Resolution (2 page)

The Blight had nearly destroyed Nulapeiron. How humanity might fight the vast malignant entity which had spawned the Blight, Tom had no idea.

A crystal sideboard stood against one wall of the elegant chamber. On the sideboard, atop a platinum tray, was an oval outline in shadow. Tom assumed that Eemur’s severed head was asleep, or in some state that might pass for sleep; but then her words sounded directly in his mind:

Can’t sleep, my Lord? Did something come up?

Tom stared into the gloom.

Or fail to? Shame, on your honeymoon.

Thank you, Eemur, for your kind empathy.

Tom could not have said exactly when he became aware of the link between them. It had occurred during the past few days, growing continuously stronger, and he was already taking it for granted. He had not mentioned it to anybody else ... not even Elva.

You’re worried about the Anomaly.

Of course I am. Aren‘t you?

Tom made a control gesture, and a glowglobe detached itself from the ceiling, flickering brightly as it floated lower.

Naturally. But no-one else will be in the mood to listen, and you know that.

But the danger
—

Is based on what? Your intuition? My Sight? You know what they’re worth.

Fate damn it.

Now the light glistened on Eemur’s flensed and disembodied head: her blood-wet striated muscles, including the odd three-way strips beneath grey-white cheekbones; her long exposed teeth; the bulging spheres of her eyes. There was something new: a black moirée cap covering the remnants of scalp and sparse, sticky strands of lank, blood-soaked hair.

You know I’m right.

Her head balanced on its tangle of sinews and severed arteries, testament to the clumsy beheading five centuries before.

You know I don’t have to like it. But, yes ... You ‘re right.

So what are you going to do?

Down in the Benbow Cavern, the glowclusters were beginning to shine a rosy hue, marking the commencement of dawnshift.

I’m going to work out. Is that all right with you?

Whatever you say. Don’t mind me.

Then the contact between them became muted, a kind of mental hush falling in the chamber. Tom nodded, and gestured to the glowglobe to return to the ceiling. As it rose, he shucked off his cape and tunic. Bare-chested, wearing only dark training tights, he stood relaxed, taking in deep breaths.

No comment came from Eemur’s Head.

Tom worked through his warm-up routine, then his squats and one-arm press-ups (the only kind, as he sometimes remarked to Elva, that he would ever be able to do). Then he ordered the morph-capable ceiling to extrude a loop, for a series of one-finger pull-ups (each finger in turn): a traditional exercise used only by elite-class climbers.

The first part of his workout was over. Tom gestured a section of flooring into laminar-flow mode, stepped onto it and began to run. After a few minutes, he pushed up the speed, and the flow accelerated to match.

His bare torso was slick with sweat.

Anomaly.

Running.

I
will not let you do it.

Running harder.

I will not let you take my world.

Tom ran on his hurtling journey to nowhere, faster and faster on the spot, concentration narrowing until he was pure movement, all fears and thoughts forgotten.

When his training was finished and his breathing had slowed, Tom stood in the bedchamber doorway, still soaked with sweat, scratching the stump which depended from his left shoulder.

‘Remove an arm.’
Lady Darinia’s words echoed across the years.
‘Either arm will do.’

On the bed, his beautiful wife Elva lay sprawled and contented. The chamber’s glowglobe painted her skin dawnshift-pink, full of promise.

Then she stirred and opened one eye.

‘Well, my good Lord. I hope you haven’t exhausted yourself.’

‘I am pretty tired.’

‘How
tired, sir?’

The smartsatin sheet furled back.

‘Not very,’ Tom said.

‘Then come here.’

~ * ~

2

NULAPEIRON AD 3423

While Tom and Elva were eating breakfast, he noticed a change come over Eemur’s Head, where she stood atop the crystal sideboard. Her flensed flesh had been growing scaly and purple over the past few days; now she was glistening like fresh blood.

Tom put down his tine-spoon and stared at her.

Lady Lavnaxar just died.

For a moment, Tom could make no sense of her silent words inside his head.

I’ll talk to you when I’ve finished feeding.

Tom looked away.

‘What is it?’ asked Elva, but Tom merely shook his head. He had speculated before on how the dead Seer maintained nutrients within herself. Now he knew: her spacetime-warping abilities allowed her to suck fluids and other substances from a just-dead Lady.

Would you rather I hadn’t waited for her death?

Tom closed his eyes.

‘If you’re too tired,’ murmured Elva, ‘we could postpone our shopping trip.’

‘No.’ He opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Let’s go. I’m looking forward to it’

But he had little appetite for finishing his breakfast, and ate only a mouthful before pushing his plate away. Then he got up and headed back to the bedchamber to change his clothes.

To maintain their schedule and arrive at the Collegium on the appointed day, they would have to leave Demesne Kalshuna this evening. In the meantime, since Elva had heard the shops were well-appointed in this realm’s Primum Stratum, they took the opportunity to look around.

For a while it was magical, simply walking around the marble halls with Elva at his side. Every now and then a noble or freeborn person or couple would recognize them and perform an ornate bow: to the precise leftward angle required for congratulating newlyweds (with the freeborns correctly inclining themselves some fifteen degrees further forwards than the Corcorigans’ noble peers). None of them tried to make conversation; that would have been impolite, for this was the couple’s own time together.

‘I could get used to this, Tom.’

‘Well, my Lady Elva, you may have to.’

But for all their happiness, they had little money left, and no realm to return to: the demesne briefly ruled by Tom (which he had then abandoned) had long been subsumed into Realm Shinkenar, and he had no prospects of other employment before a Convocation could be held.

In the meantime, they had a debt of honour to fulfil. Tom hoped that the Collegium Perpetuum Delphinorum would be accommodating, but he had few grounds for optimism. Though he had worked alongside Collegiate personnel during the war, now that the conflict was over they would have little sympathy for someone of his background.