“It seems your Sovereign has started this particular war,” said Beltain softly.
Count Lecrant D’Arvu nodded. “Indeed it is so, and I do answer to her in my allegiance. But in the latest series of actions of hers, she has undermined the trust of many of her own, including myself. The Sapphire Court puts on a brave face and the semblance of complicity, but behind closed doors there is weeping and dark words spoken. And Trova Square still stands in a lake of blood, for we have had no rain . . . and no one dares to clean the cobblestones. . . . And now, Ulpheo!”
“What of Ulpheo?” Beltain approached even closer, listening, while Percy stood as she was, mesmerized, a look of intensity coming to her face.
“Ah, you have not heard!” Count D’Arvu said. “For you come from the other direction. Well then, if you travel deeper south, you will come upon it within the hour. . . . Only you will not be able to enter it.”
Beltain and Percy watched him with growing attention.
“It happened on the night before last . . . early that evening, I am told—for we were not there to witness. Just before sunset, the Sovereign with her dead Trovadii army entered our blessed city, in passing. Ulpheo met her with adulation, as she had been expected, and His Majesty, King Clavian Sestial paraded half the forces of Balmue before her, as they readied for the common march on the morrow. Well, as all of this was taking place, unbelievable things were happening outside the walls of Ulpheo. . . . All the land, for leagues around, started to change, to grow thin and transparent, and then it all was gone! Only the city remained, in the middle of this unnatural madness, standing hard and solid, and inviolate!”
“We’ve had similar incidents in the Realm,” Beltain said.
“Oh, but no, not like this!” the Count continued. “Now—all those people inside the walls of Ulpheo, none of them knew what was happening all around. Apparently, the strange instability was taking place throughout the night, but only outside the walls. . . . Meanwhile, at dawn the city awoke, and the Sovereign with her Trovadii forces continued on their way, followed by the select battalions of Balmue, and they all marched beyond the walls, heading north through the now changed landscape—as though nothing was amiss.
“When the last soldier was out of the city—and here is the part that I still question, for I simply do not understand—it is said the Sovereign turned her head to look back . . . and possibly she spoke words of which we know nothing. . . . And as she did thus, Ulpheo started to fade—as though it had been waiting for her to let go, to pass beyond and abandon it. Thus, it too grew thin and translucent, and the morning sun shone past layers of vaporous streets and houses, through translucent people and beasts and carriages, through fading walls of stone—and then it stopped. It stopped fading, halfway, and did not disappear. And the city stayed thus.”
Beltain frowned. “How, exactly?”
“It is neither here nor there!” the Countess interjected. “It is fixed within a mirage! No one can enter, and no one may leave! The city with all its people is still among us, yet it is suspended in another place, like a flimsy shadow of itself!”
“How can that be?” Percy whispered. “We’ve seen shadows fade with twilight, yes, but they can always be entered—”
“Not this one!” the Count continued, wiping his brow where sweat was beginning to sheen. “People gathered and stood at the walls on both sides—stand even now—and it is like glass, an unspeakable veil of some kind of physical impossibility. . . . Not even sound can pass; no words can be exchanged. Those inside Ulpheo could be seen crying out, their lips moving, their hands pounding at the empty air at the open gates. . . . And then—as hours passed and the morning sun rose higher, it is when they all saw her—they saw the face and form of the Goddess.”
“The Goddess Thesmos!” said the Countess. “Those who witnessed it from outside the gates of Ulpheo, claim that her form stood many stories tall, as high as the battlements! And she too was translucent, yet golden, and her face was like the sun. Not many recognized her at once, for she is ancient, mostly forgotten now. . . . But once they did—apparently the people inside Ulpheo could see her also, and they knelt in multitudes, filled with awe, and they prayed to her. And now, those of us on the outside of Ulpheo are convinced the Goddess can help somehow—and everyone is said to be coming here!”
“To this temple?” Beltain frowned.
“Yes!” the Count replied.
“But we have come first, for we were already on our way here,” the Countess continued in an urgent voice. “For we must do this thing first, we must pray for—”
“Arabella, no!”
“My daughter! My sweet Leonora is missing!” the Countess interrupted. “You’ve had your say, Lecrant, and Ulpheo still stands at least, but I must tell our own truth now! Just a few months ago she had accepted the honor of entering the service of Her Brilliance, Rumanar Avalais, as her Lady-in-Attendance. It is a rare honor, bestowed only upon a select few, a handful of maidens of noble blood. She has been elevated by the Sovereign, and we as a family have received many worldly rewards, in addition to my husband’s enhanced position. But—only a few weeks ago, we’ve stopped receiving any communications from our child. Not a single letter! We inquired, and indeed she was not seen around Court for at least a month. And when we arrived in person, and begged an Audience, we were told by Her Brilliance herself that Leonora had been indisposed and had simply forgotten to write.”
“A minor detail, it would seem,” said the Count. “Except, we were then not allowed to see her, under a variety of seemingly minor pretexts—”
“That is when the dreams started! The Goddess, she began appearing to me every night . . . long before Ulpheo!” Countess Arabella exclaimed.
The Count nodded in resignation, then remarked, “What kind of a thing is it, not to allow concerned parents to see their own sickened daughter? Thus, our suspicions grew. Formally, of course, these suspicions were, and still continue to be unfounded. However, upon further inquiry around Court, at my own discretion, I’ve learned a number of very disturbing things.”
Percy and Beltain listened intently.
“We have learned something truly dark and unthinkable about our Sovereign . . .” the Countess resumed her telling, and her voice became a whisper. “They say—they say that she has a daughter. A child of whom no one knows but a tiny few! And that recently she has done something to her, to her own flesh and blood, that is a dark and terrible thing of the most profane black sorcery, the like of which is not known. . . . For yes, there is an imperial daughter who is kept a secret, and who is rumored to be so sickly that she is never seen outside her own quarters, and has been thus for as long as anyone can remember. And this daughter, it is said, is kept under lock and key, in a hidden place underground. No one is entirely sure where, not even the clandestine ‘ghosts’ of the various surveillance factions who keep tabs on everything and who know all there is to know about the world and its nether sides.”
“In short, this daughter and her mysterious illness is the key,” said the Count. “It is related somehow to the disappearance of our own child. And possibly the cessation of death.”
“Could she be the Cobweb Bride?” Percy exclaimed.
The Countess gazed into Percy’s eyes, and she nodded silently.
“If I am to find the Cobweb Bride,” said Percy, “I have it in my means to take her away, to restore the world’s death and natural cycle, and possibly to help your daughter, if she is a part of this. I admit, I have no notion how or what it would entail . . . or even whether your daughter might survive or if she is already beyond anyone’s reach. But—if you take me to the place where stands the Golden Goddess, maybe, just maybe, we can make things right, together.”
“Impossible!” said the Count. “That would mean getting you not only inside the Sapphire Court and the heavily guarded Palace of the Sun, but into the exclusive Hall where the Sapphire Throne stands!”
“Yes,” the black knight echoed him. “It’s a
t the very least a mad scheme. Even I am not up to fighting off the entire garrison of the Palace and citadel.
“Not to mention,” the Count said, “I will have no part of such overt betrayal of my liege.”
“Speak not untruth!” the Countess said passionately. “You were willing to do all manner of disgraceful things on behalf of Leonora—up to and including a coup and an outright imperial revolt—just an hour ago, as we spoke on our way here. If getting these people into the Palace is all that is required to find her, then we shall do it! Indeed, it will be much easier now, since the focus has shifted and everyone is preoccupied with Ulpheo! Once inside, let them ransack and plunder and burn the entire Sapphire Court for all I care!”
And the Countess stood shaking with a strange furious grief.
“I give you my word as knight and Peer of the Realm—for that is who I am—that I will not engage in any hostile action short of defending our lives if we are attacked. Take us inside this Hall, and give us safe passage, and I promise you we will be gone with the Cobweb Bride and nothing more—except possibly your daughter.”
“Yes! Oh, yes! Please, do take away our daughter from that evil place! You shall do it! For it is the will of the Goddess! She came into my dreams every night, until I knew I had to come here to her one true temple to find the answer. . . . And the answer was you! See, even now Thesmos looks down upon us! She is smiling, can you see—there, just now—” the Countess exclaimed in a voice grown thick with tears, again grabbing Percy’s arms, and pointed up at the great gilded statue.
“If there is a way,” mused the Count, “it is not a direct way. We will do nothing that is overt. I know of places—passages that comprise a hidden network of the Palace—which allow movement with discretion. We will utilize them.”
“Then you agree to this?” Beltain looked at the man, evaluating him.
After a minor pause, Count D’Arvu nodded. “Yes. We will help you. But only under the condition that once inside you will do whatever it takes to find our daughter.”
In that moment, the sound of neighing horses and several new voices came from outside the temple. Indeed, it had grown somewhat loud outside. . . .
Percy looked at Beltain, then at the softly weeping, broken Countess. “Let us hurry! I think someone’s coming . . .” she said, for apparently indeed, other pilgrims were arriving.
And suddenly—was it a trick of the chill morning light through the broken sections of the temple roof, the spinning dust motes in the air?—she thought the face of the Goddess statue grew animated, warm, alive, and in her stone-and-gold eyes was a blooming maternal smile.
Chapter 21
They rode together, Percy and Beltain, alongside the Count and Countess D’Arvu, away from the ancient overgrown Temple Thesmophoros, and into the heart of Balmue.
The countryside was sienna brown, and sparse forests topped rolling hills. Sunlight filtered through nude branches of the winter-bare trees against a pale blue sky.
Quite a few pilgrims on behalf of Ulpheo were moving in the opposite direction, and initially they passed all manner of mounted travelers and pedestrians entering the valley of the temple. With such busy traffic, no one paid any attention to the black knight or Percy, or their two companions.
At some point they came upon a road, rutted with cart tracks, meandering around the dips of hillsides, and here Percy touched Beltain’s arm and said, pointing into the distance, “There. I can feel her. There lies her death—the Cobweb Bride.”
“The direction which you indicate is indeed the same direction as the Sapphire Court.” The Count mentioned.
“How far is it?” asked the knight.
The Count, riding an elegant Arabian grey stallion, took a while to answer, as he gazed at the close line of the hill-swept horizon. “So much has changed,” he said. “Even as short a time ago as yesterday, this land was wider, more sprawling. Again, I have no means of explaining, but—parts of the landscape have been mysteriously disappearing, all around the Domain. Unlike Ulpheo they are gone entirely, without a trace. They tell us that a white-cliffed island has gone missing from the balmy southern sea near Tanathe. And in our own Balmue, the plains and hills upon which we ride are only a small part of what used to be sprawling picturesque countryside. Also, to the east, fair Elysium with its blessed flowering fields is now a wistful memory. . . .”
“In the Realm, we have whole cities and towns gone, as if the earth is shrinking upon itself.”
“It is a curse! A vile misfortune upon mortal kind . . .” the Countess muttered, ending with some other inaudible words that were spoken under her breath. She was seated on an ornate side-saddle fit for an upper class matron, upon a docile white mare. And although the mare paced softly, the Countess held the reins in a trembling fixed grip.
“If nothing else disappears, Ulpheo lies beyond the next two hills. Soon you shall see it. Once we pass around it, we should reach the Sapphire Court before evening.”
“And then?” Beltain persisted.
“Then, I will conduct you to the place you seek,” replied the Count D’Arvu.
“And the Goddess Thesmos shall watch over you!” added Arabella D’Arvu, glancing up at them with a hopeful gaze.
They made good time, and in minutes the hills opened to a strange sight that was indeed like a mirage, impossible for the eye to grasp.
The sun illuminated a dreamlike panorama that at first seemed to be the vision of a distant city witnessed through a milk haze. Except, it was not distant at all, with the walls beginning within a few hundred feet. Once the eye forced itself to accept the impossible, everything indeed was recognized as translucent, so that the walls appeared to be made not of stone but of a dark grey-tinted glass. On the inside, streets and houses and figures were visible, moving as if in a dream. . . . And everything was taking place in perfect, abysmal silence.
Overhead, distant clouds sailed in the heavens. A few birds flew near the parapets, but they suddenly struck an invisible wall of air upon approaching the city perimeter and several had fallen upon impact.
There were many people gathered outside the walls, observing, arguing, bewailing, and the living sounds they made was the only noise in the vicinity.
Percy was amazed, for the silence of the city extended into her sixth sense. She could feel no death shadows beyond the translucent walls, as though they had all indeed receded to a distant other place, beyond mortal reach. . . .
“Behold, Ulpheo, the proud capital of Balmue!” said Count Lecrant D’Arvu bitterly. “We shall not linger at this sorry sight, for apparently even Thesmos has gone—for I see no golden Goddess figure rising to the clouds, do you? Indeed, had she even been there in the first place? Or was she but a hallucination?”
“Lecrant!” said the Countess in reproach. “I believe she was there, and it is enough.”
Thus, without more argument they rode around the milling crowds near the walls, and past the misfortunate, impossible city itself, following the road south.
From thereon, the morning and afternoon flew by in a monotonous haze of rolling taupe and sienna and sand browns of the countryside. The Count and his wife were gentle company, with the Count D’Arvu speaking for the most part, telling of his views on war and his recent ordeals at the complex Court of the Sovereign.
Beltain mostly listened and remarked occasionally, while Percy reclined against the black knight’s chest, cleaving to him softly, all her form exuding such a wordless peace and contentment that even the others noticed. The Count leaned to the Countess with a smile and whispered something about “young lovers” that made her stoic gaze regain a moment of soft clarity.
The road beyond Ulpheo was mostly free of traffic, and a few occasional peasants traveled it. Once again, no one paid a second glance to the knight, for he again chose not to wear his surcoat with the Chidair colors, and such anonymity was prudent. They also noticed no military formations passing, and Beltain wondered about it.
“Since the Trovadii had
passed, it is to be expected. They have all gone forward past your border already, or are milling about Ulpheo,” the Count said. “I know not what Tanathe and Serenoa will do, and whether or not they will send their forces to supplement the Trovadii, but Solemnis is on the move in the west, and I assume they have advanced already. Thus, nothing more to expect here.”
Percy was relieved to know that Beltain would not have to make the choice of engaging in needless combat with anyone on the road.
At some point, Beltain asked about the Trovadii, and how it was that they were all dead, to a man. The Count related, with a grim face, the events of Trova Square.
“That was the moment when the patriots of the Domain felt their faith shaken and in many cases destroyed.”
“I am surprised the Sovereign has ordered such an ungodly act of suicide upon her own most loyal of troops,” Beltain mused. “Even from pure strategic reasons, what sense is there in a dead army, except for an immediate short-term conquest? They are unreliable, at best. And once death resumes and the natural order is restored—as I firmly believe will happen, since the alternative is unthinkable—then the entire army will be no longer.”
“Maybe,” the Count responded. “Maybe the Sovereign knows something we do not, considering what happened at Ulpheo. And maybe her purpose is so far removed from that of a normal ruler that—oh what use is there in speculating? My lady wife here thinks our queen’s a witch.”
“And what do you think?” Beltain watched the older man with an astute gaze.
“I think there are two kinds of kings or queens—those who rule and those who are ruled. History knows both. The former are the tyrants and the benevolent despots who leave a mark, while the latter are the weak nothings who also leave a mark, or rather, a splatter, like squashed flies. Unfortunately both kinds are messy. I think the present Sovereign, Her Brilliance, is both a benevolent tyrant and a madwoman, and possibly something else altogether. In the past, she has done enough for the Domain to be remembered, but due to more recent events, she will be remembered in ways both good and bad.”