Rhapsody, Child of Blood (57 page)

Lord Stephen stepped over several fallen logs and went up to the two Bolg. He extended his hand to each of them.

'Thank you," he said. "You have the gratitude of Navarne, and my family, always.

I've provisioned four horses for you, and have included a letter of introduction under my signet if there is anyone to whom you think it might be useful. Know that you are welcome in my home at all times."

'Thanks, guv," said Grunthor, wringing the young man's hand.

'Where are you headed next?" the duke asked Achmed, absently rubbing his shoulder.

The mismatched eyes studied the royal face. "Canrif," Achmed said finally, "but I'd prefer you to be the only person who knows it for the time being."

'Done. I'd suggest you head north to the Orlandan Plateau and follow the main road through Bethany to Bethe Corbair; that's the last province of Roland before the Bolglands." Achmed nodded in agreement. That was the route sketched out in the notebook.

'Once you get to the province of Bethe Corbair, at the place where the rolling hills flatten into the Krevensfield Plain, travel southeast and approach the city from the south; it's safer. And if you get into trouble in Bethe Corbair, ask to see the duke, Quentin Baldasarre, or, failing that, sue for religious asylum and see the benison, Lanacan Orlando. He is a very kind man. Show him my letter, and I'm sure he will aid you in any way he can." Rhapsody had joined the group with Jo. "Thank you," she said.

"And may I suggest you have your soldiers who are going on to the House take whatever scrolls or items you wish to save. The perpetrator of these crimes considers that house his own, and may be back." Lord Stephen nodded.

'I've already briefed him extensively, Rhapsody," said Achmed, "and we're going to lose the light if we don't leave now." "Goodbye, m'lord," Rhapsody said to Stephen.

"Please give my love to my grandchildren." He took her hand and kissed it, then tried to do the same to Jo, who snatched her hand away and glared at him hostilely. Grunthor and Achmed walked the duke back to his steed and bade him goodbye as he mounted and rode off after one more backward look.

'Well, these 'orses ain't too bad," said Grunthor to Rhapsody, who was still watching long after Stephen had ridden out of sight. " 'Oo gets the big one?"

Rhapsody turned and looked in the direction of the giant. Three of the four horses were of muscular riding stock, while the last, roughly half again the size of the others, was a full-breed war horse.

'I think you should ride the mare, Grunthor," said Rhapsody, pointing to the most delicate of the four.

Grunthor was about to throw back a humorous answer when a choked voice spoke up.

'I can't ride." Jo sounded as if she were strangling.

Rhapsody took her hand. "Just because you never have doesn't mean you can't. You can ride with me."

Achmed nodded. "We can put the heaviest supplies on the fourth horse, and travel faster that way."

After a little repacking by Achmed and Grunthor, and much wheedling, reassuring, and coaxing of Jo by Rhapsody, the four finally saddled up and rode off to the northeast, across the provinces of Navarne and Bethany, south through the Krevensfield plain toward the capital city of Bethe Corbair, the gateway to the dark realm of the Firbolg.

do you mean, I can't go into the city? I've ridden this bloody horse for a week, and now I can't go into the city? You're a fornicating pig, Achmed. I hope you get the pox.

It couldn't make your face any uglier than it is."

Achmed cast a glance at Rhapsody, who had turned away quickly, trying to contain her laughter. Then he dismounted with an annoyed sigh.

'Remind me again why I allow you to share our food with her," he asked, tossing the reins over the horse's back, ignoring Jo utterly.

'Because you like her," Rhapsody answered, her green eyes twinkling affectionately.

'Hmmm. Well, perhaps you had best go over the plan with her again. Explain to her that we can't risk her walking the streets of Bethany lest she be snapped up by the local charm school as an etiquette instructor."

Rhapsody pulled her saddlebag down and carried it to the copse of trees where Grunthor had laid camp. Jo trailed behind her, arguing the entire way. Finally she turned back to the whining teenager.

'All right, look. Achmed and I are making a quick foray into Bethany. Bethany is the capital seat of Roland, and there are three times the number of soldiers and guards as there are in -

Navarne." She chuckled silently as the color drained from Jo's face.

'We need to be in and out as rapidly as possible. But our next stop is the province of Bethe Corbair's capital city. We're going to do some provision shopping there, and some scouting. You'll get a chance to go into the city then, if you behave yourself."

'All right," Jo said sullenly.

'Look, I'm sorry this isn't as exciting as your life on the streets, but it's safer, believe me," Rhapsody said, untangling a snarl in Jo's stringy blond hair.

'Not necessarily," said Grunthor. He was stretched out under a leaf-bare tree, hands behind his head. "If you want the lit'le miss to still be 'ere when you get back, make sure to leave the food behind when you go."

'You always say that, but when was the last time you actually ate someone?" asked Jo, still not mollified.

'Dead or alive?"

Rhapsody shuddered. "All right, we're going now. Goodbye, Jo." She held out her arms, but Jo just nodded. The Singer turned instead to the Firbolg giant, who leapt to his feet and swept her up in a warm embrace.

'You be careful," he warned as he put her back down.

'We expect to be back by morning," Achmed said to Grunthor under his breath.

Frost hung in the air between them, like frozen words hovering for effect. "Give us a day or two slip factor. After that, you and Jo are on your own." He signaled to Rhapsody and shouldered his pack. A hint of a smile crossed his face.

'And for that possibility I apologize most sincerely."

I

Their initial reconnaissance of Bethany had included a ride around the entire perimeter, keeping a respectable distance, back before they parted company with Jo and Grunthor. Achmed had determined early on that the number of soldiers and defenses, visible and otherwise, made anything but entering on foot in the guise of humble peasants impossible.

So now Rhapsody and Achmed stood, robed and hooded in the simple garments they had been given at Llauron's, outside Bethany's southeastern gate, one of only eight entrances they had seen during their scouting.

While Navarne had been a province primarily of scattered farms and villages broken by the large land holdings of its nobles and a small, charming capital city, Bethany appeared to have been designed from the very beginning to be a cultural center, the epitome of an Age now long gone.

Even at the city's outskirts the streets were paved, with small shops, inns, and taverns interspersed with rows of buildings that each seemed to house several families.

Within the city proper every street was lined with more lanternposts than Rhapsody had ever seen, glass domes covering the wicks atop gleaming brass poles. Watering troughs for horses as well as hitching racks appeared at the same place in each street.

By law all cattle and other animals of trade could only enter the city by certain gates, demarking Bethany into different districts. Markets and mercantile areas were limited to the eastern and western sections, while museums and the public gardens were located to the north and south. The basilica of fire and the castle of Tristan Steward, the Lord Regent and Prince of Bethany, the two most elevated of Bethany's structures, stood near each other in the heart of the city. Only the barracks of Bethany's soldiers could be found in all directions.

It seemed appropriate that the basilica dedicated to the element of fire had been built in the direct center of the city, an echo of the fire at the heart of the Earth. From far away Rhapsody had been able to feel the well spring, a pulsing flame that called to the fire within her. Even though the fire source was just a shadow of the real conflagration through which the three of them had walked, there was an authenticity to it that told her its genesis was the same inferno; it was genuine, a pure elemental fountainhead.

'Keep your hood up and your head down," Achmed advised softly as yet another troop of guards passed, prodding the occasional citizen to move along. "Just keep walking toward the fire. I'll be right behind you. You don't need to look back."

-

Rhapsody nodded and concentrated on the song of the flame in the distance, pushing her feelings of unease into the corners of her mind. For all its beauty, Bethany seemed a town without mercy or a sense of humor. The neatly manicured gardens appeared almost too perfect, the buildings too elegant, too architecturally commanding.

There was a decided absence of poor people or beggars. And the soldiers were everywhere. But, she reminded herself, it is the capital, after all. Some higher level of security was to be expected.

After almost two hours they finally located the basilica. Long before it had come into view they had seen evidence of its proximity in the street below their feet.

Rhapsody had noticed that the cobblestones in one roadway had been gilded in gold leaf and positioned in the pattern of a flame, stretching outward toward the east. The closer they came to the temple, the more raylike patterns appeared in the streets. She stopped and waited for Achmed to follow her lead.

'Remember those etchings in Lord Stephen's museum?" she whispered. A hand came to rest gently on her upper arm, moving her forward; a town guard had made note of her coming to a halt, and Achmed wanted her to keep walking. When the guard's attention was drawn elsewhere, he released his hold on her.

'Yes."

'The exterior of the basilica was a courtyard inlaid with flame-colored mosaics. They would look something like this up close. We must be in the outer courtyard."

A moment's walking proved her correct. As they came around the corner the enormous basilica came into view. It was a circular structure, grand and imposing, rising to a great height above the other buildings and built of polished white marble with gold flecks running through it in veins.

The inner courtyard was a great mosaic, neatly bordered by topiary hedges in the shape of tongues of flame. The floor of the courtyard was inlaid with stones the color of fire in patterns that suggested the sun's rays. The rays were trimmed with lapis and other precious gems, which evoked an incandescent glimmer when the sunlight hit them. Vast gardens stretched out to the foot of the elevated palace to the north, brown and dry in the death grip of winter.

The structure of the basilica itself was composed of several huge concentric circles, each a layer of elevated hewn-marble seating, all facing toward the center, where a wide golden brazier could be seen. A few faithful sat or knelt in the various levels of seating, praying or meditating silently while two robed ordinates walked about, tending to the basilica.

Leaping from the brazier was a flame of intense light, crimson and orange with twisting ribbons of blue, burning intensely, silently. The same power, the same pure light and heat, it evoked deep memories of the wall of flame they had passed through so long ago, back on the other side of Time. It was all Rhapsody could do to keep back tears at the recollection of the fire's embrace, the all-consuming acceptance she had felt at the Earth's heart as it surrounded her.

She could have stayed for a long time, staring rapturously at the brazier, but her reverie was interrupted by the thin, strong fingers encircling her upper arm again.

'Come on," Achmed whispered, shattering her trance of memory. "He looks like a good candidate."

He nodded slightly toward a nearby ordinate, a man of late middle years with a shiny bald head. The man was wearing a brown robe with a stylized image of the sun emblazoned on the chest, its center a curling red spiral. It was similar to the amulet they had seen in the portrait of the Blesser of Canderre-Yarim, Bethany's benison, in the Cymrian museum.

Rhapsody flexed the muscle in her upper arm to signal her understanding. It had been decided beforehand that she would seek to learn as much of the basilica's lore, and the stories that those who tended it imparted to the faithful, as she could while Achmed sought out the less public aspects.

When the grip released she made her way to the clergyman and stopped at a respectful distance. The ordinate was crouched over, polishing a brass railing that separated the first layer of seating from the one after it. Without looking up he waved a dismissive hand at her.

'Peasantry in the last Ring only."

When he went back to his task, puffing slightly, Rhapsody looked back to Achmed, already a fair distance away. He touched his hood, signaling for her to remove her own.

She did, then turned back to the ordinate.

'Ordinate?"

The bald man sat back on his haunches and glared up at her. Then, an instant later, his face slackened and his mouth fell open, a look approximating horror filling his now-round eyes.

-

'Sweet Creator. Now?" he whispered, dropping the polishing cloth.

_)imon had been cleaning the basilica all morning, preparing for the benison's service on the high day of the week. Despite the winter chill, the work was exhausting, and he had been sweating for the better part of an hour.

Humility, he kept reminding himself, one of the seven vows of the ordinariate.

Again, for the fourth time that morning, he began to recite his prayer. But despite his rote repetition of the rite of humility, jealousy bordering on anger still permeated his pores, oozing out with the sweat, leaving him nauseous with it. He had, in fact, been feeling sick and weak all day.