“But—I saw you, in your room,” Daine protested, feeling decidedly odd.
“It was a simulacrum. I’m expressly forbidden to leave the palace.”
“What if one of their mages came around, looking for you? What if the emperor spies on you?”
“I embodied it with sufficient amounts of my Gift to deceive anybody. Should someone try to disturb the copy, it will enclose the room completely, so no one will enter until I am back inside.”
“And if you’re caught?” she demanded. “He’d love to catch you breaking the rules!”
“Daine, we had to talk.” The voice, surprisingly, was Kaddar’s. “There’s no other way we can do it without being spied on.”
Daine faced him and Lindhall. They watched her, not her teacher. “You knew he’d be here this morning. That’s why you brought me.”
“I also wanted you to see my friends.” The kindness in Lindhall’s voice broke through her anger. She knew him well enough by now to realize that he was telling the truth. “You are more than welcome here in your own right, my dear.”
She smiled at him reluctantly, and nodded. To Numair she said, “You could have trusted me.”
He took her hands in his. “I do trust you, magelet. I simply didn’t wish to discuss it under Ozorne’s roof. You aren’t particularly adept at concealing your state of mind. You would have been visibly apprehensive if I had left with you and His Highness, whether I was invisible or not.”
Since there was no answer she could make to that, she scowled. “How did you get here?”
“Hawk shape. And now, we’ve little time and much to discuss. Would you mind looking at the aviary for a while? Or would you rather be privy to our discussions?”
“I’ll go look at birds,” she said hastily. “I’m that tired of secrets. Kit? Stay or go?”
Kitten, who loved secrets, shook her head and sat. The iguanas promptly began to climb on her.
Lindhall opened another door, different from the room with the turtle. Daine entered a large, sunny area with a ceiling that was half glass panes, and closed the door behind her. Under the glass and behind a silken barrier net was an aviary. It was different from Ozorne’s: the plants were northern, not tropical. On the trees the leaves had turned color and were falling. Something in the room produced a faint chill, like the kind she’d feel at home at this time of year. The air was drier, and the birds who inhabited the aviary were northerners: lapwings, turtledoves, crested larks, nightingales, song thrushes, and green and gold finches.
“Here’s a man who wants to go home,” she said to herself, looking at the birds. “Of all the pretty southern birds he could have, he picks you. I like his taste.”
The birds flocked to the netting to peer at her and talk. She chatted with them for some time, listening to them gossip about their neighbors and Lindhall. Like the inhabitants of the glass kingdoms next door, these birds had nothing but good to say of the mage.
Once each bird had been greeted, she looked at the counter on the far side of the room. Writing materials were scattered over its length, and a number of animal skeletons stood on it, posed as they would have been in life. She also found a large slab of limestone. Embedded in it was an incomplete skeleton, that of a small animal with only three extremely long, birdlike toes to a leg, and a lizard’s bony tail. Its skull was odd compared to those of the birds she knew, but its end formed a beak. Most interesting, in the chipped-away stone around it, she saw outlines of what looked like feathered wings. Missing were the lower ribs on the right, part of the spine, the right femur, and the end of the tail. A label on the front of the shallow box that contained the limestone read, Lizard-bird, found in the Jalban Quarry, Zallara.
“Have you ever seen a bird like this, Zek?” she asked.
No, replied the marmoset. Never.
After the Hall of Bones, she wasn’t about to touch the complete skeletons. On the other hand, surely there was nothing wrong with touching a collection of bones embedded in rock, particularly if parts of the entire skeleton were missing. Gingerly, she touched a thin claw with her finger.
The flash burned into her eyes. Blinking to clear her vision, Daine heard the last thing she wanted to hear in the world: the sound of crumbling rock. First to come free was the skull, followed by the heronlike neck. Next came the overlong arm bones, spine, and bits of ribcage. Pieces moved as if connected, even when they weren’t. Outlying chunks of bone jumped from the rock and gathered around the main skeleton as the hipbones separated from their tomb.
Look! said Zek, squeaking in excitement. If there’s any missing, the bones leave room for it!
“Wonderful,” she whispered. She didn’t share his enthusiasm: it made her queasy to look at those absent—or invisible—chunks.
The legs yanked themselves free. The skeleton tried to stand and was brought up short, its tail still embedded in limestone. It looked back over its rump to see what the holdup was. The beak opened in a soundless cry that revealed small teeth. It switched its hips, freeing its tail. At liberty, the lizard-bird extended its arms, then its legs, having a good stretch after a long nap.
Daine sat on a nearby stool, hard. Zek, who couldn’t understand why she was not pleased, jumped from her shoulder to the countertop, skidding until he turned and brought himself around. The skeleton was about the size of a crow. It turned to peer at Zek, crouching to get a better look.
“With eyes that aren’t there,” Daine said, and giggled helplessly. Both the skeleton and Zek looked at her reproachfully. “Sorry.”
“Mithros bless, I didn’t know you had the magical assemblage spell!” cried Lindhall. Numair and Kaddar, behind him, only stared.
As if I weren’t having enough fun yet, thought Daine.
“It doesn’t seem to matter if pieces are missing.” Lindhall walked to the counter for a closer look at the creature. “But that’s why I didn’t use the assemblage spell on my own. It doesn’t work if the skeleton is incomplete.”
If it knew it was incomplete, the lizard-bird didn’t act it. Looking around, it stretched, wagged its arms clumsily, then leaped off the counter. All four humans lunged to catch it, but the skeleton had other ideas. It flew up, bony arms flapping awkwardly, as if it still wore the feathers that had left their imprints in its rock tomb.
“But there aren’t any birds with claws in their arms!” Daine protested as the skeleton swooped and turned around the light-globe overhead. “And its bones are solid, not hollow like a bird’s. Bats have sort-of fingers, but those are genuine clawed toes, not like a bat’s wing.”
“It was no bat. It is a link, between the dinosaurs in the Hall of Bones and animals—birds—alive now,” Lindhall explained without taking his eyes from the flier. “The seers who look back in time have seen lizard-birds in the same era as the largest snake-necked dinosaurs and the lesser tyrant lizards. They have followed the lizard-bird’s development, and it is true—it comes from the land walkers.”
“Instead of scales, feathers,” said Numair, as interested as Lindhall. “Also a bird’s wishbone and a bird’s gripping foot. But it has abdominal ribs, as reptiles do, and a flexible tail.”
The skeleton, tired of exercising invisible wings, settled on Lindhall’s shoulder. Kaddar leaned in to inspect the empty spaces in the bones, and nearly got pecked. “Stop that,” Lindhall ordered, stroking the creature’s beak. “He was only looking.”
“This isn’t the assemblage spell,” the prince said, looking at Daine. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. What did you do to it?”
Kitten, who had followed the men, squeaked a reproach at Kaddar’s tone. The iguanas came in from the other room, prepared to defend Daine.
“I can’t—I’m not—” Daine stammered.
She looked at Numair, who was rubbing one temple. “I think you must explain,” he told her.
“These rooms are warded,” Kaddar said. “That’s how I could talk with Master Numair safely.”
“What’s in place h
ere is unlike normal warding spells,” added Lindhall, leaning against the counter. The lizard-bird on his shoulder ran his beak through the mage’s fine, gray-gold hair, grooming him. “The emperor must never suspect these rooms are warded, or he would come to discover what I have that’s worth concealment. If he or his servant mages try to eavesdrop in these rooms, they will hear only dull, innocent conversations and noises made by my animals.”
Daine whistled. After two years with Numair, she had an idea how complex a spell-weave like that would be. “It’s a new thing that’s happened,” she told Lindhall and Kaddar. “I’m not sure of the details . . . Numair, what should I say?”
“All that you told me yesterday,” was the quiet reply.
She obeyed. When she finished, no one said anything. Waiting for one of them to speak, Daine went to talk to the aviary birds. They wanted reassurance that the bone thing was not going to get into their home. Daine soothed them until they returned to their normal pursuits.
The first to speak was Lindhall. “You mean it isn’t permanent?” The skeleton, bony tail hooked around the mage’s neck, was gnawing his shirt buttons. “He’ll stop being alive?”
Daine nodded. “I’m sorry, but it does seem to run out, after a time.” She wanted to add that she wasn’t sure if the vulture had run down, since the old woman had taken him, but thought the better of it at the last minute. She didn’t want to start coughing again.
“You should try this in the Hall of Bones,” the older man remarked, turning the skeleton’s head from a necklace he wore under his shirt. “Stop that. If you bite it, you’ll hurt yourself. Although I suppose it would be a bit inconvenient if any of the dinosaurs were to walk away.”
Kaddar made a face at Daine, who giggled. “Inconvenient puts it mildly,” the prince drawled. “But Daine’s right to keep this secret. I hate to think what my uncle would do with someone who has such power. Can you imagine? An army of dead creatures that can’t be hurt by normal means?”
Daine thought of the great fused lizards, with their plates and spikes of bone, and shivered. One of them would do serious harm in a small village.
“It would be precisely to his taste,” agreed Numair. “He might decide such power is worth a war in Tortall, perhaps even all the Eastern Lands.”
“Well, while he’s with us, I am going to call this one Bonedancer,” Lindhall declared, stroking the lizard-bird’s skull. “There’s one thing I find troublesome about all this, however. Numair is right—wild magic does not function this way, as far as we can determine. What is the provenance of this power? Even the Black God is unable to give a semblance of life to the dead.”
“Mynoss—?” suggested Kaddar. “No. He judges only.”
“In The Ekallatum Book of Tombs it’s said the Queen of Chaos once raised an army of the dead,” murmured Numair.
“But the Scrolls of Qawe Icemage refute it,” Lindhall replied. “According to him, the Queen of Chaos assembled dead wood and stones to be her army. No, the only god, I believe, who can resurrect that which was once flesh and is now dead is the Graveyard Hag.”
“That’s right,” Kaddar said. “Remember? There are legends of bonedancers—the resurrected dead—from the fall of the Ikhiyan dynasty, and the end of the Omanat priest-kings—” He stopped, realizing what he was telling them, and the men looked at each other.
Daine’s throat locked as if a bony hand gripped it. —Don’t even think of it, dearie,— a voice advised insider her head. —It doesn’t suit me that these handsome friends of yours should know I’m about. My, they’re a tall set, aren’t they? Not a one of them under six feet. I like these big fellows. Make a girl feel sheltered and fragile, that’s what I always say.—
You’re as fragile as granite, thought the furious Daine.
—Of course,— was the amused reply. —I’m a goddess after all. But it’s nice to feel as if I might be fragile, old and rickety as I am. Now, remember, I’m keeping an ear on you, so don’t try to warn them. If you force me to silence you fast, I might hurt you.—
The hand on her throat squeezed, and Daine gasped, fighting for air. When her knees buckled, Numair caught her and held her to a seat. “Are you all right?” he asked, dark eyes worried. “Bringing things to life tires you, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. Kaddar went into the other room and returned with a pitcher and a cup, which he filled and handed to her. Daine sipped. It was water, freshened with a leaf of mint.
“We have to be careful talking about the Graveyard Hag,” he said, gently teasing. “Yesterday she had a coughing fit in the Hag’s temple. It didn’t let up until we were outside.”
Lindhall frowned, troubled. “Should you have visited her temple?”
“We visited them all,” said Kaddar.
“It’s my fault,” Daine said, voice hoarse. “I wanted to look at them.”
“Uncle can’t fault me for doing it when he told me to take her wherever she wanted.”
“No, of course not.” Lindhall still looked uneasy. Clearly shaking it off, he said, “Numair, I think you must be getting back—it’s almost noon. And what will you young people do? I could have lunch brought to us and then show you around a bit.”
Daine smiled at the fair-haired man. “I’d like that, if it’s all right with Kaddar. I can get to know your friends better.”
Lindhall smiled as the lizard-bird preened feathers that were long gone. Numair took a deep breath and began to shape-change. Only when he was completely a hawk, oversized and black, did Lindhall open a door so that he could fly into a garden, and away.
That night, Varice shifted the banquet to a series of broad, shallow terraces overlooking an ornamental lake. Daine and the prince were dinner partners once more, seated at the end of the main group. Harailt was on Daine’s other side. When the opening course was served, he amused himself by slipping tidbits to Kitten as he filled the two younger people in on the uneasy progress of the talks.
The emperor hadn’t even made an appearance at the talks that day. Duke Etiakret, head of the Carthaki negotiators, walked out after Duke Gareth said King Jonathan and Queen Thayet would not agree to buy silk, dyes, and glass from no one but Carthak. Etiakret returned, only to say that Carthak refused to surrender one of its lords, a pirate who often raided Tortall, to northern justice.
When Harailt turned to the woman seated on his other side, Daine told Kaddar, “It doesn’t look at all good, does it?”
“Do you see any happy faces around here?” he asked, indicating to the servers that they would have the catfish.
Daine shook her head. “Nary a one.” She leaned back and reshaped her ears, knowing the growing shadows would hide the change from most. Scraps of talk came to her and faded as she twitched them to and fro.
“—am not going to let those things ruin his party, Numair. His Imperial Highness was simply in a mood. Etiakret will come to your people tomorrow, all smiles and conciliation—just you watch. Try the dormice, won’t you? They’re rolled in honey and poppy seeds—”
Daine winced—in her view dormice were food for owls, cats, and snakes—and listened elsewhere.
“—the result of a misunderstanding on my part, my dear Lord Martin. The emperor has taken me sternly to task and, I assure you, the progress of the talks in the morning will be far different—”
“—to honor her for her service to our treasured pets, Duke Gareth. Surely your rules will not ask a penniless child to turn down a title and property of her own.”
Daine made a face. She wanted no lands or title from the Emperor Mage! With a sigh she returned her ears to their normal shape and concentrated on the meal and her companions. As the sky darkened, they nibbled fried pockets of noodles and pork in a sweet sauce and talked about Kaddar’s mother and sisters. Kitten, thinking herself unobserved, gobbled boar’s tail with hot sauce, then had to leap for the water pitcher.
“Does she ever get sick from eating human food?” Kaddar watched as the dragon managed to dump half the water
down her throat and half all over herself.
Daine smiled. “She never gets sick from anything. Once she ate a box of myrrh. She was only three months old. I thought every little accident she had would harm her for life.”
“She didn’t get sick?”
“She burped smoke for a week, that’s all.”
“I should have a stomach like hers. Especially these days.” Kaddar’s eyes flicked to where Ozorne sat, fanning himself idly.
“Come back with us,” she said impulsively. “Make a real life, one with no cages in it.”
His smile was both sad and bitter. “I cannot. He’s got my family, my friends, even my horse. Do you think he would stop at hurting them to bring me home?” He patted her hand. “No. Once he claims something, he never, ever lets go. It’s a miracle your Master Salmalín has managed to remain free and unharmed all this time.”
Daine, knowing that Numair had worked as a street magician and nearly starved during his first years in Tortall, shook her head. Not daring to use his Gift out of fear that Ozorne would learn of it and hunt him down, changing his appearance and name, moving often before he made friends who brought him to the king’s attention—to her that said he’d paid a high price for his miracle of survival.
Dishes came and went until the meal was over at last. By then the light-globes were burning, and musicians tuned their instruments at the far end of the terrace. Slaves arrived pushing a large metal cart slowly down the line of tables. It bore an immense cake, the pinnacle of a pastry cook’s art, shaped like the imperial palace down to each bay, ell, and tower. Looking at it, Daine now saw that the palace was built like a rising sun, a large half circle with wings like short and long rays.
“The cooks made each piece and all the spun sugar, cream decorations, and so on,” explained Kaddar, “but it’s Varice who designs the cake and puts it together and supervises the decorating. Without her magic they couldn’t do anything so fancy.”
The guests applauded; Daine, reluctantly, clapped as well. Varice looked proud of herself as she offered the pastry knife to the emperor. Ozorne smiled and indicated that she should do the cutting.