“May good luck attend all of our endeavors,” the Eternal Princess Raviya said in a soft voice. “Come along, boys.” She set off in the direction of the gatehouse with the three officials trailing after.
Old Prince Widd kissed Anigel lightly on the cheek and also ambled away, singing a sea chantey of the Engi Isles while the wine bottles in his arms clinked an accompaniment.
“Ready?” Jiri said to Anigel.
“Take my hand,” the younger queen commanded. With the other, she held tight to the amulet, speaking aloud to it. “Black Trillium, do again as you did in my youth, when you saved me from doom. Conceal me from the sight of all persons.”
The Queen of Galanar gave a great start. Suddenly it seemed that she stood alone in the tall doorway.
Except there was a warm hand in hers.
“Now it really begins,” said a voice from the air. Jiri felt herself drawn forward, and began to descend the dungeon stairs.
18
“You were wise,” said Jiri to her invisible companion, as they moved down into the bowels of the castle, “not to trust Hakit Botal or the Duumviri too far. My three sons-in-law are competent rulers, but they are also thoroughgoing pragmatists who would ally with the Frost Demons of the Sempiternal Icecap if they thought they could preserve the commercial prosperity of Imlit and Okamis by so doing.”
“I know,” said Anigel. “That’s why I had Raviya accompany them in spying out the gate: to minimize the temptation for a last-minute betrayal.”
“Oh, they want to escape as badly as we do, sweeting. But they’re afraid for their skins. We royals are beloved by the people of our countries. I know that my own subjects would stop at nothing to get me back alive and in one piece, and I’m sure that your people feel the same. But elected officials command no such devotion. Poor things! They are quite replaceable, as one griss egg may substitute in a cake recipe for another accidentally broken. In the case of Hakit Botal, many citizens of his country would dance in the streets if they knew he had been kidnapped.”
“Surely not! National pride, if nothing else, would deter them.”
“Well, perhaps.” Jiri’s eyes had a gleam of insidious humor. “Still, a pompous woth like Hakit must be galled to the tripes at having to rely for rescue upon a woman. Even one so intrepid as yourself.”
There was a low laugh. “He should meet my two sisters! I am the least formidable Petal of the Living Trillium, and by no means as bold as I may seem. I will need to lean heavily upon you in this venture, Jiri. You are the one having a truly valiant character.”
“Tosh,” scoffed the Queen of Galanar.
The voice coming out of the air was heavy with portent. “My magic may get us through the castle gate, but it is still a long way to Brandoba—as dear old Raviya pointed out. While we are bound to harm no person while we are within the castle, the oath does not hold true once we are outside and fleeing for our lives. Once, long ago, I killed a man. Nevertheless, I know I could not now bring myself to inflict grievous harm upon a human being, even if we are attacked by pursuers. And yet there may be no alternative to fighting if this escape attempt of ours is to succeed.”
Jiri squeezed her companion’s unseen hand. “Leave all that to me and the others.”
Moving swiftly and silently, the two women came to the foot of the steps, where there was a kind of vestibule. On one side was a rusty portal labeled ARMORY, and on the other a gate of iron bars that shut off the passageway leading to the prison cells and the gaolers’ watchroom.
“Let’s take a peek inside the armory,” Jiri suggested. “There may be some weapons we can use later.”
At the touch of Anigel’s amber, the door swung inward upon a pitch-black interior. The queens hastened through and shut the door behind them. Immediately Anigel became visible, with the amulet around her neck shining so brightly that the place was lit up as clearly as in daylight. There was not much to be seen within the dank stone chamber, which was festooned in its upper reaches with dusty lingit webs. The army of Orogastus had obviously taken the best of the swords, halberds, and maces, leaving behind dulled and notched blades, overly heavy poleaxes, and spears with crooked shafts. Numbers of open wooden chests contained a few smaller implements of battle, as well as dented helmets and shirts and vests of tattered chain mail. There were none of the wondrous ancient weapons of the Vanished Ones that Haramis had mentioned.
Anigel said, “Do you see anything that you or the others might make use of?”
Queen Jiri was delving in one of the chests. “Well, I’m no warrior. My dear late husband, Collo, took care of that sort of thing when Sobranian tribal kings made occasional forays against the western marches of Galanar. But this might eventually come in handy, and I can tuck it away easily enough.”
She held up a simple instrument that consisted of a wooden handle, attached by a chain to a short, thick rod of steel.
“A war flail. When I was a girl, I’d often help with the threshing at the royal farmstead where we took our holidays and grew special delicacies for the high table. I used a thing similar to this, but much less lethal, to beat the grain from the chaff.” She smiled grimly. “I could swat a stinging bot on the wing in those days, or flick a single petal from a meadowsweet. Mayhap I haven’t lost the knack.”
Anigel repressed a shiver. “Remember our oath to do no harm within the castle.”
“An oath extracted under duress is nonbinding. Any hedge-lawyer knows as much.” She tucked the flail into a pocket of her gown.
“Please! We must perform this feat without violence! I cannot forswear my Black Trillium!”
Jiri sighed. “Oh, very well.”
“I will need your help now to dress,” Anigel said. “I have decided not to use our veils in the deception after all, but rather some of this gear instead. It will be more effective.”
Jiri chuckled. “Yes. I think you are right. Are there any other changes of plan?”
Anigel shook her head. “Just put on a good performance when you reach the guardroom, laying the groundwork for my grand entrance.”
The three gaolers sat at a rough table, finishing their supper of bread, cheese, and beer. The occupants of the cells were quiet for the nonce as they consumed their more meager fare. Only a small number of prisoners remained, now that most of the exalted hostages had been set free.
“I almost miss them,” said the burly sergeant, whose name was Vann. “It’s going to be damned dull down here without them.”
“You’ll miss that fat Queen of Galanar, for sure,” sneered one of the guards, a wiry man with a grotesquely scarred face, who was missing one ear.
“Shut your trap, Ulo,” the sergeant growled, “if you know what’s good for you.”
“The whole watch knows you were cozying up to her,” the third guard said, wiping beer suds from his mustache. He was at least sixty years old, but still fairly sturdy. “And not just because she was a vision of beauty, eh?” He sniggered and his mate joined in.
Vann slammed his fist down onto the table. “Belt up, damn you!”
“Or what?” Ulo inquired insolently. “You’ll punch our noses? Kobit’s right: You were taking bribes from Queen Jiri. Telling her Matuta knows what secrets, in exchange for her jewels. That’s treason, that is. Lay a finger on either of us and we’ll have a word with the two Star Men upstairs.”
“You can’t prove a thing,” Vann blustered. “And if you try—”
“Hsst!” The guard named Kobit started up from his stool, eyes wide. “You hear that?”
Vann rose and stumped to the door of the guardroom. One of his legs was gone just below the hip, replaced by a carven peg. “Merciful Mother Matuta!” he exclaimed, then fell back in astonishment. “It’s herself!”
Queen Jiri of Galanar, magnificent in purple velvet, a white silk veil, and a diadem of enameled leaves and flowers, came into the chamber smiling. “Good evening, men.”
The gaolers mumbled a response, touching their foreheads. Vann addressed t
he royal visitor with some anxiety. “Madam, you aren’t supposed to be down here.”
“No?” Queen Jiri seemed surprised. “But the doors were all open and unguarded, and so I thought to—”
“The doors open?” Vann exclaimed. “But that’s impossible!”
“The duty roster’s thin,” Ulo observed with a smirk. “Most of the able-bodied marched off with the Master and his wizard crew.”
“I only wish to say a few words of comfort to King Ledavardis,” Jiri said in a soothing tone. “He was treated most brutally this afternoon by the Star Woman Naelore. Surely, Sergeant, there is no harm in that.” She feigned an adjustment of her veil, and the ruby ring on her finger gleamed in the torchlight.
“Well …”
The Queen touched Vann’s arm. “Do come with me, if you wish. I must say that the shadows seem especially ominous this night. My courage nearly failed me as I descended the dungeon stairs. As I rounded each turn of the spiral, it seemed as though some half-visible phantasm preceded me.” She gave a trill of nervous laughter. “Perhaps it was one of the ghosts said to haunt this great pile.” She went off down the corridor leading to the windowless cells, and Vann followed.
“See that ruby?” Ulo remarked sourly. “What’ll you wager that—”
Kobit cocked his head. “Listen.” His voice was urgent. Both men stood at the watchroom door, looking in the opposite direction from that taken by Vann and the Queen.
The torches lining the long corridor to the stairs were winking out, one by one, beginning with those farthest away. From the darkened area came a sound of hoarse breathing mingled with moans of pain.
Ulo’s hand went to his sword. “What the hell?”
A spectral wail echoed from the stone walls just as the last flambeau was extinguished. Then all was silence. The only illumination came from the flickering cresset in the watchroom and another hanging at the entry to the cellblock fifteen ells away.
“Matuta’s Tears!” Kobit croaked. “Look there.”
Standing in the black shadows was an improbable figure. It wore a ragged, short-sleeved mail hauberk, an old-fashioned pot helmet, armored gauntlets, and shin-greaves. But these appeared unsupported by human flesh or bone, and were visible only because of the dim golden glow coming from within the mail shirt, where a heart would have been. The apparition held high an ancient rusty sword.
“Woe!” it cried in a shrill, raspy voice. “Woe to those who dwell in this accursed castle! For they shall soon be as dead as I am.”
The ghost doffed its helm, and there was no head beneath. It began to stride toward the frozen guards.
Ulo and Kobit howled in unison and fled toward the dungeon cells, their own weapons forgotten.
Once he had the ruby ring stowed safely in his belt pouch, Sergeant Vann took his ease at the far end of the murky cell-block, where a lantern hung above a stone bench. Queen Jiri had purchased complete privacy for her conversation with the hunchbacked young King of the Pirates.
“Ledo, dear,” she whispered urgently. “Prepare yourself. We have come to set you free. When your door opens, come out at once. There are three guards, and we may need your help to push them into the empty cells.”
King Ledavardis, his good eye agleam and the other still hidden beneath a stained bandage, mouthed a joyous oath. No sooner had Jiri given the same message to the man in the next cell than the shouts of the terrified guards were heard. Vann surged up and limped to the prison entry, only to be met by Ulo and Kobit, who rushed in, nearly trampling the sergeant.
“A ghost! A ghost!” Kobit screamed.
“Bar the cellblock door!” cried Ulo. But Queen Jiri had moved quickly among them, and her bulk was a considerable obstruction.
“Cheeseheaded fools,” Vann bellowed to the men. “And you, Madam! Stand aside so that I may see—”
“Woe! Woe to all in this accursed place! Woe!”
The headless warrior, sword awave and helm tucked into its armpit, appeared in the doorway and gave a gruesome shriek. Vann staggered backward, caught his pegleg in a crack in the floor, and fell sprawling and helpless. The artificial limb parted from the stump as its straps gave way, and the sergeant cried out in pain. The other two guards fled down the line of cells, whose occupants clung to the bars and watched gape-jawed.
The ghost flung away its helmet and stripped off its awkward gauntlets. Something that shone like a small yellow star and floated through the air like a fire-beetle touched the lock of Ledavardis’s cell. The barred gate swung open. Swift as an attacking rimorik, the King darted out, seized the fallen Vann by the shoulders, and hauled him into the vacated cell. The ghost touched the lock again and it clicked shut.
“This is Gyor,” Queen Jiri said, indicating a filthy wretch with matted coppery hair and a long beard who inhabited the cell next to the pirate’s.
The ghost’s soft voice was now clearly that of a woman. “Come out, friend, for you are also escaping with us.” His lock opened.
“But who are you?” the dumfounded prisoner said. “What are you?”
The ghost, which now resembled an animated mail shirt and a pair of greaves strapped to invisible legs, did not deign to answer. Instead it turned and started toward Kobit and Ulo, who cowered in a far corner of the cellblock.
“Woe! Prepare to die!” the spectre keened, its rusty sword slicing great arcs of air. The other inmates of the dungeon were so filled with fear that they set up a great hubbub.
Queen Jiri shouted, “You guards! Save yourselves from the avenging demon! Get into a cell and close the door. Phantoms cannot pass through iron bars.”
The illogic of her words went unnoticed. As the headless ghost approached, Kobit and Ulo dived into one of the empty cells and slammed the door to. The apparition paused and the two men gasped, for a body began to solidify within the floating coat of mail. It was a lovely woman with eyes as bright as sapphires and disheveled blond hair. Beneath the torn hauberk she wore a green gown kilted up above her knees. She lowered the sword and let it fall to the floor.
Queen Anigel held her trillium-amber in her other hand. She touched it to the lock of the cell that held the two guards, producing a loud click, then returned to Jiri and the men she had rescued. Whispers and incredulous mutters came from the other cagelings.
“My amulet not only unlocks, but also locks.” She smiled at King Ledavardis. “Will you be so kind as to help me take off this heavy chain mail? We will need to take it with us, and the other armor and the sword as well.”
The Raktumian monarch burst out laughing. “So the ghost was you, my intended mother-in-law! Marvelous!” He assisted her to remove the hauberk, then unstrapped the greaves from her legs. Jiri was already gathering up the discarded gauntlets and the helmet.
The redheaded prisoner who called himself Gyor dropped to his knee before Anigel and kissed her hand. “Madam, I am in your debt. Although I do not know who you are, or why you have chosen to rescue me.”
Anigel introduced herself, then said, “Is your true name not Gyorgibo? And are you not the younger brother of Denombo and the Star Woman Naelore?”
“I am Gyorgibo, Archduke of Nambit,” he said, bewilderment upon his features, “and I am indeed the Emperor’s brother. But you have still not answered my question—”
“Oy!” shouted one of the men still imprisoned. “What about us, eh? You gonna just leave us here in chokey?”
“What manner of men are they?” Anigel asked Gyorgibo in a low voice.
“Thieves, brawlers, and three who mutinied and refused to accompany the army of Orogastus when it set out earlier today on its nefarious mission.”
“Do you know any details of that mission?” Queen Jiri asked in great excitement.
“Certainly, Majesty. My evil sister came down to taunt me, ere she and the sorcerer departed. In three days it will be the Emperor’s birthday, which is always celebrated in the capital in conjunction with the great Festival of the Birds. Naelore and Orogastus intend to attack Brando
ba while the inhabitants are distracted by the festival. They will storm the palace, using miraculous weapons of the Vanished Ones, and kill Denombo. Then, with me presumed dead, my sister will by law assume the throne. In exchange for the Star Guild’s assistance, Naelore has vowed to use every resource of our empire to help Orogastus conquer the world.”
Anigel came close to the Emperor’s brother. He was a tall and comely man beneath the accumulation of dirt and the bush of bedraggled fiery beard and unkempt hair. “And does Orogastus plan,” she asked, her face intent, “to fly four hundred leagues to Brandoba with his army before beginning this war?”
“Of course not. There is a magical passage called the Great Viaduct less than two hours’ ride from Castle Conflagrant, beyond the geyser basin. It leads to a forest in the mountains above the capital.”
“A second viaduct!” Jiri said. “Of course. There had to be one to supply the castle.” She pointed a finger at Anigel. “You suspected as much—”
Anigel held up a silencing hand to her friend. “There are many viaducts, scattered throughout the world, and no doubt numbers of them in Sobrania. I had a map of their location once, but I have forgotten its details.” She said to Gyorgibo, “Tell me quickly what you know of this magical passage. Are guards stationed at it?”
“No. They are not deemed necessary. The Great Viaduct is of enormous aperture, capable of accommodating entire covered wagons and even men mounted upon fronials. I myself was taken through it as a prisoner after being seized by Naelore and her henchmen during a hunting trip in the Collum Range eight moons ago. I have since learned that the Great Viaduct serves not only for the delivery of provisions to the castle but also as a regular route for spies of the Star Guild who have long infiltrated Brandoba.”
“How near to the capital does it debouch?” Anigel inquired.
“I am not certain. It lies deep within the Forest of Lirda, an extensive imperial hunting preserve in the Collum foothills forbidden to ordinary folk. A small army could conceal itself in those woods easily, then advance upon Brandoba by night, taking advantage of the celebration.”