In the third week after the marriage, Garth Baxtor returned to Sirus’ court. Ishbel learned of his return only when Garth appeared in her and Maximilian’s chamber late one afternoon, when she was spending an hour or so alone before dressing for the evening dinner at court. He’d knocked at the door and Ishbel, expecting a servant with her bathwater, bid him enter.
“My lady,” Garth said, bowing slightly as he paused inside the door, “I’ve startled you. I apologize.”
“You’re forever apologizing to me,” Ishbel said.
“I have that habit with the ladies.” Garth walked farther into the chamber. Ishbel was sitting with her back to the light, and he found it difficult to see her well.
“You had an enjoyable and profitable visit with your fellow physicians?” Ishbel said.
“Yes.” Garth had advanced enough now to see her face more clearly. There were bright spots of color in her cheeks, and he wondered if she was embarrassed, or perhaps even shy in his presence. “It is always good to meet with others of my profession, and exchange ideas and experiences.”
She smiled, a little distantly, clearly uncomfortable.
“My lady, Maxel suggested I come to see you. He said you have little idea as to what to expect with your pregnancy—and may I congratulate you on that, by the way, you must be thrilled—”
Ishbel’s smile lost what little warmth it had.
“—and Maximilian thought I may be able to answer any questions you might have.” Garth paused. “May I…” He gestured to the chair next to Ishbel’s.
“As you wish.”
That wasn’t precisely a ringing invitation, but Garth sat down anyway.
“We got off to a poor start, my lady,” he began. “I would do anything for Maximilian, and now I will do anything for his wife.” He smiled a little. “He is besotted with you, my lady. I never thought to see the day.”
Ishbel relaxed, her smile more genuine now, and for a few minutes they chatted about her pregnancy, what she might expect over the next few months, how she should eat, what precautions in her daily life she should take. Ishbel was guarded with him, but at least she was talking.
“I had never thought to be pregnant,” she said, laying a hand over her belly. “I can still barely comprehend it.”
Garth thought that a little strange. All other women he’d ever known had lived with the possibility of a pregnancy during a marriage, whether or not they desired a baby. Surely she must have given this some thought on her way to meet Maximilian?
“Perhaps I can set your mind to rest about the baby’s health,” Garth said, stretching out his hand to her arm. “And yours, as well.”
“Don’t touch me!”
Garth reeled back, stunned by the vehemence in her voice and face.
Whatever familiarity that had been between them had now vanished completely.
“It is a great intrusion,” Ishbel said, her voice very cool, “that ‘touch’ of yours. Surely you ask permission of people before you scry out their innermost secrets?”
Garth sat back in his chair. “You’re right. I should ask.” Damn it, he was going to have to apologize again. “I apologize.”
“Don’t do it again, Master Baxtor. I do not like it. It is a vast invasion of any person’s privacy, and look what a disaster you made of it.”
“My lady—”
“You assumed all manner of things of me, and none of them correct. A harlot? A slut? Is that what you called me to my husband?”
Garth wished the floor would open up and swallow him. He couldn’t believe Maximilian had repeated the conversation to Ishbel. He was angry, partly with Maximilian, but mostly with himself.
He was also curious as to what Ishbel had to hide. All this prattle of intrusion and privacy was surely nothing but a defensive screen for a secret.
“My lady,” he said, rising, “I will not presume again.”
Then, because he was sick of apologizing, Garth turned on his heel and left the chamber.
Garth and Egalion met privately with Maximilian after evening court. Ishbel had retired early, and Maximilian invited his two friends for a supper drink in a private chamber of the palace.
They talked for some time about the escalating crisis between Pelemere, Hosea, and the Outlands. Maximilian, as Egalion and Garth, could not understand how the misunderstanding—as it must be—could have happened.
“Could it have been someone pretending to be Allemorte?” Egalion said.
Maximilian gave a shake of his head. “According to the Outlands Council, they have obtained official likenesses of Allemorte, and Evenor’s guards have identified him as the man they saw standing over their master’s body.”
“But how can that be?” said Garth. “Most of the court here at Pelemere can swear to Allemorte’s presence every day for the past months. He cannot have gone to the Outlands.”
Maximilian shrugged. “Perhaps the Outlanders are lying.”
“Best not to say that within hearing of your lady wife,” Garth muttered. Then, at Maximilian’s look, “Maxel, I’m sorry, but I can’t believe you told her what I’d said about her the day I first met her.”
“She asked,” Maximilian said, “I told her. I will keep no secrets from her.”
Garth bit down irritation and, he was appalled to discover, just a little jealousy. He and Maximilian had been close ever since Garth had been instrumental in rescuing Maximilian from beyond the hanging wall, and Garth was now finding it difficult to consider the possibility that Maximilian might put a wife first.
This, of course, was precisely what Maximilian should do, and Garth felt he would have accepted it for any wife…but not Ishbel Brunelle.
“I don’t like her,” Garth said. “She’s not…likeable.”
Maximilian shrugged. “She has lived an isolated existence. She is not always good with people.”
“I don’t understand,” said Egalion, “why you needed to rush into marriage with her. I don’t like her either, I’m sorry. There is something hidden about her, something secretive. Something bleak. And her association with the Coil…Maximilian, I am sorry, but I find her a poor queen for such as you.” He paused. “Why the rush, Maximilian? For all the gods’ sakes, Escator can’t be in such bad straits that you need money that badly.”
Maximilian took a long time in answering.
“There are some things I cannot tell you,” he said eventually, very slowly, “but I do owe you some explanation.”
He paused again, drinking his wine.
“As you know, I managed to see Ishbel before my ‘official’ arrival in Pelemere. I watched her for an hour or two, unknown to her, and I liked what I saw.”
“She is very lovely,” Egalion offered.
“Aye, she is very lovely,” Maximilian said, “but that was not the reason I liked her so greatly. She is…quiet. I thought I might find her peaceful to be about.”
“There are many ‘quiet’ women about, Maximilian,” said Garth.
“Who are prepared to marry me?” said Maximilian. “With such a large dowry at their heels? But there’s something else. We talked, she didn’t like me—for which I am not surprised, as I spied on her most intimate moments—and I discovered something.”
Again a long pause, and again Egalion and Garth waited patiently.
“The Persimius family,” Maximilian said, “is a very ancient family. We go back a long way.”
Yet another lengthy silence as Maximilian struggled within himself.
“Ah,” Maximilian said, “all I can say is that when I touched her for the first time, when I laid my hand to her skin, I knew that I had to have her as my wife, beyond any shadow of a doubt. She and I are meant for each other.”
He gave a small, sad smile. “I know that—even if she refuses to believe it, and even though you doubt it—and for the moment that will need to be enough.”
Ba’al’uz and his Eight were well on their way to Pelemere. They assumed the guise of traveling peddlers, and no one
bothered them overmuch. It was spring, and the nights were either warm and damp, or crisp and cold, but they spent those nights camped out under canvas and blankets rather than in wayside inns.
They preferred it that way.
Kanubai was somehow clearer under the night sky.
He whispered into all of their minds, his words more lucid and purposeful with each passing day.
It became obvious that Kanubai regarded this Ishbel Brunelle with absolute loathing. His words about her were wrapped with the twin concepts of anger and sacrifice. It was plain to Ba’al’uz that Ishbel needed to die. Not only would this death please Kanubai’s obvious wish for a sacrifice, but it also fitted neatly into Ba’al’uz’ mission for Isaiah and Lister—to create chaos and confusion and enough angst to spark war between the kingdoms. What could be better than to murder the new bride of Escator while she was a guest at Pelemere?
Between his whispered loathings of Ishbel, Kanubai whispered of other things to Ba’al’uz. He talked more of the object that Ba’al’uz needed to obtain for Kanubai. This object was called the Weeper, and it rested over the sea in Coroleas. Ba’al’uz understood that Kanubai wished for the Weeper more than anything else (although Ba’al’uz thought Ishbel’s sacrifice came a very close second).
Kanubai told Ba’al’uz that if he achieved both sacrifice and retrieval of the Weeper for Kanubai, Ba’al’uz would be rewarded with sovereignty over all the lands of this continent, and all its peoples would be his to order as he willed.
Just two things for me, Kanubai whispered over and over into Ba’al’uz’ mind, sacrifice and the Weeper…sacrifice and the Weeper.
Easy, thought Ba’al’uz.
CHAPTER NINE
Palace of Aqhat, Tyranny of Isembaard
One morning Isaiah sent an invitation to Axis to join him in weapons practice.
As tyrant, Isaiah’s reputation, his very tyranny, rose or fell on his success as a war leader. Already consumed with curiosity about Isaiah’s competence as a military commander (he could find no one to ask about the mysterious failed campaign against the Eastern Independencies), Axis thought that at least in weapons practice he might learn more about Isaiah the warrior.
Axis was also glad of the invitation as a means to burn off his excess energy. When a young man, Axis had been devoted to war and military pursuits—and it was something he had missed desperately as one of the Star Gods. He hoped that he hadn’t lost too much fitness since last he had trained seriously at war.
Axis had thought that Isaiah would hold weapons practice in the cool of the early morning…but, no. Their first session was held in the late morning, when the sun was already high and blazing.
Isaiah saw Axis’ concerned glance at the sky as they entered the practice field.
“Too hot for you, my friend?” he asked.
Axis looked at him. Isaiah was dressed only in a hipwrap and sandals. He wore no jewelry, and the myriad tiny braids of his black hair were bound at the nape of his neck. He looked very fit, very strong, very comfortable in the heat, and was obviously amused at Axis’ discomfort.
“I am surprised only,” Axis said, taking the sword the weapons master handed him, “that you use the midday heat to acclimate yourself for a war that will most likely be fought in the driving snow.”
Isaiah laughed, choosing a sword from the three the weapons master offered him. “When we have snow, Axis, then we shall fight in it. But for the moment I am at liberty to test you in whatever manner I choose.”
“I did not realize this was a test.”
“Then you are more out of practice than I realized,” Isaiah said softly. “I need to know your skills, Axis.”
The next instant the blade of his sword sliced through the air at Axis’ neck.
Axis barely parried Isaiah’s move, and then barely had time to recover from that before having to counter the next strike. Not only was Isaiah much faster and fitter than Axis (a sudden, galling realization), but Axis was unused to the type of sword with which they fought. The swords Axis had used in Tencendor had been straight and, to Axis’ mind, well weighted, but the Isembaardian sword was curved, almost a scimitar, and Axis found it too light. He was constantly overcompensating, once or twice almost overbalancing, and Isaiah kept him permanently on the defensive.
Several guardsmen had gathered with the weapons master, witnesses to his humiliation.
“I had thought,” Isaiah said effortlessly, now beating Axis back toward the compound wall, “that you’d be a better opponent than this. Perhaps the legends of your prowess were just that. Legends.”
Axis knew he was being deliberately taunted, but he couldn’t help a sudden spurt of anger. How could he have allowed himself to be put in this position? He summoned every remaining scrap of strength he had, trying to take the offensive rather than the defensive, but just when he thought he might have a tiny opening, sweat ran into his eyes and blinded him, and he thrust into thin air.
“We shall stop, I think,” Isaiah’s soft voice said to one side, and Axis wiped the sweat from his eyes, trying not to let his arms tremble as he lowered his sword.
Isaiah leaned forward, took Axis’ sword, then tossed both swords to the weapons master.
“Come,” he said, turning on his heel and striding away, and Axis had no choice but to mutter a curse and stumble after him.
There was a groom standing with two horses directly outside the weapons compound. The horses wore bridles only, no saddles, and Isaiah took the reins of the nearest horse and swung effortlessly onto its back.
Axis sent him a baleful glance (this was planned, surely) and managed, just, to order his still-trembling muscles to swing him up onto the other horse without landing in a pitiful dusty heap on the other side.
Isaiah grinned, easily and with no mockery. “I think you need to cool off,” he said, and kicked his horse forward.
They rode out of the palace, through the outer gardens, then down to the River Lhyl, Axis keeping his horse very slightly behind that of Isaiah’s.
It was only as they approached the water that Isaiah spoke again. “Death does little for a man’s fitness, eh, Axis?”
Axis couldn’t help a chuckle. “Would you believe me if I said that in my prime I could have sliced you off at the ankles?”
“No. But I’ll grant you a nick or two.”
“I need practice. I have lost my battle fitness.” Axis hesitated. “Isaiah, can I—”
“Either I or my weapons master will partner you each day,” Isaiah said, anticipating Axis’ question. He looked at Axis directly. “I trust you with a sword, Axis, and I trust you with my life. If I have kept you somewhat hobbled to this date, then that was because of Ba’al’uz. I did not trust him with you. Now that he is gone…you are a free man.”
Axis wondered if Isaiah was a trifle overobsessive about Ba’al’uz, or if the man was truly that dangerous. For the moment he let it go, however.
“You’re very good, Isaiah. Who trained you?”
The horses were at the river edge now, and Isaiah nudged his into the water, motioning Axis to follow.
“All my father’s sons were trained by his war master,” Isaiah said, his horse now swimming out into the gentle current. He held the reins in one hand, and twisted the fingers of that hand into its mane to give himself some purchase before turning slightly to look at Axis. “Do you know how I came to the Tyranny?”
“Yes. Ba’al’uz told me. Isaiah, I can hardly believe that man is your brother.”
“He has all of my father’s worst qualities,” Isaiah said, “and that compounded by madness.”
“Do you think he is really mad, or just—”
“Sly? Cunning? Treacherous? Yes to all those, but I believe he is crazed as well. Perhaps not originally. When he was young he pretended madness.” Isaiah looked ahead. “Now he worships this great pyramid, adores it as some might a lover. It has inspired madness in him, I think. Real madness.”
“Ah,” said Axis. “We’r
e riding to DarkGlass Mountain, aren’t we?”
“Indeed. I need to know what you think of it, Axis.”
“Isaiah—”
“Leave your questions until later. Until afterward. Then I will talk.”
Axis realized suddenly that Isaiah was apprehensive and he lifted his head and looked south to where DarkGlass Mountain loomed, brilliant in the sunshine. He had been curious about the pyramid ever since he’d arrived.
Now, perhaps, he would learn more about it.
Neither man looked back to the eastern bank of the river, where a brindle dog stood, half concealed by reeds, watching them with black, unnatural eyes.
From the far riverbank they turned their horses southeast, riding for perhaps an hour down a road that followed the course of the river. To their left, deep reed banks waved in the light breeze; to their right, flat grain fields stretched for miles, their borders marked by irrigation channels and pathways. Axis wondered a little that Isaiah would so happily ride unarmed through the countryside, then, after a quarter hour or so, he realized that they were utterly alone in the landscape.
Isaiah must have ordered the fields emptied earlier in the day.
It was now very hot, and even though there was a cooling river breeze, Axis was sweating in the blazing sun. He wore no shirt, and he could feel the sun burning his shoulders and back.
For a moment he was almost overwhelmed with a pang of nostalgia for the cooler climate of Tencendor.
They rounded a bend in the road and suddenly the thick reed banks came to an end. A massive stone wharf had been built into the riverbank: from this wharf a stone causeway moved in a direct line toward DarkGlass Mountain, rising almost a mile away in the desert plains.
Isaiah looked at Axis, and smiled a little at the expression on his face.
“This is the Great Processional Way,” Isaiah said as they turned their horses onto the causeway for DarkGlass Mountain. “When the river is at its peak, the land to either side is flooded, and it is as if one rides across water to reach DarkGlass Mountain.”