Isaiah laughed softly. “Adjutant, then. Yes. That would please me. And, as my adjutant, if you might keep a sword by your hip at all times from this point on, that would also please me.”
“The generals are restless, Isaiah. This campaign needs to go well.”
“Perhaps I should reconsider and give you my entire army to command.”
“Isaiah,” Axis said, hesitantly, “have you considered the possibility of not invading?”
“That is not a possibility.”
“Isaiah—”
“It is not a possibility, Axis.”
Axis held Isaiah’s eyes for a long moment, then he nodded, and left the chamber.
Once Axis had gone Isaiah wasted no time in contacting Lister.
You fool! he hissed, more angry than he had been in countless years. What did you think you were doing, eh? Trying to force my hand? Look what happened! The palace was in uproar, Ishbel was left unprotected, and Ba’al’uz murdered her and Maximilian’s child!
You were not moving fast enough, Lister said. You needed to be pushed. Now you will need to move, if only to keep your throne for the time it takes you to get you and yours into the Outlands. Kanubai has been born. You shall need to leave in the morning.
Isaiah’s temper had quieted, but only to a deeper, colder anger than previously.
You want me to move from Aqhat in the morning—
You need to, Lister said. Kanubai has risen! DarkGlass Mountain writhes! You cannot possibly remain there—
I cannot move, not for ten days or so. If I move in the morning then all will say I am unsettled and frightened, weakened, by the assassination attempt and am fleeing. I’ll be dead by evening by one of the generals’ swords. Then where will our little “invasion” be, eh? I need to be alive and in control to lead this land to safety and, after your little stupidity of today, that means I will need to remain here for a time yet. Kanubai cannot act immediately. Not without the lifeblood of the Skraelings. Where are they?
Still distant. But don’t leave it any longer than two weeks to leave for the north. Please, please, Isaiah, be careful.
Isaiah did not reply for a moment. Gods, the damned, cursed stupidity of Lister!
Have you discovered Maximilian’s whereabouts? Isaiah finally asked.
There has been a rumor that he was seen in the FarReach Mountains. There have been some Icarii closely associated with him hanging about Deepend and transferring supplies south. I think he is in the FarReach Mountains, Isaiah. Perhaps even in Isembaard by now. You need to get out of Aqhat or else Kanubai will have Maximilian to swallow, too!
[ Part Eight ]
CHAPTER ONE
The FarReach Mountains
StarDrifter leaned back against the rock face in the gully Maximilian had decided would shelter them for the night and tried not to sigh too deeply. He felt exhausted, and was both ashamed and concerned by the depth of his fatigue. He’d always been so fit, so strong. To now hardly be able to manage a day’s travel through mountain passes, even if that journeying could be difficult, was humiliating. He had no idea what was wrong with him. He thought he would shout in frustration if he had to brush off yet another murmur of concern from Ravenna or Venetia or Maximilian, and all he ever wanted was to eat—stars, he was so hungry!—and then sleep.
He shifted uncomfortably. He’d neither washed nor changed his clothes in the two weeks they’d been traversing the mountains, and the linen of his shirt was stiff with sweat and dirt and scratched uncomfortably at his back.
He’d managed to pick a damnably lumpy piece of rock to lean against, too. StarDrifter raised himself enough to lean forward a bit, easing his aching back, and glared at the rock. It appeared perfectly smooth, but he knew it contained myriad jagged edges, because, by the gods, they had dug into every plane of his spine.
Salome was sitting a pace or two away. She looked as bad as StarDrifter felt himself, but at least she had her growing baby as an excuse for her weariness.
There was the soft, whispering sound of wings, and StarDrifter looked up.
BroadWing and his companions were landing, laden with bundles of food.
Without the four Icarii, StarDrifter seriously doubted any of them would have managed the mountain traverses. The Icarii scouted ahead for the best route, and they ferried in food from the northern borderlands of the mountains. Their efforts meant those confined to the ground needed to carry much less with them, and could travel faster.
Well, they could have traveled faster had not StarDrifter and Salome held them back.
StarDrifter’s mouth watered, and he tried to avoid looking too desperately at the food bundles. BroadWing and the others did a magnificent job, but it was hard on them. The deeper Maximilian led his party into the mountains, the further they had to fly every few days for food supplies. Maximilian did not want them flying into Isembaard. The Tyranny had no contact with Icarii so far as anyone knew, and Maximilian did not want to put the Icarii into the possibly dangerous position of being mistaken for flying demons and skewered by a terrified peasant or guardsman.
“StarDrifter,” said BroadWing, handing the bundle he carried to Venetia. “You look—”
StarDrifter waved away the query. “I am well enough, BroadWing. Just a little tired.”
BroadWing did not need to say anything—the expression on his face registered his concern well enough.
“We’ll be out of these mountains within two or three days,” Maximilian said. He’d built a fire, using pieces of the coarse heather that dotted the more sheltered parts of the mountain passes. The heather smoked horribly, but it burned, and it produced heat, and for that everyone was grateful.
Maximilian looked at StarDrifter as he spoke, and StarDrifter realized there was a connection he should be making…some decision he should be announcing. He tried to marshal his thoughts…oh, yes…
“It will soon be time for you to leave us, BroadWing,” StarDrifter said, smiling for the man. “Head back into the safety of the north.”
“Hardly ‘safety,’” BroadWing muttered, sitting down beside StarDrifter. During their trips back to buy food, the Icarii had heard snatches of gossip about the escalating wars between the Central Kingdoms. The Outlands had invaded Pelemere, the fighting stretching to the borders of Kyros. Maximilian was desperately worried about Escator. Although he barely spoke of it, the others could see his concern in the tightness about his eyes and mouth every time the Icarii came back with more news.
They were not to know Maximilian also knew of the birth of Kanubai, and lay awake many nights, going through the Twisted Tower, trying to guess what objects might fill the empty spots, and what they might mean.
“But you will go,” StarDrifter said. Since his somewhat reluctant acceptance of the title of Talon, the Icarii scouts had looked to him, rather than Maximilian, for direction. StarDrifter had initially found that difficult—the years spent as a bitter exile at the Corolean court had undermined his prior easy acceptance of his status within Icarii society—but very gradually princely command had returned, and the Icarii’s deference felt less strange.
“Yes, we will go,” BroadWing said. His mouth crooked. “We will stand out a little too much, I think, for an easy passage in Isembaard. We will go back to Kyros, or perhaps even Pelemere, and wait for you there. Stars alone knows where you will come out of these mountains again, once you have rescued Ishbel.”
“BroadWing,” Maximilian said, leaning forward slightly, “if there are any troubles—”
“Then we will let you know,” BroadWing said. “Somehow.”
Maximilian nodded, leaning back. It was the best he could hope for.
Venetia and Serge prepared a meal while everyone sat watching and unspeaking, lost in their thoughts.
The traverse through the mountains had been difficult and wearying for everyone, not just StarDrifter and Salome, but it had not been fraught with too many hardships. The mountains were traversable, it was just that people without benefit o
f winged companions who could scout ahead for the best and most direct routes, or who could also fetch and carry for them, tended to lose themselves within the ten thousand gullies and valleys between the peaks and starve before they ever managed to find their way out. The FarReach Mountains were a maze of blind gullies and valleys, difficult to move through and impossible to climb out of.
Without the Icarii, Maximilian was sure they would have found the journey almost impossible.
He finished his meal, once again grateful to the Icarii for their help, and studied Salome and StarDrifter.
They looked terrible. Both appeared to have lost weight (although that was difficult to gauge, given their bulky warm clothing), their faces were pale, and smudged under their eyes were deep circles of weariness.
What was wrong with them?
“Salome,” Maximilian said, “I want Venetia to have a look at you and StarDrifter. We need to know what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong,” both said together, glanced at each other, then as quickly looked away again.
They had largely traveled as a pair, StarDrifter staying close to Salome and helping her if she needed. At night they bundled down very close. They did not argue, nor express any particular emotion toward the other. In fact, they barely passed a word between them. Maximilian did not know if that was merely a by-product of their exhaustion, or if they had arrived at some silent companionship that was not friendship, but a resigned acknowledgment of their ties.
Personally, Maximilian thought it was likely a combination of both.
“Look, Maxel,” StarDrifter said, “I don’t think anything is—”
“If Venetia could look at my back, I’d be grateful,” Salome put in. “The past few days it has been so sore…perhaps I have pulled a ligament.”
“Then a rub may help it,” Venetia said, moving over to Salome’s side. She tried to aid Salome in removing her jacket, vest, and shirt while preserving the woman’s modesty, but, irritable, Salome shrugged off her attempts to cover her chest.
“I doubt anyone here has not seen a pair of breasts before,” she snapped, and StarDrifter smiled. If Venetia had seen Salome parading about in her completely transparent finery in Coroleas then she would not have worried about preserving the woman’s “modesty.”
Salome shot StarDrifter an irritated look, and he managed to suppress the smile.
Venetia ran her hands over Salome’s back, frowning. “There’s something wrong with your back,” she said. “I don’t know…Ravenna?”
Her daughter moved over, frowning as well once she saw Salome’s back.
“Perhaps it is an infection,” Venetia said.
“Venetia?” Maximilian said. “What is it?”
“I don’t think it is an infection,” Ravenna said quietly. “BroadWing, can you…?”
He came over, and leaned down for a look.
“Stars!” he exclaimed, and almost fell over as he stumbled back a pace. “I cannot believe it!”
“What is it?” Maximilian said.
BroadWing did not answer him. Instead he looked to StarDrifter. “StarDrifter…is your back troubling you?”
“Yes, but it is just weariness, perhaps, and—”
“StarDrifter,” said BroadWing, “please have a look at Salome’s back.”
“Oh, for all the gods’ sakes,” snapped Salome, as StarDrifter sighed and rose. “Just give it a rub, Venetia, and let me be. I wish I’d never asked you to look at it.”
“Oh, dear gods,” StarDrifter whispered, also taking a step back as he saw Salome’s back.
“What is—” Maximilian began, then stopped, astounded, as StarDrifter literally ripped his upper clothes off.
He had never seen such a look of sheer desperation on anyone’s face before.
The other Icarii had rushed over by now, and the four of them were standing back, looking between Salome and StarDrifter with expressions that ranged from the incredulous to the awestruck.
“BroadWing,” StarDrifter said, his voice tight. “Is…is…”
BroadWing was looking at StarDrifter’s back, then laid a hand softly on it.
“Yes,” he said, and StarDrifter moaned, and sank to his knees, his face in his hands.
“Will someone tell me what is going on!” Maximilian snarled, now also on his feet, and looking between Salome’s and StarDrifter’s backs.
They did look inflamed, and curiously lumpy, as if something had burrowed under the skin on either side of their spines.
Suddenly Maximilian knew what was happening, and did not need Broad-Wing’s quietly spoken confirmation.
“They are regrowing their wings,” he said.
“That’s impossible,” Ravenna said. “I thought you’d both had everything removed…wings…their roots…everything.”
“I don’t…I can’t…” StarDrifter said, looking up at everyone standing about, tears staining his face. “I can’t explain…oh, gods, thank you, thank you, thank you!”
BroadWing was weeping as well, and he squatted down by StarDrifter and hugged the man.
“Wings?” said Salome. “I don’t want wings!”
“Nonetheless,” said SongFlight, one of BroadWing’s companions, “you shall have them soon enough. See, Maximilian, the wings are forming on either side of their spines, under the skin.” Her hand traced down Salome’s back, outlining the nascent wings. “They will break through within a few weeks, and grow from there.”
“No wonder you both have been so exhausted, and so hungry,” said BroadWing. “Your bodies have been putting most of your energy into the development of the wings.”
“And Salome’s baby?” said StarDrifter, on his feet again. He’d regained some of his composure, and for the first time since he’d met him, Maximilian had a glimpse of the sheer charismatic power of the man.
“Well,” said Venetia, “once all the gentlemen here can give us a little privacy, and Salome and I might manage a bit of peace, perhaps I can answer that for you.”
“The baby grows well enough,” said Salome. “It—”
“He,” said StarDrifter.
“—has been moving and wriggling for all he is worth. I doubt he’s much fussed about the wings.” She paused, looking at StarDrifter as if it was his fault. “I really don’t want wings.”
StarDrifter laughed, the sound one of pure joy. “Welcome to your full heritage, Salome. Welcome to the wonder of Icarii life.”
Maximilian smiled, enjoying StarDrifter’s happiness.
Then he glanced over to his spot by the fire. For a moment he’d been sure he’d heard the Weeper laughing softly.
CHAPTER TWO
The Palace of Aqhat, Tyranny of Isembaard
Ishbel sat by one of the open windows in her chamber, enjoying the peace and beauty of the night. A breeze wafted in, rippling her lawn nightgown and the hair she’d left loose about her shoulders. The warm air was scented with a hint of faraway spices, and the sound of frogs, and of children playing somewhere, could be heard from the riverbanks.
The river had come to mean so much to her.
From the day after the birth, and murder, of her baby, Isaiah had been taking her down to the river to bathe. For the first three evenings they did this, Ishbel could only sit in the water and weep. Isaiah said nothing, but he would wash her down with gentle hands, and massage her scalp, and soothe her misery. During the day there was always hustle and bustle, people moving and shouting, soldiers and horses milling as Isaiah pushed forward his invasion, but at dusk, everything would quiet, and Isaiah would come for Ishbel, and walk her down to the Lhyl.
There she bathed, and passed some brief and gentle conversations with Isaiah, and healed. Ishbel decided the waters of the Lhyl must hold some magical properties, because their gentle lapping had healed both her body and spirit from the travail and loss of her daughter.
She no longer wept, and every day she waited for the dusk, when Isaiah would come.
Memories of her previous life, more
than ever now the baby was gone, slipped further and further away with each day’s ending. She never thought of the Great Serpent or her former life in the Coil. She no longer harbored any ambition to return to Serpent’s Nest. Only two weeks had gone by since that terrible night when Ba’al’uz had killed her daughter—and attempted her murder as well—but even that shocking night seemed to be a long-ago dream.
She did think of Maximilian. Not an hour of any day passed that she did not find her mind returning to him. Ishbel did not like this, for thoughts of Maximilian brought such a confusing welter of emotions to the surface that she did not think she could bear it. Prime among these emotions was guilt at the loss of the baby, but there was also a regret that was so sharp it may as well have been a dagger for the degree of pain it caused, and an anger at him for turning such a cold back to her, and an anger at herself for not being honest with him.
She wanted desperately to forget him, and buried herself in Isaiah as a means by which to accomplish this. Isaiah offered her nothing but comfort, and Ishbel needed comfort so badly…
Ishbel sighed, wondering where Isaiah was. Preparations for invasion were almost complete. Tomorrow they would leave for Sakkuth, where Isaiah’s main army gathered. Ishbel would go with him. Ishbel was ambivalent about returning to the north at the head of an invading army, but she did not wish to be separated from Isaiah, and she could not bear to be left behind at Aqhat, with that pyramid—she glanced in the direction of DarkGlass Mountain—looming over her.
DarkGlass Mountain now exuded a clear and malevolent threat. It was not only she who could feel it, or Isaiah, but everyone. Servants went about their appointed tasks, abnormally quiet, eyes glancing every now and then in the pyramid’s direction.
The days seemed somehow darker, and colder.
There was something so ominous, so malignant, about DarkGlass Mountain, that Ishbel felt as if it snatched her very life from her body every time she glanced at it. She tried not to think about what Isaiah had shown her crawling up from the abyss below, nor about how the pyramid seemed to hate her very personally.