Chapter 20 The Pretender
During the next few days, each time Simone was on the ground she heard alarming news from Vult scouts. For the farther they journeyed into Meschor, flying over the barren plains, the thicker came the reports of armies stirring on the coast. A force of humans and Silbs was said to be marching southward from the Broken Realm. These were led by the Pretender who Bremset felt sure was Clay, though how Clay could lead an army was beyond Simone. Up from Eschor to meet them was marching an army of the Emperor Solomon’s. Solomon himself was said to be still in Colonia, preparing to follow with a larger force.
Even more exciting and frightening were the reports of Dragons in the coastal waters. For, as the Vults told her, these were not in the habit of coming so far north. The people of Meschor were in deadly danger.
On the dark, cloudy morning of December third, Simone rose from her blankets to learn that the scouts had sighted a Lusetta in the eastern sky. She left the hut that the Vults had found for her and ran out to discover that the Lusetta had already flown away eastward, whether to report to the Pretender, to Solomon, or to the Dragons no one could say. She heard from these same scouts, however, that a battle had been fought near the coast the previous day, and that the Pretender’s forces had won handily over the Eschorians.
Though it was still barely dawn, Simone ordered her flying net readied and was soon aloft and on her way to the Pretender’s encampment, now quite close. Her first sight of interest was that of hundreds of scavenger birds wheeling in the sky ahead, marking the site of yesterday’s battle. But before they reached them, she saw a great crowd of tents and people on the whitened plain. As the Vults flew lower, this proved to be the bright pavilions of the Pretender’s camp, and many thousands of his soldiers. It was a breathtaking sight, but far more amazing were the gigantic figures of Dragons looming just beyond, between the soldiers and the sea.
No one had prepared Simone for the sheer size of Dragons older than Dramun. One in particular stood out, a basilisk the length of a football field, scales rippling in reds and greens on its spiky back, and with what appeared to be a massive gold chain around its neck. Hopelessly, Simone tried to imagine she was seeing a parade float, but its tail moved, and so that was that.
The Vults set her down in a half inch of snow on the landward side of the camp—farthest from the Dragons—and Simone stood shakily. Bremset and Vuzbal alighted beside her, and soon all the Vults were gathered behind them in their thousands.
“Our having landed is a sign to the Pretender’s forces of our peaceful intent,” Bremset explained to Simone. “Now we must wait for them to come out to us.”
The wait was not long. In a few minutes a young nobleman came riding to them on a korfy, the first of the great birds Simone had seen since the ruins of Lucilla. The young man was black haired and narrow chinned and wore on the upper edge of his breast plate a small festoon of purple. Behind him marched a few dozen human soldiers. The young man halted the bird with difficulty and scanned the Vult army with a boyish, frightened face. Whether he was scared of the Vults or of his own restless mount, Simone could not tell, but he certainly seemed to have minimal control of the beast. Soon he focused on Simone as the only human.
“The Emperor demands to know your business,” he said with some show of confidence. “Why have Vults come here?”
Simone stepped forward. “Let me talk to him and we can settle this right away,” she shouted up to him. “Will you escort me to him?”
“And who might you be?”
“And who might you be yourself?” she shot back.
“I’m Prince Michael of the Broken Realm.”
“Well, I’m Princess Simone, sister to the true Emperor. If you’ll escort me to your leader, I’ll go with just Captain Bremset and Vuzbal the Bard.”
“With pleasure. I guarantee you safe passage.”
Michael bowed slightly, as if afraid of falling off, and then tapped with his guide stick against the neck of the korfy to turn it around. Simone just did manage to keep a straight face during the couple of minutes it took the Prince to complete this maneuver and get started in the right direction. She followed on foot with her two Vults, and the human soldiers fell in beside and behind.
As they walked through the camp, Simone discovered something not apparent from the air; that is, that most of the Pretender’s soldiers were not human. They were Silbs, the lizard folk, with bubble eyes and narrow forked tongues. Tall as men, green scaled, and hairless, they either stood motionless as statues or darted here and there in bursts of speed. When the two Vults appeared among them, the Silbs all stood still and stared, as did the human soldiers. They were so interested in these envoys from the legendary past that they paid little attention to Simone, despite her odd clothing.
As for Simone, only the brief pleasure of seeing her seventh Sarr species caused her to pay any attention to her surroundings. As she braced herself for a probable terrible disappointment, the tents, flags, and banners went by in a blur.
At the largest pavilion Prince Michael slowed the korfy and dismounted without attempting to completely stop the beast. It was quickly caught by some of the hundreds of soldiers nearby. Then the Prince led Simone and the Vults through the tent door, upon which was worked the image of a burning torch on a field of purple. Within, the ground was carpeted in purple, and tall golden lampstands stood in rows near the walls. The tent was crowded with Silbs and humans, all wearing purple festoons like Michael’s. They all turned and stared at the Vults.
Simone felt sick with suspense. “Where’s the Emperor?” she asked the Prince.
Michael pointed to a curtained off corner. “In there, but you’ll have to wait while I report.” He raised his voice. “Someone find seats for the Princess Simone and her escorts.”
He disappeared behind the curtain, while several soldiers began slowly to leave a nearby couch, and then hurried away as the Vults drew closer. Now Simone had time to look around with more leisure. The Silbs were hard to read, but the human officers looked decidedly ill at ease. She caught scraps of conversation.
“...Dragons on one side, Vults on the other...!”
“...what Solomon is going to do when he comes with his real army...”
“...too many prisoners to take on a retreat...”
The curtain fluttered and someone came out, a creature such as she had seen only in her vision in the Great Tunnel. It was clothed like a human and stood upright, but its great face was that of a mountain lion. It gave her the same cool and contemptuous stare she had previously received only from spoiled housecats. Prince Michael followed the Mangar out and pulled him aside for a whispered consultation. Simone heard only a little.
“...said if she fusses and argues—”
“—to turn her away?”
“No, that’s how we know it’s Simone.”
Simone’s cheeks burned. Apparently, her reputation had preceded her. She heard a stifled chuckle from Vuzbal, who with his amazing ears must have heard everything.
“What are they saying?” she whispered to him.
“They’re afraid you’ve brought us Vults so as to make war with their Pretender. The Mangar thinks you’ll have to be taken hostage.”
“Do what? We’re here on their good word!” Simone exploded. “That isn’t Clay in there, is it?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Princess.”
“Well, did you catch anything else?”
“Nothing important. The Mangar wants to know if Prince Michael took good care of the Mangar’s korfy when he borrowed it. The Prince swears he rode it like an expert.” Vuzbal and Bremset chuckled.
More minutes passed, as for the thousandth time she heard in her mind Clay’s scream as he fell from the korfy, saw that last mental picture of him being held by Quintusian soldiers and reaching out to her. She began to wonder why the tent seemed so poorly ventilated. It must be the oil lamps. Their fire reminded her of the Trunk-fir
e in Greenlawn Cemetery, and that reminded her of the peace and power she had met there. What was she so charged up about, anyway? She had walked through a burning tree, so what else could happen to her? Why, she wondered, did she have to live life so fiercely?
It was a new question for Simone, who knew herself only slenderly. She did not have to take the trouble to think back over her history to know that she had never once faced a crisis calmly. She had screamed, kicked, and punched her way through life. If she were behaving normally, she would right now be working herself up to punch somebody—probably that Mangar—right in his fat, feline nose. Instead, she suddenly felt ridiculously at peace. If Clay was not here, that would be simply awful, but not unbearably awful. The Fold was under good care and so was her brother, wherever he might be, and so was she.
At last Prince Michael appeared again. This time he came straight to Simone. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Princess. The Emperor will admit you to his presence now. The Vults, however, must remain here.”
“Steady,” Vuzbal whispered to Simone. “Control your temper, Princess.”
She smiled at him and patted his bony, red-veined arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t slap more than three or four of them.”
She stood and found her knees surprisingly weak. Michael offered his arm, and she tottered forward. They passed the curtain. Here were more lampstands, smoke, maps spread out on a table. Silb guards stood to left and right, and just before her was the Mangar.
“Sir Nashpa, your servant,” he introduced himself in his deep, feline voice. “Your pardon for the delay.” He moved aside to make way for her—and there stood the Emperor.
It was not Clay.
A young, bearded sovereign stood behind the table, fair haired but taller than Clay, regally crowned and robed.
“Simone! Am I glad you’re here!” he cried out in English.
Then it was as if her eyes focused. The voice was her brother’s. Clay was behind the beard and robes, his little brother eyes looking out at her beseechingly. He came around the table and took her hands, babbling something about the Dragons and Tsawb.
“Hey there, scudball,” Simone said. “It’s time to go home.”
The Emperor
Part II of The Door in Crow Wood