It was, after all, the day on which Isaiah meant to announce his marriage to Ishbel.
Axis had not seen Ishbel since his return from flushing out the brigands from the eastern mountains. He’d tried to see her, but either she had been asleep, or resting, or bathing with Isaiah in the River Lhyl in the evening (and since when had she started doing that, Axis wondered), or simply not in her apartments when he’d called, so that by now Axis suspected she was avoiding him.
Or perhaps her servants and guards had been well instructed by Isaiah in how to deflect Axis SunSoar should he come to visit.
Well, at least Axis would see Ishbel at the Spectacle, and probably even get the chance to speak with her, as he’d been given to understand he was to sit with Isaiah and Ishbel on their dais.
Despite being worried about Ishbel, Axis was curious about the Spectacle itself. He had gathered, from various conversations with Insharah, Zeboath, and the palace chamberlain, that the Spectacle existed to remind the generals and the governors of the various dependencies who it was controlled the reins of power, to impress various visiting diplomats, nobles, and ambassadors, and to make it perfectly clear to the entire population of Isembaard, via subsequent gossip and reports, the extent of Isaiah’s power and prestige.
Today, Isaiah was using the Spectacle to present his new “conquest,” Ishbel, Queen of Escator, to the Tyranny.
Look what a great and fearsome leader I am, Isaiah would say to his peoples via the Spectacle. I have captured for my own both the northern king’s queen and his heir. The northern kings are weak indeed, and they shall lay down before me, and submit themselves to Isembaard.
The Spectacle was held at midday in what Insharah had somewhat caustically called the sunroom. Insharah had not explained that comment, but its memory was enough to add further fuel to Axis’ already well-developed curiosity about the day’s proceedings. By the time his escort knocked at his chamber door, just before noon, Axis was pacing about in a state of high anticipation.
He’d dressed carefully for the occasion, wearing black leather trousers topped with an airy lawn linen shirt. He’d abandoned the sandals he normally wore in the heat for well-tooled leather boots, topped the shirt with a tightly fitted vest of gold silk, and then carefully trimmed his beard and dressed his hair, clubbing it into a queue at the back of his neck.
Isaiah had sent one of the captains of the Spear to escort him, and they chatted amiably as the captain led Axis higher and higher into the palace.
Finally Axis’ curiosity got the better of him.
“Just where does Isaiah hold his Spectacle?” he asked.
The captain shot him an amused glance as they approached yet another graceful, winding staircase. “In the sunroom, of course.”
“Yes, but where—”
“On the roof, Lord Axis. In the sun.”
A slow smile spread across Axis’ face. He was starting to realize the nature of Isaiah’s Spectacle.
“Should I have brought a broad-brimmed hat?” he said.
The captain laughed. “You shall be among the shaded, Lord Axis. Be grateful.”
The captain finally led Axis into a vast chamber which Axis realized acted as the anteroom for Isaiah’s “sunroom.” It was thronged with people, all of whom glanced every few minutes toward a massive flight of steps that rose to an equally impressive doorway beyond which Axis could see only blinding light.
“We don’t go that way,” the captain murmured to Axis. “Come with me.”
He led Axis around the side of the room, avoiding the throng (almost all of whom glanced away from the flight of steps long enough to look curiously at Axis), through a small doorway and up a flight of stairs much less grand than those in the anteroom. These steps led in turn to a doorway, again much less grand than that which awaited the throng in the anteroom, but leading into the same rectangle of blinding light.
The captain led Axis straight through.
Then stopped, grinning at Axis as he gaped.
The “sunroom” was, to Axis’ eyes, the most spectacular and the most stunningly beautiful chamber he’d ever seen…and Axis had lived to see some amazing buildings and chambers.
The rectangular space covered the entire roof area of the palace—a vast acreage of beauty that was stunning in its simplicity.
There was no roof—the space was entirely open to the vivid blue Isembaardian sky.
The area was floored in a polished stone of a deep emerald hue, glasslike in its sheen. Axis had never seen anything like it: more translucent than marble, it was similarly veined with silver and gold through its emerald depths. Axis could not see a join anywhere—it was as if the entire floor had been laid down in a single piece. Neither could he see anything beneath the translucent stone. It appeared to sink down forever, although Axis knew that was impossible.
“It represents the River Lhyl,” the captain said softly, “the lifeblood of the Tyranny.”
Axis nodded, unable to speak.
He looked up, studying the rest of the space.
Eight rows of columns, fully twenty paces high and five in diameter at the base, arranged in four sets of twinned rows, ran down either side of the central space.
The columns were as remarkable as the floor.
They were composed of what looked like an almost translucent glass. Virtually clear at their base, they gradually became more opaque as they rose to dizzying heights, until, at their summit, where they blossomed into open-petaled water lily flowers, the glass became solid colors of the faintest pinks and blues and greens.
“I have never seen anything so beautiful,” Axis said very softly.
“No one ever has,” said the captain. “One never gets tired of the sight.”
“Did Isaiah build this?”
The captain shook his head. “It was constructed over several generations, I believe, and was only completed during Isaiah’s grandfather’s time. Come. Isaiah is waiting.”
The captain led Axis down the central open space, flanked on either side by the rows of twinned water lily columns.
At the far end of the open space was a shaded pavilion where, Axis could just make out, stood a raised dais.
By the time he and the captain had made the halfway point, Axis was beginning to understand the reason the Isembaardian tyrants had created this particular arena for their Spectacles.
It was damnably hot.
In fact, anyone who had to spend any time at all in this “sunroom”—and that would be most of those who attended the Spectacle, for Axis assumed it would take Isaiah some time to work his way through whatever ceremony he had planned—would be at a disadvantage to Isaiah within a very few minutes. The combined effect of glass floor and columns and the sun made the space a furnace.
There were shaded areas to either side, and Isaiah’s covered pavilion at the head of the space, and Axis thought it would all be reserved for the favored.
Anyone in disfavor, or as yet uncategorized in Isaiah’s list of who he trusted and who not, would be forced to stand in the sun.
Isaiah rose from his throne—made of the same glasslike substance as the floor and columns, but comfortably cushioned—as Axis approached.
Isaiah waved away the captain with a nod of thanks, then gestured to Axis to join him on the dais.
“In the shade, my friend,” he said, with a smile. “What think you?”
Axis shook his head in admiration. “I think you are a cruel man, Isaiah. How many are you to keep waiting in the sun today?”
Isaiah smiled, but did not otherwise respond to the question. He was accoutred in the most magnificent finery Axis had yet seen—jewels of various hues gleamed among his braids and studded the golden collar he wore about his shoulders. Bangles adorned his wrists and ankles, but Isaiah had kept his hipwrap to plain linen, and had no sandals on his feet—to all the more display the wealth of his gems, Axis thought.
He wore no weapon, but hardly needed to: the dais was surrounded on three sides by rows o
f spearmen.
Axis caught sight of Ishbel, sitting on an ornate chair to Isaiah’s right.
She was beautifully gowned, and her hair almost as impressively styled as Isaiah’s, but Axis thought he saw lines of strain about her eyes and mouth, and she barely smiled at his greeting.
“Ishbel?” Axis murmured as he kissed her hand. “How are you?”
“Just a little tired,” she said. “I find it difficult to sleep in this heat.”
“The baby?” Axis said.
She replied only with a slight shrug, and a tightening of the worry lines about her eyes.
“You should not be here,” Axis said, “but in your chamber, resting. Isaiah—”
“No, Axis,” Ishbel said, “I will be well enough, and I have little to do here but sit and nod and smile.”
“And you will nod and smile?”
“I am happy enough, Axis. I like Isaiah, and feel comfortable with him. Maximilian is a long way in my past.”
Axis studied her, wondering. She seemed genuinely relaxed about Isaiah’s announcement of marriage, but she most certainly did not appear well.
“Isaiah,” he said, turning back to the tyrant.
“Later, Axis,” Isaiah said. “This will take little time, and will be no strain on Ishbel. Will you sit now?”
That last was said in a tone that clearly indicated Isaiah was not prepared to receive a negative response, and so, with a further worried glance at Ishbel, and a silent promise to himself to keep an eye on her, Axis took his appointed seat just to one side of Ishbel’s.
Isaiah nodded at him, then returned to his own throne. As soon as he was seated, a haunting melody of horn music filled the air.
Axis was used to blaring trumpet clarions for ceremonial events, but this haunting melody was, to his mind, even more unsettling and unnerving for the participants outside than an overpowering clarion would have been.
The music wound in and out of the columns, skimming over the floor, wafting gently between the assembled dignitaries on the dais and the spearmen standing about it.
It strengthened just a little, and then Axis saw people slowly entering the Spectacle Chamber from the massive rectangular doorway at the head of the flight of steps from the anteroom.
They were guided into the space in no particular order, which Axis thought must have been even more unsettling for them. All had to find their own place.
After a moment’s hesitation and disorientation as they first entered, most headed straight for the shaded areas to either side of the sun-filled columned space.
There awaited a cordon of Isaiah’s aides.
Some, a very few, were allowed through to wait in the pleasant shade, but most were directed back into the sun. The generals and their senior captains arrived, and Axis was glad to see them waved through to the shaded area.
He did not think it would have been a very good idea to keep the generals in the sun.
Gradually the central space filled up, people managing to stand in ordered groups (which groupings themselves revealed alliances and enmities).
Most people had attired themselves in their best raiments, which meant much heavy draping of silks and linens topped with encrusted jewelry. In the heat and the brilliant sun, people became uncomfortable very quickly.
Axis glanced at Isaiah.
He had a tiny smile on his face.
Axis wondered about the wisdom of leaving the participants in such discomfort. They were, after all, important people in their own right, and would not appreciate this obvious manipulation.
But then, perhaps, it was all a part of the game, and the instinctive groupings did, after all, reveal to Isaiah better than anything else where lay loyalties and alliances.
The music increased in intensity for a moment, then faded away to nothing.
The door at the back of the chamber closed.
Isaiah stood.
He did not, as Axis expected, remain in the comfortable shade, but strode to the very front of the dais where lay a belt of savage sun.
It illuminated him—the jewels in his hair, and the golden collar about his shoulders—until his form shimmered.
Axis thought that the assembled throng would either see him as a god, standing there in the light…or as an intensely irritating and manipulative bully.
There was movement to either side, and Axis looked around.
The majority of the spearmen, while leaving a cordon of warriors on the dais, were now moving down the sides of the chamber, ready to act should anyone get too hot-tempered from discomfort.
Isaiah began to speak to the throng. His voice was very strong, and very confident, his body language reflecting all the power and arrogance of his office.
Axis grinned. Isaiah was spinning a fantastic tale about the capture of Ishbel…a tale in which Ba’al’uz did not figure at all.
Isaiah continued with the news that Ishbel was to become his new wife, and was to bear the newly created title of Favored Wife.
Axis glanced at Ishbel at that, and she smiled slightly and rolled her eyes at him, making him grin.
Isaiah continued on, describing Ishbel’s acquisition almost as he would a successful invasion. Maximilian, the Escatorian king, had been “humbled” by the loss of his wife to Isaiah and was now a recluse, unable to act through sheer inadequacy. The Escatorian nation itself was now virtually a satellite to Isembaard and wanted only Isaiah’s imminent invasion to capitulate completely.
Ishbel represented Isaiah’s potency, his might, his success.
Axis sincerely hoped that Maximilian wasn’t going to ride into Aqhat at the head of an avenging army (unlikely, but Axis wasn’t about to discount Maximilian quite as completely as Isaiah appeared to be doing), which event would severely damage Isaiah’s presentation.
Isaiah turned slightly, gesturing to Ishbel to join him.
She rose, hesitated slightly as she got to her feet, then regained her composure and walked forward to Isaiah.
Axis leaned forward in concern. Ishbel did not look well at all.
Isaiah’s eyes crinkled at Ishbel a little—Axis was relieved to see he was laughing at himself—then took her hand, presenting her to the throng.
It was right at that moment that the bowman rose from the center of the gigantic lily flower at the top of the nearest column, and fired the arrow into Isaiah’s chest.
A second’s worth of horror, then Axis moved. He lunged forward, grabbing Isaiah by the arm and pulling him to one side.
He wasn’t fast enough. Just as he grabbed Isaiah’s arm, the arrow thudded into Isaiah’s chest.
The force of the impact sent Isaiah sprawling, knocking Ishbel to the ground as well, and the next moment the chamber was in an uproar.
Axis stumbled, managed to gain his balance, then looked up at the top of the column.
The bowman was standing there in full view, and even from this distance Axis could see the small smile of satisfaction on the man’s face.
But that wasn’t what shocked Axis.
What completely appalled him was that the bowman was an Icarii.
Bingaleal let the bow droop slowly to his hip as he stared into the eyes of the StarMan.
Greetings, Axis SunSoar, he thought, then allowed a small derisive smile to form.
Axis had looked away now, and was kneeling by Isaiah’s blood-covered form, lying partly atop that of the sprawled woman, her face twisting in shock and perhaps some pain. Axis was shouting for help, trying to staunch Isaiah’s bleeding while at the same time trying to take the woman’s hand, as if to comfort her.
Bingaleal didn’t care what Axis tried to do, for whatever it was, it was too late now. Lister’s purpose had been served. He looked at the milling confusion, and at the generals striding forth, waving forward spearmen and archers, calling for ropes so soldiers could scale the column, ordering that should the birdman assassin lift off then he should be feathered out of the air with several score of arrows.
As if I would fly out of her
e, Bingaleal thought. You have not seen my like, although one day we hope to rule over you.
He allowed the bow to drop completely, and he sank to his knees in the great flower that sat atop the column. Ignoring the frenetic activity below him, the spears that rattled every moment or two against the column and occasionally flew in a deadly arc over his flower shelter, Bingaleal curled into a tight ball, wrapping his wings about him entirely.
Within moments ice formed along the ridged outlines of his wings and body. Despite the hot sun, it spread rapidly, so that by the time the soldiers had fetched their ropes and prepared to mount the column, ice entirely encased Bingaleal.
As a noose of rope caught one of the petals, and the more daring among the soldiers began the treacherous ascent of the column, the ice enshrouding Bingaleal’s body clouded over, then became completely opaque.
Then the ice faded. Bingaleal’s body did not shrink, it merely disappeared slowly, until, by the time the first of the soldiers had gripped the outer rim of the flower with his hands and peered cautiously over, there was nothing left but a single tiny snowflake, rising into the streaming sun and vanishing in a breath of air.
The palace was in an uproar, all attention centered on the sunroom, and so no one noticed the thin, tattered figure that tottered into the palace complex from one of the river gates.
Ba’al’uz stopped long enough to drink a great draft from the fountain in the great courtyard, then he made for the doorway that led into the private quarters of the palace. As he drank, an ugly brindle dog crept to his heels, and then followed as Ba’al’uz completed his journey across the courtyard.
When he entered the palace, Ba’al’uz and the dog went entirely unnoticed, encased as they were in Kanubai’s power.
The activity and consternation in the palace meant that one other activity also went unremarked. Atop DarkGlass Mountain, thin rivulets of blood had begun to flow down the glass sides of the pyramid from under its gigantic golden capstone. They trailed to about halfway down the pyramid, then, strangely, veered sideways so that, after some time, the rivulets of blood entirely enclosed the central portion of the pyramid.