spent most of their time either out of the camp, conferring in their tents, or training the men well away from the Shang's eye.
"The Yamani Emperor is not a tyrant," she said mildly. "His justice is...ruthless, and he is a man to watch your words around, but he is not Ozorne."
"Ozorne!" The Stormwing spat on the parched ground. "I would dance on his grave, if I knew where it lay. I wish him ten thousand years of screaming agony in the Black God's arms, and my only regret is that another killed him."
Kel was shocked at the outburst. Every line in the Shang's body was taut as straining rope.
"I'm sorry for whatever he did," she said quietly, her hazel eyes a tad baffled by this vicious creature.
"Did?" The strange, silvery hair was flung back like dozens of whips. "He burned my family alive. He would have burned me too, if a Shang had not had more mercy than the people I lived with all my life. They watched me burning, but he alone acted. Your 'sorrow' is nothing to me, little girl - your sorrow will not bring back my parents or my sister, your sorrow is nothing!"
All the same, Kel wanted to say, her heart filled with stinging pity, I am sorry. I am sorry that the Emperor made you so bitter. Had he known his cruelty would live for all these years in you, he would probably have laughed in delight. How sad...how sad that you cannot see how monstrous you have let your grief become.
Yes, the Emperor had a fine revenge when the hatred was born in you. Even now, he touches us.
Maybe she would have said it too, had not the frantic hoofbeats crashed in her ears. Not the sedate trot of scouts returning safe, this was the urgent, uncontrolled gallop of a messenger. Dust lifted, whirled, and choked her vision until it cleared.
Flyn was on his feet; men had stopped their tasks to stare at the white- faced girl who swayed astride her mount. Blood drizzled down from her lips, a slick red trail.
"In the village," she gasped out, her hands trembled violently on the reins. Her horse danced on its feet, colt-skittish. She swayed again, and Kel saw her hands going slack on the rope.
Quickly, the squire moved to grab the reins, a fraction too late as the horse kicked, and the Rider toppled to the earth, a limp pallid huddle. Only now did Kel see the strange weapon that protruded from her back, in the centre of a puckered ring of leather that seemed to be smoking.
Flyn was beside the woman, motioning for the healer to be fetched. He nodded at Kel who at last had the reins secure, and was using all her strength to hold down the nervous horse.
"Anella," he said gently, looking into the Rider's glassy eyes. "Can you hear me?"
"Don't be such an idiot, sir," croaked the woman, more blood spilling from her mouth with each word. Buri came flying out from her tent, papers scattered in her wake. "I'm shot, not deaf. Sir, you have to go to them - Raoul, and half the first...they were ambushed in the village. A mile east. Monsters. I don't know what. Things that spat metal and fire..."
Raoul, thought Kel instantly. The Own and the Riders, trapped! She had to go - but she couldn't let go of the horse in case it began kicking again. What if it trampled Anella?
"Go, Flyn," the rough voice of Commander Buri ordered as she knelt by Anella, stroking the woman's cropped red hair with a steady hand. Her face and words did not match at all; the jollity was forced. "Anella, what did I tell you about fights?"
"Stay out of them, sir." The Rider smiled faintly. "Commander Buri, ma'am, sorry I was stupid enough to...to..."
"Don't worry about it," ordered Buri gruffly, distress plain on her stout face. "You've told us now. You need to rest - that lad of yours is waiting back in Corus, Mithros knows he needs a good woman to keep him on the straight and narrow..." She stepped aside as the healer hurried up, bag full of potions and bandages.
"Here." Kel blinked as the reins were taken by one of the men too injured to fight. He nodded at her grimly. "G'wan, Lady Kel. And give 'em one with that glaive o' yours for me."
By Anella, the healer lifted his hands from her forehead and shook his head. Just once. But it was enough. Buri's fist pounded the ground, furious at losing one of her own.
Peachblossom was whickering, tossing his head as Leraint saddled him. No banter now, only the fast motions they had practiced so often it was automatic - half the Own remained to guard the camp; the other half were ready, weapons bristling.
Riding out to battle again.
The Stormwing watched them with those fathomless black-pooled eyes, the curl of her lip the same still. Affected by nothing. Cold, Kel thought. Don't ever let me get cold like that.
Why did this have to happen? It was all supposed to be so simple. Just follow this Hunt. This cursed Hunt.
Had she thought about those last words a little more carefully, she might have understood some of what was to come. She would have understood - but it would not have eased her pain.
* * * *
Kalasin stepped out. The airing cupboard had provided the right sort of clothes for both of them, though Ryan had hastily demurred at her twinkling offer to turn her back while he changed.
The luxurious black hair had been roughly pulled back into a ponytail, swinging high on her head. From the bumps and strands flying free, Ryan guessed she didn't usually do her own hair. The gauzes were stuffed into one of the many baskets of clothes, replaced by a patched linen tunic that reached to mid thigh and was a touch too big, hiding her figure. The trousers were dark brown, and baggy at the ankles. Gone were the delicate heels, replaced by scruffy boots. A faded cloak hung over it all.
And strange - so strange - she looked more natural in it than ever she had in scraps of silk and gossamer.
Ryan stared.
"What?" She patted her hair nervously, the smug confidence replaced by something much more appealing. "What?"
"Sorry," he drawled with a merry grin. "Wasn't used to seein' ye with your clothes on."
Did women practice that scornful glare? It could have charred bacon. "I see you've already ripped *your* clothes."
He shrugged. "The messier we looks, Sin, the less likely people are to rob us."
"Sin?"
"Ye want me to call ye, Kalasin, fine. But I might as we call ye Princess then - it ain't exactly a common name. And besides....Sin fits ye so well."
He thought that would make her scowl, but instead, the Crown Princess chuckled. He'd made her scrub off all the make-up with a cloth, too, and he'd been surprised how much of the colour of her face was artificial. The petal perfection was gone, replaced by a more golden and uneven complexion.
"We're going now?" she asked as they walked along the corridors. He gestured to her to pull up the cloak's hood. Too many people knew her here.
"Yes..." He eyed her. Could he tell her? No. He didn't want to tell the Crown Princess a monster was buried somewhere under her home. But maybe he could only half-lie. "Princess, have ye ever heard of something called the Folly?"
"Of course - why?"
He held her eyes, like he always did when he told his most convincing lies. "Master Numair's set Andi an' me writin' a paper on it. Well," he added hastily at her raised eyebrow, "I'm readin' and Andi's writin'. I was just wonderin' if ye knew about it. Happened near here somewhere, I heard."
"Did it?" The Princess shrugged, turning her head away from a serving woman who tramped by with sloshing buckets. "I don't know about that, but Numair told us about it once as a fairy tale. He used to do that a lot - little tales about the Gifted with uplifting morals." She pulled a gargoyle face. "All I ever learned was that kissing frogs was more likely to give you a cold than a handsome husband, and to stay well away from spinning wheels."
"What did he say?" he prompted.
"Oh - it was all a long time ago. There was a power struggle between two kings, one Gifted, one not - it went on for years, until no one could really remember what it all started over. Until the unGifted king trapped the mage's lover and killed her. The mage went mad, and..." She fell silent as they passed by a butler, casually flirting with one of the maids. "Well!"
"Oh, ol' Murdock'll chase anythin' in a skirt," Ryan said casually. "Had a horrible mistaken encounter with Maren highlanders, I hear - their light infantry wears kilts."
Both paused at the thought of the elderly butler courting the fiery highland troops.
Both shuddered.
"Anyway," he continued. "What were ye sayin'?"
"And he burned the world," said Kalasin very quietly. Instinctively, she drew the cloak closer about her. "Numair said it burned for seven days and seven nights - he made the earth one huge funeral pyre, blazing out so high that the night became day. And all that time, he sat before it and stared into it, as though he was waiting for something. He burned the world, and burned with it."
"Nice inspirin' tale there then," muttered Ryan. "What's the moral - don't forget your marshmallows?"
"Probably great magic brings great responsibility." Kalasin shrugged, and cocked her head. "It was always hard to tell with Numair - he got very confused about fairy tales. He's the only person I ever knew who told the story of the princess who ate the poisoned pea which meant she turned into a swan every night until someone plucked off her feathers to make forty mattresses."
The Folly. A mage who burned the world? And the thing - the monster under the castle. But *where* under it?
Ryan sighed heavily. He was clueless.
Maybe someone one the street would know more. People there had long memories - particularly for grudges. And it seemed to him there'd be a lot of grudges for a man who set the world alight, all for a lost lady love.
"C'mon, lass," he said, trotting down a flight of back stairs. "Let's take ye to meet the streets. Try to behave.
Try very, very hard, he added silently. Nobles have sharp tongues - but street rats have sharper knives.
* * * *
Roald jammed his hands into the pockets of his breeches and stared at the doors of the Chamber. His old enemy, who would open one day far too soon and swallow him. He was afraid he would never return, his soul consumed in a blaze of failure.
And yet...
And yet, his encounter with the mage had intrigued him. He'd never come here twice in one day, but the thought that the Chamber was not simply mindless malignancy caught him. Of all the wild tales he'd heard, nothing had ever suggested it was - or had been - in some way, mortal.
Why had it revealed that only now?
Why now? He had fallen before its forbidding doors too many times before, and never seen anything but the horrible visions of his own doom. Nothing had been different today, except...
Except Pip.
But why would Phillippa ha Minch, in all her untamed ferocity and delightful insouciance, Pip of the sea-green eyes that washed over him not often enough - why would Pip affect it?
Only one way to know.
He reached out...
Nothing.
Every time before, there had been some reaction. Some blinding image of pain and destruction. The steel-blue eyes narrowed, and Roald was unaware how impassive and cold his face looked then.
"Are you afraid?" he whispered. "Are you afraid of me now-"
A burning jolt convulsed right through his body, once, twice. Roald squeezed shut his eyes at the sensation his very self was being shaken to pieces.
And he opened his eyes onto somewhere quite different.
Utterly unaware that Neal of Queenscove, curious to discover if Roald was sneaking off to see some lady, had followed him. Unaware that the squire had watched his friend seemingly meld into the Chamber's doors as if they were liquid.
Unaware of Neal watching, debating. Reaching out and pulling back his hand in case he too was drawn in.
* * * *
The door opened slowly, with an arthritic groan. When the little, squinting man opened the door to see Davir before him, smiling his wicked feline grin, he squawked, and slammed it-
It hit Davir's conveniently placed foot with a jarring thud.
Andrea flinched too. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.
"Good morning!" said the Carthaki, leaning one dark hand on the door. "Will it continue to be so, one wonders?"
"Not with you clogging up my doorway," snapped the old man curtly. "Go and play in the rain, boy."
She saw the rolling shift of muscles in Davir's shoulders under that clinging chocolate-brown fabric, and the door inched open further. "The sun's shining outside, old man."
There was the rattle of thunder outside, like the gods playing dice, and rain began to patter through the ceiling.
"Is it now?" asked the astrologer with a knowing flick of one eyebrow. "You've got your proof, boy - now go and wave your big pointy bit of metal around and stop bothering me. I'm too busy to be harangued by barbarian invaders."
A low, ferocious sound rippled out over the air, like the rip of velvet. It was a minute before Andi realised what it was.
Goddess, Davir was growling.
"Barbarian?" The agonised scream of the hinges as the door crept inwards a little further. "Invader?"
The old man was trembling with the effort of trying to keep Davir out. Red mottled across his wrinkled face like patches of rot on a strawberry. His watery eyes flicked desperately to Andrea and a sting of pity ran through her.
Cautiously, she laid a hand on Davir's arm. It was knotted under her touch, smooth as sun-warmed mahogany.
He swivelled his head to stare at her, the hawkish eyes nailing her.
"He's only a old man," she whispered in a quivering voice. Goddess bright, but his eyes were vicious.
"Old or not," replied the Carthaki with a bite to every word, "he is rude."
"Maybe he's your long-lost cousin then," Andi muttered before she could stop herself. Ryan's bad habits really *were* rubbing off on her.
"Young man," interrupted Prava Mavres, his nose twitching, "remove yourself from my doorway. I do not have time to be bothered by-by..."
His voice trailed off as he caught Davir's glare.
"Young men," he finished weakly. "And I'll thank you not to disturb me - I'm most busy at the moment."
Davir leaned on the door, and it scraped open a little further. His tiger's eyes were full of that secret, sinful amusement that Andi found disturbing.
And fascinating, she admitted.
"Very...delicate...experiment..." huffed the mystic, as he tried valiantly to shut the door. "My good sir...disturbing the temporal waves..."
"Come now," purred Davir silkily, who didn't appear to find prising open the oak door any effort at all, "surely if we were such a disturbance, you would have foreseen all this bother, and not have opened the door in the first place?"
"Momentary...slip..."
The door flew open, and Prava Matres stumbled backwards, a small dusty figure in his bedraggled robe.
"I want a prophecy," declared the man, stalking in with the silky stride of a panther. He bristled with hostility. Andi crept in quietly after, decidedly uneasy at disturbing King Jonathan's most favoured soothsayer.
"I want some peace. It seems we cannot have what we want," snapped the old man. Andi was impressed by his defiance in the face of such silent, icy rage. She would never dared stand up to Davir if he were towering over her. "Go away, boy."
"Give me my prophecy and I will."
Mavres gawped. "You think you can just walk in and - and *demand* foretellings from *me*? For nothing?"
The Carthaki picked up a crystal ball idly, and tossed it in one hand. "I rather think I just did."
"Please sir," she put in timidly, glad to see Mavres gaze soften fractionally when he saw her, "just tell him. He's horribly stubborn."
"And just horrible," snapped the old man. "I will not be bullied by this, this deviant!"
"We could skip the bullying and just go straight to physical violence?" suggested Davir.
This was not helping manners. Andi dug in her dress for her purse, though she doubted there was enough to pay Mavres' huge fees. It might help calm him. She held out the pitifully light amount to him, mutely pleading.
The old man looked at the coins shining in her palm and shook his head. "I will not take your money, chosen," he said gruffly. "No amount of money would make me aid such an impertinent boy. Barging into my apartments like this-"
"Yes," murmured Davir nonchalantly. "Your apartments. They are very - plush."
His stare swept over the acres of heavy oak furniture laden with paraphernalia, with almanacs and crystal ball, chimes and mirrors, bags of herbs and even a simmering cauldron, full of something that looked green and foul.
"But not much different from the lowliest soothsayer in the dirtiest corner of the docks," the Carthaki continued smoothly. He wandered over to the cauldron.
"Do not drink of it!" squeaked Mavres. Sweat was beading on his forehead. "That is the sacred potion-"
Davir dipped a finger and tasted it. "Nettle stew," he proclaimed. "With some excellent sea-bass, if I'm not mistaken."
Mavres mouthed, wringing his hands.
Frowning, Andi watched them both. What was Davir up to? Surely he had to know Mavres was genuine - why, even that comment about the weather...and of course, he'd made so many predictions for the Royals that had been correct, down to the hour of Prince Liam's birth.
"Tarot cards," continued the Carthaki. "Even a loom. Come, Mavres, we both know knots and string are for the Gifted. You have the Sight...don't you?"
One coal-black eyebrow was arched, and Davir's face was near frightening.
"Of course I do!" Mavres snapped.
"Why all these aids, then? The Sight comes as it will, and if it chooses to keep away, gazing into all the mirrors on this earth will not summon it. Or are you simply that fond of your own reflection?"
Mavres was paler now, Andi saw, his lips pressed tight together.
"Are you Sighted, Andrea?" Davir's question caught her off-guard.
"I...no," she answered, baffled. "My god talks to me sometimes."
He looked a little startled at that. She supposed not many people had to listen to Mithros when they slept, or, if he was feeling particularly tetchy, any time he chose. He called it 'instructing her'. Ryan called it 'whinging at her'.
"Then you would not know much about it," murmured the Carthaki, recovering. "My mother was Sighted in her youth, but it faded as she reached maturity, as it often does - particularly in men. By the time she was forty, her visions were gone almost completely. She foresaw only her own death, and that only in the darkest nightmares. I find it odd, Mavres, that after fifty years your Sight is strong as ever. I find it odd also, that I have heard the servants speak of strange voices in your rooms, when none but yourself is present. Odd indeed."
"Just what are you implying?" snapped the old man, backing away.
The Carthaki tipped his head onto one side, the curl of his mouth scornful. "Perhaps you no longer see the future. But there are others who can, and you have the money to pay them handsomely. A simple speaking spell, as one might purchase from any mage, and you appear to make miraculous predictions still. It has been done before."
There was a long awkward pause. Then Mavres' shoulders slumped.
"You have me," he admitted hollowly. "My Sight faded over a decade ago. I still have visions, but they are unreliable. I began to use slum soothsayers. I suppose...I suppose you will tell the King."
Davir gave him a long, level look and Andrea felt a soft spill of pity for this old man. Had he revealed his loss, he would have lost his exalted position. Returned, perhaps, to the streets he himself came from; not at once, but gradually moved lower and lower through the palace ranks until he stumbled out into the gutters.
"That is not for me to decide," announced the Carthaki. "But I am sure you will not mind telling me who did make that most uncanny prediction about the weather?"
Mavres stuttered out a name.
"Good enough," murmured Davir. "Let us go."
As the door clanged behind them, Andrea let her breath in a long rush. "How did you know?"
He shrugged. Almost unconsciously, his hand touched his pocket. "I've seen that scam a hundred times. It was played out often in the slums of Carthak. Poor people making themselves less poor anyway they could. Rich people keeping themselves rich. It's the story of the world, and it spins out every day in a thousand small ways." After a moment, he added, "Do you wish to accompany me into Corus? I have heard your city can be very dangerous."
Andi hid a smile. The first thing Ryan had done was take her into the filth and slums to introduce her to his friends. Strange friends' rogues and prostitutes and gamblers and flower girls - even a sot of a priest - but people who tightly defended their own. And Andi was somehow counted as one of their own now.
"I might even be of some help," she volunteered.
His look said otherwise. She would show *him*!
"Perhaps," he said in a tone that agreed not at all. "Perhaps."
In fact, as they made their way into the city, Andi managed to stop three cut-purses, fend off a horde of beggar children ready to thieve from a strange charitable to show his wealth, drag Davir away from the notorious Blackjack Alley, and wave off a knifeman she knew through Ryan.
Davir, of course, noticed nothing.
His final comment as they entered the truly vicious part of Corus was, "How safe your Northern cities are."
Famous last words.
* * * *
"You - again."
His face was arrogant as it was gaunt, and the mage reclined upon one of the long sofas so popular in Tusaine. The luxurious gold work along the arms and legs did not match his tattered black robe, surely as it did not match the cold glare. Hell in his eyes, hell locked inside him.
The room was plain stone, grey slate all around, and simple as a jail cell. In it, the man was a stark thing of tortured white and torn black. Only his orange stare leant a streak of angry colour.
"Me," agreed Roald quietly.
"Well? Why have you returned?" The man flicked a languid hand at him, his bones jutting from the stretched skin. "Flinging accusations of fear at me. Me! Boy, I could make you scream until you clawed your own eyes from your head - I could have you skinning off your own flesh with panic, and you think to tell *me* I am afraid?"
Roald shrugged. His father would have demanded answers. He knew that demands were often refused where gentler words were not. "I don't know, to be honest."
The fiery eyes blinked once, as if Roald had startled him. "Few realise how little they know until they pass before me and are judged."
"Why judge us?" asked Roald curiously. "How can you be impartial?"
The man tilted back his head and a strange, husky laugh rippled out over the air. "I am not impartial," he declared. "Not at all. If I were impartial, there would be many more knights. What was that boy's name? Joren, that was it. Had I been impartial, I would have seen his determination, his skill, his intelligence - and let slide his wanton cruelty and his prejudice. I judge on character, not on talent."
"You play with us too." Roald remembered too many times spent before these doors, haunted by visions of blood and failure. "Those nightmares...they're nothing but malice."
The man shrugged. "I show you yourself. Is it my fault if what you see is not to your liking?"
What you see...yes. "And why let me see you now?" Roald tried to keep his voice level. He didn't want this man to be angry with him; something in that taut, grim face spoke of rage burning deep inside.
"I had my reasons."
"It was Pip, wasn't it?" Roald stepped forward, closer to the man. It seemed to him the walls creaked and groaned inwards, as if longing to crush him from existence. "It was her."
The man was silent, except for one brief, paroxysmal movement.
"Why?" he pressed, gentle as he would have been with a crying child. "She's just a girl."
The man's tense face relaxed unexpectedly, a hazy nostalgia tipping up the corners of his mouth. "That one will never be 'just' anything. She reminds me of...times gone."
A woman gone, translated Roald. He knew that dreamy, mellow look; he'd seen it pasted on the faces of his friends over woman after woman. Maybe worn it on his a few times. Hopefully when no one was there to see, and notice.
"She very determined." Roald smiled faintly at the thought. Pip was the kind of person who would treat the world like an overgrown puppy, giving it all her masses of affection, and never hesitating to smack it with a rolled scroll when it disobeyed. "She wants to be Shang."
"A dangerous wish." Sadness in the mage's voice. "Shang eats the lives of those who follow it. Their honour is strict, and honour does not expect knives in the back."
"You...lost someone?" guessed Roald. "Who were you?"
Fires stoked in those eyes as if demons had slung a gallon of wine onto a pyre. "A man who loved a woman. A man who fought a war. A man who lost them both."
There was a silken sound, like fabric ripping, and Neal appeared into the Chamber.
"A man who is going to have *no* peace, apparently," muttered the mage with a roll of his eyes.
Neal stared. "Roald?" he squawked. "What's going on? Who's this..."
Then he looked more closely at the mage, and did a double take.
"Iceblood?" he said. "Roald, don't tell you're afraid of a bed time story from three hundred years ago."
"He's not a story," explained Roald helpfully.
"Yes he is. Watch out, or Iceblood'll cut off your head? Put down that pie, or I'll send Iceblood to rip off your toe nails?"
Roald could only look perplexed. What *was* Neal on about?
"Maybe that was just my mother then," muttered the squire. "You really don't know who he is?"
Shake. If I knew, do you think I'd be in here asking? Roald wanted to say. He didn't though; he was going to have to cope with enough questions from Neal as it was.
"Then that means..." The mortified green eyes were huge, gawping at the mage. "He's real."
* * * *
Thank you so much for reading! Your thought would be loved, loved, loved.
It pushed at the magickal wards about its tomb. Dark magick meant the Gift, and strained. Its form still moved from shape to shape, unable to decide what would be best for these new times and this new world.
Not strong enough yet.
Almost - a hair away from breaking its prison, and bursting back onto the world.
It wanted to be in the world again. Life and colour and beauty...
All there for destroying.
It waited...waited to be strong. Moments passed, each slow as the slide of a glacier. Second followed second, time piling up, until...
It thrust again at the magical bars of its cage. Pushed, until all its power flooded the prison-
And the bars broke.
It was free.
* * * *
Oodles and oodles of thanks to the wonderful people who reviewed last time round :o) YOu all have my total adoration and worship! Thanks to:
The kick-ass Keita: Heya :o) ::grin:: Wow a review for every chapter - thanks! That's a weird habit it's good to have. I have a lot of fun thinking up the tangles in the plot (it certainly passes the time at work in my mind-numbing office job.). The characters just tend to write themselves - though some of them insist on striding into the story, annoying as many people as possible and then demanding more plot-time. :o) Curse 'em. LOL, you may have the snappy and arrogant one (provided he agrees of course.)!Thanks muchly!
The marvellous MagixPawn: It really has been a year. Sorry about that ::grimace:: Not intentional at all. The updates will be more frequent; I'm out of school, have a year off (post dropping out of uni and fulfilling my potential to be a total failure ;:grin:: though I'm going back next year) and a job which doesn't care what i do all day. = Lots of writing time! I'm psyched you're still enjoying - thank you everso, chica!
The brilliant Behrlie: ::grin:: Oh yes, I have my degree in mind-reading. Fully qualified member of the Unseen University! ::holds out deck:: Go on - pick a card. Any card. I have always I said will never not complete a story - and I will finish this one. It's top priority, and hey, having some time off has given me a whole new wealth of plot ideas. ::beams:: Hopefully this'll be twistier than a roomful of snakes. And not too bad on this update, right? Many, many thanks!
The lovely Lady Gabrielle of Pirate's Swoop: Thank you...what took me so long was a number of personal issues I don't really want to go into. I am truly sorry it's taken so long - and I'm thrilled you like the story :o) it's a sight more than 20 pages - at least in Word. :) Mind made up - I am finishing it. Ta muchly!
The jazzy Jaya: Lo chica, long time no pseak! How are you? ::grin:: No, you know I never abandon stories! Sometimes it takes me a while (especially with the general hecticism of the last coupla years) but I always get them done. And hey - this part was out pretty fast, ne? There are a lot of POVs in this story but for once (god bless the complex tangle that is Chim - it has really taught me how to draw plotlines together) I think I have a handle on them. Nice imagery there! ::grin:: Davir's fun. He gets to stay. Cheers!
The beauteous Bex: Wouldnt' let you log in? Rrrr, techonology. So wonderful and yet so vexing. ::grin:: It's been a while since I read it...but lots of new plot ideas now, and lots of inspiration. Yay the dull 9-5 job! Blue and Toya are on their way - I have much of Chimera written but the next chapter will be exceedingly long due to lots to get in and not a lot of chapters to do it in. I would say Marina is a lot less ruthless than Toya...I think Blue would slaughter Rina :) Gracias!
The divine Debbi: Indeed she has :O) But is she who you think...? Am I trying to confuse you (possibly.) Do I know who she is (probably not.). ::grin:: Hey! There aren't hapless bloodbath's in *every* story. There must have been *some* that were peaceful...hang on, I'll name one...
::long pause::
Still thinking
::longer pause::
Um...okay - Trifolia. Very soothing. And...and...okay, you got me. I'm a bloodthirsty maniac. Curse it! Updates muy more regularly. Thank the undemanding job! Much gratitude.
The magical M'cha Araem: Yes, I was aiming for a day, but the forever snuck in there somewhere ;o) I really am very, very, very sorry about that. It wasn't at all intentional. Things happened. Life got busy. Kally does have it tough - but she probaly shoulda sat down and thought a little harder on that revenge lark. :) My parents are particularly evil in that bent (oh, how they love to slavedrive.) Davir and Kally? Intriguing thought ::pauses:: Would land both in all sorts of trouble...appealing...appealing. Why Davir
has been pulling the Chamber apart will be clear, but just not for a little while yet. No, he isn't helping the creepy monster (but his taking the nail did wake it up, stupid boy.) Updates sooner - promise! Many, many thank yous!
The delectable Dianna: ::grins:: Yes, I was quite surprised too! But the break has actually done this story some good. I have dozens of new ideas, and so much time to write them now (god bless dull office jobs!) Must have taken a while to read through :o) But I am v glad you're still enjoying! Genius ::blinks:: First time I've been called that! Thank you!
The luvverly-jubbly Larzdinn: ::grin:: Yes, at last, after a very long break, I am getting back to this. Hey, it's nice to be welcomed back so sweetly by such fantastic people! LOL, I understand on the schoolwork. I was dropping under the weight of it last year (but soon I will be a carefree university student, and will do nothing but party for three years.).
Won't argue with a lengthy review...nope, no protests at all from this corner! Of course I write the notes! The notes are the most fun part of it all...it'd be rude not to reply after y'all spend the time typing and telling what you think. ::grin;: Online personalities can be very different from IRL ones (I've heard a few 'you're not like I imagined you's which always makes me wonder what people imagine...a six-headed scaly monster? A two-legged dolphin with opposable thumbs?) Ooh, you joined - welcome to the biggest club on earth! (probably.) Many many thanks!
The magnificent Megami-sama: Hello! You're a TP fan too ::beams:: Wise. I wish I could answer that question but must fall back behind the writer's old adage (and behind my riot shield, it's such an irritating axiom) - all will be revealed. In a PG way, I hasten to add. Merci beaucoup!
The kosher Karigan: Aloha :o) Nice to meet you! I love TP's world - it's just big and bold and beautiful (and may she write many many more.) I will be updating soon, in fact...now ::looks puzzled, too much paradoxical philosophy for a Monday:: The *around* words is my way of putting emphasis - instead of say, italics. Cheers!
~*~
Comments adored!
Huge, huge thanks to everyone reviewed last time round; you are utter angels, and thoroughly deserve chocolate and fluffy bunny rabbits. As ever, proper thanks are at the end of the story.
I adore hearing what you think; your thoughts are pored over, revered, cheered and occasionally feared, venerated, adulated and assimilated. Criticism is welcomed with open arms and mind, though 'you suck *because*...' is ever a step above 'you suck, die b*&ch die'.
A brief disclaimer: time and place is very confused in this story. When it's done, I'll go back and sort out the kinks. For now, it will have to remain a kinky story. I apologise humbly for this, and can only blame utter stupidity. Or, wait...don't blame it on the plot line, don't blame it on the free time, don't blame it on the craxed mind - blame it on the boogie.
I hope you enjoy, Sugar high Ki
~*~ A Lady's Shield ~*~
Chapter Nine: Tasted of Desire
She shaped the world in fire.
And she was undone by desire.
Love was her weakness, she would think later when she was the Phoenix again, soaring above the world in a trail of lightning and scented smoke. When she was no longer the woman, but the legend. Love was her weakness, and because of it, she was betrayed.
All her life, she dedicated herself to her calling, and gave her life for others, piece by piece. Every wound was a part of her soul doled out in trade for people nameless, faceless, voiceless.
She gave them a name. A face. A voice. All of them hers - she gave them someone to pray to, more tangible than the distant, dreamy gods. More tender than the metal chop of kings and commanders.
The Phoenix was the possession of everyone; their legend, their hope when times were hopeless and life unbearably cruel, their unspoken promise of deliverance. They blessed her name, and never saw the tears she wept sometimes, deep in the shadows of her soul.
She gave up everything to be the Phoenix.
Everything.
The Phoenix was the possession of everyone - and had not a single possession of her own.
Until him.
Until the day when she stumbled upon a lone man, bleeding heavily and almost dead in the slippery sludge of a river bank. Under the willows, where the waters ran slow and the rushes grew thick. He was only a man, with one eye swollen shut, and bruises purpling the length of his body. A fallen king.
She had meant to move on, to sear new paths of light in a murky era, but she stopped for one dying man. She took him to her camp, and tended him there through his feverish spring nights, and the fresh promise of the days. And when he asked her name, she did not speak of the legend, but of the girl who had been born in the mountains, of the truth that had been long banished under the thrill and glory of her myth.
He did not love the legend, but the truth.
Love is weakness, love is wondrous, love is a cross we all bear. It is our holy symbol and holy self; our deepest wish and darkest desire, our phoenix blazing in the cold black night, shining out bright - and doomed to perish.
He loved her, and destroyed them both.
* * * *
"No." Ryan said it flatly, and meant it. "I ain't teachin' you to steal. D'you *know* how much trouble I can get into?"
Princess Kalasin flashed him a confident, cool smile. "You'll be in more trouble when all those nobles find out where their jewellery's been going."
"Blackmail's an ugly phrase," he hinted. "But 'I'll tell your pa' is an uglier one."
She crossed her arms, but not before he'd seen the scuttle of spidery pain through her eyes. "Who will he believe - his own daughter, or some thief?"
She had a point there. Most nobles might be thick as two short planks, but they were also thick as thieves. Ryan had no urge to be seeing the business end of an axe. Still, he wasn't going to give in that easily.
"It's dangerous."
She flicked her fingers. "That's life. I would have thought you, of all people, would have known that."
Ryan gritted his teeth. She had him by the...throat, and she knew it from the little sparkle in the sapphire depths of her eyes.
"It's illegal."
"Didn't seem to bother you."
"It's morally wrong," he tried for desperately, but as his own halo was not so much tarnished as non-existent, that one didn't hold up too well to the princess's single disgusted look. "All right, all right! I'll teach ye- "
Her smile was softer this time. "Good."
"-but ye do what I say, when I say," he finished sharply. "Agreed?"
That famously sulky mouth curled up a tiny bit at his tone, and for a horrible moment, Ryan thought she would refuse. "Very well," she said at last. "If you really feel it necessary. Is it that dangerous?"
Did she live in a castle in the clouds? Disbelieving, Ryan pulled back the sleeves of his shirt to show her the marks that laced his arms. Some thin, some thick, ranging from a clean shiny pink to a poisonous purple, they latticed his arms like a cage of scars. The cage he had lived in all his life, until magic had broken the bars.
"What...?" she breathed. There was horror and shock in her voice, in the way she flinched back. "Who did that?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. Lots of people. These ain't anythin' special. Just got 'em from fights, an' brawls - couple of them were a warnin' when I fleeced someone too important." He looked straight at her. The petal-pale skin was white now, except for two spots of crimson colour on her cheeks. "This is what you're goin' into. I'll do my best to look after ye, but I can't promise to - 'specially not if ye talk to street people the way ye talk to me. Ye'll last ten minutes, and nine of those minutes will be spent flat on your back."
She gawped at him. Probably no one had talked to the Princess that way in years. He could tell she was about to say something cutting, before her gaze flicked once more to the mess of his arms, and she nodded.
"What do I need to do?" she asked.
* * * *
It was a white piece of wood, thin as her fingernails and the same pearly white. A blank screen, with two holes for eyes and rudiments of human features. This was who she would be now, this was what her future was.
Faceless. Voiceless. Nameless.
Not even Shang, but learning. Learning every day, and here was one of the hardest lessons. If she wanted this, it would be secret. It would be silent; there would be no one to share this with, because she would only be a mystery clad in white wood. Her friends could not know; her family certainly could not.
She would have to give up herself for Shang.
"What do you think?" asked the Horse mildly, from where he was warming up with a staff. It spun blindingly fast in his hands, a whir of wood that moved about his body. "You'll find it difficult at first, obviously - it restricts your vision, but bigger gaps might mean someone recognises you."
"We'll work on that, though," put in the Wildcat with a neat, feral grin. The woman was leaning against the wall in her harmless old lady pose, from which she could drive her fist through someone's throat.
Pip turned the mask over in her hands. It wasn't the ornamented craft of the Court masquerades - it was nothing but a slightly shaped piece of wood that was rough to the touch with slapdash paintwork. But that was all it needed to be.
"How will it stay on?" she asked, frowning down at it. There were no strings, nor even any holes for them - it would just fall right off.
"We've had it magicked," confessed the Wildcat with a small flick of her head. The woman had disappeared for an hour or so, and returned with the mask.
Pip knew Eda Bell was wary of the Gift, and knew what a concession it was for the Wildcat. Magic, she had said once, was the poison of Shang. It made the fastest kick, the most powerful punch useless. It denied everything Shang were.
"Thank you," she said softly.
The woman only nodded. "Before you put it on - some rules. While you wear it, you aren't Lady Phillippa ha Minch. You aren't anyone but our mute, reserved student. So when you wear that mask, you don't speak. You don't make a sound, girl. I know it's harsh, but if we're found out...well, let's say I've seen the Shang Circle in full fury, and they could make a flock of angry Stormwings look harmless as a bunch of schoolgirls plaiting each others' hair."
"I take it they wax wroth rather well then," murmured Pip dryly.
Hakuin flicked up a dark eyebrow. "The only thing they wax is the floor, with anyone who displeases them."
"I understand," Pip told them, looking from face to face. "I promise - not a word."
"Shrieks of pain are allowable," the Wildcat threw in. "Even knights squeal like stuck pigs when their elbows are being twisted behind their heads."
"Oh, wonderful," she said under her breath.
And again, she was looking at the mask. It seemed such a small thing to change so much.
Slowly, Pip lifted it to her face, and felt the cool tickle of magick about the lines of her face as the mask settled. The edges of her world curved into darkness; suddenly the Horse was gone from her vision, obliterated by the blinker effect of the mask.
Her back prickled - gods, she was so easy to attack now. Half her vision was gone, and it panicked her. All these last weeks, she had become accustomed to using her peripheral view to see the first signs of an attack. It was like having her thumbs chopped off.
She turned her head to see the Wildcat watching her.
"Unnerving, isn't it?" The Shang straightened, pushing her wiry body away from the wall. "You don't realise how much you rely on sight until you lose it."
"You did something similar once, didn't you, Eda?" commented the Horse. Pip whipped her head round to see him. Even though neither of them had made a move towards her, she felt vulnerable.
"I did," the Shang confirmed. "It was decades ago though, and I don't know how *you* know about it, my lad, because I certainly didn't tell you."
The Horse's cheerful grin beamed out. "Word gets around. Especially word of the Wildcat in orange ruffles."
"It was a disguise," she muttered. "Even wildcats put their claws away to lure in the mice."
Hakuin guffawed. "Say what you like, Eda. I heard what you did to that poor man."
"Enough," the Shang ordered, though Pip was much amused to see her mentor shift uneasily from foot or foot. "If you want to gossip, Shang Horse, put on a dress, flutter a fan and join the Court. We're here to train our student, not discuss my social graces."
He took the sledgehammer hint. "And train her we will."
The staff spun again.
"No more tender treatment," the Yamani said, and there was no smile at on his face. She was so fixed, alarmed at the thought that they considered the last weeks tender, that she never noticed his eyes dart behind her.
But she certainly noticed when the Wildcat kicked her, and she was fighting to stay upright.
Amidst the flurry of blocks and blows, she thought she heard his rueful voice rising over the chaos.
"The real work starts here."
* * * *
"...and this is the Hall of Stars," finished Andrea somewhat weakly, careful to keep well out of Kyrios Davir's reach.
It was a lovely room, a vast circular place that lay open to the blue arch of the sky, cut from silky marbles and gleaming mica. The hallowed silence of a temple filled it, and gazing up at the heavens so serene and so distant, she felt something of just how small and trivial she truly was. She just wished it would affect Davir sin Porphyros that way. And silence him.
"Pretty name," remarked her companion in that lilting accent. "Pretty decorations. Does it serve a purpose, or is it just another sop to your King's ever-expanding ego?"
He was rude. He was *abominably* rude.
"The astrologers watch heaven from here."
A small and assured smile curled across his mouth with a wicked little tilt at the corner of his mouth that only suggested what that stare, dragging over her like the brush of black velvet, demanded. "Only watch?"
"They can hardly go there," she snapped, wishing she had never agreed to help him. Maybe Ryan was right; charity might give you a peaceful glow, but greed would give you peace and quiet.
He gazed up thoughtfully at the sweeping sky. "My dear, if you've never been taken to heaven, I'll happily oblige."
The *cheek* of the man! ""How charming," she said primly, trying not to blush under the feline mockery in his face. He was doing it to embarrass her, she was *sure*. "Any more thinly veiled suggestions you'd like to make?"
Andrea was starting to hate that little knowing arch of his eyebrows. His voice was cool, except for the purr of promise that caught on the ends of every words. "Well, if we speak of thin veils, I certainly have a suggestion for those..."
Equal rage and mortification wrestled in her mind. It was on purpose! The wretched man could see he was making her uncomfortable. "I don't have to listen to this, you know!"
"Had enough pillow talk, have we?" he drawled. "Finally - I thought you'd flirt all day."
Andrea mouthed furiously. And to think she'd thought Ryan was bad - next to Davir, he was saintly as they came. "Don't be so - so disgusting!"
Those shadow-soft eyes swept her from head to foot until she was aware of every mark on her skin, every hair out of place and had to fight an urge to shrink into a corner. He wasn't a handsome man - nothing to the clean chiselled looks of Roald, or Faleron's boy-next-door appeal - but he was arresting.
His face was all feline curves and angles, from the narrow, bladed eyes above the swell of his cheekbones The line of his jaw was utterly stubborn, and his curving smile made midnight promises his stare said he might or might not keep. It was proud face, maybe a cruel face if it hadn't always been lit with his odd sardonic humour that flashed in the lift of an eyebrow, the flick of his fingers, the playful arch of his voice.
And he carried himself with complete confidence.
It was something in the way she moved, Andi thought, that made her afraid to walk too close. The lazy, long steps, his head high and ever studying the world, drinking it in as if it were a fine vintage.
It seemed to her that saunter could just as easily become a strike.
"Disgusting?" he murmured at last. "My apology if I offended you, Andrea. I was only playing. Perhaps Tortallan games are not as - informal as those in the Carthaki court."
"I wouldn't know," she answered quietly. "I'm no noble."
He looked at her, and then laughed, yet gently. She wouldn't have suspected there was anything gentle about him.
"Am I so amusing?"
"Not at all." One shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. "I'm just no palace peacock myself, but I learned their ways fast when my Emperor took me in. I learned - and I lived. Carthak is a dangerous place to be noble at the moment, especially if you are an imperialist. There are many factions who would have my cousin's power for their own."
"You..." She stared at him. But he was so assured. "You're not noble?"
He slanted a conspiratorial glance at her. "I was born noble. The Emperor flung my family to the wolves when my father defied him. I'm just another grubby urchin really. Donations welcome."
"You?"
"Me," he confirmed. "I'm afraid I grew up without any respect for authority. And you are so delightful to tease..."
But he acted so...
Well, she thought, Ryan can be just as churlish and obstinate, and Numair can be more lordly than anyone you'd care to name - and neither of them are noble. "It's just hard to believe."
"It's true." His voice was dispassionate, but something close to fury darted in his eyes. "My mother saw her own daughter hung, and she went to her grave hearing the trapdoor drop, and the rope squeal. My father followed not long after. I was lucky."
Just as quickly, that flicker was gone and his sure smile was gleaming.
"I...I'm sorry."
He gave her a distinct leer. "How sorry?" Under her withering stare, Davir only grinned unrepentantly. "Do calm down, you'll strain something."
"You're straining my patience," she muttered. "Can't you turn it off?"
"Oh, I'd much rather turn you on," he flicked, and held up his hands when she turned on him. "I'll stop. Probably. I have no designs on your body, my dear and deadly mage. Now take me to this astrologer, and we shall say no more about it."
"Promise?" she said suspiciously.
"On my honour. Or possibly something that exists - on my life."
She sighed. Despite herself, she was starting to like him. "Just try to be polite to Prava Mavres. He didn't like *Numair* visiting him, never mind me and Ryan. I don't know how he'll react to you."
The impressive door on the other side of the room was the entrance the Court soothsayer's quarters. It looked like a battering ram wouldn't knock it down, plated with iron and copper runes. Davir gave it a single unmoved look, and then pounded on it with his fist.
* * * *
"What *are* you doing?" The arch of the Stormwing's voice was razor sharp, the high keen of bees in summer swelter. "Little girl, that is not the correct way to punch."
Kel fiercely resisted the urge to belt the woman in the shins. It wasn't nice to beat up the wounded, and besides, the wretched woman would probably just get up and criticise her technique. As she had criticised everyone and everything in the camp, until even the placid Dom was looking distinctly frazzled.
They were camping for a day or two in a sly bid by Raoul and Buri to avoid the trappings of Court life. The horses were tied up, coats gleaming from the not-so-tender ministrations of Leraint who was muttering darkly about some Court girl waiting for him. Fires crackled, sending gouts of smoke up into the blasting blue of the sky, and the smell of cooking meat arose.
"What a pity," Kel answered evenly, bending to pick up her glaive, admiring the brief wheel of sunlight over the blade, "It is how I was taught."
"Then you were taught wrongly."
Kel pressed her lips together tightly, and unleashed a little of her anger into swing of her weapon. "It has served me well enough."
From the corner of her eyes, she saw the woman look down that sharp nose that dominated her face like a beak. "Have you ever faced a Shang-trained warrior, girl?"
Kel stopped short, and slammed the butt of the glaive onto the hard ground. "Stop calling me girl. My name is Keladry. *Squire* Keladry, to be exact." Her voice was polite; she was pleased with that because the Stormwing danced on her nerves like a troop of morris men. "Lady Stormwing, I will glad to listen to your advice, but so far there has been none."
The black eyes glittered like the moon fracturing upon water. How strong that face was, yet sharply lined about her eyes and mouth for all that the woman could not have been older than Dom. "Words will not teach you what a good thrashing will."
"If I want that pleasure, I'll join the flagellants," she replied smoothly, picking up the glaive again to begin the light, even dance that so fascinated the men of the Own. Several had shyly asked where they might find glaives, and a teacher. She hadn't the heart to tell them it was primarily a woman's weapon and the blacksmith back in the palace had several orders placed with him.
She was surprised to see a small smile on the woman's face.
For a while, there was soft silence, the humdrum of the camp fading into the background on Kel's senses until the swish and sweep of the blade was all her world. How she loved the smooth way her muscles moved; not for the little, rhythmic steps of the balls and soirees - here was her dance, cut in steel and stealth.
"I have not seen your weapon before," the woman said at last.
Still standing like a stubborn mule, Kel noted, despite the healer's best flapping and fussing. The Stormwing refused to sit and heal like a good patient; instead, she had pointed out how uneven the stitching was, and how she expected her cast to be a pristine white, not this stained, beaten linen...
"It's from the Yamani Isles."
"I'm sure." The woman stalked forward, ignoring her limp as if it was a brief inconvenience. "I have not been there. I have no wish to meet another tyrannical emperor."
Her voice was harsh, catching on the last word.
Kel slowed, sweat trickling down her back from the gentle exertion. Despite her vow to keep as far away from this icy woman as possible, she was intrigued. Upon learning just who their guest was, Raoul and Buri had both muttered words under their breath that would have shocked a priest, and promptly spent most of their time either out of the camp, conferring in their tents, or training the men well away from the Shang's eye.
"The Yamani Emperor is not a tyrant," she said mildly. "His justice is...ruthless, and he is a man to watch your words around, but he is not Ozorne."
"Ozorne!" The Stormwing spat on the parched ground. "I would dance on his grave, if I knew where it lay. I wish him ten thousand years of screaming agony in the Black God's arms, and my only regret is that another killed him."
Kel was shocked at the outburst. Every line in the Shang's body was taut as straining rope.
"I'm sorry for whatever he did," she said quietly, her hazel eyes a tad baffled by this vicious creature.
"Did?" The strange, silvery hair was flung back like dozens of whips. "He burned my family alive. He would have burned me too, if a Shang had not had more mercy than the people I lived with all my life. They watched me burning, but he alone acted. Your 'sorrow' is nothing to me, little girl - your sorrow will not bring back my parents or my sister, your sorrow is nothing!"
All the same, Kel wanted to say, her heart filled with stinging pity, I am sorry. I am sorry that the Emperor made you so bitter. Had he known his cruelty would live for all these years in you, he would probably have laughed in delight. How sad...how sad that you cannot see how monstrous you have let your grief become.
Yes, the Emperor had a fine revenge when the hatred was born in you. Even now, he touches us.
Maybe she would have said it too, had not the frantic hoofbeats crashed in her ears. Not the sedate trot of scouts returning safe, this was the urgent, uncontrolled gallop of a messenger. Dust lifted, whirled, and choked her vision until it cleared.
Flyn was on his feet; men had stopped their tasks to stare at the white- faced girl who swayed astride her mount. Blood drizzled down from her lips, a slick red trail.
"In the village," she gasped out, her hands trembled violently on the reins. Her horse danced on its feet, colt-skittish. She swayed again, and Kel saw her hands going slack on the rope.
Quickly, the squire moved to grab the reins, a fraction too late as the horse kicked, and the Rider toppled to the earth, a limp pallid huddle. Only now did Kel see the strange weapon that protruded from her back, in the centre of a puckered ring of leather that seemed to be smoking.
Flyn was beside the woman, motioning for the healer to be fetched. He nodded at Kel who at last had the reins secure, and was using all her strength to hold down the nervous horse.
"Anella," he said gently, looking into the Rider's glassy eyes. "Can you hear me?"
"Don't be such an idiot, sir," croaked the woman, more blood spilling from her mouth with each word. Buri came flying out from her tent, papers scattered in her wake. "I'm shot, not deaf. Sir, you have to go to them - Raoul, and half the first...they were ambushed in the village. A mile east. Monsters. I don't know what. Things that spat metal and fire..."
Raoul, thought Kel instantly. The Own and the Riders, trapped! She had to go - but she couldn't let go of the horse in case it began kicking again. What if it trampled Anella?
"Go, Flyn," the rough voice of Commander Buri ordered as she knelt by Anella, stroking the woman's cropped red hair with a steady hand. Her face and words did not match at all; the jollity was forced. "Anella, what did I tell you about fights?"
"Stay out of them, sir." The Rider smiled faintly. "Commander Buri, ma'am, sorry I was stupid enough to...to..."
"Don't worry about it," ordered Buri gruffly, distress plain on her stout face. "You've told us now. You need to rest - that lad of yours is waiting back in Corus, Mithros knows he needs a good woman to keep him on the straight and narrow..." She stepped aside as the healer hurried up, bag full of potions and bandages.
"Here." Kel blinked as the reins were taken by one of the men too injured to fight. He nodded at her grimly. "G'wan, Lady Kel. And give 'em one with that glaive o' yours for me."
By Anella, the healer lifted his hands from her forehead and shook his head. Just once. But it was enough. Buri's fist pounded the ground, furious at losing one of her own.
Peachblossom was whickering, tossing his head as Leraint saddled him. No banter now, only the fast motions they had practiced so often it was automatic - half the Own remained to guard the camp; the other half were ready, weapons bristling.
Riding out to battle again.
The Stormwing watched them with those fathomless black-pooled eyes, the curl of her lip the same still. Affected by nothing. Cold, Kel thought. Don't ever let me get cold like that.
Why did this have to happen? It was all supposed to be so simple. Just follow this Hunt. This cursed Hunt.
Had she thought about those last words a little more carefully, she might have understood some of what was to come. She would have understood - but it would not have eased her pain.
* * * *
Kalasin stepped out. The airing cupboard had provided the right sort of clothes for both of them, though Ryan had hastily demurred at her twinkling offer to turn her back while he changed.
The luxurious black hair had been roughly pulled back into a ponytail, swinging high on her head. From the bumps and strands flying free, Ryan guessed she didn't usually do her own hair. The gauzes were stuffed into one of the many baskets of clothes, replaced by a patched linen tunic that reached to mid thigh and was a touch too big, hiding her figure. The trousers were dark brown, and baggy at the ankles. Gone were the delicate heels, replaced by scruffy boots. A faded cloak hung over it all.
And strange - so strange - she looked more natural in it than ever she had in scraps of silk and gossamer.
Ryan stared.
"What?" She patted her hair nervously, the smug confidence replaced by something much more appealing. "What?"
"Sorry," he drawled with a merry grin. "Wasn't used to seein' ye with your clothes on."
Did women practice that scornful glare? It could have charred bacon. "I see you've already ripped *your* clothes."
He shrugged. "The messier we looks, Sin, the less likely people are to rob us."
"Sin?"
"Ye want me to call ye, Kalasin, fine. But I might as we call ye Princess then - it ain't exactly a common name. And besides....Sin fits ye so well."
He thought that would make her scowl, but instead, the Crown Princess chuckled. He'd made her scrub off all the make-up with a cloth, too, and he'd been surprised how much of the colour of her face was artificial. The petal perfection was gone, replaced by a more golden and uneven complexion.
"We're going now?" she asked as they walked along the corridors. He gestured to her to pull up the cloak's hood. Too many people knew her here.
"Yes..." He eyed her. Could he tell her? No. He didn't want to tell the Crown Princess a monster was buried somewhere under her home. But maybe he could only half-lie. "Princess, have ye ever heard of something called the Folly?"
"Of course - why?"
He held her eyes, like he always did when he told his most convincing lies. "Master Numair's set Andi an' me writin' a paper on it. Well," he added hastily at her raised eyebrow, "I'm readin' and Andi's writin'. I was just wonderin' if ye knew about it. Happened near here somewhere, I heard."
"Did it?" The Princess shrugged, turning her head away from a serving woman who tramped by with sloshing buckets. "I don't know about that, but Numair told us about it once as a fairy tale. He used to do that a lot - little tales about the Gifted with uplifting morals." She pulled a gargoyle face. "All I ever learned was that kissing frogs was more likely to give you a cold than a handsome husband, and to stay well away from spinning wheels."
"What did he say?" he prompted.
"Oh - it was all a long time ago. There was a power struggle between two kings, one Gifted, one not - it went on for years, until no one could really remember what it all started over. Until the unGifted king trapped the mage's lover and killed her. The mage went mad, and..." She fell silent as they passed by a butler, casually flirting with one of the maids. "Well!"
"Oh, ol' Murdock'll chase anythin' in a skirt," Ryan said casually. "Had a horrible mistaken encounter with Maren highlanders, I hear - their light infantry wears kilts."
Both paused at the thought of the elderly butler courting the fiery highland troops.
Both shuddered.
"Anyway," he continued. "What were ye sayin'?"
"And he burned the world," said Kalasin very quietly. Instinctively, she drew the cloak closer about her. "Numair said it burned for seven days and seven nights - he made the earth one huge funeral pyre, blazing out so high that the night became day. And all that time, he sat before it and stared into it, as though he was waiting for something. He burned the world, and burned with it."
"Nice inspirin' tale there then," muttered Ryan. "What's the moral - don't forget your marshmallows?"
"Probably great magic brings great responsibility." Kalasin shrugged, and cocked her head. "It was always hard to tell with Numair - he got very confused about fairy tales. He's the only person I ever knew who told the story of the princess who ate the poisoned pea which meant she turned into a swan every night until someone plucked off her feathers to make forty mattresses."
The Folly. A mage who burned the world? And the thing - the monster under the castle. But *where* under it?
Ryan sighed heavily. He was clueless.
Maybe someone one the street would know more. People there had long memories - particularly for grudges. And it seemed to him there'd be a lot of grudges for a man who set the world alight, all for a lost lady love.
"C'mon, lass," he said, trotting down a flight of back stairs. "Let's take ye to meet the streets. Try to behave.
Try very, very hard, he added silently. Nobles have sharp tongues - but street rats have sharper knives.
* * * *
Roald jammed his hands into the pockets of his breeches and stared at the doors of the Chamber. His old enemy, who would open one day far too soon and swallow him. He was afraid he would never return, his soul consumed in a blaze of failure.
And yet...
And yet, his encounter with the mage had intrigued him. He'd never come here twice in one day, but the thought that the Chamber was not simply mindless malignancy caught him. Of all the wild tales he'd heard, nothing had ever suggested it was - or had been - in some way, mortal.
Why had it revealed that only now?
Why now? He had fallen before its forbidding doors too many times before, and never seen anything but the horrible visions of his own doom. Nothing had been different today, except...
Except Pip.
But why would Phillippa ha Minch, in all her untamed ferocity and delightful insouciance, Pip of the sea-green eyes that washed over him not often enough - why would Pip affect it?
Only one way to know.
He reached out...
Nothing.
Every time before, there had been some reaction. Some blinding image of pain and destruction. The steel-blue eyes narrowed, and Roald was unaware how impassive and cold his face looked then.
"Are you afraid?" he whispered. "Are you afraid of me now-"
A burning jolt convulsed right through his body, once, twice. Roald squeezed shut his eyes at the sensation his very self was being shaken to pieces.
And he opened his eyes onto somewhere quite different.
Utterly unaware that Neal of Queenscove, curious to discover if Roald was sneaking off to see some lady, had followed him. Unaware that the squire had watched his friend seemingly meld into the Chamber's doors as if they were liquid.
Unaware of Neal watching, debating. Reaching out and pulling back his hand in case he too was drawn in.
* * * *
The door opened slowly, with an arthritic groan. When the little, squinting man opened the door to see Davir before him, smiling his wicked feline grin, he squawked, and slammed it-
It hit Davir's conveniently placed foot with a jarring thud.
Andrea flinched too. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.
"Good morning!" said the Carthaki, leaning one dark hand on the door. "Will it continue to be so, one wonders?"
"Not with you clogging up my doorway," snapped the old man curtly. "Go and play in the rain, boy."
She saw the rolling shift of muscles in Davir's shoulders under that clinging chocolate-brown fabric, and the door inched open further. "The sun's shining outside, old man."
There was the rattle of thunder outside, like the gods playing dice, and rain began to patter through the ceiling.
"Is it now?" asked the astrologer with a knowing flick of one eyebrow. "You've got your proof, boy - now go and wave your big pointy bit of metal around and stop bothering me. I'm too busy to be harangued by barbarian invaders."
A low, ferocious sound rippled out over the air, like the rip of velvet. It was a minute before Andi realised what it was.
Goddess, Davir was growling.
"Barbarian?" The agonised scream of the hinges as the door crept inwards a little further. "Invader?"
The old man was trembling with the effort of trying to keep Davir out. Red mottled across his wrinkled face like patches of rot on a strawberry. His watery eyes flicked desperately to Andrea and a sting of pity ran through her.
Cautiously, she laid a hand on Davir's arm. It was knotted under her touch, smooth as sun-warmed mahogany.
He swivelled his head to stare at her, the hawkish eyes nailing her.
"He's only a old man," she whispered in a quivering voice. Goddess bright, but his eyes were vicious.
"Old or not," replied the Carthaki with a bite to every word, "he is rude."
"Maybe he's your long-lost cousin then," Andi muttered before she could stop herself. Ryan's bad habits really *were* rubbing off on her.
"Young man," interrupted Prava Mavres, his nose twitching, "remove yourself from my doorway. I do not have time to be bothered by-by..."
His voice trailed off as he caught Davir's glare.
"Young men," he finished weakly. "And I'll thank you not to disturb me - I'm most busy at the moment."
Davir leaned on the door, and it scraped open a little further. His tiger's eyes were full of that secret, sinful amusement that Andi found disturbing.
And fascinating, she admitted.
"Very...delicate...experiment..." huffed the mystic, as he tried valiantly to shut the door. "My good sir...disturbing the temporal waves..."
"Come now," purred Davir silkily, who didn't appear to find prising open the oak door any effort at all, "surely if we were such a disturbance, you would have foreseen all this bother, and not have opened the door in the first place?"
"Momentary...slip..."
The door flew open, and Prava Matres stumbled backwards, a small dusty figure in his bedraggled robe.
"I want a prophecy," declared the man, stalking in with the silky stride of a panther. He bristled with hostility. Andi crept in quietly after, decidedly uneasy at disturbing King Jonathan's most favoured soothsayer.
"I want some peace. It seems we cannot have what we want," snapped the old man. Andi was impressed by his defiance in the face of such silent, icy rage. She would never dared stand up to Davir if he were towering over her. "Go away, boy."
"Give me my prophecy and I will."
Mavres gawped. "You think you can just walk in and - and *demand* foretellings from *me*? For nothing?"
The Carthaki picked up a crystal ball idly, and tossed it in one hand. "I rather think I just did."
"Please sir," she put in timidly, glad to see Mavres gaze soften fractionally when he saw her, "just tell him. He's horribly stubborn."
"And just horrible," snapped the old man. "I will not be bullied by this, this deviant!"
"We could skip the bullying and just go straight to physical violence?" suggested Davir.
This was not helping manners. Andi dug in her dress for her purse, though she doubted there was enough to pay Mavres' huge fees. It might help calm him. She held out the pitifully light amount to him, mutely pleading.
The old man looked at the coins shining in her palm and shook his head. "I will not take your money, chosen," he said gruffly. "No amount of money would make me aid such an impertinent boy. Barging into my apartments like this-"
"Yes," murmured Davir nonchalantly. "Your apartments. They are very - plush."
His stare swept over the acres of heavy oak furniture laden with paraphernalia, with almanacs and crystal ball, chimes and mirrors, bags of herbs and even a simmering cauldron, full of something that looked green and foul.
"But not much different from the lowliest soothsayer in the dirtiest corner of the docks," the Carthaki continued smoothly. He wandered over to the cauldron.
"Do not drink of it!" squeaked Mavres. Sweat was beading on his forehead. "That is the sacred potion-"
Davir dipped a finger and tasted it. "Nettle stew," he proclaimed. "With some excellent sea-bass, if I'm not mistaken."
Mavres mouthed, wringing his hands.
Frowning, Andi watched them both. What was Davir up to? Surely he had to know Mavres was genuine - why, even that comment about the weather...and of course, he'd made so many predictions for the Royals that had been correct, down to the hour of Prince Liam's birth.
"Tarot cards," continued the Carthaki. "Even a loom. Come, Mavres, we both know knots and string are for the Gifted. You have the Sight...don't you?"
One coal-black eyebrow was arched, and Davir's face was near frightening.
"Of course I do!" Mavres snapped.
"Why all these aids, then? The Sight comes as it will, and if it chooses to keep away, gazing into all the mirrors on this earth will not summon it. Or are you simply that fond of your own reflection?"
Mavres was paler now, Andi saw, his lips pressed tight together.
"Are you Sighted, Andrea?" Davir's question caught her off-guard.
"I...no," she answered, baffled. "My god talks to me sometimes."
He looked a little startled at that. She supposed not many people had to listen to Mithros when they slept, or, if he was feeling particularly tetchy, any time he chose. He called it 'instructing her'. Ryan called it 'whinging at her'.
"Then you would not know much about it," murmured the Carthaki, recovering. "My mother was Sighted in her youth, but it faded as she reached maturity, as it often does - particularly in men. By the time she was forty, her visions were gone almost completely. She foresaw only her own death, and that only in the darkest nightmares. I find it odd, Mavres, that after fifty years your Sight is strong as ever. I find it odd also, that I have heard the servants speak of strange voices in your rooms, when none but yourself is present. Odd indeed."
"Just what are you implying?" snapped the old man, backing away.
The Carthaki tipped his head onto one side, the curl of his mouth scornful. "Perhaps you no longer see the future. But there are others who can, and you have the money to pay them handsomely. A simple speaking spell, as one might purchase from any mage, and you appear to make miraculous predictions still. It has been done before."
There was a long awkward pause. Then Mavres' shoulders slumped.
"You have me," he admitted hollowly. "My Sight faded over a decade ago. I still have visions, but they are unreliable. I began to use slum soothsayers. I suppose...I suppose you will tell the King."
Davir gave him a long, level look and Andrea felt a soft spill of pity for this old man. Had he revealed his loss, he would have lost his exalted position. Returned, perhaps, to the streets he himself came from; not at once, but gradually moved lower and lower through the palace ranks until he stumbled out into the gutters.
"That is not for me to decide," announced the Carthaki. "But I am sure you will not mind telling me who did make that most uncanny prediction about the weather?"
Mavres stuttered out a name.
"Good enough," murmured Davir. "Let us go."
As the door clanged behind them, Andrea let her breath in a long rush. "How did you know?"
He shrugged. Almost unconsciously, his hand touched his pocket. "I've seen that scam a hundred times. It was played out often in the slums of Carthak. Poor people making themselves less poor anyway they could. Rich people keeping themselves rich. It's the story of the world, and it spins out every day in a thousand small ways." After a moment, he added, "Do you wish to accompany me into Corus? I have heard your city can be very dangerous."
Andi hid a smile. The first thing Ryan had done was take her into the filth and slums to introduce her to his friends. Strange friends' rogues and prostitutes and gamblers and flower girls - even a sot of a priest - but people who tightly defended their own. And Andi was somehow counted as one of their own now.
"I might even be of some help," she volunteered.
His look said otherwise. She would show *him*!
"Perhaps," he said in a tone that agreed not at all. "Perhaps."
In fact, as they made their way into the city, Andi managed to stop three cut-purses, fend off a horde of beggar children ready to thieve from a strange charitable to show his wealth, drag Davir away from the notorious Blackjack Alley, and wave off a knifeman she knew through Ryan.
Davir, of course, noticed nothing.
His final comment as they entered the truly vicious part of Corus was, "How safe your Northern cities are."
Famous last words.
* * * *
"You - again."
His face was arrogant as it was gaunt, and the mage reclined upon one of the long sofas so popular in Tusaine. The luxurious gold work along the arms and legs did not match his tattered black robe, surely as it did not match the cold glare. Hell in his eyes, hell locked inside him.
The room was plain stone, grey slate all around, and simple as a jail cell. In it, the man was a stark thing of tortured white and torn black. Only his orange stare leant a streak of angry colour.
"Me," agreed Roald quietly.
"Well? Why have you returned?" The man flicked a languid hand at him, his bones jutting from the stretched skin. "Flinging accusations of fear at me. Me! Boy, I could make you scream until you clawed your own eyes from your head - I could have you skinning off your own flesh with panic, and you think to tell *me* I am afraid?"
Roald shrugged. His father would have demanded answers. He knew that demands were often refused where gentler words were not. "I don't know, to be honest."
The fiery eyes blinked once, as if Roald had startled him. "Few realise how little they know until they pass before me and are judged."
"Why judge us?" asked Roald curiously. "How can you be impartial?"
The man tilted back his head and a strange, husky laugh rippled out over the air. "I am not impartial," he declared. "Not at all. If I were impartial, there would be many more knights. What was that boy's name? Joren, that was it. Had I been impartial, I would have seen his determination, his skill, his intelligence - and let slide his wanton cruelty and his prejudice. I judge on character, not on talent."
"You play with us too." Roald remembered too many times spent before these doors, haunted by visions of blood and failure. "Those nightmares...they're nothing but malice."
The man shrugged. "I show you yourself. Is it my fault if what you see is not to your liking?"
What you see...yes. "And why let me see you now?" Roald tried to keep his voice level. He didn't want this man to be angry with him; something in that taut, grim face spoke of rage burning deep inside.
"I had my reasons."
"It was Pip, wasn't it?" Roald stepped forward, closer to the man. It seemed to him the walls creaked and groaned inwards, as if longing to crush him from existence. "It was her."
The man was silent, except for one brief, paroxysmal movement.
"Why?" he pressed, gentle as he would have been with a crying child. "She's just a girl."
The man's tense face relaxed unexpectedly, a hazy nostalgia tipping up the corners of his mouth. "That one will never be 'just' anything. She reminds me of...times gone."
A woman gone, translated Roald. He knew that dreamy, mellow look; he'd seen it pasted on the faces of his friends over woman after woman. Maybe worn it on his a few times. Hopefully when no one was there to see, and notice.
"She very determined." Roald smiled faintly at the thought. Pip was the kind of person who would treat the world like an overgrown puppy, giving it all her masses of affection, and never hesitating to smack it with a rolled scroll when it disobeyed. "She wants to be Shang."
"A dangerous wish." Sadness in the mage's voice. "Shang eats the lives of those who follow it. Their honour is strict, and honour does not expect knives in the back."
"You...lost someone?" guessed Roald. "Who were you?"
Fires stoked in those eyes as if demons had slung a gallon of wine onto a pyre. "A man who loved a woman. A man who fought a war. A man who lost them both."
There was a silken sound, like fabric ripping, and Neal appeared into the Chamber.
"A man who is going to have *no* peace, apparently," muttered the mage with a roll of his eyes.
Neal stared. "Roald?" he squawked. "What's going on? Who's this..."
Then he looked more closely at the mage, and did a double take.
"Iceblood?" he said. "Roald, don't tell you're afraid of a bed time story from three hundred years ago."
"He's not a story," explained Roald helpfully.
"Yes he is. Watch out, or Iceblood'll cut off your head? Put down that pie, or I'll send Iceblood to rip off your toe nails?"
Roald could only look perplexed. What *was* Neal on about?
"Maybe that was just my mother then," muttered the squire. "You really don't know who he is?"
Shake. If I knew, do you think I'd be in here asking? Roald wanted to say. He didn't though; he was going to have to cope with enough questions from Neal as it was.
"Then that means..." The mortified green eyes were huge, gawping at the mage. "He's real."
* * * *
Thank you so much for reading! Your thought would be loved, loved, loved.
It pushed at the magickal wards about its tomb. Dark magick meant the Gift, and strained. Its form still moved from shape to shape, unable to decide what would be best for these new times and this new world.
Not strong enough yet.
Almost - a hair away from breaking its prison, and bursting back onto the world.
It wanted to be in the world again. Life and colour and beauty...
All there for destroying.
It waited...waited to be strong. Moments passed, each slow as the slide of a glacier. Second followed second, time piling up, until...
It thrust again at the magical bars of its cage. Pushed, until all its power flooded the prison-
And the bars broke.
It was free.
* * * *
Oodles and oodles of thanks to the wonderful people who reviewed last time round :o) YOu all have my total adoration and worship! Thanks to:
The kick-ass Keita: Heya :o) ::grin:: Wow a review for every chapter - thanks! That's a weird habit it's good to have. I have a lot of fun thinking up the tangles in the plot (it certainly passes the time at work in my mind-numbing office job.). The characters just tend to write themselves - though some of them insist on striding into the story, annoying as many people as possible and then demanding more plot-time. :o) Curse 'em. LOL, you may have the snappy and arrogant one (provided he agrees of course.)!Thanks muchly!
The marvellous MagixPawn: It really has been a year. Sorry about that ::grimace:: Not intentional at all. The updates will be more frequent; I'm out of school, have a year off (post dropping out of uni and fulfilling my potential to be a total failure ;:grin:: though I'm going back next year) and a job which doesn't care what i do all day. = Lots of writing time! I'm psyched you're still enjoying - thank you everso, chica!
The brilliant Behrlie: ::grin:: Oh yes, I have my degree in mind-reading. Fully qualified member of the Unseen University! ::holds out deck:: Go on - pick a card. Any card. I have always I said will never not complete a story - and I will finish this one. It's top priority, and hey, having some time off has given me a whole new wealth of plot ideas. ::beams:: Hopefully this'll be twistier than a roomful of snakes. And not too bad on this update, right? Many, many thanks!
The lovely Lady Gabrielle of Pirate's Swoop: Thank you...what took me so long was a number of personal issues I don't really want to go into. I am truly sorry it's taken so long - and I'm thrilled you like the story :o) it's a sight more than 20 pages - at least in Word. :) Mind made up - I am finishing it. Ta muchly!
The jazzy Jaya: Lo chica, long time no pseak! How are you? ::grin:: No, you know I never abandon stories! Sometimes it takes me a while (especially with the general hecticism of the last coupla years) but I always get them done. And hey - this part was out pretty fast, ne? There are a lot of POVs in this story but for once (god bless the complex tangle that is Chim - it has really taught me how to draw plotlines together) I think I have a handle on them. Nice imagery there! ::grin:: Davir's fun. He gets to stay. Cheers!
The beauteous Bex: Wouldnt' let you log in? Rrrr, techonology. So wonderful and yet so vexing. ::grin:: It's been a while since I read it...but lots of new plot ideas now, and lots of inspiration. Yay the dull 9-5 job! Blue and Toya are on their way - I have much of Chimera written but the next chapter will be exceedingly long due to lots to get in and not a lot of chapters to do it in. I would say Marina is a lot less ruthless than Toya...I think Blue would slaughter Rina :) Gracias!
The divine Debbi: Indeed she has :O) But is she who you think...? Am I trying to confuse you (possibly.) Do I know who she is (probably not.). ::grin:: Hey! There aren't hapless bloodbath's in *every* story. There must have been *some* that were peaceful...hang on, I'll name one...
::long pause::
Still thinking
::longer pause::
Um...okay - Trifolia. Very soothing. And...and...okay, you got me. I'm a bloodthirsty maniac. Curse it! Updates muy more regularly. Thank the undemanding job! Much gratitude.
The magical M'cha Araem: Yes, I was aiming for a day, but the forever snuck in there somewhere ;o) I really am very, very, very sorry about that. It wasn't at all intentional. Things happened. Life got busy. Kally does have it tough - but she probaly shoulda sat down and thought a little harder on that revenge lark. :) My parents are particularly evil in that bent (oh, how they love to slavedrive.) Davir and Kally? Intriguing thought ::pauses:: Would land both in all sorts of trouble...appealing...appealing. Why Davir
has been pulling the Chamber apart will be clear, but just not for a little while yet. No, he isn't helping the creepy monster (but his taking the nail did wake it up, stupid boy.) Updates sooner - promise! Many, many thank yous!
The delectable Dianna: ::grins:: Yes, I was quite surprised too! But the break has actually done this story some good. I have dozens of new ideas, and so much time to write them now (god bless dull office jobs!) Must have taken a while to read through :o) But I am v glad you're still enjoying! Genius ::blinks:: First time I've been called that! Thank you!
The luvverly-jubbly Larzdinn: ::grin:: Yes, at last, after a very long break, I am getting back to this. Hey, it's nice to be welcomed back so sweetly by such fantastic people! LOL, I understand on the schoolwork. I was dropping under the weight of it last year (but soon I will be a carefree university student, and will do nothing but party for three years.).
Won't argue with a lengthy review...nope, no protests at all from this corner! Of course I write the notes! The notes are the most fun part of it all...it'd be rude not to reply after y'all spend the time typing and telling what you think. ::grin;: Online personalities can be very different from IRL ones (I've heard a few 'you're not like I imagined you's which always makes me wonder what people imagine...a six-headed scaly monster? A two-legged dolphin with opposable thumbs?) Ooh, you joined - welcome to the biggest club on earth! (probably.) Many many thanks!
The magnificent Megami-sama: Hello! You're a TP fan too ::beams:: Wise. I wish I could answer that question but must fall back behind the writer's old adage (and behind my riot shield, it's such an irritating axiom) - all will be revealed. In a PG way, I hasten to add. Merci beaucoup!
The kosher Karigan: Aloha :o) Nice to meet you! I love TP's world - it's just big and bold and beautiful (and may she write many many more.) I will be updating soon, in fact...now ::looks puzzled, too much paradoxical philosophy for a Monday:: The *around* words is my way of putting emphasis - instead of say, italics. Cheers!
~*~
Comments adored!