Wheel of the Infinite (22 page)

After a long heartbeat of silence, the Emperor stepped back. He glanced almost angrily at Karuda, as if it was his fault Rian was here, then said, “Take him away.”

Karuda and his men led him down the stone-paved path through the heavy foliage. It was narrow, and with the trees shading it and the dim morning light, it was ideal for making an escape attempt. Except for the small fact that the Celestial Emperor was less than twenty paces away and the last thing Rian needed was to get himself and Maskelle accused .of another attempt on the throne.

The path led toward the high log wall of one of the buildings, to an archway that opened into a high-ceilinged entrance hall, the woven lattice panels over the openings to the upper level balconies letting in light and air. The walls and pillars were carved with scenes of priests and warriors and more of the strange multiheaded spirit creatures, the designs touched with gold and pearl inlay. Rian began to feel conscious of the state of his clothes, not improved by climbing palisades and the swim in the canal. Prison he had been prepared for; this sent prickles of unease up and down his spine.

They went through more large, airy rooms, lit by bronze candlestands or elaborate lamps that hung from the heavy beams overhead. Rian saw two guards posted at the end of a hall, dressed for show in breastplates and crested helmets with half-masks, and a few sleepy servants scrubbing tile on one of the upper galleries. They passed a hall where the walls were panelled in huge sheets of ivory covered with delicately etched scenes of clashing armies. He had been to the High Lord’s Hold at Belladira and thought it rich beyond imagination, but this place made it look like a pigkeeper’s hut. The Markand Heir, so greedily pleased with the treasures that had come to him when the Holder Lord had died, would have writhed in envy.

They went up a spiral stair of large stone blocks that had wide windows overlooking another garden court. The stairs led up to a landing with two guards posted outside the doorway. Rian tensed, knowing this must be their goal, but it was only a room, large and high-ceilinged, with a broad balcony looking down on the shaded garden court. Rian looked at Karuda, now truly baffled.

The noble said, “You’re a guest here, not a prisoner.”

“A guarded guest.”

“Yes. For now.”

Karuda didn’t leave, but just stood there, watching him. Rian went to the balcony, saw that there were guards down in the court also, though it might be possible to go up the timbered wall and onto the roof. The room hung out over the court, so that would probably be easy. Rian turned back into the room. It was furnished like a Kushorit house with cushions, a few carved chests and a low table. There were doorways leading off into at least two other rooms, and the wall paintings and the carving along the doorposts and the lintels was of a high quality, inlaid with fine wood and stone.

Karuda asked suddenly, “Will she come for you?”

“That’s the plan, is it?” The noble made no answer, and Rian knew he was right. He was being used as bait for Maskelle.
The sanctimonious bastards
. He was used to controlling his anger, had swallowed down rage through that entire impossible year at Markand, but this almost broke his control. He found himself smiling tightly, an expression which Karuda weathered but made the guard who had followed him into the room shift warily. Rian said, “You’ll get more than you bargained for.”

“She’s an old woman—”

Rian laughed. Karuda stopped, and Rian could see the noble didn’t believe his own words either. He repeated, “You’ll get more than you bargained for.”

Karuda hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, then turned and walked out, the guard following him. The others remained at the door.

Rian went to the balcony again and gripped the carved balustrade, letting out his breath. Marada and her possible plots, the Celestial One and the damage to the Rite, all suddenly seemed of little importance.
We’re for it now
, he thought grimly.

Maskelle entered the Celestial Home through the Golden Door, the main entrance that lay across a short bridge from the Great Square of Kushor-An. She went down an avenue lined with mimosa, under stone arches that, like the Passage Markers on the outer approaches to the city, served as protective barriers. The cloud cover had set in and the morning light was diffuse and dimmer than it had been at dawn, though the early rain hadn’t started yet. The walk across to Kushor-An had been a long one and had given Maskelle time to think. That this was all part of some sort of trap was obvious.

The Golden Door was just that, a great golden gate balanced so exactly that it would swing open or closed with a touch. It stood open now. There were guards, but they ignored her, some staring nervously, some making what they thought were unobtrusive warding gestures. Beyond the Door were the steps up to the broad portico of the Great House, with three levels of galleries above it going up to the huge red-tiled roof. Built of heavy timber from the upland forests and supported by round stone pillars, this was the place that ruled the Celestial Empire. It was so familiar and so strange. Like returning to a well-known place in a dream or vision.

Speaking of visions
... It was an obvious trap, but as to who was behind it...
That is not so obvious
, she thought. It was encouraging that she could still think. Anger had been a heady intoxicant and she had always enjoyed that sensation of being balanced on a blade’s edge. Rage had always left her oddly clear-headed, but this time it was even more so; Rian’s life might hang in the balance and she didn’t intend to make a mistake. The awareness that if she wasn’t careful she would deliver herself into her unknown enemy’s hand helped as well, but it was less important. She was rather looking forward to confronting an enemy just now. Any enemy.

Arrayed on the portico was a group of Imperial guardsmen and a young warrior-noble she didn’t recognize. Maskelle stopped on the paved path about twenty paces away, leaning on her staff, and counted guards. “Only ten?” she said, her voice sounding brittle and bitterly amused, even to her own ears. “That’s an insult.”

The noble stepped down toward her. “Revered, we’re to escort you only—”

Maskelle stopped listening. She had expected contempt or impertinence at the very least from these young men who had been hardly more than children when she had left Duvalpore. The noble’s air of determined resignation reminded her they weren’t doing this of their own volition and saved all their lives.

There was a direct line of power running under her feet from the Baran Dir to the Arkad Temple, and through it she could feel the strong reverberation of the Marai, and further off, the subtle echo of the Illsat Sidar. She drew on it and used it to widen her perception of her surroundings, right up to the clouds hanging high overhead heavy with water. Stimulated by the contact with the power running through the earth, the power of the sky inherent in the clouds leapt out. Drawing on the temples for the strength she channeled it down to impact harmlessly on the stone pavement equidistant between her and the guards.

For an instant the world was raw light and sound. She gripped her staff and stayed on her feet, temporarily blind and deaf. The violence of the ringing in her ears made her teeth hurt. When her vision cleared she saw the guards were scattered, some sprawled on the ground from shock and terror, but all unhurt. Some had dropped their bori clubs and swords, and all were now dragging off their helmets. Heat burned into her palm from the silver in her staff, and she knew that all the metal within many yards was now hot to the touch. The air smelled raw and burnt. There was a dark steaming hole in the pavement where the power had struck.
There
, she thought, a little dazed herself.
Are you pleased? Every dark spirit within miles will be drawn up to the city boundary, waiting for you to leave
. She answered herself,
Yes, I am pleased. I reminded them of what I am and why they shouldn‘t trifle with me with no harm caused to anyone but myself
. Something wasn’t quite right with that, but she would worry about it later.

The noble staggered to his feet, staring at her. He didn’t try to stop her as she walked past him and climbed the steps to the portico.

She went through the ivory-framed archway into the entrance hall, quiet now and dim, with the clouds cutting off the morning sun and the lamps not lit. It was fragrant with the scents of the fine inlaid woods in walls and floor, and the semiprecious stones set into the carving gleamed in the shadows. It was too quiet, even for this time of day.

As Maskelle passed the antechambers and rooms reserved for waiting supplicants and petitioners, all empty, she knew that they had been cleared because of her presence. They should have been full of officials on real business and people who meant to try to seek some personal favor or matter of justice from the Imperial secretaries, who also had their audience rooms in these halls. To clear this place quickly, without resorting to threats of violence which would only cause a full-blown riot among the regional governors and high court advocates who were sure to be here, was an impossibility. Only one man could have emptied the place with a simple request. Maskelle’s jaw ached from unconsciously grinding her teeth.

She came to a huge room, the ceiling going up the full four stories to the peak of the roof, with the center portion open to the gradually lightening sky and covered only by the giant skeleton of the heavy support beams. The floor was paved with fine white stone, with two steps down to a shallow pool in the center, directly under the open roof. The floor under the pool was mosaiced to resemble a natural pond, blue water laced with lotus and other languid flowering water plants. The illusion of an outdoor pond was increased by the presence of a dozen or so large graceful herons, standing or stalking elegantly about the shallow pool.

The wide doors just past it led into a large dark room, this one with the empty feel of a place normally bustling with people. It had a floor of wood inlaid with ivory and the ceiling arched high overhead, the sections between the carved beams painted a deep indigo and starred with gems that glittered like ice in the light from a few gold candlestands. At the far end, on a dais raised two steps off the floor, was a heavy gold bench.

Seated on the steps in front of the Throne, his staff across his knees, was the Celestial One.

Maskelle stopped a few paces from him, folded her arms, and said, “Why did you clear the halls? Did you think I’d kill everyone in my path?”

“I wanted no one to take the opportunity to interfere with you. Any further, that is,” he said, sounding tired. “Your friend is well. I made certain of that.”

The anger went out of her suddenly. She was tired, too, and her ears hurt. And it came to her that it had cost the Celestial One something to cross the city by boat to be here before her, to reach the Great House from the Celestial Home’s canal dock and clear the halls before she reached it. She crossed the short distance between them and sat down beside him on the steps. “Well.”

“I’m too old for these plots,” he grumbled. “That was always your duty.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“I meant to deal with the plots, of course.” He gestured in irritation. “Raith insists this was his own idea. Perhaps he even believes it. The boy is just as stubborn as you.”

The Celestial One was one of the few people in the Empire who could use the Celestial Emperor’s given name and talk about him as if he was an errant acolyte while seated three feet from the Throne. She asked, “It wasn’t Marada?”

He frowned at her as though the question sounded mad. “Who?”

“A Court Lady visiting from Garekind. I saw you speak to her at the Marai, the day we arrived.”

“‘Oh, her. I can’t tell them apart anymore. She had requested an audience with me to gawk, the usual reason these foreign visitors do.” He glanced at her sharply. “Why do you think she caused this?”

Maskelle shook her head. “She was the only stranger close enough to Veran to ... do whatever was done to him.” There was so much she didn’t know yet. She needed to find out if Rian had managed to get into the guesthouse, if he had found anything. “She’s a favorite of Raith’s.”

“That will make matters difficult.” The Celestial One rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Is there any proof or only suspicions?”

“Just suspicions.”
That is the thing I don’t understand
, she thought.
Someone with dark power did this, that’s obvious enough, but how did he learn so much about the Rite
? Even with access to the Koshan libraries in Kushor-At, theoretical knowledge wasn’t enough. It would take practical experience with building and shaping the sand patterns of the wheel, and weaving it in and out of the Infinite to make that new section, and make it so quickly.

That knowledge might have come voluntarily from poor dead Veran, or maybe even the Voice Igarin, but ...
But I doubt it
, Maskelle thought. Rian had found out enough about both men to support her gut instinct. As Igarin had grown older he had grown closer to the Infinite, as most Voices did. He had hardly left the Marai at all in the past few years. Veran had been well occupied with his studies and his instruction to younger Koshans; Lady Marada had been the only odd intrusion into his life. And the Temple Master and some of the Voices had examined the books and notes in Veran’s quarters, and confirmed that there was no trace there of the unknown symbols.
Something used Veran, that has to be it. Something invaded his mind and used him like a tool, and Marada killed him to keep him from telling us
.

“And what about the Rite?” The Celestial One sounded like any querulous old man in the market, complaining about taxes and the price of rice. “Who is working on that while we chase each other across the city?”

“Vigar and the other Voices—”

“Balls,” the Celestial One said distinctly. Maskelle, though more used to his eccentricities than others, almost fell off the step. “I wanted your opinion. I had Vigar’s already.”

“I don’t know what my opinion is. It feels wrong to remove the . . . obstruction, but we can’t leave it in. The Equinox is tomorrow, and if they all work on it together and no one trods on someone’s sleeve and falls on the Wheel, they’ll barely finish in time as it is.” She rubbed her face. “I think the Adversary finally spoke to me again in the Illsat Sidar but what he showed me has nothing to do with the Rite.” She wasn’t going to tell him about seeing Sirot. “I think I’ve done something to myself, so I can’t understand what he says even when he does speak to me. My first decent vision in seven years and I can’t understand it.”