The Serpent Bride

  Instead, he discovered something vastly more interesting.

  Ba’al’uz and his companions did not wish to advertise their true origins, so they were dressed in the manner of Adab, and speaking with Adabian accents, which the power of Kanubai (which now infused all of them, if the Eight to a lesser extent than Ba’al’uz) allowed them to assume flawlessly.

  They arrived at the tavern fairly early, and thus were able to find comfortable seating at the rear, where they would not be crowded and which was also conveniently close to the dispensing tap for the ale. The tavern keeper served them himself, then asked if they minded if he sat down with them for five or ten minutes to rest his aching legs and to share a glass of ale, and to gossip, which Ba’al’uz was soon to discover was the tavern keeper’s primary reason for existence.

  For a while the nine Isembaardians sat and drank as the tavern keeper chatted. There seemed to be no stopping him. They learned who was sleeping with whom within the entire Outlands; they discovered who had hobbled the favorite at the recent festive race meeting; they were quietly astounded to realize that Outlanders rather liked to expose their bottoms to people as a gesture of great rudeness.

  “When the arses start flashing in here,” the tavern keeper said, a righteous frown on his face, “then that’s the time I start knocking heads together.”

  “Uh huh,” said Ba’al’uz, incapable of further comment.

  “It gets even worse when they add a fart or two to the insult,” said the tavern keeper.

  Ba’al’uz paused with his glass partway to his lips, appalled. By the great Kanubai, did any race more deserve to be completely overrun and obliterated than the Outlanders?

  The tavern keeper sighed, despondent at the outrages he had to police. “I am just grateful that when the Lady Ishbel Brunelle stayed two houses down she did not think to visit my humble establishment. I cannot imagine what she would have thought had someone pushed his hairy arse into her face.”

  Brunelle? Brunelle?

  Ba’al’uz froze. That had been Kanubai, whispering frantically in his mind. He looked at his companions. Without exception, they were all staring at the innkeeper in disgust. None of them had heard Kanubai’s whisper.

  The tavern keeper sniffed, wiping his nose with a corner of his apron. “Not that any of the high and mighty Brunelle family would ever visit with me.”

  “The Brunelle family?” Ba’al’uz said. Kanubai was still whispering madly in his head, now formless words of which Ba’al’uz could make neither head nor tail.

  What he did know, though, was that this woman was of great interest to Kanubai.

  The tavern keeper nodded. “Yes. The Brunelle family. Own most of Margalit, if you ask me, and I’ve heard they control vast fortunes in the Central Kingdoms as well. Ishbel was the surviving child of a terrible time. Plague took her entire family…”

  As he continued prattling on about Ishbel’s life story, one part of Ba’al’uz’ mind was taking in everything the innkeeper said, while another part was trying to work out how he could use this information to further his cause with Kanubai.

  “Someone took her in, don’t know who,” the innkeeper was saying, “but lo and behold she turned up at Baron Lixel’s residence a couple of months ago…that’s the big graywood house three down…had a really nice veranda put on it two years ago. If ever you need a good builder I can thoroughly recommend—”

  “Ishbel Brunelle,” said Ba’al’uz, desperately trying to return the conversation to the matter at hand.

  The very, very important matter at hand.

  “Ishbel—is she still in residence?” Ba’al’uz added.

  The tavern keeper shook his head. “Left weeks ago, with Lixel and his entire entourage. Heard she’s off to marry some high and mighty prince of the west.” He shrugged. “Why she couldn’t have picked a nice boy from her hometown, I don’t know.”

  Possibly she didn’t appreciate the flashing arses, thought Ba’al’uz. Didn’t want them with her soup at supper.

  Again he glanced about at his companions. They all watched him carefully, intuiting he’d experienced some kind of revelation at the name of the woman.

  “Who?” said Ba’al’uz. “Which prince?”

  “The Escatorian king. Maximilian. Lixel is his ambassador to the Outlands.”

  “She’s gone to Escator?” Ba’al’uz said.

  “To Pelemere, I think. Then on to Kyros. Leisurely journey. Maximilian is meeting her in Pelemere, and they’re taking their time in getting back to Escator. Having a good honeymoon, I expect. Making happy friends with all the kings along the way in case Maximilian needs to borrow money later.”

  “You seem to know a great deal about their plans,” said one of the Eight.

  The tavern keeper shrugged. “I know a great deal about everything, don’t I? But one of Lixel’s men used to come in here and drink and gossip. That’s how I know.”

  That night Ba’al’uz sat and meditated, opening his mind to Kanubai.

  The whispers came, very faintly at first, but they gained in strength as the night wore on.

  There was much incoherent muttering, but there were several concepts that stood out.

  One was Kanubai’s continual reference to Elcho Falling, which Ba’al’uz still did not understand.

  The next was the name of Ishbel Brunelle, whispered over and over, which told Ba’al’uz that she was very important to Kanubai.

  The third was more emotion and image than word, but Ba’al’uz understood it perfectly.

  Sacrifice.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DarkGlass Mountain, the Tyranny of Isembaard

  The night lay very still about DarkGlass Mountain. The river lapped gently among the reed beds, birds shifted within their roosting places, a few cows wandered through a field a hundred paces away from the pyramid.

  One of the cows looked up, watching the pyramid for a few minutes as if entranced, then shook its head and wandered off, the spell broken.

  The cow was not what Kanubai wanted.

  An hour or so later, when even the birds had stilled, a dog came wandering along the road that led along the river by DarkGlass Mountain. It was a brindle mongrel, with a barrel-shaped body and long spindly legs, and a long tattered tail that showed the scars of many street fights. The dog was hungry, for he had found no food in the streets of Aqhat the previous day, and so had swum the river in the hope of finding something in the fields.

  Rats, perhaps, or some crumbs left from one of the fieldworkers’ noon meal.

  The dog trotted slowly along the road, stopping now and again to sniff at something on the verge, or within the reed banks, but always wandering off disappointed.

  Then it caught the scent of gravy.

  It instantly made the hungry dog’s mouth water, and his ears pricked up. His pace quickened and he followed the scent of the gravy…

  …without thinking, without any caution, straight through the dog-sized hole in the side of DarkGlass Mountain.

  The brindle dog could think of nothing but the scent of the gravy. He trotted, and then ran, along the twisting corridors of fused black glass, not perturbed by the flickering streaks of fire deep within the glass.

  There was only the food.

  Within a few short minutes the dog arrived within a golden chamber. It was stunningly beautiful, but the dog’s ears drooped in disappointment.

  There was no food.

  Dejected, he sniffed about the perimeter of the chamber, his cold moist nose brushing against the carved golden glass. He went about two walls in that fashion, but halfway along the third he yelped and tried to pull back.

  But his nose was firmly stuck to the glass.

  The dog growled and redoubled his efforts.

  His nose stuck even more firmly.

  And then it began to sink into the glass, dragging the dog with it.

  The dog struggled, his breath coming in tight wheezes, more through fear than from his efforts.

  Nothin
g helped. Within heartbeats his head was inside the glass, and then his shoulders and forelegs, and then, in one horrible moment, his entire body vanished behind the glass.

  But not quite vanished completely. Shadows twisted behind the glass as the dog continued to struggle with whatever had trapped him.

  Then everything went black. The entire chamber, constructed of pure golden glass, turned black.

  Outside, for an instant, the massive shadow of a struggling dog appeared beneath the blue-green glass of DarkGlass Mountain.

  And then everything was still.

  The river lapped gently at the reed banks.

  The birds shifted within their roosting.

  And a brindle dog loped away from the glass pyramid, heading for the ford back to the palace of Aqhat.

  Kanubai might still be trapped, but now he had eyes and ears, and the recently attained knowledge that a Brunelle walked the land gave Kanubai hope that soon he would be able to breathe and walk within his own body.

  If only Ba’al’uz would do what he needed of him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Pelemere, the Central Kingdoms

  Ishbel stood in her finery by the open window of Sirus’ palace in Pelemere. She had been at the palace almost two days. Today was her wedding day.

  It was deep winter. Snow drifted in the window, scattering a few flakes over Ishbel’s bare shoulders and neck and down the front of her ivory satin gown.

  She didn’t notice, nor seem to be aware of her goose-pimpled flesh. Ishbel stared into the palace grounds—half frozen and solid with snow—and thought about Serpent’s Nest, making a promise to herself. She would endure. She would make this marriage, for this was what the Great Serpent demanded of her, and it was for this that he had saved her from the charnel house of her parents’ home. When it was done, and the Great Serpent’s purpose fulfilled, then she would turn and walk away. He had said that she would return home to Serpent’s Nest, that it would be her home forever, and thus this marriage was not a life sentence.

  Until then she would manage with dignity. Maximilian was a personable and charming man (if with a will of sheer steel). It would not be terrible.

  Ishbel made the sign of the Coil over her belly with her right fist, then sighed and shivered, as if she had realized for the first time how cold she was. She closed the window, brushed away the few snowflakes that had settled on her shoulders and gown, and prepared to do what was needed.

  The sooner it was done, the sooner she would eventually go home. Perhaps that might even be sooner rather than later. Ishbel had heard no reports to suggest that the Skraelings were massing in the north, nor any rumors of a great evil rising in the south. Perhaps her actions had already prevented the disaster the Great Serpent had shown her. She still needed to make the marriage, but perhaps in a year or so…

  A knock sounded at the door, and Ishbel briefly closed her eyes, gathering her strength.

  Ishbel did her best, and she thought she did it well enough until that moment Maximilian slid the ring on her finger. Sirus had put on a lovely reception for her and Maximilian, replete with many guests, much wine and food, and music and entertainments. Ishbel managed to smile occasionally, and take wine and, surprisingly, to look and act as if she was enjoying herself.

  Then came the ceremony and the stilted words, and then Maximilian took a lovely emerald and ruby ring from his pocket, and slid it on her finger.

  Ishbel’s world turned instantly to mayhem.

  Ishbel! Ishbel! We have waited so long for you! Oh, we are so delighted, and you are so delightful! We—

  “Ishbel,” Maximilian murmured, his grip tightening on her hand as her face went white with shock. “Ishbel, it is all right. Take a deep breath. It is all right.”

  Nothing was “right”! Only the fact of Maximilian’s grip on her hand kept Ishbel standing. She could barely breathe, and she was aware of nothing in the room save Maximilian and the whispers.

  She was back in her parents’ house, her mother’s corpse gibbering and whispering.

  “Be quiet!” Maximilian hissed under his breath and the ring fell silent.

  “Ishbel, it is all right. Come on now, look at me, smile for me.”

  His fingers were very slowly stroking her hand, and Ishbel blinked, managing to focus on his face.

  It was very reassuring, his eyes warm and concerned.

  “Ishbel?”

  Amid her confusion and all the lingering horror, Ishbel realized that everyone was staring at her. She summoned every particle of courage and determination she had, and croaked out the words needed to complete the ceremony.

  When it was done and Maximilian leaned to kiss her, he paused with his mouth close to her ear. “I’m sorry, Ishbel. I didn’t realize that would frighten you so much. If you put your mind to it you can block out the whispers.”

  She got through the rest of the afternoon’s and evening’s public events in a fugue of shock. She supposed she said what was expected of her, and she even allowed Maximilian to lead her onto the dance floor for a wedding dance.

  Then, gratefully, it was over and she and Maximilian were alone in their chamber.

  The first thing Ishbel did was to slip the ring from her finger and place it on a cabinet.

  Relief washed through her, and she relaxed a little, and managed to smile for Maximilian, who was standing watching her.

  There were no servants present. The chamber had been prepared but for this night they had been left alone. Now Maximilian came over to her, sliding his hands about her waist.

  “I shall have to maid for you, as we have been left so solitary,” murmured Maximilian, kissing her shoulder as he began, very gently, to unbutton her gown.

  “I hardly need a maid. I was not used to one at…at the place I grew up.”

  “But you are a queen now. You need a bevy of servants”—Maximilian kissed her other shoulder—“and more finery than you can ever wear in a lifetime.” The dress had fallen to the floor now, and Maximilian was unlacing her underclothes.

  “I am a woman of abstemious nature,” Ishbel said.

  “Then I shall have to corrupt you.”

  She laughed, surprising herself. Perhaps she’d had too much wine, but more probably it was the sheer relief at finally losing the ring.

  He turned her about to face him. “Was that a laugh, Ishbel? I have never heard you laugh before.”

  She was sober now, her hazel eyes very clear and calm. “I was raised to be serious and quiet.”

  “Then I shall have to teach you mayhem and ribaldry.”

  Her mouth twitched again. “Why can you laugh so much, Maxel”—this was the first time she had called him by his diminutive name—“when you have endured so much in your life?”

  “Maybe you need to endure hardship in order to learn to appreciate laughter.”

  “But still…”

  “Ishbel, this may surprise you enormously, but tonight is not the time I want to talk about the Veins. Perhaps when we are old and tired and can think of nothing else to entertain ourselves, eh?”

  “When we are old and tired then, Maxel,” she said, knowing that would never happen.

  A few months, a year, and then she could go home. Surely.

  He smiled, pulled her close, and kissed her with increasing passion, and she let him do with her what he wanted.

  An hour or so later Maximilian lay by his wife, gently stroking her shoulder and arm. There was a lamp lit in a far corner of the chamber, and it cast a soft light over the room and its occupants. It was very late now, but Maximilian did not feel like sleeping. There was far too much to discuss.

  The ring.

  He ran his hand down to hers and lifted it.

  “I am sorry the ring frightened you,” he said. “I should have warned you. It was a shock.”

  She said nothing, but her entire body tensed into rigidity.

  She was terrified!

  Maximilian had no idea why. Yes, the ring would have startled her, perhaps ev
en frightened her, but he’d not expected this depth of reaction.

  “It is just the Persimius rings,” he said. “They mean no harm. They are irritating, but sometimes also they can be—”

  “I do not want to talk about it.”

  “It is nothing to be frightened of, Ishbel. It—”

  She whipped her face about to his. “I do not want it to touch me again.”

  “Ishbel—”

  “I do not want it to touch me again.”

  Maximilian was glad at that moment that his own ring had kept its silence throughout this day—perhaps it understood Ishbel’s fright.

  “Ishbel, why so frightened? It is nothing of which to be scared.”

  She burst into tears, which disconcerted Maximilian so greatly he could say no more. He gathered her into his arms and cuddled her close until she finally began to relax, and her tears abated.

  Why so frightened?

  Eventually she leaned back a little, just enough to wipe her eyes. “What happened with Garth the other day?” she said, a little too brightly and in a patent effort to distract him away from talk of the rings. “We’ve not had a chance to talk about it since. What did he feel from me?”

  Maximilian felt as if he were suspended over a great chasm of doom. How would she react to this snippet of news?

  “Garth wanted to warn me against marrying you,” he said. “He thought you a loose woman, a harlot, a—”

  “What? Why should he think—”

  “You’re pregnant, Ishbel. Garth realized it. He had no idea that we’d already…‘met.’”

  The chamber was only lit softly, but it was enough for Maximilian to see Ishbel go almost white with shock. She actually stopped breathing, her eyes wide and horrified.

  “Ishbel…breathe.”

  She drew in a harsh breath, then sat up suddenly in the bed, hugging her arms about her breasts. “No. I can’t be. I can’t be pregnant!”

  “Garth has the Touch very, very powerfully, Ishbel, and he isn’t mistaken. You’re only a few days pregnant, a week or so, but you are pregnant.”