The Merchant Emperor (56 page)

“True enough—Oi don’t know what ya see in Ashe,” Grunthor joked. “Never made no sense to me, Oi must admit.”

“That makes two of us,” said Achmed.

Rhapsody’s expression did not change.

“I’m guessing that neither of you knew until this moment that ‘Rhapsody’ is my middle name—that I had another first name, a human name, and a patronymic, a family name, as well, I believe.”

“You believe?” Achmed chuckled. “You’re not certain?”

“Had?” Grunthor asked.

“Had. And no, I’m not certain.”

The Bolg king’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Stop talking in riddles.”

“I’m not. I no longer have the rest of the name I was given at birth—just like you, Achmed. Only I wasn’t renamed by someone else as you were twice. I gave my name away—to Meridion. I left it with him when I installed him in the realm of the Nain, in the care of others. So, while I believe I once had both a first and a last name, and perhaps even a nickname, I don’t recall them anymore—because Meridion has them now.”

“How does that affect you as a Namer?” Achmed’s voice was harsh.

“It doesn’t, at least as far as my abilities other than the healing of myself. I can’t remember my true name, because I think I gave it to my son. But I have retained
Rhapsody,
and it was as ‘Rhapsody’ that I became a Namer, and the Iliachenva’ar. I kept that name because I’m fairly certain I will need those powers to deal with whatever is to come. But I was known by my first name when much of what you know about me came into being. I learned my understanding of family, to love, to forgive, to be the woman you know, for good and for ill, when I had that name. And, without it, I have forgotten those things.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Grunthor demanded.

Rhapsody’s eyes gleamed more intensely. At first Achmed thought it was a sign of tears welling, but within a moment had felt the cold that was behind them in his very skin. She stared at him for a long moment, then spoke slowly, each word distinct, matter-of-factly.

“The biggest mistake I ever made with you—both of you, but especially you, Achmed—was telling you on the night we met in the old world why Michael was searching for me, for being candid about my past and how I knew him. You have teased me rather mercilessly over the years about my ‘old line of work,’ as if it was something of my choosing, rather than something I was forced into. And because the part of me that had a sense of humor, that could love and forgive, looked past it, you always assumed it was a joke we all shared.

“Let me explain something to you that I never would have told you when my old name was my own. I did not work in the equivalent of your favorite old-world wenching spot, Madame Parri’s Pleasure Palace; the brothel I was enslaved in frequently catered to a clientele of the most perverse sort. I was taken into that brothel as a means of survival; I was a slave of sorts. When I was little more than a child, about fifteen, I had a brief interaction with Michael that could only be described as torture, and I refused to see him again thereafter. So when he returned two years later from whatever maneuvers he had been on, he had a bargaining chip with him—a seven-year-old Liringlas little girl, wrapped in a bloody shawl that had probably once been her mother’s. She was the only survivor of her longhouse; Michael had brought her along as leverage over me, having killed every member of her family before her eyes.

“At that time Michael had two weeks of leave before he was being deployed for an extended period, most likely by Tsoltan, your hated demonic master. He had grown in power and influence in those two years; when I first met him, he was merely a thug, even if he was rising in the ranks. When he returned, he had a vast number of soldiers under him, an entire regiment, almost a hundred strong, far more than I could ever hope to escape. He wanted me to himself for that fortnight, and when I refused, he told me that the little girl would take my place. And he knew he had me then, because there was no way I could allow that to happen; it was the first sacrifice I made for someone I did not know.” Her eyes dropped, and her voice darkened. “That child was Analise.”

The two Bolg exchanged a glance.

“So I surrendered myself to him for those two weeks in return for the promise of her freedom. I assume you can imagine the depravity he visited upon me in that time.” She paused as she saw Grunthor wince. Achmed said nothing, so she continued, her voice softer.

“But that was just when we were alone. Occasionally, when I inadvertently crossed him in a way he did not find stimulating, or when he was merely bored, his favorite pastime was to encourage—no, actually, command—his entire regiment to rape me while he watched.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper, but one without emotion. “Every one of them. Repeatedly.”

She turned away for a moment; Achmed’s swarthy skin had gone pale, and she could tell that Grunthor was struggling to keep from throwing back his head and roaring. She touched the giant Bolg’s shoulder.

“I am not trying to torture you in the telling of this. I am only trying to help you to understand the person I am now; the part of me which allowed me endure that time, and still be able to smile, is gone. I know that you, Achmed, have survived great torment of your own, enslaved as you were to the demon. But I am also fairly certain that had you been in my position, with your Dhracian physiology, all of your sensitive nerve endings and exposed veins, that you would not have survived the abuse. I endured it, survived it, and eventually even overcame it, only because of things I had been taught in my early life with and by my family. I know that was a blessing you never had.

“But that part of me is gone now; it’s protecting Meridion, keeping the memory of my love alive for him. If I don’t survive this war, at least one thing that you will not have to do as his godfather, Grunthor, his guardian, Achmed, is explain to him that I loved him; he will most assuredly know, even if he won’t understand for a long time. So what remains of me, the person that I am here, now, has nothing left to withstand your prodding of that awful memory. Or anything else, really.

“When we passed through the fire at the Earth’s heart, I believe we were each immolated; it was our namesongs that carried us through and re-formed us on the other side, the elemental fire purging us of our scars, our wounds. The burning away of that body was a new beginning for me, your crass commentary about the restoration of my virginity notwithstanding. I tried and was mostly successful in letting all that had tormented me in the Past wither to ash with my old body, not touching my new self. Your reminders of those horrific days only drag me back in time to that torture, that depravity. And while the person who learned to love you both in spite of her kidnapping, the loss of her family and her world, forgave you that thoughtless cruelty, the Rhapsody who is with you now has none of those tools. This Rhapsody is doing all that she can to keep focused, to concentrate on the safety of her child, the memory of whom is all but gone, her own survival, and whatever she can do to ensure that of the continent.”

Her voice, so steady up to that point, shook slightly as she began to run out of breath and words. “As of now, that child, my baby, is being sought by a bastard as cruel and depraved as Michael, perhaps more so—he seeks to
eat
my son’s heart, alive, to grant himself immortality. And the titan who serves him desires to do something even more horrific with the Earthchild we all guard. And now I’ve just discovered that the beast who had visited the most torment upon me in my life, the man I thought had finally died at MacQuieth’s hand, may be living on, in one way or another, through an emperor who seeks to destroy everything you and I hold dear. He is coming for each of us, for my child, and yours, Achmed—you are the closest thing to a father the Earthchild knows. I don’t know how I will ever sleep again.

“I have left my own child, the center of my heart, in distant lands and the hands of others; I cannot explain what this has done to me. I am so angry I can barely breathe, and at the same time unable to feel anything good for the people I know I love. It takes everything I have to just remain numb. So, please, stop tormenting me. I have no idea what I may do if you don’t.”

She had to turn away again; Achmed had gone almost gray behind his mask of veils. The Sergeant’s massive jaw was trembling, the tusks quivering.

“These are the last words I want to say tonight. One of the few things I still know is this: even if I can’t presently feel it, I love you both, endlessly, and always will. One day, if I survive, perhaps I will feel it again. I’m going to try and reach Ashe through the Lightcatcher one last time before he goes into the sea, and then go to bed. Good night.” She turned and started for the door.

“Wait,” Grunthor commanded. The word came out in a voice that almost sounded as if he was strangling. “C’mere.”

Rhapsody stopped in midstride, then turned back to him again.

A massive arm reached out with uncommon speed, wrapped itself around her waist, and pulled her onto his lap. Rhapsody allowed the Sergeant-Major to enfold her, disappearing from Achmed’s sight into the titanic musculature of Grunthor’s arms.

For a long time she remained within the dark cave of her friend’s embrace, listening to the comforting beating of his heart and the occasional sniffle, quietly enduring the trickle of warm tears in her hair. Finally he released her; she stood creakily, and kissed him on the cheek.

“
Now
I’m going to contact Ashe, then go to bed,” she said. “Good night, Achmed.”

She blinked. The Bolg king was gone.

“Good night,” she said to Grunthor again. Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Grunthor waited for a moment until the sounds of her footfalls died away, then rose from the chair and made his way out of the room and down the long corridor into the Great Hall.

Achmed was there, as he had suspected, in the process of gathering supplies, laying them out on the long table. He looked up at the Sergeant-Major.

“Summon the Archons.”

“Now, or in the mornin’?”

“Now. I want to be ready to leave at daybreak, right after Rhapsody departs for Bethany. I need them activated and in place before I go.”

Grunthor nodded. “An’ where is it you will be goin’, sir?”

The frost in Achmed’s voice had made Rhapsody’s seem warm by comparison.

“After Talquist. As soon as she’s gone.”

Grunthor nodded again.

He had already known the answer.

*   *   *

After the Sergeant had left to activate the Archons, the Bolg king took a final inventory of his gear and began one last check of the Lightcatcher. As he was adjusting the great wheel, he felt a shadow fall on him. The scent of primal wind, old and full of elemental power, prevented the need of turning around.

“Should you not be in bed, Rath?” he asked, though his tone indicated it wasn’t really a question.

The sandy voice scratched against his eardrums. “Where are you going?”

“Diplomatic mission.”

“Without an entourage?”

“How are the ribs?”

The Dhracian sighed silently, but Achmed could feel the exhalation of the man’s breath in the sensitive web of nerves that scored the skin on the back of his neck.

“You have caught a trail? Is it Hrarfa, then?”

The Bolg king said nothing.

“I will go with you,” Rath said. “I will summon the Brethren—”

“No.” Achmed’s voice was as icy as the wind that howled around the peak of Gurgus. “No. This time, it’s your turn to stay and guard the Sleeping Child. This time, I’m hunting men, not demons.”

Silence echoed through the enormous room.

“Are you certain?” Acid dripped from the words.

Achmed released his grip on the wheel of the Lightcatcher; the tension in his hands threatened damage to the instrumentality. “No one knows better than you that one can
never
be certain, Rath. But I have reason to believe that the demons are more likely to be heading here eventually than waiting in a palace, as the man I seek is most likely doing. Summon the Brethren if you like; perhaps you can lay a trap, lie in wait. I expect to be back before the titan arrives, but I can’t be certain about that either.”

“Your priorities are skewed,” Rath said after a moment. “Can you not feel the needles in your veins, the call of the Primal Hunt? I can feel it from your words alone.”

Finally Achmed turned around. He stared into the liquid black eyes of the Dhracian hunter, a man with whom he had exchanged very few words, but who shared his identity at deepest possible level.

“You may not understand this, Rath, but not every evil in this world is conceived and executed by Elder races. The F’dor may have brought the forces of destruction and chaos into this world at its beginning, but they no longer are the exclusive owners of the concept. A man wants something: a child, a woman, immortality, sadistic satisfaction—and if he has a crown, he thinks he can have whatever he wishes, and do whatever he wants with them. He doesn’t have to be of an Elder race. He doesn’t have to be part of a larger design, he doesn’t have to desire the unraveling of the world. Your lore disregards the wretched sadist, the petty manipulator, the cruel abuser, the power-mad despot—not everyone who needs to die is a demon.”

The ancient hunter’s expression took on a hint of sympathy.

“No. But if the demons don’t die first, everyone else will, whether they need to or not.”

A slight smile crawled over the Bolg king’s face, pocked with the same veins as visible on the Dhracian’s skin.

“You wanted me to be more assassin than king,” he said humorously. “You are getting your wish. Perhaps not in the manner you had hoped, yet, anyway. There is something unspoken in the vow of a king, an emperor, and though it’s a word I scorn to use most of the time, it’s a holy commitment. Those that usurp a throne, violate that vow, that stewardship, need to die in as awful a way as is possible. And if nothing else, if this man has one or more of Sharra’s scales, tracking and killing him will be good training to go after the titan, assuming I survive.”

“And if you don’t, you will never walk the Vault—you are the only one who can.”