He held out his hand for the Three-Lobed Burning Eye, and the Black Voice surrendered it with a servile bow. The three acolytes stood expectantly in a row. The sorcerer held the talisman by its dull-edged blade so that the three lobes were upright. On his brow rested the Three-Headed Monster.
“My Voices, in recent times I have learned disquieting things: that some of you were jealous of little Prince Tolivar, resenting my plans for him; that some of you feared I would no longer need you, now that I have two talismans to augment my magical powers; that some of you have disobeyed my injunction not to touch the small red book entitled History of the War. Even worse, there have been two occasions when I sought out the star-box and could not locate it until I asked the help of the talismans. And then I found the box where someone had left it … apparently to examine in secret.”
The three Voices broke out in a babble of fervent denials and declarations of fealty. Orogastus lifted his hand to command silence. “There is no need to speak. Not when this talisman”—and he lifted the pointless sword—“provides a sure way of ascertaining the truth.”
The three acolytes stared at the dark triple pommel with dawning comprehension. Beads of moisture broke out upon the brows and shaven skulls of the Yellow and Purple Voices. The Black Voice turned waxen as a corpse in his funereal garments.
“Now, there are some sins that are venial,” Orogastus went on. “Sins such as imprudent curiosity, or pettishness, or spiteful murmurings that are not heartfelt—these may be easily repented and easily forgiven. But there are other sins that so stain the soul that no forgiveness is possible short of the life beyond—and these sins heaven may forgive, but I will not! They include the kind of malicious jealousy that would do the envied person harm, and disloyalty to one’s master, and coveting of the master’s power.”
Orogastus held the talisman before the Purple Voice. “Place your hand upon the pommel and swear that you harbor in your soul none of the mortal sins I have just cataloged.”
With trembling lips and eyes that had begun to leak tears of fear, the Voice touched the three lobes. “I—I swear,” he whispered.
The triple lobes split open and three Eyes gazed briefly upon the Purple Voice. Then they closed and the man seemed to collapse like a pricked balloon. “They did not kill me!” he cried shrilly, then burst into sobs, hiding his face in his hands.
Not without pity, Orogastus said: “Compose yourself, my Purple Voice. You have passed the test, and one day soon you shall be inducted into the mighty Society of the Star.”
The Purple Voice gulped, and his weeping ceased like a tap shut off.
“And now you, my Yellow Voice,” Orogastus said.
The burly minion in the saffron robes was braver or more righteous than his brother. He did not falter as he touched the lobes. The eyes of the Folk, of humanity, and of the Vanished Ones opened wide, studied him, and then closed. The Yellow Voice breathed a heavy sigh.
“You too, my Voice, are proven,” Orogastus said. “And now the final test.”
He held the talisman before the Black Voice.
For an instant the chief of the acolytes hesitated, looking deep into Orogastus’s own eyes. The merest hint of regret creased his parchment-pale face, and he spoke without emotion:
“We submerged our lives—our very identities—in you, Master. We served you with all our strength. And yet when the time came to choose your heir, you did not choose one of us. You would have given all to that wretched brat … but not to us, who had so loved you.”
He slapped his hand down upon the triple lobes defiantly, and when the talisman’s eyes opened, they glared. A blast of blue-white light burst forth from them, striking the Black Voice full in the forehead. Without a sound he fell to the carpeted deck, his black garments untouched while the body within was burnt to a cinder.
Orogastus turned away so that the other two would not see his face. “Remove the cadaver and consign it to the sea. Then you, Yellow Voice, may return here for the Three-Lobed Burning Eye. Continue your careful surveillance of Derorguila while the Purple Voice completes the instruction of the troops.”
“Master, we obey.” Numb with shock, the two acolytes bent to pick up the remains of their former brother.
On the other side of the inner saloon door, Prince Tolivar moved trembling away from the keyhole and crouched in the darkest corner of the cabin with his thumb in his mouth. He was frightened almost to insensibility. Had not he himself coveted the power of the talismans? Had he not committed a sin that was even worse? Oh, why had he given in to temptation?
If the Master should ever think to test him, he would be blasted to death as surely as the Black Voice had been.
And the game of Invasion, that Orogastus and he had played so happily, was not a game after all! The sorcerer was sailing to Derorguila, and he and the pirates would really invade the city. And kill Mother, and Father, and Niki, and Jan … and use him as their puppet, the way the horrid Pirate Queen had used the Goblin.
“I have been a silly baby,” Tolo said to himself, “just as Father said.” He would have started blubbering, except something told him that if he made any noise—or indeed indicated in any way that he had heard what had happened in the next chamber—he would die as quickly as the Black Voice had.
And so Prince Tolivar climbed up on a settee, opened one of the port-lights, and took deep breaths of the cold, salty fog outside. When his funk had somewhat abated, he sat down with one of the books the sorcerer had given him and forced himself to read, moving his lips as he silently sounded out each word.
Orogastus unlocked the door over an hour later and said it was time for supper. “And did you learn much from your studies?”
Tolo giggled sheepishly. “Not so much as I might have, Master. I’m sorry—but for most of the time, I was asleep. Reading these big words is so very hard, and I was tired after our exciting game.”
“Never mind,” said the sorcerer kindly. “There will be plenty of time for you to read later.”
He took the little boy by the hand, and they went together to the royal mess where King Ledavardis and General Zokumonus and the nobles of Raktum and Tuzamen waited.
25
“There! Did you feel it that time?”
Queen Anigel’s voice was shrill and strained, and her hand went involuntarily to the bosom of her gown, where the trillium amulet was hidden within the folds of heavy woolen cloth. She stood with King Antar at the window of their withdrawing room on the uppermost level of the great Zotopanion Keep of Derorguila Palace. They had finished supper and had been looking down at the diminishing activity in the courtyards below when the new tremor occurred. This time the earth movement was strong enough to make the glassware on the supper table tinkle faintly and the hanging gilt lamps began to sway.
The King took hold of his wife’s chill hand. Even with a great fire roaring in the hearth, the room was frigid. “Yes, I felt it. It was certainly a small earthquake. But there is nothing especially sinister about it, beloved. When I was a lad, there were minor disturbances of the land from time to time, but never any harm resulting.”
“This is different,” the Queen insisted, her sapphire eyes shadowed with dread. “Something deep within me senses a terrible catastrophe poised to come upon us. And not only Orogastus and his wretched fleet of pirates! Something worse. The earthquakes are another symptom of the growing imbalance of the world for which I am responsible—”
“Hush, my love. It is no wonder that you are overwrought, with the Raktumians ready to attack us.”
Antar pressed a gentle finger to her bloodless lips and took her in his arms. He had on the heavily padded leather undergarments that are worn beneath armor, for he planned to tour the fortifications that evening. His face was drawn and there were dark circles about his eyes from lack of sleep. Both of them had worked long hours during the past six days, ever since the Archimage had told them of the invasion plan of Orogastus; but mere fatigue could not account for the Queen’s
state of near hysteria, and Antar worried as much about her as he did about defending his capital.
“Nearly ten thousand pirates!” Anigel whispered, clinging more tightly to her husband. “They could be approaching the city at this very moment under the cover of the storm!”
“But your sister the Archimage assured me once again this morning that their invasion would not begin until day after tomorrow. And she has promised to help us counter the evil magic of Orogastus so that the fighting will be man against man, insofar as is possible.”
“Haramis promises to help, but she does not say how! Why has she been so evasive about the nature of her new powers? When I begged her to destroy the pirate fleet with her talisman, she said she could not! I told her that only four thousand trained warriors responded to our call to arms, and yet she says it is impossible for her to transport the returning Ruwendian troops to Derorguila by magic—”
“If Lord Osorkon and his army remain loyal, as I still have reason to hope, we will have enough reinforcements to turn away the foe even though we be still outnumbered. Derorguila’s defenses are strong. Raktum has attacked us five times without success during the past hundred. Even if our blockade of Dera Strait fails, the bombards on the fortified heights on either side of the harbor entrance will surely repel any attempt by the invaders to come ashore. As to the nature of the help that the White Lady may give us, we can only wait upon her pleasure. She said she would come to us when she could. Until then, I can only make the most prudent preparations possible and pray for the protection of the Triune and the Lords of the Air.” He took Anigel’s face in his hands. “And you must do so as well, my love. Pray also that my strength and courage will not falter.”
“I’m sorry,” Anigel whispered, holding tight to him. “What a fool I am, making things more difficult for you with my morbid fancies.”
He kissed her. “I love you. Remember that.”
It was still raining heavily, and now and again bits of sleet ticked against the windowpanes. Sleet—in a place as far south as Derorguila, and in the Dry Time to boot! The King repressed a shudder. Anigel’s queer premonition of worldwide disaster might well have truth in it after all …
Although it was barely sundown, the city was nearly as dark as night, enveloped in icy mist. The streetlamps and the watchfires along the palace ramparts were already burning, adding smoke to the miasma that hung over the sprawling capital. Derorguila, the largest and richest city of the Peninsula, was in the final stages of preparing to repel the Raktumian invasion.
The inner precincts of the palace grounds were filled with troops of newly arrived soldiers, knights mounted upon war-fronials, and squads of guardsmen. Outside, a few late-coming carts loaded with food, firewood, and ammunition for the catapults came up the royal promenade. Officers waving torches kept the teamsters moving and preserved order among the thinning streams of carriages and pedestrians. Most of the noncombatants who had been ordered to leave the city were already gone. Those mansions near the palace that had not been abandoned by their panicked owners were having their lower windows boarded up by servants.
The sky in the direction of the waterfront glowed crimson from the bonfires kindled along the docks. The larger ships of the Laboruwendian fleet had long since put out to sea in order to engage the pirate armada when it finally approached the shore; and now the smaller vessels that would chain themselves together and block the harbor entrance were taking on men and supplies and preparing to move into position.
A gust of wind wailed and more sleet smote the window like a flung handful of coarse sand.
“This ungodly weather!” Anigel drew her heavy shawl more closely about her shoulders. “Our warriors are not properly equipped to fight in such cold, and the civilians who have fled into the countryside will suffer terribly if the siege of the city is much prolonged.”
“If Osorkon and the other provincial lords remain loyal, we may hope to prevail. They can muster at least three thousand men, and in a defensive situation their reinforcements should suffice. The foul weather is more of a disadvantage to the foe than to us.”
“But will Osorkon come?” The Queen was dubious. “He has continued to profess loyalty, I know, and denies that he colluded in the plot of his sister Sharice. But he and his followers have always resented the presence of Ruwendians in the government of the Two Thrones.”
“Osorkon will come,” the King insisted. “Only a few hours ago a messenger from Kritama arrived with word that his troops are on their way. They would have taken to the road sooner had the storms not made the highways in the western provinces nearly impassable.”
“If I only had my talisman!” Anigel sighed. “With it I would be able to spy Osorkon out and determine whether he has really cast his lot with our enemies, as Owanon and Lampiar believed he would … The talisman would also let me confirm or disprove a certain dire rumor that Lady Ellinis heard today from one of the carters.”
“And what is that?”
Anigel hesitated, and her reply was heavy with foreboding. “Oddlings are said to have come down from remote mountain valleys in the far west, driven from their accustomed haunts by the great cold. They told the peasants that the Conquering Ice was once again on the move and would engulf the world if its imbalance were not put right—”
“Nonsense!” scoffed the King. “The tempests are surely the work of the abominable sorcerer. He is using the weather as a weapon. Even in the old days he boasted of how he ruled the storm. But he dare not continue his meddling for much longer, lest his own people be endangered—Great Zoto!”
Again the massive stone walls of the keep shook. This time the temblor was so vigorous that a cloud of black soot rolled forth from the chimney, half smothering the fire. Two small panes of the window cracked, and the King’s armor that had been laid ready on a trussing coffer fell clanging to the stone floor. Anigel buried her head in her husband’s chest, but made no outcry while the building continued to tremble.
Then all was still.
“It is over,” Antar said. “We had better go on a quick tour of inspection—”
Someone began to pound upon the door.
“Enter!” called the King.
Lord Penapat the Chamberlain stood at the threshold, his round face pale. Close behind him were three caped and hooded figures.
“My—my Liege, these great ladies and their companion have just arrived and request an audience with you and the Queen.”
A woman in a white cloak pushed past the Chamberlain and came into the room. “We did not expect to be welcomed by an earthquake, however.”
“Hara!” Queen Anigel cried joyfully, recognizing her elder sister and rushing to her. “Thank God! And you’re really here, not merely Sending your image! How wonderful!” The two embraced. “Did you fly here on lammergeier back?”
“No. My talisman will now take me anywhere in the world—together with those whom I touch.” Kadiya and Jagun the Nyssomu also entered from the corridor, and Anigel stared at the two in blank astonishment.
“You can transport them by magic—but you cannot bring the reinforcements from Ruwenda?”
“I cannot bring enough men in time to do you any good,” the Archimage said. “And the Ruwendian warriors are worn-out, and many recovering from wounds suffered in Var. It is better if I use my magical energies more productively.”
“Tell us how—oh! God help us! It is happening again!”
The palace shivered once more in a minor earthquake.
Haramis lifted her talisman and murmured words none could hear, then said: “I have surveyed the earth beneath Derorguila. There is at the present time no danger of a severe quake.”
“We must tell our people not to worry,” the King decided. “Penapat, go at once and spread the news that the Archimage is here and will protect—”
“No!” Haramis exclaimed. “No persons save those here must know of my presence. And you must all take care not to betray me. Orogastus spies upon you constantly through
his talismans. My assistance to you will be most valuable if the sorcerer has no inkling of where I am, or what I plan to do.”
“But the people will be terrified of further temblors,” the King said. “Can we not reassure them?”
Haramis considered, then her face brightened. “Lord Penapat, go to the savant Lampiar. Have him announce that his geomancers have determined that the earthquakes are over and there is nothing more to fear. But remember! Say nothing of my presence here, nor of the Lady Kadiya or Jagun.”
The Chamberlain bowed and withdrew, closing the door.
Now Kadiya approached the Queen, holding out her hands with a tentative smile. Anigel’s expression at once lost its warmth. She only nodded at the Lady of the Eyes, then turned from her and spoke to the Archimage.
“Tell us what news you have of Orogastus and the pirates. Is it still their plan to attack Derorguila two days from now?”
“The Raktumian fleet could be here in less than three hours,” Haramis said. “They are hove to in the open sea just off Dera Strait, concealed in a bank of fog. They are only awaiting the sorcerer’s command to strike. However, from what I have overheard through my occasional descrying, they still plan to invade on the day after tomorrow. There is a matter of training the warriors in the use of certain unusual weapons that Orogastus has provided.”
“What of Lord Osorkon and his sympathizers?” the King asked urgently. “Are they on their way to help defend Derorguila, as they promised, or do they plot treachery?”
“I can find these people for you,” the Archimage said, frowning, “but I cannot read their hearts. Still, they may betray their intentions as I observe them. Give me a moment to determine their whereabouts …”
With Antar and Anigel anxiously waiting, Haramis again took hold of her talisman and her expression became remote. She stood frozen for many minutes, and as the time of her trance lengthened Kadiya ventured to speak: