The woeful tidings did not surprise Haramis. She made no attempt to view Orogastus, recalling that when he last possessed two talismans, years ago during the siege of Derorguila, he was somehow able to scry her whereabouts whenever she had Sight of him. The time for their confrontation had not yet come.
When she tried to ascertain the exact place where her sisters were being held, Haramis was frustrated by the Star’s magic that still blanketed the imperial palace, as it had when she first tried to warn Denombo of the Star Guild’s peril. Unfortunately, there was no convenient viaduct anywhere inside the palace wall or even hard by that she might use, and so it would not be possible for the sindona to assist her in the rescue. She would have to transport herself bodily inside in order to save her sisters and their companions. Carrying them away was possible, but it would strain her magic to the utmost; and if Orogastus should discover her, he would undoubtedly be able to frustrate the rescue by using his two talismans.
But there seemed to be no alternative.
Almost as an afterthought, Haramis asked the Three-Winged Circle about the mysterious distant glow in the eastern sky. The reply astounded her.
It is the reflection of molten lava issuing forth from certain craters in the Collum Range, over a hundred leagues away. The peaks are of volcanic origin, with deep layers of ash on their slopes that were formerly covered with snow and ice. The heat of the upwelling lava has melted the ice and created great mudflows, which increase in volume with every passing hour.
“Will—will the flow reach Brandoba?” Haramis whispered.
It follows the beds of local rivers. The River Dob, which bisects the city, is a principal conduit. Mud will eventually fill the basin where Brandoba lies to a depth of over fifty ells.
“How long—?”
Less than four hours.
“Good God! Does Orogastus know what is happening?”
No.
“Show me the flow of mud that menaces the city.”
She closed her eyes, and saw a forested valley illumined by moonlight. Many of the trees were tottering and falling into a viscous gray tide swirling about their trunks. One particular tree caught her attention, an enormous thing with lower branches two ells thick. Although its trunk was engulfed, it stood fast while lesser trees on either side of it subsided into the flow.
There were people clinging to its upper parts.
“Holy Flower,” murmured the Archimage, wondering who the flood victims might be. She concentrated her Sight upon them and immediately recognized Princess Raviya and Prince Widd of Engi, Queen Jiri of Galanar, President Hakit Botal of Okamis, and the Imlit Duumviri Prigo and Ga-Bondies. Even as she watched, the great tree that gave them refuge shuddered and tilted. Its roots were being undermined by the mudflow.
Haramis let the talisman fall from her hand and sat staring out the window of the villa. If she used her magic to carry away the imperiled rulers, she might not have enough strength remaining to rescue her sisters. But the tree would fall at any moment, while Ani and Kadi were safe at least until sunrise …
Taking a deep breath of resolution, she vanished like the blowing out of a candleflame.
The crystalline vision that signified magical transport darkened and turned into gale-lashed leafy branches. Haramis found herself hovering in midair beside the tree. She lifted her arms and her archimagical cloak became like sunlit snow, lucent white with brilliant blue shadings. The trillium-amber in her talisman was a miniature golden star, held on high like a beacon.
“My friends!” The Archimage’s voice rang like a great bell. “I have come to rescue you.”
The heads of state cried out in relief, and all except Ga-Bondies, who began to blubber incoherently, hurled questions at Haramis.
“There is no time to explain,” she said. “I must take you out of danger, then return to Brandoba and do what I can to avert this impending catastrophe.”
“God help you,” Queen Jiri called out from her perch. “The mud is heading straight for the city. We tried to veer away from it to the left while we still rode our fronials, but another great channel full of sludge cut us off.”
Old Princess Raviya piped up, “Will you carry us away through magic, dear?”
“Yes,” said Haramis. “Two at a time. You and Widd first. Come and stand together so that I may cover you with my cloak.”
The elderly couple scrambled upright on one of the larger branches, a task made doubly perilous as the wind blew keenly and the tree continued to sway and sag closer to the mudflow. Haramis drifted close, embraced the Prince and Princess, and all three disappeared. A few minutes passed, after which the Archimage alone reappeared. Her occult aura had faded and her face was tense with the great effort.
“Now Jiri and Ga-Bondies,” she commanded.
“Where are you taking us?” the stout Duumvir demanded fretfully.
“To a certain villa by the sea, south of Brandoba. It is the best I can do for the time being. Transporting other persons strains my magical powers to the utmost.” She put her arms about the two ample figures and vanished once again.
Her return took much longer this time, and when she reappeared she floated with her head bowed, praying for strength, while the strong wind billowed her cloak and the tree continued to subside. The two remaining men, fearing to move, were side by side on a branch less than an ell above the roiling flood.
Prigo called out, “Are you sure you can do this, Archimage?”
“No,” she admitted. “And if I falter in midroute, there is a chance we will all three perish in some unknown realm of darkness.”
The tree gave a violent lurch as its roots were finally torn loose. It began to revolve and float away, and the gray flux covered the men’s feet.
“Take us,” screamed Hakit Botal. “Any death is preferable to drowning in mud!”
Haramis snatched them up like a voor stooping for its prey. “Talisman! Transport us to the villa by the sea.”
The chime signaling the start of the magical journey sounded, but it was discordant and off-pitch. Her mind attempted to construct the crystal image of their destination, but the magical depiction shivered, assumed a sinister fluidity, and melted away to formlessness. For many heartbeats Haramis and her passengers hung suspended in a pool of prismatic brilliance. Their lungs could draw no breath and the wild chiming sound intensified to the point of agony. Prigo and Hakit felt the arms of the Archimage weaken. The uncanny vision dimmed. They began slipping away from her, smothering, into an abyss filled with mind-crushing clamor.
Holy Flower, be thou my protection and strength!
Light! A dwelling fashioned from rainbows, standing on land that was an enormous faceted diamond … changing slowly, becoming ordinary, becoming real. The two despairing rulers could finally breathe. They smelled seaweed, felt rain on their faces, saw the villa’s wet stone walls glimmering in the windy dark. Their boots touched rocky soil and they were safe, supporting each other to keep from collapsing.
The door of the dwelling opened. A lofty figure stood silhouetted within the frame and a flash of lightning revealed it to be inhuman, an exquisitely carved female statue of ivory and gold that nonetheless moved. As Prigo and Hakit Botal quailed in confusion, the thing emerged into the rain, bent down, and picked up the senseless Archimage in its gleaming arms.
“Are you injured?” the consoler asked the officials. They shook their heads mutely. The living statue began to carry its burden into the house, looking back over its shoulder and saying, “Enter. There is food and drink for you inside, and warm clothing. Do not be afraid. I am a sindona, one of the White Lady’s servants.”
“Is—is she going to be all right?” Prigo inquired timidly, following after.
“She will awake betimes and go about her work,” the consoler replied. “As to the other, I cannot say.”
My love … speak to me!
The talismans have told me that you are no longer in the Dark Man’s Moon, but they will not reveal your whereabou
ts except to say that you are in Sobrania. I know that Denby is dead. I know that you retain the Three-Winged Circle. Are you well? Did that madman harm you trying to take away your talisman?
Haramis, say a single word!
Only bespeak and I will See and come to you. We dare not wait any longer. The ground trembles beneath the palace and I am unable to calm it through my magic. I am uncertain whether these small earthquakes portend the start of the final catastrophe. The talismans that I possess refuse to speak of it.
If you know the truth, then tell me!
You know what the ancient spell says: The Wand of the Wings, your own talisman, is the key to the Sceptre and its unifier. Without it, the Burning Eye and the Three-Headed Monster are futile.
I am futile.
Come to me, here in the feathered barbarian’s palace—or let me come to you! We must assemble the Sceptre of Power together and use it before it is too late.
Haramis! Haramis, my only love … speak.
“Dawn … Tell me it is not yet dawn!” She struggled up from the improvised pallet. Queen Jiri was kneeling at her side, laving her forehead with a wet cloth. An impassive sindona consoler stood behind her, holding a basin of water. The sky visible through the villa window was full of pallid mauve clouds.
“They will be killed at dawn!” Haramis cried. “Let me up—”
“Peace, dear!” The Galanari Queen put an arm about her. “It lacks half an hour to sunrise. This—this odd servant of yours told us the impending fate of your sisters. It also said that you would have to sleep as much as possible to restore your strength, if you were to have any chance of saving them.”
The Archimage relaxed. “Half an hour. Yes … it will suffice.” She sat up slowly, saying to the consoler, “Bring me my cloak.” When the sindona left the room, Haramis accepted some of the wine that Jiri offered. “Where are the other rulers?”
“Another kind of statue-person took them away into a viaduct across the road,” the Queen told her, “explaining that it would bring them safely home to their own countries. I decided to stay with you, even though the nurse-statue tried to prevent me. It said that when the mudflow reaches Brandoba, there will be a great earthquake and a tidal wave will wash away the villa—along with whatever parts of the city are not already buried in mud. Is that true?”
Haramis passed one trembling hand over her brow. “The dire events will come to pass … unless I can prevent it.”
Jiri sat back upon her heels and looked calmly upon the Archimage. “Can you?”
Shall I tell her? Haramis wondered. Tell her that it is not only Brandoba, but the entire world that is on the verge of destruction?
Her fingers dropped to the talisman hanging about her neck. The Circle’s wings were open and the drop of amber with its fossil Black Trillium throbbed with each beat of her heart.
Holy Flower, can you not advise me? If I give Orogastus the third piece of the Sceptre, he might be able to prevent the ultimate unbalancing. He could certainly turn aside the deadly flow of mud. Is it my destiny to surrender to the Star? Black Trillium, is this what I must do?
But the Flower within the amber was silent, as always, and she was afraid to pose the questions to the talisman.
Eyes welling, Haramis turned for comfort to the older woman kneeling at her side. The maternal countenance of the Queen of Galanar wore a melancholy smile that still reflected invincible hope. Seen through the screen of tears, that smile reminded Haramis of another woman long dead, one who had bestowed upon her and her sisters magical amulets, who had sent them on their talisman quests, who had finally given over to Haramis her own precious cloak.
Daughter of the Threefold, do not lose heart.
“Binah?” Haramis whispered incredulously.
The White Lady who had been godmother to the Petals of the Living Trillium said: Years come and go with speed. That which is lofty may fall, that which is cherished may be lost, that which is hidden must, in time, be revealed. And yet I tell you that all will be well. Believe it, Daughter! Remember the last words of the Archimage of the Firmament. Remember …
Haramis blinked away the tears. Queen Jiri was now gazing at her with an expression of anxiety. The sindona consoler, standing there holding the shimmering white cape in its ivory hands, inquired, “Archimage, are you well?”
“Yes,” she said. “Help me to my feet.”
Jiri and the sindona raised her. Haramis put on her cloak, then said to the living statue, “Return this good woman promptly to her realm of Galanar.” She then kissed Jiri on her cheek. “Dear friend, whatever happens to me, you can be sure that your own people will soon have great need of your courage and wisdom. Do not fail them. If the Triune wills, I will come soon to assist you. Farewell.”
Clasping her talisman, Haramis disappeared.
“What did she mean?” Jiri asked the sindona. For the first time, she seemed fearful.
“She means that the day of the Sky Trillium has come upon the world,” the living statue said, “but what its blossoming portends, only the Lords of the Air can say. Come along, Queen. I will take you home to your family and your loyal subjects. That which is hidden will, in time, be revealed.”
30
Distant clanks and rattles announced that the outer door of the imperial prison block was being unbarred. Queen Anigel stirred, opening her eyes with a soft yawn. “Ah, dear friends—is it dawn already?”
“I fear so,” King Ledavardis said to her gently. They were all shackled in a row, slumped against the wall in heaps of stinking straw. High up near the torture chamber’s ceiling were narrow embrasures, through which they could see dull purple clouds.
Anigel sat up and began to brush off and arrange her torn garments. “Then we shall have to do our best to die well … I only regret that Kadi and I were deprived of our trillium-amber. The Holy Flower might have bolstered my puny sense of valor.”
“To say nothing of unlocking our fetters,” said Kadiya wryly. “Ah, well. We must take solace from the knowledge that we will not suffer our fate in vain.”
Anigel’s blue eyes seemed rapt by some comforting inner vision. “We must all pass safely beyond sooner or later. But only a fortunate few are allowed to die in defense of a world. May the Lords of the Air come for us swiftly.”
The King and Archduke Gyorgibo murmured their assent, as did Kadiya. But unlike the Queen, who appeared calm almost to the point of entrancement, the others could not keep their eyes from the array of fiendish instruments mounted upon the wall opposite, nor from the stained and pitted granite slab three ells long that stood in the chamber’s center. The slab was inclined, and cuffs for wrists and ankles were affixed to the lower end; just beyond the other end was a large brick structure resembling a forge. A bellows, operated by wooden gearing that Gyorgibo had said was connected to a windmill, had pumped air into the firebox all night, keeping it glowing, and from time to time a sootstained minion had shuffled in to add charcoal and stoke it. Two massive chains were attached to something buried in the bed of coals. Forming an inverted V, they joined to a single chain which was in turn suspended from a pulley device on an overhead iron beam. Gyorgibo had stubbornly refused to speak about what the thing hidden in the fire might be.
Voices could now be heard approaching, and a harsh peal of female laughter echoed along the vaulted corridor outside the chamber.
The Archduke said, “My imperial sister is coming to supervise our final torment. She seems in high spirits.”
“Much good may it do her,” growled Kadiya. “It is probable that the Archimage Haramis is still held by the Man in the Moon, and knows nothing whatsoever of our own imprisonment. I would give much to see Naelore’s face when she discovers she has squandered the lives of crucial hostages for naught.”
King Ledavardis sighed. “I wouldn’t.” He turned to Anigel. “It seems that I will not be your son-in-law after all, dear Queen. May I at least ask now for your blessing, and your forgiveness for the harm I inflicted upon your fa
mily and your kingdom so long ago?”
“I give them willingly. And … I have changed my mind about you, Ledo. If our fate had been otherwise, I would gladly have given the hand of my daughter Janeel to you in marriage.”
Prince Tolivar, placed between Anigel and the King by a compassionate jailer, had remained so quiet that the adult captives thought he still slept. He said to Ledavardis, “I would also have been proud to be your brother. The way that you rescued Mother and me was—was legendary!”
“You stood up to the sorcerer most bravely yourself, Tolo.” The King clenched his right fist except for the little finger, which he extended to the Prince like a hook. “Join your own last finger with mine, thus! Come, now, don’t hesitate. I have a last gift for you … Tolivar of Laboruwenda, I dub thee a Corsair of Raktum, and herewith declare that you are both my brother and shipmate on the high seas! … There. Now we are sworn.”
Awe and delight spread over the Prince’s features as he stared at the linked fingers. “I am a true pirate?”
“As ever was! Only remember that we Raktumians are reformed now, and the title is one of honor.”
“I—I will try to die honorably under the torture,” Tolivar said to him in a voice barely steady. “But if I make a lot of noise, please do not hold it to my shame.”
“Pirates never suffer in silence! Make all the noise you like, lad—and I shall bellow louder still, because I am the Pirate King.”