I cannot take it. You know that. What I want you to do is return the talisman to me freely, as you gave back the Three-Lobed Burning Eye you took from your aunt.
That … was different.
You do not know how to use the coronet’s awful magic properly. It is a tool for restoring the balance of the world, not for petty conjuring. I know that you have been unable to master the talisman—that you have merely toyed with it in that secret grass shack of yours out in the Mazy Mire.
I understand the talisman better than you think!
Tolo, there is only one way you can become a competent sorcerer: by giving the coronet back to me and joining my Star Guild. Come to me, dear boy. I will forgive your disloyalty and reinstate you as my adopted son and heir. And when I die, the Three-Headed Monster will be yours once more—only this time you will truly be its master … and master of the world as well.
Orogastus, you used me once as a puppet. But never again.
Deep in your heart, Tolo, you still yearn to be my son.
Perhaps. But the wish is only a childish fantasy. It is a temptation hidden away inside of me that emerges only when I sleep. When I am wide awake and in control of my wits, I reject you. I reject you now!
I had hoped you would come to me of your own free will—but so be it. Let me pose another question to you: Do you care whether your mother, Queen Anigel, lives or dies?
Certainly I do!
Then use the coronet to have Sight of her. Her fate is now entirely in your hands, in a way that poor old Ralabun’s never was.
What are you saying?
The Queen is the prisoner of my ally, the Archduchess Naelore, a dangerous and implacable woman.
That is not true! I have already had Sight of Mother. She is free in a forest somewhere above Brandoba, accompanied by the other rulers you kidnapped.
Queen Anigel did escape from my castle with the others, but she has been recaptured. Your coronet will show her to you, a wretched prisoner in Naelore’s power. Rouse yourself and command the Three-Headed Monster to verify what I have said.
I—I have given my word to Aunt Kadiya not to use the talisman’s magic without her permission.
What? Ask permission? Are you a puling schoolboy who must beg leave of his nursemaid to use the garderobe—or are you the owner of one part of the great Threefold Sceptre of Power? You owe your aunt no fealty. She took advantage of your grief to extort that promise. It is worthless. Use the talisman to confirm your mother’s captivity. Do it now!
I … will take your word for it.
Foolish boy. Bo you dare to play games with me?
Why should I do such a thing?
Perhaps because you still entertain maudlin hopes of rescuing your mother yourself! Tolo, I have heard enough of your childish prattle. Queen Anigel and the three unborn babes she carries will die horribly under Naelore’s sword unless you come to the Sobranian capital with all haste and give over to me both the Three-Headed Monster and the star-box.
I don’t believe you—
In the center of Brandoba is the imperial palace, and before it lies a vast pleasance, an open area where citizens celebrating the Festival of the Birds will gather at midnight to watch the display of fireworks. Be there, near the Golden Griss Fountain! I will find you, and give your mother free and harmless into your safekeeping just as soon as you hand over to me the talisman and the box.
The coronet is rightfully mine!
And your mother’s life belongs to me … Make no mistake, boy! If you fail to obey me, you will find her disemboweled body lying beside the fountain.
Holy Flower—no!
And this time the death-guilt will be yours irrevocably. You will suffer from it as long as you live.
No no no …
The Prince seemed to see his mother’s face, tears pouring from her eyes. She called his name again and again, pleading for him to surrender the coronet to the sorcerer so that her life and the lives of the babies in her womb would be spared. But Tolivar had been unaccountably struck dumb. He could not answer her. No matter how hard he tried, he could not pronounce the single word “yes” that would free his mother.
Could not give up his talisman.
No! Never!
He woke with a start, rising up on his elbows, and looked frantically around the feather-loft. It was much later in the day. A beam of afternoon sunlight illumined dancing dust motes. The four knights had apparently awakened and gone downstairs. Only his own mind’s ear still perceived the echo of Queen Anigel’s heartbroken appeal and his own shameful refusal.
Unless it had been a dream after all.
He would have to discover the truth of it. The promise he had made to his aunt now did seem naught but the words of a gullible, frightened child. What right had the Lady of the Eyes to demand that he eschew magic, especially when his mother’s life might depend upon his use of it?
“Talisman,” he whispered, tightening his grip on the hidden metal circlet. “Show me Queen Anigel.” He closed his eyes, and into his mind sprang a vision, as though he were one of the Sobranian birds soaring down from a height and coming to rest upon a tree branch a few ells above the ground.
In a sizable forest clearing, several hundred heavily armed warriors took their ease. Some of them were Star Men, wearing steel breastplates over their wizard garb, and helmets with pointed metal spikes. In the midst of the army was an open-sided cloth pavilion. Orogastus sat beneath it, drinking wine from a golden cup. Just outside the shelter stood Naelore, clad in gleaming black-and-silver armor and smiling triumphantly as the army cheered her. She held a longsword.
Tied to a small tree before the sorceress was Queen Anigel.
The prisoner’s robe was stained and torn, her blond hair straggled in disarray, and her wrists and ankles were bruised and bloody from the rawhide thongs that bound her. As Tolivar watched in horror, Naelore’s sword descended until the sharp point rested between his mother’s breasts. Very lightly, the blade moved down her belly, inscribing a short vertical cut in the robe’s coarse cloth.
As always, his talisman’s vision was silent. The Archduchess appeared to be plying the Queen with questions, but Anigel remained serenely indifferent, her gaze unfocused. The throng of soldiers and Star Men were laughing derisively.
“Mother!” Tolivar moaned softly. “Oh, Mother.”
Queen Anigel could not hear her son—but evidently Orogastus could. His head turned and he seemed to look directly at the Prince. The Star Master’s helmet had rays longer and more ornate than those of the other Guild members. A visor masked the upper part of his face, but his sardonic silvery eyes were clearly visible. Even though the sorcerer’s lips did not move, Tolivar heard his voice speak distinctly.
Tell no one what you have seen, or else the Queen and your brothers in her womb will be executed here and now. Remember: Meet me at midnight at the fountain near the palace. I will be in disguise, but you will know me. Bring both the coronet and the star-box. Do you understand?
Tolivar was finally able to say the word.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I will do as you say.”
The vision vanished, and the Prince saw only a reddish void behind his closed eyelids. Bitter tears flowed their way out and slid slowly down his face. He paid them no heed, lying still as a stone with the talisman clutched in his hands until his helpless rage melted into numb misery. After a long time, his Aunt Kadiya called his name and told him to descend for the evening meal.
“Coming,” he said, and tucked the Three-Headed Monster back into his shirt with its sharp cusps turned inward, so that they pricked his bare skin.
It was an hour past sunset on the next day when the Cadoon sailing craft, manned by Critch alone, came slowly into the harbor of Brandoba. Behind it, across the estuary to the west, were towering clouds tinted with sullen purple—a sure portent of rain before morning. The light wind that had slowed their passage now also swung around to the west, helping the aboriginal skipper to guide his small boat thro
ugh waters crowded with galleys, lofty-masted merchantmen, and a myriad of lesser craft anchored in the roadstead. The rigging of most of the vessels twinkled with colored glass oil-lamps, in honor of the Festival of the Birds.
Inland, the Sobranian capital city was ablaze with light. Fire-baskets on tall pylons lined the boulevards and main streets, and festoons of lanterns hung from every building. The waterfront esplanade was thronged with costumed people who danced and cavorted and even swung from the ornamental balustrades along the quays. Several brass bands on the wide esplanade stairs were apparently having a musical contest, seeing which could drown out the others.
Critch’s passengers stayed belowdecks when his boat neared the shore, since it would have been suspicious if humans were seen on an aboriginal vessel. Kadiya and the others peered out from the boat’s portholes, watching the spectacle, until Critch tied up at a quay used only by Cadoon traders, situated some distance from the central harbor area.
The feather-hunter went briefly onto the dock to speak to the local Folk, then reboarded and called down into the cabin. “It is safe for you to come up and disembark.”
Jagun and the Prince climbed the companionway ladder first, followed by those who were going ashore. Kadiya and the Oathed Companions wore costumes purchased from Critch that would enable them to pass unnoticed among the festival celebrants. But because the cabin had been so dark and cramped, this coming on deck was the first opportunity for them to see each other clearly in the fancy dress they had donned with the help of Jagun and Tolivar.
The Lady of the Eyes wore a cape and under-robe of gorgeous iridescent purple plumage. Atop her matching hood was a tall yellow crest, and a golden beak above her brow shaded her face. Her talisman in its scabbard was concealed beneath her cloak.
“You look splendid, Farseer,” Jagun said, and she made a mocking bow.
The brothers Kalepo and Melpotis were both dressed in dark blue costumes intended to represent nyars. Their large, enveloping headpieces had wide-open befanged beaks, through which they were able to see. Edinar’s plumage was bright red, with a peculiar flat bill attached to his hood. When Melpotis snickered at the young knight’s droll appearance, Edinar found the built-in noisemaker in his headpiece and blew a raucous quack that sent the two nyars into gales of laughter.
The final costumed figure to emerge was Sir Sainlat. Because of his heroic physique, only one avian disguise had been found to fit him—that of a marine pothi-bird. It was fashioned of bright pink feathers and had a ludicrous wide-spreading rose-and-black fantail mounted at the rear. The feathered hood left Sainlat’s face exposed except for his nose, which was concealed behind a big cone-shaped black beak.
“I feel like a perfect idiot,” the big knight said cheerfully.
“You look even worse,” Edinar assured him.
“I congratulate your family’s skill,” Kadiya said to Critch. “The costumes are excellently made. They do not restrict one’s motion overmuch, and our armor and weapons hidden beneath are quite unnoticeable.”
The Cadoon opened a large wicker hamper that stood on deck and took out a net bag filled with rounded colored objects. “Perhaps you would like to take some of these. They are griss eggs, blown dry, filled with confetti and sneeze-spores and sealed with wax. It is an old carnival custom to smash them and scatter the contents on other revelers. The eggs may prove useful if you are impeded by the crowds.”
“Thank you,” Kadiya said to him, “but my magic will suffice for us. I do not wish us to be further encumbered. Now then: If we have not returned by dawn tomorrow, or if serious trouble breaks out in the city, put out to sea with Jagun and Prince Tolivar. I will bespeak Jagun through my talisman in due time, and he will transmit to you new instructions.”
She nodded to the knights, and the men made their way down the gangplank and awaited her on the dock. In contrast to the mob scene farther along the waterfront, the area used by the aboriginal vessels was nearly deserted except for a few sailors from the handful of small boats similar to Critch’s that rocked gently in the dark water. The Cadoon Folk paid no attention to the outlandishly dressed humans.
Before departing herself, Kadiya went to Prince Tolivar, who had gone to sit in the bow, and spoke a few words of admonition to him. He responded meekly. Then she returned to the waist of the boat where Jagun and Critch were standing.
“Watch the boy carefully,” she told them in a low voice. “Never leave him alone for an instant. He seems very downcast and I do not think he will attempt any rash action. But if he does, bespeak me at once.”
“We will take care of him, Farseer,” the old Nyssomu assured her.
She would have gone then, but Critch bade her stay. “Lady, I have some strange tidings I must impart before you leave, told me by a certain wherryman of my race whom I encountered while securing our lines.” He pointed toward the murky outer reaches of the harbor. “Do you see that great ship out there, with but a single red light at the stern?”
Kadiya nodded.
“It flies the ensign of Zinora and arrived only this afternoon. My friend has assured me that it is not an ordinary coastal trader but a three-masted trireme galley, one of the speediest vessels afloat. Its crew are not Zinorans but Sobranians, and the owner is a nobleman named Dasinzin, known to be a sympathizer of the rebel Archduchess Naelore.”
Kadiya muttered an imprecation and drew forth her talisman. Aiming the sword at the mysterious ship, which was little more than a black silhouette against the fading evening sky, she said, “Burning Eye, tell me if this vessel belongs to the Star Men.”
The question is impertinent.
“Give me Sight of its cargo hold.”
The command is impertinent.
Her face grim, Kadiya sheathed the magic sword.
“I think,” Jagun said, “that your talisman has answered your query by not answering.”
“Star Men—or I’m second cousin to a cross-eyed togar!” She addressed Critch: “Do you know if the Emperor’s port officials have gone on board this ship?”
“Nay. Because of the impending festivities, all inspections have been postponed. Cadoon wherrymen such as my friend have brought fresh food and other supplies out to the galley, and the crew were careless in their speech around them—as humans often are when dealing with my people, thinking us dull-witted and inferior. The wherrymen learned that the vessel came not from the east, where Zinora and the other human nations lie, but from the distant northwestern latitudes, beyond the country of the lawless tribes, where none dwell save the tiny Mere Folk.”
Kadiya’s eyes narrowed. “Do you mean those aquatic aborigines who have Iriane, Archimage of the Sea, as their guardian?”
“Even so. But it has been said that the Blue Lady is now dead, and her Folk subjugated by the Star Guild.”
Kadiya and Jagun exchanged glances. Both of them knew of Iriane’s immuration in the enchanted ice, and of the probability that Orogastus had compelled the Mere Folk to gather armament of the Vanished Ones from beneath the sea. If the trireme did belong to the Star Men and carried such arcane weaponry, it might well be the precurser of an invasion.
“Thank you for this important information,” Kadiya said to Critch. “I urge you to warn the local Cadoon Folk to give that ship a wide berth. Whoever it belongs to, it is here in Brandoba for no good purpose.”
“I will do as you say.”
“At present,” Kadiya went on, “I dare not make any attempt to investigate the galley in person. I must first tell Emperor Denombo how the Star Guild abducted the other rulers, and warn him that his nation and his own life may also be in imminent danger. I will inform the Emperor of the trireme’s presence and let him deal with it.”
Jagun said, “We will watch the mysterious ship, Farseer. If the crew attempt to bring any suspicious cargo ashore, or if they act as blatant invaders, I will bespeak you.”
“Pray that the Lords of the Air will be with us tonight.” Kadiya commanded her talisman again to shield her
and the knights from the magical Sight of the Star Men. Then she ran down the plank onto the dock, where the four Oathed Companions waited impatiently. Inside of a few minutes the costumed infiltrators had vanished among the warehouses, leaving Jagun and Critch staring after them.
“They will not find it easy to reach the Emperor tonight,” the Cadoon observed. “He will first be occupied with ceremonial duties on behalf of the Goddess Matuta, and then he must preside over the great fireworks display. There will be an enormous crowd round about the palace precincts, and sometimes there are riots. The guardsmen will be on the alert. But the crowds are usually peaceful during the first night, especially if the fireworks show is a good one and the Imperial Handsel that follows is generous.”
“What is a handsel?” Jagun asked him.
“A lucky gift, distributed by the Emperor to the common people in honor of the festival. Tiny packages are thrown to the crowd by maidens riding in a parade of decorated wagons. Most of the handsels contain a slip of paper with a wise or humorous saying wrapped about a candy or some other sweetmeat, but a few hold silver or gold coins—and there is always a single platinum piece to be found by the luckiest human of all.”
The noise of the merrymaking crowds became louder. In addition to the music of the roving brass bands, there were now rhythmic blasts of sound from massed birdwhistles as the people formed into impromptu parades and marched through the streets. Critch the Cadoon turned away from the colorful extravaganza on shore and stared glumly at the anchored trireme.
“The wind tonight carries upon it a scent of cold rain out of season—and of some great evil.” Critch pointed overboard to the harbor waters. “And do you see how strangely discolored the sea is hereabouts? It is gray as baby-gruel, and I have never seen such a thing before, nor heard of it. I wish with all my heart that I had not agreed to bring you to Brandoba, Friend Jagun.”
“By doing so, you may enable my Lady to save many lives.”
Critch muttered, “Human lives! … How can you serve a mistress belonging to the race of our oppressors?”