Rhapsody, Child of Blood (81 page)

'Tsk, tsk." A dark figure stood near his bed, slowly turning Tristan's crown in its thin fingers. The light from the solitary candle on the bedside table caught the gold filigree and sent it intermittently around the room, flashing in spurts like blood from a pulsating wound.

Tristan Steward sat upright in bed, but the nightmare image did not fade into the darkness. Instead it tossed the crown to him, striking him lightly in the chest.

'If you cry out, it will be the last utterance of your life," said the cloaked figure. The Lord Roland could not have cried out, even if he had wanted to.

From within the shadow a tiny flame emerged. Aside from the fire and the darkness the only thing the prince could see were pale, thin hands as they set about lighting a few of the lamps in his chambers. He struggled to return to his wakening senses.

When the room began to take on more light, Achmed pulled back his hood and smiled in amusement as a look of fright came over the prince's face. He came closer and sat on the edge of the Lord Roland's massive bed, running his long fingers over the satin counterpane.

'Get up," he said absently. He pointed to the chairs in the small sitting area near the window.

Tristan Steward rose, shaking, and complied. Neither his bare feet nor the well-made boots of the hideous man made more than a whisper of sound as they crossed the stone floor to the dark seats with the starry night rising in the glass behind them.

As he took his chair the Lord Roland gripped the arms tightly, hoping the move would minimize the trembling in his hands. From the moment of his awakening, with the clarification of his senses had come the growing realization that he had more to fear with each passing second. He was grateful in the back reaches of his mind for the darkness, believing that the nightmarish visage of the man who sat across from him would be unbearable in full sun. He summoned his courage and concentrated on keeping his voice steady.

'Who are you? What do you want?"

'I'm the Eye, the Claw, the Heel, and the Stomach of the Mountain. I have come to tell you that your army is gone."

A gurgle of confusion issued forth from the prince in lieu of words that would not come.

'You sent two thousand men, but this is the only report you will ever get."

Disbelief, then panic took hold. "Where are the survivors? What have you done with them?"

'The Mountain fell on them. Now listen carefully. Assuming you live long enough to keep this meeting a secret, you have ten days to draft a trade agreement and to sue for peace. You will attend personally, since this parlay will be your idea.

'My emissary will be waiting at the present border of my realm and Bethe Corbair on the tenth day. On the eleventh day the border will begin to move closer, so as to facilitate our meeting. If the inclement weather discourages you from traveling, you can wait a fortnight and hold the meeting right here at the new border." The Regent's eyes widened, but he said nothing.

'This is the only offer you will receive, king to king, people to people. Ignore it, and you will see what monsters are made of. We have been getting lessons every spring."

Achmed stood up to go.

'Oh, by the way," he said, "if it's any comfort to you, your men were sung an exquisite dirge by my Lirin Singer. It was really very touching. Rhapsody has grown quite proficient in requiems and laments, living in the Bolglands."

He smirked as the Regent's face turned scarlet at the mention of her name, and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't worry; she has no idea that she was the one who inspired their massacre. Of course, I do. Why do you think I sent her to you?"

Bile rose in Tristan Steward's throat. "It was a trap."

'Come now, Lord Regent, don't underestimate your part in it all. You are a man of free will. If you had genuinely desired peace, you would have greeted my offer, and my emissary, with open arms, no doubt."

His smile dwindled into a direct stare. "Any man, especially one who is betrothed, with less-than-honorable intentions toward a woman, would be untrustworthy as a neighbor as well. It's just as well that you threw two thousand lives away trying to win her attention now. You learned your lesson early. The cost would have been far greater later on." He turned and walked toward the door into the shadows.

'I'll leave you now to get ready," he said over his shoulder.

'Get ready for what?"

The Firbolg king looked back at the Lord of Roland and smiled. "The vigil you will no doubt want to hold for your men." The shadows of the room shifted and he was gone.

cAt dawn on the tenth day the party from Roland rode into sight on the steppes.

Rhapsody and her honor guard were waiting. She had made sure that none of their horses had come from the Orlandan raiding party; taste has its limits, after all, she had told Achmed. She smiled as she recognized the Lord Roland himself and remembered their unpleasant exchange some weeks before.

The five men in the Regent's party were clad in plain garments and woolen cloaks, probably for the purposes of remaining as anonymous as possible. Rhapsody was attired similarly. She had debated the wisdom of Achmed's suggestion that she deck herself in her grandest finery, fearing that it would be unseemly. She had sighed when dressing simply in the early morning hours. After all, she thought, how many chances do I get to dress nicely these days'?

Riding with Tristan Steward, in addition to two heavily armed guards, were his cousin, Stephen Navarne, who exchanged a smile with her as their eyes met, and another man who favored the Lord Regent facially, though was somewhat younger. He wore a horned helmet and a heavy gold amulet wrought in the image of the sun, with a gleaming ruby spiral in the center. It was the symbol of the benisonric of Bethany. This must be the benison whose See was the northern provinces of Canderre and Yarim, whose portrait graced the wall of the basilica of fire.

The Lord Roland pulled his chestnut gelding to a stop and dismounted quickly, eager to get this distasteful duty over with. He had considered every other possible option and had come to the distressing conclusion that this treaty was unavoidable, mostly from assessing the cool reaction his proposal of invasion had received from the other dukes.

The country of Sorbold, a peaceful rival and ally in trade and conflict had politely declined as well, citing their preexisting intentions of establishing trade with Ylorc and plans to offer the new warlord a place in their benison's See. The cords in Roland's neck had extended several inches outside his body at the ambassador's words; the news of the Orlandan army's defeat had convinced most of his allies that trade with the Bolg was an idea they had actually been toying with for centuries.

He watched the Bolg emissary dismount and approach. As he feared, and hoped, it was the woman he had banished from H his keep some weeks back, whom he had not been able to banish from his thoughts. He steeled himself for what he knew would be a well-deserved jeer, but her face held no gloat, just a welcoming smile. He found himself staring at her, his thoughts not totally honorable.

'Welcome, m'lord," Rhapsody said, bowing to him. "We are honored by your presence." There was no sarcasm in her tone, and the Lord Roland found himself swimming in warm and lascivious feelings in spite of all that had happened; he shook himself roughly to bring his mind back to the task at hand.

'M'Lady Rhapsody, allow me to present my brother, His Grace, Ian Steward, the Blesser of Canderre-Yarim."

Rhapsody bowed over the ring he extended. "Your Grace." "And I believe you know my cousin, Lord Stephen of Navarne."

'Yes. How are you, m'lord?"

'Very well, thank you, m'lady. Thank you for seeing us." Rhapsody smiled. "My pleasure."

She nodded to her honor guard, and two of the dozen soldiers dragged a wooden table forth and set up chairs around it. The Bolg guards smiled pleasantly at the Orlandan lords, causing a collective shudder to rumble through the men. Their reaction delighted the Bolg, who hurried back into position with the others.

Tristan Steward cleared his throat. "Well, now, here we have documents for your examination. First, an interprovince trade agreement sanctioned by the dynastic seat of Roland—Bethany—which allows for and encourages similar subagreements for the exterior provinces. In it you wil find generous terms with the same tariffs we assess on our historic trading partners, and, in fact, each other interprovincially."

'I'm afraid that is not satisfactory," Rhapsody said mildly. "We ask a waiver of all tariffs for the first ten years, as a sign of goodwill that Roland seeks to encourage the fledgling Firbolg economy, as well as in restitution for the centuries of gratuitous destruction visited upon Ylorc by Roland under the hand of Bethany."

Three mouths dropped open. Stephen's closed first into a hidden smile, while the expression of the Regent and the benison curled into something less pleasant.

'Surely you are joking," said the Lord Roland. "Waiver of tariff? What is the point in trade without tariff?"

'Trade without tariff is called commerce, m'lord," Rhapsody answered gently. "It is the fair exchange of goods for other goods, services, or currency. It is the practice in its true form before the tax collector became involved. King Achmed refuses to pay the tariff that supports the armies which have long abused his subjects. He would, however, see it as a gesture of real intention for peace should you agree to the waiver."

'I, for one, would be willing to waive the tariff for Navarne," Lord Stephen added, ignoring vicious looks from the two Orlandan brothers. "First, I think each province would be free to set its tax rate as it is now, would it not, Tristan?"

'That is the current practice," said the Lord Roland.

'Well, Navarne owes the King of Ylorc a debt of gratitude stemming from his participation in the rescue of the children of its province. In addition, one would say that the Cymrian line of Roland might have similar appreciation regarding the liberation of the House of Remembrance, as well as the restoration of the Tree there." He winked surreptitiously at Rhapsody.

'So why don't you agree to the tax waiver for Bethany, Tristan, and let the others do as they like? I would hazard a guess that the other provinces would be willing to trade an initial tariff just for a look at Firbolg-crafted weapons."

'Indeed. Well, I suppose there is no harm in that," said the Lord Roland testily.

'Excellent. Thank you," said Rhapsody. She smiled brightly, and bent to amend and sign the document, unaware of the stares of longing that entered the eyes of the men sitting opposite her. "Now, what's next?"

The Lord Regent unrolled another scroll. "In exchange for the promise of nonaggression and the return of the bodies of the casualties in the last raid, Roland agrees, as a united kingdom, to refrain from any unwarranted hostility against the lands of Ylorc."

Rhapsody shook her head, maintaining her pleasant expression.

'No, I can't agree to that," she said reluctantly. "First, there are no bodies to return.

It is as if your army sank at sea without a trace, m'lord; commit their memory to history and forget about the mortal remains."

She leaned forward and spoke in a confidential whisper. "Between us, the battle was over in less than a quarter hour, al though some residual—action went on for a few more minutes. After that, it was as if nothing had ever happened.

'In addition, I'm afraid I don't like the term 'unwarranted.' What Roland had considered warranted for centuries is what brings us here today. No, I think this should be a standard nonaggression pact, signed between both rulers.

'King Achmed guarantees his citizens will not invade or aggress on the people of Roland, in exchange for which the Lord Roland will guarantee the same thing reciprocally. Any violation of the treaty is the breaking of the sovereign's oath, and will be considered an act of war, assuageable only by immediate deeding of land in the amount of ten percent of the aggressor's realm. How's that?" She stifled a laugh at the three shocked faces in front of her.

'Isn't that excessive?" asked the young benison of Canderre-Yarim. "Who would want ten percent of Ylorc?"

Rhapsody laughed merrily. Her mirth had the tone of chiming church bells.

'Why, Your Grace, how refreshing. An honest question, to be sure, but certainly not the proper and holy way to look at it. You see, if Roland's intentions are strictly honorable, as I'm sure they are, and the oath of the Lord Regent is as ironclad as I believe it to be, you could guarantee any price, because your honor as a people is at stake.

'And as to the value of Ylorc, I don't need to remind you that this was once the Cymrian seat of power, the place where your ancestors chose to rule. Don't judge things at their surface value, Your Grace. There are as many children of the All-God within those mountains as in all of your See, probably more. I'm sure to you that alone makes it worth protecting, am I right?"

'Ye-yes," the benison stuttered, withering under the thunderous look directed his way from the Lord Regent. "Well, she's right, Tristan. That seems a fair compromise, to be sure."

The Lord Roland seized the quill and scratched the terms into the parchment, quivering with rage. When he finished, Rhapsody took the pen from him to sign as well; her hand rested lightly on his for a moment. When it moved away, his fingers betrayed only the slightest tremor, the floridity of his face cooling immediately.

'That brings up my part," said the benison. He unrolled the last scroll and held the corners down for her examination.

-5*7

'Bethe Corbair has always been the See within which the Bolglands belonged. This document is the inscription of the Blesser of Bethe Corbair, Lanacan Orlando, offering religious solace and membership within his See, at our request, for the—er—citizenry of Ylorc.

'The benison of Bethe Corbair has agreed to provide you with clergy, religious rites, and pilgrimage escort, as well as sanctuary and healing, with appropriate tithing, of course."

He looked nervously at the dukes; this was the most risky proposition. The Bolglands bordered on Sorbold as well, another benison's See loyal to the Patriarch.