Authors: Michael A. Stackpole
"We can't."
"Can."
"How?" I looked at Dreel as if by willpower alone I could make him understand. "We need the magick of the trees."
"Magick the trees have." Shijef pounded both paws against his chest "Magick I am.'"
The Dreel started off at a dead run around us. He circled us once, and the colors in his fur began to blur. On the second circuit he moved so fast that I had difficulty following his movements, and on the third only the intensification of the colors in the circle when he passed allowed me to see him.
When he got back to the point where he started, he stopped again instantly. His arms looped out to circle us all, then pull us in toward him. Blackstar fought against his touch, but I looked up and saw Reithrese riders pounding down toward us from the north. I spurred Blackstar forward, and he plunged on into the Dreel. The color wall parted, and once more I found myself in the odd place the Dreel named Roadfast.
As the familiar weariness began to pull at me again, I looked back and saw Aarundel and Marta riding behind me. Back beyond them I saw Shijef's shadowy form. Any attempt at figuring out how he could possibly be moving with us on a pathway for which he was the entry point threatened to overwhelm my senses. Facing forward again, I contented myself with feeling safe for the moment and smiled as I imagined Larissa's expression when we all arrived, once again safe, in Cygestolia.
Despite the grey haze hanging over it and the ragged sprawl of mud, wooden, and stone buildings surrounding the walls, Genevera could see beauty in the Imperial capital. The bits and pieces of Reithrese architecture yet visible added an exotic touch to what clearly was a thoroughly Man-wrought city. She knew there had been extensive reconstruction after the fire that took place around the time of her birth, but natural weathering had taken the edges off new buildings and gave them the same grimy patina that marked even older constructions.
Berengar and Gena entered the city through the southern gate and immediately headed toward the second circle and the immense bazaar. There they managed to bargain their way into far fancier clothing than any they had obtained on the road—though none of it seemed to Gena quite good enough for visiting the emperor. Closer to the palace itself they took rooms at The Branded Hand and used the inn's bathing facilities to wash away the road dust.
She would have preferred waiting until the next morning for making their attempt to see the emperor, but Berengar's impatience warred with his solicitousness toward her, making him edgier and less predictable than a wounded bear. Dressed and perfumed, they hired an open carriage to take them to the palace. The choice of action over patience calmed Berengar, and he grew silent as the palace loomed closer.
The central tower itself had not been damaged in the fire, but reconstruction had allowed the emperor at the time—Rudolf, the grandfather of the emperor from whom Berengar's family claimed descent—to expand the Palace. He added a series of rectangular buildings that surrounded the original tower, though to what purpose Gena could not imagine, because the Reithrese tower easily had more habitable space in it than Woodspire or the Fisher mansion in Aurdon. More curious, given the fact of the tower's size, was the continuing construction on the buildings surrounding it.
The coachman let them off at the gate, then moved off a short distance to wait. Gena took this as an ill omen, but Berengar seemed barely to notice. As she adjusted her green cloak and woolen head scarf, the count strode boldly to the nearest of the soldiers standing at the gate. "I am Count Berengar Fisher of Aurdon in the province-state of Centisia. This is Lady Genevera of Cygestolia. We are come on an important mission to speak with His Sovereign Majesty, the emperor."
The soldier looked from Berengar to Gena and back. He appeared unimpressed, but turned to walk back through the gate. Berengar started to follow, but the man held his left hand up to stop him, while dropping his right hand to the hilt of his sword. The count stopped, his smile dimming, while the man disappeared. He returned quickly enough, leading an older man who stood not quite as tall as Berengar, but was decidedly more stout than Gena's companion.
The new arrival, a sergeant according to the armband he wore, ignored Berengar and walked over to Gena. The scent of garlic reached her before he did, and with the swipe of his gloved left hand, the sergeant removed the last trace of his dinner from around his mouth. "Drop the scarf, missy, let me see your ears."
"This is an outrage!" Berengar's shout came with enough anger that in a bar it would have spawned a fight in an instant.
The sergeant shook his head. "Best be having your boy be quiet or we'll steel-leech him."
Berengar's eyes blazed, but Gena raised a hand. She removed the head scarf, then raked her hair back from her left ear. "Is this sufficient, Sergeant, or do you wish to touch it?" She twisted the ear sufficiently to have torn the pointed top off had it been prosthetic. "I am one of the sylvanesti."
"So your patience and help here confirm, my Lady." The sergeant cocked his head toward Berengar. "And you will vouch for the likes of him?"
"I will and do."
He turned toward Berengar. "Claimant or pretender?"
Berengar blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
The sergeant sighed. "Do you wear the tiger over your crest or not?"
"I do."
"There we go." The sergeant waved both of them after him. Once inside the gate the man led them past a small guardhouse and pointed them to a doorway. "Go in there. Find yourself and you will find the emperor."
Gena could see the tension rising to an explosion in Berengar, but she bled some off as she touched him on the arm. "Come, my Lord, let us see if we have a clue to the puzzle we have been presented."
Berengar exhaled audibly but said nothing as he nodded and followed her through the doorway. Beyond it they found a small, relatively featureless room. They entered through a door in the south wall. Doorways to the east and west led back out of it. In the center, on a stone dais, stood a scale model of the castle surrounding the tower. Twenty-seven small golden circles marked different points on it, and each circle had a number engraved on it.
Gena could not figure out what the numbers meant, though she did notice that they grew larger the further they were located from the room in which they stood. She also saw that only half of the new construction had been marked with them. "This is quite curious."
"Hmmm," Berengar grunted. He had barely glanced at the map and instead peered up along the walls near the ceiling. "Look, the name of every emperor has been carved into the wall, along with a number to designate his position in our history. See, it begins with Beltran Primus and ends with Hardelwick."
Gena looked up and saw the number twenty-seven carved beneath Hardelwick's name. "I think I have an idea. What was the name of the emperor from whom you claim descent?"
"Aufrey. He is number twenty-four."
Gena looked down at the model of the castle. "Twenty-four, here it is. We go east." Without explaining she grabbed Berengar's hand and led him off through the eastern doorway. She felt him resist at first, then he moved with her willingly. As they passed through numbered chambers with doors to the north and south, they increased their speed, but held back from running.
They stopped in the chamber with "24" carved in the center of the floor. To the north, carved on the wall, they saw the names of Aufrey's legitimate children, save that of his eldest and heir, Caselmund. That name had been inscribed over the lintel leading into the next chamber. A doorway stood open beneath each of the other three children. The centermost opened into a chamber, while the other two led to stairs.
To the south they saw four doors, and above the second Berengar pointed toward a name, "Loreena, that is the woman from whom my line descends."
The door beneath her name stood open. Gena also noticed that of the four doors on that side of the room, only one other had the name actually engraved in the wall. The other two names had only been painted on the wall. Gena suspected their impermanence had something to do with the strength of the claim to the royal house, and could easily mark the difference between descendants being able to wear the tiger or nor.
" 'Find yourself,' the guard told us." Gena waved Berengar on toward the door.
Berengar preceded her, then led her around a sharp corner and up some stairs to a second floor. The both of them had to stoop, since the ceiling rose to a height of only five and a half feet. Along the walls she saw more names carved above even lower doorways, and Berengar led her on through one. Up more stairs, through another two rooms, up one more flight, and Gena began to fathom how the twists and turns had been laid out. Primary heirs remained on a level with their forebears, lesser kin and bastards went up a level. In a couple of places she saw doorways that had been bricked up, with names scraped from the rock.
A tight spiral staircase took them up into the smallest of the chambers in which they had yet found themselves. A lantern set on the floor illuminated Berengar's name and, beside it, that of his dead brother. Squatting back away from the lantern, a man in a cloak like puddled shadow clapped bony, long-fingered hands. "Quicker than most." He laughed, slightly sarcastically. "But not as fast as the most hungry."
The man moved like a spider as he crouch-walked over to where Berengar and Gena hunched with their spines pressed to the ceiling. "You are Berengar Fisher and you are Genevera of Woodspire, of Aarundel by Marta and through Niali."
Gena made no attempt to hide her surprise. "You are well informed. Majesty." She dropped to one knee and bowed to the gangling man.
Berengar aped her. "This is an honor, Highness."
"I am certain I believe it is as well, Berengar." Hardelwick dismissed Berengar without a second glance. He settled back on his haunches and, resting his knobby elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together. "I am so glad you are here. There are many things I must ask you and discuss with you. In the fire we lost records, which is part of the reason we have this monument to our posterity as an ongoing project. You should be able to bridge some chasms in our knowledge." The long-faced man smiled quickly, his dark eyes flashing with reflected lantern light. "With your help, I believe I can salvage much of the empires early history, and especially details about Neal Roclawzi."
"I would be happy to be of any service to you. Highness."
Berengar cleared his throat. "Imperial Majesty, we have come to you on a mission that is most urgent and of the utmost importance to Centisia and the empire itself."
"Yes, yes, I am certain of that, Berengar. Interesting that you come to me with a mission as opposed to come begging one. Quite a nuisance, that is, thinking up quests for those who wish to etch in stone what we have only in paint here." Hardelwick combed the few remaining strands of his hair across his balding pate. "With Elves it is so hard to tell, but I would not put you a day over two hundred years. Is that right?"
Gena nodded, impressed with the man's guess. "I am a little older than that, but I have spent a century studying magicks, which has left me relatively isolated concerning news of the world. I do know my history, though, and I have a particular interest in Neal Roclawzi."
"Inspired by your grandfather?"
"Grandaunt, really. My grandfather often spoke of his friend, but there were some memories he chose not to share."
"This grandaunt, she would have been Larissa, Aarundel's sister?"
Gena nodded. "She was."
The emperor reached out and took Gena's hand. "You will have to see one of the things that survived the fire. It is a small painting made from the time when Beltran, the Red Tiger, feted Neal, here in Jarudin, and your grandfather and grandmother and grandaunt were here. I am certain the artwork does not do her justice—none of them in fact: the emperor looks as if he has a potato for a nose when he should look like Berengar here—but I know you will appreciate it."
"I would like that very much, sire."
"My Liege, if you please." Berengar frowned and eased himself down onto his other knee as well. "Our mission is very urgent. Once we complete it, we can discuss history or anything else you wish."
The emperor casually brushed Berengar's statement aside. "You of Aufrey's brood have always been impatient, and it never does you any good. Impatience killed Atholwin's sons and has him dabbling in the ways of Reithra."
Berengar's jaw dropped. "You know of my uncle's foul practices?"
"Know? Certainly. He tried to hide it, but not that hard, because he wanted to brag about having information I did not. He did have some useful things, of course, but nothing I could not have found out without enslaving myself to a ferghun."
"You knew of that and did nothing?"
"Why should I do anything? Your uncle still had historical information to give me. Still does."
Gena shook her head. "Not anymore."
The emperor's eyebrow came up. "Dead?"
She nodded. "Fire. It started when he tried to murder me.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear." The emperor shivered. "Nothing salvaged, was there?"
"No, dammit, we almost died." Berengar's eyes hardened. "How could you have let a threat to the safety of the empire like my uncle exist? Reithra worship has been proscribed since the birth of the empire! How could you ignore your duty to the empire like that?"
The emperor sighed heavily. "Impatience, impatience. When Beltran won the empire, and while his heirs sustained it against threats internal and external, they required direct control of everything. Since that time a bureaucracy has built up and sustains itself. All that I am really required to do is to sign taxation decrees and deny leave to warring nobles to attack their neighbors. This I do, and do willingly. My passion, however, is recovering the history we have lost, for it is my duty to maintain our proud traditions as completely and accurately as possible."