Crystal Doors #3: Sky Realm (No. 3) (9 page)

The most magnificent of the aeglors stepped forward and, at a quick movement of the leader’s head, the other five perched themselves on the steps of the dais. “I am King Raathun. I speak for all aeglors,” he said. “In token of your sincerity, what do you offer?”

Giving Raathun a regal nod, the sultan motioned for two burly guards to carry a chest forward and set it in front of the winged king, who opened it to reveal gold and bright gems.

“I, King Raathun, accept your treaty on behalf of my people,” the aeglor said loudly, so that his words reverberated like a loud screech throughout the chamber.

The sound set Sharif’s nerves on edge, but he forced himself to relax and look friendly. The terms of the agreement had been negotiated and approved . . . before the Sultan had been poisoned.

Raathun plucked a single brown feather from his own wing. “In token of our sincerity, I offer you this treasure.”

The leader of the aeglors bent his head toward the Sultan, and secured the feather with the brooch on the Sultan’s turban. The two spoke in low tones that Sharif could not overhear. After several minutes of this, the pair pressed their seals to a document that Jabir reluctantly brought forward. Then the Sultan stood from his throne and, clasping hands with the king of the aeglors, the two raised their hands overhead.

“My people, we no longer have anything to fear from the aeglors. They are our friends. They will help defend us in times of need, and we will help them, as well.”

With a proud nod, King Raathun released the Sultan’s hand. Motioning to his men to follow, King Raathun walked down the steps of the dais. Together, wings spread once more, they swept from the room.

The Sultan turned toward Sharif with a confident look. “You see, my son?
That
is how it is done.”

FOR THE REST OF the morning, one by one, peasants and nobles were allowed to walk the purple-and-gold carpet that led up the center of the room toward the throne dais and present their concerns to the Sultan who, after conferring in each case with Jabir and Sharif, meted out judgment, wisdom, and mercy. Although the Prince would far rather have been in Elantya preparing for battle against Azric and Barak and the merlons, he could not help but be moved by the plight of an olive vendor whose entire shop had been destroyed when a brawl broke out in the neighboring booth of a wine merchant. The Vizier suggested that each of the apprehended brawlers be put to work rebuilding the olive merchant’s shop, paying for the materials out of their own pockets. Sharif advised that the wine merchant feed the olive vendor’s family until his business was running smoothly again, and that the two men share the wine merchant’s stall equally in the meantime.

In the end, the Sultan took both of their advice and also decreed that the brawlers not be allowed one drop of wine until their work was complete. Sharif was amused by the consternation on the men’s and women’s faces as they thanked the Sultan for his good judgment. Piri’s voice twinkled in Sharif’s mind as she said,
Builders hurry. Finish fast.

The Prince nodded to himself. That had been a nice touch of his father’s, with one stroke ensuring that the brawlers would cause no more damage while subtly offering an incentive for them to finish their work quickly. Next, a nobleman approached, and Sharif found himself disgusted with the man’s demand that the Sultan give him the youngest daughter of a widowed carpet-weaver to pay off a debt that her late husband had owed.

“You cannot allow it,” Sharif whispered to his father. “This is barbaric.” He could feel Gwen’s eyes boring into him from the back of the room, as if accusing his people of being slave merchants.

Jabir, however, gave a small smile. “Perhaps the Prince’s objections could be addressed if Your Majesty, through your great insight, were to specify the terms of the arrangement.”

The Sultan nodded with satisfaction. He and his Vizier understood one another well. He turned his stern old eyes toward the nobleman, the weaver, and her daughter. Sharif gave a small gasp at what his father said next. “Your complaints have not fallen upon uncaring ears, Lord Iqbal. As complete payment for the weaver’s debt, I hereby grant you custody not only of the daughter, Aini, but of the mother.”

Sharif felt himself flushing with anger at this injustice, but Piri’s gentle voice said,
Wait. More.

“And as custodian of these two gems of Irrakesh,” the Sultan continued, “you will feed them, house them, clothe them, and see to even their smallest needs.” He held up his hand to stop the nobleman, who was about to object. “Until such time as you find husbands who will make each of them happy, you may not lay one hand on either blossom, unless — by proving yourself worthy — you happen to win her love.

“If you find a suitable match for one of these jewels, bring the couple to me. I will grant my blessing, and you will henceforth be absolved of your duty toward them. But if I should hear of either of these flowers coming to any harm while in your care, half of your fortune will be forfeit to my treasury and I will use it to feed widows and orphans wherever the need is greatest in Irrakesh.” To Sharif’s glee the blood drained entirely from Lord Iqbal’s face as the Sultan concluded, “You will assure me that Aini and her mother are flourishing, by sending them here to my audience chamber every month to deliver reports of your kindness.”

“I — I accept your wisdom with gratitude, Exalted Majesty,” Lord Iqbal stammered. He reached out a hand to help the widow up from her kneeling position, but quickly snatched his hand back as he remembered the Sultan’s instructions. The widow gave a bow of thanks to the Sultan, stood, and she and Aini walked proudly from the room with the downcast nobleman.

How Sharif wished he could allow himself to laugh at the greedy lord’s discomfiture, but he held the laughter in until a teardrop of merriment was forced from the corner of his eye to roll down his cheek. At the back of the room, he saw Vic and Gwen practically dancing with delight as the widow and her daughter passed them.

Trust father,
Piri said softly in his mind.
Wise man. Loves people.

11

LATER THAT DAY, THE Sultan sent Jabir out on his embroidered crimson flying carpet to show off Prince Ali to the people of the city. When Sharif invited his friends along, neither his father nor the Vizier objected, and so Gwen found herself sitting once again on a comfortable flying carpet, though the Sultan’s carpet was much larger than Sharif’s and had enough room to seat six adults, as long as speed was not an issue. Delighted with the outing, Piri bobbed above Sharif’s head, occasionally flitting this way or that to get a better view of the city below.

“The point of this flight,” Jabir explained, “is to encourage the people of Irrakesh after the recent depredations of the terodax.” Although they did not know it yet, they were also about to lose their Sultan, and the stern but benevolent ruler hoped to reacquaint his people with Prince Ali.

To signal the celebratory nature of their flight, Sharif had dressed in a red brocade vest and pants, accented by a gold silk sash and turban. His arms were bare, revealing the vivid scar of the merlon brand. Jabir gave Vic a silver kite to fly from the back of the carpet; it was shaped like a bird of prey, with multicolored translucent streamers dangling from its tail. Gwen, Tiaret, and Lyssandra each held a cluster of long, bright ribbons tied to a handle that they could wave while allowing the ribbons to trail behind the magic carpet.

“Sheesh,” Vic told Gwen, “You look like a high school cheerleader with a mutant pom-pom that grew twenty feet while you weren’t looking.”

Gwen punched him in the arm with her free hand. “I prefer to think of it as a magic wand attached to a rainbow,” she said. She swirled the tip of the wand handle in a figure eight and watched the brilliant strips of cloth loop and flutter like the ribbon of a rhythmic gymnast. “Admit it, Taz — you’re secretly jealous.”

“No, I’m fine with what I’ve got,” said Vic, pulling on the kite string so that the streamers flowed in a sort of sine wave behind it.

Tiaret, who had tied her ribbons to her quarterstaff, raised the staff high and let the ribbons trail above the carpet like a triumphal banner, while Lyssandra seemed content just to watch her ribbons drift on the breezes. Jabir took the carpet in a dip toward the crowds gathering in the streets below. He made a clicking, whistling sound and moments later an honor guard of vividly hued carrier moths flew beside them.

Prince Ali el Sharif, sitting at the front of the carpet with Jabir, waved down at the people, who cheered and waved back. A broad copper pot sat between Jabir and Sharif. “You may begin now, Prince.”

Sharif thrust his hand into the pot and pulled out a fistful of something that he began throwing down into the crowd. Children scrambled to catch them with shrieks of delight. “Candies,” Sharif said when Gwen asked him what he was throwing.

Gwen said, “This is just like the Fourth of July parades we used to go to back at home.”

“Exactly,” Vic said, “only we didn’t have a real wizard or a Prince. Or flying carpets or floating cities, come to think of it. Other than that, exactly like.”

The Vizier spoke an incantation and suddenly each of the carrier moths held a mesh bag filled with flower petals. As the moths flew, breezes blew through the mesh of the bags, freeing flower petals, which fluttered and drifted down onto the crowds below. Not to be outdone, Piri, hovering over Sharif’s head, let loose a veritable fireworks show of strobes and flashes and sparkles in colors Gwen could have sworn she had never seen before.

As the carpet flew onward, larger crowds gathered in the streets below. Sharif threw more candy to the waiting children. And so it went for nearly an hour — ribbons streaming, flower petals drifting downward, Sharif waving and throwing candy, and Jabir piloting the carpet and replenishing the candy or flower petals with incantations as needed.

The city below was magical to Gwen. To her it was Disney World, Neverland, and stories of the Arabian Nights all rolled into one, but her cousin was not as entranced as she was. When he heaved a heavy sigh, Lyssandra leaned toward him and said, “Is something wrong, Viccus?”

Vic shrugged. “I was just thinking about my dad and my mom and wondering if Dad and the anemonites or Ven Rubicas have managed to help her. We just got Mom back and then we had to leave.”

“Our mission to Irrakesh was manyfold,” Tiaret reminded him. “We seek help for your mother and for Sharif and all of Elantya.”

“I know,” Vic said. “I just wish I could see them, that’s all.”

Gwen knew what he meant. She wished she could see her aunt and uncle and Rubicas’s lab and find out how things were going in Elantya. She blinked, trying to picture them. “It’s kind of strange, but now that you mention it, I almost feel like I can see them right in front of us in the air there.” It
was
strange. The vision was so real to her that it almost didn’t register when her friends started gasping around her.

“You mean like that?” Vic said, pointing to an area just behind Sharif and Jabir where a translucent image of Dr. Pierce bending over the tank holding his ice-imprisoned wife appeared. No sounds accompanied the image.

The Vizier glanced back and nodded. “Which of you opened the window?”

“Well, Vic wished he could see his parents and then I wished it, and all of a sudden, there they were,” Gwen said.

Sharif looked back at the “window” and turned to wave at the crowd again. “Viccus has already demonstrated that he can create doors to worlds where no door existed before. I believe you opened the window, Gwenya.”

“You opened a window once before,” Lyssandra mused. “On top of Ven Rubicas’s laboratory.”

“But that was with crystals and spells. I didn’t know what I was doing,” Gwen said. “I still don’t.”

The Vizier said, “True. But you should soon learn how to control your new ability. I believe that before the Ring of Might was forged, none of you could come into your full power. The window and the door you cousins opened were merely reflexive activations by your unconscious minds, under specific magical circumstances. I doubt you could have reproduced the results even if you tried.”

“Can you do it again now?” Vic asked Gwen. “Close the window and open it again. And turn up the sound while you’re at it.”

Lyssandra looked at him with surprise. “Can you not hear your father?” Vic shook his head.

“I, too, hear nothing,” Tiaret said. Gwen could see Uncle Cap’s lips moving in the image, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Sage Pierce is telling his wife that he loves her and that he will continue searching the Cogitarium for any information about ice-coral preservation spells. He assures her that, except when he is doing research, he will not leave her side until he can awaken her.”

Without turning to look at them, Sharif said, “Lyssandra can hear what none of us can. Is that another gift?”

“I believe so,” the Vizier answered. “She is a window listener.”

When she saw her uncle lower his head to his hands and begin to weep, Gwen quickly closed the window. She opened another window, this one on Sage Rubicas, and found him dozing in his chair over a draft of his shield spell. While Sharif continued his duties of greeting the people, Vic asked Gwen to open a window to let him see his friend Jordan from Stephen Hawking High in California. She did, only to find him walking out of the cafeteria and into the boys’ room. She quickly shut that window as well. These windows could be quite intrusive!