The Serpent Bride

  “Would you like me to tell you where I came from?” said Isaiah. “Where Isembaard came from?”

  “Yes. Isembaard is such an unknown entity outside of its borders,” Axis said.

  Isaiah walked over to a cabinet and withdrew a large rolled map, which he spread over the table.

  Axis came over. The huge map showed the known world in detail, and Axis was stunned by the size of Isembaard. It was three times, at least, the size Tencendor had been.

  Axis’ eyes drifted to the northwest of the map, where Tencendor should have been.

  There was nothing there save a broken line showing where once the coastline had been, and the chilling label: The Lost Land of Tencendor.

  “As you can see,” Isaiah said, “my cartographers have produced a perfectly up-to-date map.”

  Axis nodded, not trusting his voice.

  Isaiah tapped a small city on the east coast of Isembaard. “The original Isembaard rose from this small eastern city of the same name—the Tyranny takes its name from the city that gave it birth. When Isembaard was still a small city and not the vast empire it is now, the tyrants of Isembaard depended almost entirely on warfare for their reputation, and for the means to feed their people.”

  “How so?” said Axis. “Surely a state is the stronger the less it engages in war?”

  “The city of Isembaard was small, surrounded by poor land,” said Isaiah. “How else was it to grow, and strengthen, if it did not accrue lands unto itself? Isembaard needed to expand in order to survive. It needed its leaders, its tyrants, to be successful and ambitious war leaders, in order that the needed land be accrued.”

  “Ah,” said Axis. “So over time Isembaard ‘accrued’ all the nations I have seen on your maps? The ‘dependencies’? A city become an empire?”

  “Yes,” said Isaiah. “Bit by bit. It has taken us centuries.”

  Axis thought about the vast amount of territory within the Tyranny, and the different peoples contained therein. “It must be difficult,” he observed, “ruling such an immense area and peoples.”

  “It is,” said Isaiah, and Axis thought he saw that fleeting shadow cross the tyrant’s face.

  “Does the Tyrant of Isembaard still rely on the ancient methods of keeping people happy?” Axis asked. “Continual expansion? Warfare? Does your throne depend on victory in war, Isaiah?”

  Isaiah turned his head to look at Axis fully. “You know the answer to that, Axis. Why else allow you to listen to my conversation with Lister?”

  Axis looked back at the map. “You called Lister your ‘northern ally,’” he said, “and from my own experience I know Skraelings prefer ice and snow above all else.” He ran a hand slowly up the map, then tapped the area above Gershadi and Viland. “He’s up here. In the frozen northern wastes.”

  Isaiah tilted his head in agreeance.

  “And you want to invade ‘north,’” Axis said. He fell silent, concentrating on the map.

  “By the stars, Isaiah,” Axis said eventually, “you have allied with Lister and the Skraelings with only one possible objective. The kingdoms above the FarReach Mountains: Pelemere, Kyros, Escator, perhaps even the Outlands. You intend to sandwich the Northern Kingdoms between you, yes? Two arms, two pincers, icy ghosts from the north, desert warriors from the south.”

  “A sound strategy, surely,” Isaiah said.

  “But such a risk,” said Axis. “Not merely relying on an alliance with Skraelings, for the stars’ sakes, but such a massive invasion into lands so far from your home.” Axis studied the map once more. “Frankly, I would have tried for something more achievable that didn’t necessitate a Skraeling alliance…the Eastern Independencies, for example.” He tapped the map down in its lower eastern corner. “I can’t think why you have not ‘accrued’ them already.”

  Isaiah did not answer, and Axis looked at him curiously. “By the gods,” Axis said softly after a moment or two. “You have tried for the Eastern Independencies, haven’t you?”

  “I campaigned against the Eastern Independencies in my second year on the throne,” Isaiah said. “The campaign proved to be…difficult.”

  Stars! Axis thought, recalling Lister’s earlier remark about the generals. Isaiah was very uncertain of his throne. He had one military disaster behind him and he could not afford another—not with both a nation and some restless generals expecting a military victory resulting in the acquisition of yet more new territory.

  “Why,” Axis asked, “were the Eastern Independencies so hard to—”

  “That is not the issue now,” Isaiah said, his tone tight, and Axis knew this was not the time to push the point.

  “So instead you ally with the Skraelings in the frozen northern wastes,” Axis said. “An interesting alliance.”

  “It cannot fail,” Isaiah said. “The Central Kingdoms, the Outlands, and their allies will not be able to resist us.”

  Axis was trying hard to reconcile this Isaiah with the one who had handed him the Goblet of the Frogs. He realized, very suddenly, that there was no contradiction at all. Isaiah was a man genuinely unsuited to tyranny, which made him immensely vulnerable, which in its turn made him even more determined to win for himself a great military victory that resulted in the conquering of vast lands.

  The only question in Axis’ mind was why Isaiah was so determined to cling to his throne. Axis thought that Isaiah was not one who needed the magnificence of throne and title and power of life and death over millions in order to bolster his self-esteem.

  So why the need to ally with the Skraelings in order to achieve military victory? Why embark on a course which would result in the death of tens of thousands?

  “I need a friend here at court,” Isaiah said, his eyes watching Axis carefully as if he could understand the train of Axis’ thoughts. “I have none. No one I can trust.”

  “If you want me to be your friend, then tell me why you want this invasion so badly. The real reason, Isaiah.”

  Isaiah held his gaze for a moment. “And so I will tell you,” he said, “when I am certain I can trust you.”

  Axis laughed softly, shaking his head. “Why do I find it impossible to remain angry with you, Isaiah?”

  “Will you be my friend, Axis?”

  “I will not aid you to invade the Central Kingdoms. I will not, under any circumstances, condone any action that sees you ally with Skraelings.”

  “Be my conscience then, if friendship is too difficult.”

  Isaiah’s eyes twinkled, and Axis again shook his head in amusement. Isaiah was impossible to dislike.

  “Your conscience, then,” Axis said.

  “Good,” Isaiah said, taking Axis’ hand, and Axis sensed that Isaiah was truly relieved.

  “Now,” said Isaiah, glancing at one of the windows, “it grows dark, and I fear I am late for an appointment with wife number fifty-nine. Can you find your way back to your apartment by yourself?”

  Axis was struck firstly by the fact that at least Isaiah trusted him enough to allow him to wander the palace, and secondly by the casual mention of wife number fifty-nine.

  “How many do you have?” Axis asked, aghast.

  “Um, eighty-four, I think.”

  “So many?”

  “I find myself displeased by a woman’s body when she is pregnant. So as my wives fall pregnant, I send them back to the women’s quarters and take to myself another wife. Also, many of the dependencies send me wives, hoping thus to garner my favor.”

  “And you love none of them.” It was not a question.

  “They are meaningless to me, Axis. I do not have an Azhure in my life.”

  The sudden mention of his wife upset Axis more than he’d thought possible. He was shocked to find his eyes filling with tears as a terrible ache consumed him.

  “I am sorry, Axis,” Isaiah said, the man of deep compassion now fully returned.

  Axis nodded, then turned away.

  Two hours later Axis lay awake in his chamber, hands behind his head, staring
into the darkness.

  Azhure.

  He hadn’t thought much about her since Isaiah had pulled him back into life, but Isaiah’s words earlier brought home to Axis how much he missed her.

  I do not have an Azhure in my life, Isaiah had said.

  Neither, now, did Axis. She was dead, he was alive, and Axis had no idea if he would ever see her again. Who knew how many otherworlds there were? Who knew whether, once he died from this life, he would return to Azhure’s side?

  Besides, how long was he to live now?

  The thought of enduring perhaps fifty years without his wife kept Axis awake throughout the night.

  “Damn you, Isaiah,” Axis muttered as the dawn light slowly filtered into his chamber, but there was no anger in his voice, only an infinite sadness.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Palace of Aqhat, Tyranny of Isembaard

  Isaiah did not go back to his private quarters after talking with Axis.

  Instead, restless and uncertain, he went down to the dark stables, saddled a horse (waving back to their beds the four or five grooms who hurried sleepy-eyed to serve their master), and rode the horse to the Lhyl.

  He pushed the horse across the river, then rode south along the river road to where rose the great glass pyramid called DarkGlass Mountain. Isaiah did not once raise his eyes to look at it, but rode directly to a small door in its northern face, where he hobbled the horse, and entered.

  He walked through the black glass tunnels of the pyramid to its very heart—a golden-glassed chamber known as the Infinity Chamber.

  Here Isaiah sat cross-legged in its very center and meditated.

  Kanubai—trapped deep beneath DarkGlass Mountain—and he were enemies. Bitter, terrible, lifetime enemies. Isaiah came here to expose himself to the beast, not only to test his own strength and resolve, but also to sense out his enemy and divine his strengths and weaknesses.

  Time was when Kanubai’s weaknesses outnumbered his strengths.

  Now, the strengths were gaining.

  Isaiah visualized the abyss that sank into the very heart of the world. He concentrated on that abyss until it formed his entire consciousness, until he knew nothing but the abyss.

  Then, gathering his courage, he cast his eyes down into the darkness.

  When he had first started doing this, he had seen nothing, although he had felt the horror that lurked in the pit of the abyss.

  Kanubai, cast down an infinity of ages ago.

  But over the past few years Isaiah had started to see as well as sense Kanubai. The gleam of an eye.

  Or perhaps a tooth.

  The wetness of a tongue.

  Now, as he had over the past year, Isaiah’s gaze managed to discern a blackened shape huddled against the walls of the abyss.

  Kanubai was rising closer.

  He was still far, far below, but every time Isaiah came here he could see that Kanubai was a little nearer.

  Thin black fingers suckered into tiny cracks in the abyss.

  A darkened face, staring upward, feeling the weight of Isaiah’s regard.

  Kanubai had once been stoppered tight in his abyss, but was no longer. Those ancient cursed magi who had built the glass pyramid, and then opened it into Infinity, had unwittingly cracked open the stopper Isaiah and Lister had placed over the abyss.

  Kanubai had been inching his way through that crack ever since.

  Hello, Isaiah.

  Isaiah fought down his nausea. Kanubai had been whispering to him for many years now. At first nothing but unintelligible thick mutterings, but now almost every word was clear.

  What do you, Isaiah?

  Isaiah never replied. The last thing he wanted was to get into conversation with the beast.

  Do you know what I will do to your river, Isaiah, when I rise?

  Isaiah knew he had to break the connection. He had spent too long in here. He had to leave now before—

  He went cold.

  In his vision of Kanubai, Isaiah thought he had seen, just for a moment, something clinging to Kanubai’s back.

  Or something in his hands, perhaps.

  Isaiah opened his eyes, then rose to his feet, stumbling a little in his foreboding as he made for the doorway out of the Infinity Chamber.

  Something else rose with Kanubai.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Royal Palace, Ruen, Escator

  Maximilian stepped into the chamber where he met with his Council of Friends and saw that for once he was the last to arrive.

  Egalion, Garth, and Vorstus regarded him a little warily. Egalion and Garth had been well aware of the tension between Maximilian and Vorstus, but had no idea of the cause. Both Garth and Egalion had, at different times, approached Maximilian cautiously, wondering what the problem might be, but Maximilian had waved away their gentle queries, saying there was nothing wrong save that he was suffering prewedding nerves.

  Maximilian did not think Vorstus would be any more forthcoming with the two men if they were also to approach him.

  Maximilian did not take his seat, but walked over to a window and leaned on the sill, looking out. “I have decided to depart for Pelemere, there to meet with the Lady Ishbel,” he said. “Within the week.”

  Egalion and Garth looked at each other, but it was Vorstus who answered.

  “But we have not yet heard if the negotiations StarWeb is conducting with the Lady Ishbel on your behalf have been successful.”

  “Oh,” said Maximilian, turning about and looking Vorstus in the eye, “I am sure they will be successful, aren’t you?”

  Vorstus said nothing, holding Maximilian’s eyes easily.

  “Maxel,” Garth said carefully, “how can you know?”

  “Because I feel it in my bones,” Maximilian said, but mildly enough. The serpent—Light—had sent Ishbel to him. Maximilian had no real idea why, but he hoped it was because Light had decided only that the Persimius line needed a bit of strengthening and the Lady Ishbel’s bloodlines would do nicely. Perhaps she might have some memories with which to refurniture his Twisted Tower.

  The offer of this bride did not have to mean that Elcho Falling was needed.

  “Besides,” Maximilian continued, putting a disarming smile on his face, “I grow restless sitting here in Ruen. I want to be doing something, and even if the Lady Ishbel takes one look at my face and decides she’d rather marry a—”

  Frog.

  “—toad, then at least we’ll have had the joy of many weeks on the road with the wind in our hair and the chance to meet up with Borchard and Malat in Kyros along the way. What say you, Garth, Egalion? Do you feel like a jaunt eastward?”

  Garth laughed. “How can we refuse!”

  Maximilian looked at Egalion. “We’ll bring four or five units of the Emerald Guard. They shall keep us safe enough, and make a splendid showing for the Lady Ishbel.”

  “But to practical matters,” Vorstus said. “Who shall govern Escator in your absence?”

  Maximilian looked at Vorstus. Not you. “The Privy Council of Preferred Nobles have my authority to make what decisions are necessary. I shall not be gone too many months.”

  Vorstus gave a little smile and looked away. He was not surprised that Maximilian no longer trusted him.

  No matter. Maximilian was doing precisely what Vorstus wanted anyway.

  Over the next few days Maximilian busied himself with preparations for departure, as well as briefing the Privy Council. Maximilian was glad to be leaving Ruen. Ever since he’d had his confrontation with Vorstus he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Vorstus may have left him down in the Veins deliberately.

  Why, Maximilian had no idea, which itself made him question whether he was wrong about Vorstus, but he could not stop thinking about it.

  Seventeen years in such horror…

  Maximilian had reconciled himself long ago to the loss of those seventeen years. He had thought he’d reconciled himself to the horror he’d endured during that time—the beatings, the const
ant darkness, the never-ending swing of the pick, over and over, the dust and humidity and heat, the cave-ins, the pain…

  The loneliness, the sheer mental desperation, year after year after year.

  He thought he’d put all that behind him. Cavor, the man who had condemned him to the mines, was long dead.

  Maximilian could walk away from the nightmare.

  But what if Vorstus had also been aware of the plot to keep him incarcerated? What if the man who had guided his rescue had also dictated the timing of that rescue?

  What if the nightmare was only in remission, not dead?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Palace of Aqhat, Tyranny of Isembaard

  When there came a knock at the door, far earlier in the morning than usual, Axis was surprised to see Ba’al’uz waiting for him.

  “Isaiah asked me to collect you today,” Ba’al’uz said, “so that we might meet with him in his private chambers at the tenth hour.”

  “But that is two hours or more away,” said Axis.

  “I thought perhaps you and I might put those hours to good use,” said Ba’al’uz. “For a chat, perhaps. Do you wish to come like that, or…?”

  Axis looked down.

  All he had on was a towel from his morning ablutions.

  Axis grinned. “You caught me early,” he said. “Give me a moment.”

  And but a minute later, clad more respectably in light-colored trousers and waistcoat, with sandals on his feet, Axis set off with Ba’al’uz.

  “Isaiah tells me you witnessed his communication with the Lord of the Skraelings,” Ba’al’uz said without preamble as he led them along a corridor with huge, unglazed windows along one side.

  “Indeed. It was most curious. I have many questions.”

  “It was why I came early for you. I thought you would want to know more.”

  “And you don’t mind answering?”

  “I have nothing to hide from you, Axis. Isaiah has requested that I indulge your every question, and so I will.”

  Axis doubted very much that Ba’al’uz had nothing to hide, but hoped that, under Isaiah’s directive, he might at least provide some answers to Axis’ more pressing questions.