As if observing some exotic bird, he studied her. Up until fairly late in the war, everyone had assumed cavalry commander Dominik Blaid—son of the old General Kerman Blaid—was the most brilliant tactician in the field. Nor were they incorrect, save as to the Colonel’s gender. Old Kerman had badly wanted a son to carry on the family tradition, but his late wife had not cooperated, leaving him with a single child of the female persuasion. Undaunted, he had decided to make the best of the material at hand, cross-dressing his daughter, calling her by the masculine version of her given name, and beginning her cavalry training as soon as she could stay on a horse’s back. And something in her genes responded from the first.
As with six or seven generations of Blaids before her, she had the knack. And something extra. Emerging victorious in engagement after engagement, she quickly rose in her command, exhibiting more and more flashes of the family aptitude at its highest level.
It was somewhere in the final weeks of the war that she had suffered a shoulder wound when enemy archers released clouds of arrows into her charge. Capturing the height she had stormed, she reeled then and slid from the saddle. Gar Quithnick, an unabashed admirer of the Colonel, was there immediately, tearing open the bloody shirt, ready to apply his
hingu
healing arts. When he realized that the man he most admired was a woman, Gar also realized that he had just fallen in love. But the lady did not share this sentiment. At least, not with him.
Rango smiled and sipped his tea as Domino began addressing the group. She still favored masculine garb, wore her hair short, and talked like a field commander. Hard to believe she’d fallen in love with a poet and scholar of ancient languages. But that is what the newly formed domestic intelligence service had told him. Jord Inder was the man’s name.
Domino got along famously with Spotty Gulick, though there was nothing romantic there. As might be suspected with an infantry officer who had risen through the ranks and been involved in a number of the same campaigns, he had a lot in common with the Colonel. Besides, he seemed to favor petite blondes, and at five feet ten inches Domino was several inches taller than the husky captain.
On the other hand, Gar Quithnick was several inches taller than the lady. Slim, dark-haired, pale-eyed, he was graceful enough to be taken for a dancer rather than what he really was: one of the deadliest things on two feet. Trained from childhood in the killing arts of
hingu
, he had served in Kalaran’s elite Guard until he learned of his master’s part in his parents’ deaths. Defecting then to Rango’s standard, he had distinguished himself in the delaying action at Bardu Defile. The pass was narrow enough that only a pair of foot soldiers or a single mounted cavalryman could pass through at a time and led to the Plains of Paradath. There Rango’s exhausted troops were encamped, not expecting an attack. One of six men volunteering to hold the Defile while word was carried to the encamped army below, Gar had waited, part of a sacrifice to gain five minutes—hopefully, ten.
The pass was held for the better part of an hour, the other five volunteers succumbing in less than half the time. The only reason Gar lived was that when he finally fell, so gashed, tattered, and covered with gore was he that no one cared to waste another swordstroke on an obvious dead man.
Still, hero though he was, Gar Quithnick had no real friends. There was a touch of fanaticism in that pale gaze for he dwelled in the shadow of
hingu’s
death-aesthetic. Spotty, who had fought indoctrinated warriors of other persuasions in the past, had expressed a hope that peace time might eventually turn Gar’s mind to other affairs and so humanize him. Gar’s feeling toward the others remained a mystery. He had never expressed himself, save in the case of Domino.
Rango finished his tea and listened for a time to Domino’s presentation of the conference’s conclusions concerning the magical instruments. There followed a series of questions, similar to those Rissa had asked him earlier. He poured himself more tea as Domino paced slapping her thigh and scratching her nose with her riding crop.
“And when are we to depart with the things?” Jancy Gaine asked.
Domino looked to Rango, who rose to his feet, nodded, and said, “Day after tomorrow. Everyone probably needs a day to settle current business and to get outfitted.”
“Rissa was going to have some words with you about this.”
“We’ve already had them.”
He was about to reseat himself when he felt Gar Quithnick’s gaze. He met it and raised his eyebrows.
“You’ve a question, Gar,” he said.
“Yes,” came that soft, level voice. “The only safe place for the amulet Anachron is its traditional home in a chapel in the mountain village of Gelfait. Unfortunately, the place only exists intermittently. It fades into and out of existence on no predictable schedule—years, sometimes decades or generations apart. I can cross the Waste of Rahoban and go to the place of the village, but I have no guarantee it will manifest when I get there.”
Rango smiled.
“There is a secret tradition,” he replied, “that the phenomenon will occur in response to the presence of the amulet. My consultants say there is every reason to believe this correct. Anachron and Gelfait seem to charge each other up in some fashion.”
“I see,” Gar said. “In that case, I will be ready to depart following this meeting if you will get me the amulet.”
“Your party can prepare that quickly?”
“I was not accompanied in my travels when I fetched you the amulet,” Gar replied. “I require no assistance in its return.”
“I will address that matter after Domino’s presentation,” said Rango, seating himself and nodding to her to continue.
He glanced again at Jancy when he felt that she was glaring at him. Then she looked away. Just wanted to let him know her feelings, as if he wouldn’t have known them in advance. A tough, husky blonde almost as tall as Domino and considerably heavier, she had been employed as a bouncer in the brothel to which the Princess had been taken after her purchase in the local slave market by the establishment’s owner. Jancy had recognized Rissa as the last surviving member of the Royal House of Regaudia, recently destroyed by Kalaran. She had rescued Rissa and gotten her safely out oftown. Their wanderings, for the better part of a year, had taken her, Rissa, and their elf companion Calla Mallanik through a long series of adventures resulting, among other things, in the discovery of the ring Sombrisio in lost Anthurus, city of the dead, and finally leading to a meeting with Prince Rango.
He frowned slightly. Jancy was totally devoted to the princess. He did not doubt for a moment that she would lay her life down for her. She didn’t get on well with men, however. Her feelings might have had to do with all she had seen and heard in the brothel. Or they might be something that ran deeper. She certainly didn’t seem to trust him fully. He knew that she had referred to Gar Quithnick as “spooky.” While she seemed to trust Spotty a little more than most men, if she had to talk with one of those present he knew that she would probably choose Domino, strictly because of gender.
He shrugged. Spotty and Domino were both aware of Jancy’s quirks and were totally cordial to her. Even Gar had seemed kindly disposed toward the big woman, to the extent of having dined with her, though he later learned that the main thrust of Gar’s conversation had involved an attempt to discover the death-aesthetic of the Northern totemic warriors—those fellows who wrapped themselves in animal skins and growled as they fought, occasionally gnawing the bodies of the slain in the aftermath of battle. In fact, now he reflected, it was after that dinner that she had begun referring to Gar as “spooky.”
There was silence. Rango returned from his reverie as he realized that the last question had been answered, that Domino—raising her riding crop to her face and saluting him with it, with an outward-curved, downward gesture—was turning the meeting back over to him. He rose to his feet and nodded.
“Thank you, General Blaid,” he said, moving forward. “Domino,” he added then, “I just want to add a few things. First, Stiller, Mothganger is in the vault at the palace and will be turned over to you, on the morning of your departure. Jancy, you can work out the terms of surrender on Sombrisio with Rissa—”
“We already have,” she interrupted, “thank you.”
“Good,” Rango stated, smiling broadly at her. “The other two instruments—the amulet Anachron and the scroll of Gwykander—are technically out of my reach. That is to say, they are in the custody of the Temple. They seized them that final day, laying claim to them as religious items. I will refrain from commenting on any possible political motivation here, but I’m certainly not looking for an argument between the Crown and the Church at this point. My experts are already seeking the Elders and the priests, to convince them of the danger involved in keeping the pieces. We hope to persuade them to turn the things loose the day after tomorrow. That, Gar, is why you will be unable to depart on your journey immediately after the meeting. I will let you and Domino—who will be Bearer of the Scroll—know immediately should we run into any problems with the negotiations. Any questions?”
He looked about the room. Finding no responses, he continued:
“I would like to introduce four gentlemen who will be accompanying you in your travels.” He gestured toward a bench along the wall to his left at the room’s rear where two bearded middle-aged men sat between a pair of beardless youths. One by one, they rose to their feet in order as he called their names. “Rolfus,” he said of the first youth, “will accompany Stiller. Squill will go with Jancy. Piggon will join Domino’s party. And Spido will keep company with Gar. All of these men are sorcerers—that is they have been trained in a single magical operation. They are communications specialists. They will keep me posted as to your progress and any problems. And they will advise me when your missions have been completed. It is essential that I have this information immediately rather than waiting upon your return, because I want all loose ends tied off before the coronation. I think it important that I come to power with all of the old business out of the way, and I want to be able to announce the settling of this matter as soon as possible.”
Gar Quithnick raised his hand. When Rango nodded him he said, “As I explained earlier, I travel faster when I travel alone.”
Rango smiled.
“I am sure that this is generally true,” he said, “but as I explained, the information is essential for preparing the proper opening to my reign. As to Spido’s delaying you, you may be mistaken. He elected to join us when the Armbruss training center, south of Kalaran’s capital, was liberated. He has had several years of
hingu
training and he welcomes the opportunity of serving with you.”
Spido bowed formally toward Gar, who responded with an elabo\rate hand gesture.
“You have satisfied my queries,” he said to Rango.
“Are there any others?” Rango asked the group. When he saw that there were none, he concluded, “Then I thank you, and I wish you all good journeys.”
* * *
When the midlevel priest, Lemml Touday, visited the palace that evening with a message for Prince Rango’s ears alone, Rango told his steward to bring him to his quarters directly.
When they were alone he studied the stocky, middle-aged man.
“Do you bring bad news? Or should I offer you a glass of my favorite wine and celebrate with you?”
“I’d prefer the latter,” Lemml said.
Rango gestured toward a cushioned couch and smiled as he filled a pair of goblets, placed them upon a tray, and brought them over. Rango smiled when the other toasted him, then asked, “A problem with the release of the amulet and the scroll, I presume?”
“No,” the priest replied. “In fact, the talks are going quite as you might have wished. They’ve been adjourned till tomorrow, but your experts on magical instruments and stresses are very persuasive, according to our experts. Off the record, I think they’ve won over everyone who matters.”
“Oh?” Rango lowered his drink and stared. “I don’t understand. There is, perhaps, something you’d like to have for a report of the Temple’s private deliberations on this? Do you wish to let me know who my friends and my enemies are?”
The priest smiled.
“No, that wasn’t what I had in mind at all. I was thinking of something likely worth a lot more.”
“And what might that be?”
“I am the Keeper of the Skull.”
Rango shook his head in puzzlement.
“I don’t understand what that signifies,” he said.
“The principle of evil, the fallen Sunbird, Lord Kalaran,” Lemml said. “I am custodian of his skull.”
“Oh,” Rango remarked. “I wasn’t aware that it had received special treatment.”
The priest nodded.
“Yes, it was exposed on the Temple’s main spire for a month, after which it was flensed of all flesh and other softnesses in a boiling vat of appropriate herbs. Our greatest artisan then installed the two small figures—Demon and Messenger of Light—within it. It is kept in a jeweled casket in a secret place in the Temple, and I am its custodian. I check it every day to see whether the bright spirit has emerged from the right eye socket or the dark one from the left.”
Rango nodded.
“And what has the result been?” he asked.
“The light figure has been prominent ever since the artifact was created…”
“That is good.”
“…until this morning. When I checked today, I saw that the dark one had emerged.”
“This is not good. If I understood you, this is to be interpreted as an ill omen, an indication of pending evil?”
“The skull was enchanted as such a warning system, yes.”
“What have the Elders to say abour this change, at this time?”
“Nothing. I haven’t told them yet.”
“Ah! I see…”
“Yes. While it might be interpreted as indicating that the departure of the amulet and the scroll from the Temple would be a bad thing, it might also simply mean that the odd nightly phenomena in the area have finally reached the point of representing a danger—what with giant lizards stalking through town and all. With this interpretation, it would be a good thing to take your experts’ advice and get rid of the instruments. Which interpretation do you think more likely?”