Wraiths of Time (11 page)

The woman was very beautiful, her lips finely chiseled, her features well cut. Though she was small and dainty, yet she had excellent carriage and she held herself with that inborn assurance which beauty breeds in a woman. Even as contemptuous as Ashake's memories were, Tallahassee knew that the Princess had always understood the appeal Idieze had for her weakling cousin, and how this perfection in flesh could mold him easily to her purpose.

“I see you, Idieze.” Tallahassee-Ashake gave greeting, not of intimate to intimate, equal to equal, but rather of the Blood to the lesser. And she saw the swiftly hidden spark in Idieze's eyes. It was as if something in Tallahassee now fed triumphantly on the hate the other projected.

“The Great Lady receives her servant.” The other's voice was soft, carrying no hint of anger. Idieze was a superb actress, Tallahassee had to admit.

There was the sound of sandals and boots on the pavement behind. The girl did not need to look around to know that Namlia had carried out orders. Jayta and Herihor were coming. She wanted no confrontation with this—this viper that was not witnessed by those she could trust.

“Greeting, Daughter-of-Apedemek,” Idieze continued. “And to you, General of the North.” She smiled gently. “Has some emergency arisen that you are called from your station when the Glorious-in-the-Sun Naldamak is not with us?”

“I did not realize, Lady, that your interest in military matters was so marked.” Herihor's voice was cool.

She only smiled, warmly and graciously. “Is not my Lord, also, of the defenses of our land?” she countered sweetly. “As his wife, I have learned much.”

That you have, Tallahassee thought, or perhaps should it not more rightly be that he has learned from
you!

Impatience stirred in her. Idieze would not come here without a purpose. Let them get to the point quickly. Though she could trust her implanted memory, yet there was something about this female that was a threat she could well do without and speedily. It might not follow the rules of formality and custom, but she decided now to dispense with those.

“You have sought me out, Idieze,” Tallahassee said bluntly, “and for that there must be a reason.”

“Concern for your welfare, Great Lady. It has been rumored in New Napata that you have been grievously ill—”

“So?” Tallahassee was aware of that searching glance the other gave her. She wondered what
had
really been told Idieze, what had been the result on the enemies' side of that invasion into the other world? Had they even suspected the real result—Ashake's death? If so, Idieze must be confounded now, through she showed no trace of surprise.

“Rumor,” she continued deliberately, “often is fathered and mothered by false reports. As you see, my health is good. As one of the Talented I withdraw to renew my spirit—as all know must be done at intervals.”

“When the Graciousness-in-the-Sun and her sister of the Blood are both gone, and none is delegated to hold the Rod, there is uneasiness.” Idieze still smiled with her mouth, kept her voice low and gentle, but Tallahassee wished she could see more clearly into those downcast eyes.

“And to whom would the Rod pass,” Tallahassee asked in a voice she hoped was as deceptively mild as the other's, “seeing that there are none of the pure Blood to set hand to it?”

The smile was gone now, the lips set straightly together, as if the other had an answer that prudence alone kept her from saying aloud.

“But”—Tallahassee was being forced to this because Ashake's memory warned her that she dared not trepass too deeply on a field of action adverse to the ways of the court—“since you have come in your concern, you are greeted. The way to New Napata is long, and it is close to evening. You are bidden to dine, to sleep within these walls, you and your people.”

It did not sound very gracious, and she did not mean it to. Also she heard a slight stir from the direction of Herihor, behind her left shoulder, and she knew that perhaps he was not pleased with what she had done. But to send Idieze forth now would mean an open break that perhaps they could not afford. Tallahassee clapped her hands, and as two maid servants appeared she gave orders.

“Escort the Lady Idieze to the guest quarters. See also that those who serve her are made at ease.”

Idieze smiled again, and at the sight of that a small doubt arose in Tallahassee. The woman wanted to stay, she had come here for no other reason. Why? Now she made a graceful gesture of homage and withdrew, walking down the other side of the pool toward rooms at the back of the villa, her people coming from the gateway to follow her. Two maids and another woman, older and somewhat hunched of back, who hobbled along leaning on a cane. Yes, that was the old crone Idieze had ever about her. Some said she was the ancient nurse who had tended her as a child—others retailed more fantastic suggestions.

“She comes for a purpose.” Herihor spoke first, staring after that ordered withdrawal as Tallahassee arose and turned to face the other two.

“Better,” Jayta remembered, “that she be under our own eyes now. Our Lady could not turn her from the door, even though there lies no friendship between them. It may be that we can learn what has brought her here.”

“Learn anything from that one?” Herihor laughed harshly. “She is like the scorpion hiding beneath a rock, her sting raised—yet the shadow of the rock ever hides her threat. I do not like it.”

“Neither do I,” returned Tallahassee as frankly. “But, as Jayta says, what else could be done with her? We do not yet court an open break with her party. Let the Daughter-of-Apedemek deal with the matter; there is perhaps something that can be done by the Talent to learn more.”

Jayta nodded. “Yes. For now, we must be content with the matter as it stands. It would be well to acquaint Colonel Namlia with a suggestion that the guard of honor be doubled tonight—”

“With special emphasis on the outer part of the guest quarters.” When Herihor's left brow slid up as Jason's had so often, for a moment Tallahassee's heart lifted. If he only
were
Jason! If she could have confidence that he did not hold any grudge against her, that he was not just serving her because it was his duty!

“We must all do our best,” were the only words that came to her lips. She was not looking forward to this disturbing night wherein she must fence with Idieze across food she had now little desire to taste.

At least they did not share the same table, and there was nearly the width of the room between them. For it seemed that the household at the villa followed the old Egyptian custom of food being served on small, separate tables, each placed beside a chair. Tallahassee, Herihor, Jayta, and Idieze were grouped at one end of the room, while members of the household of sufficient rank were a little apart. Among the latter there was easy if low-voiced conversation, though it did not include the hunched form near the opposite door—Idieze's crone attendant But among those of rank there was a general silence as if each were only too-well occupied with his or her own thoughts.

Once or twice Tallahassee had that shivering sensation of being overlooked. She saw Jayta stir, glance over her shoulder at the painted expanse of the wall at their backs. Did the priestess also pick up that feeling that there was something hovering about them? The girl longed for the meal to be done, for Idieze to be gone, so she could share with the Daughter-of-Apedemek her curious experience beside the pool.

Only Idieze showed no sign of wanting yet to withdraw. She had finished her meal. Now one of the maids standing along the wall ready to give service brought forward a carved box from which the Princess selected a slender brown stick, putting it to her lips, waiting for the maid to touch a flame to its tip. Smoke rose in needle-thin curls from the stick when Idieze drew deeply upon it, so that a tiny spot of flame flared.

“It is sad that you who followed the Upper Path, Great Lady,” she said, “are forbidden so many of the luxuries of life. These pleasant dream sticks can be most soothing to the nerves.”

A tendril of the smoke floated in Tallahassee's direction. It was sickly-sweet and, without thinking, she fanned it away.

“Lady,” it was Jayta who spoke, “this is a house for those who do follow the Upper Path. Such—”

“Cannot be defiled by my dream stick?” Idieze laughed. “I am rebuked.” She thrust the glowing tip into the dregs of wine in her goblet. “Forgive me, Daughter-of-Apedemek. We of the outer world are not so constrained in our life. The old ways”—she gave a dainty shrug—“they fasten chains upon one, and it is so unnecessary. For much can be learned by an open will and mind.”

She was insolent, being deliberately so, Tallahassee realized. And why did Idieze feel so free to speak thus—here?

Herihor set down his goblet, his eyes were on Idieze with that narrowed intentness that had been—was—Jason's when he was considering some problem. Tallahassee could believe that he was now as alert as she was to the danger of Idieze and her real purpose in coming here.

It was as if Idieze herself could read that thought. Her lazy smile was gone. Now she leaned forward a little in her chair.

“Great Lady, there is a matter that must be discussed. But, privately …” And her eyes shifted to those in the other part of the room.

“So we had guessed,” Tallahassee returned. “Let us to the poolside, then.”

Herihor was almost instantly at her side, holding out his arm so she could touch fingers to his wrist. As she arose, Tallahassee bowed her head to Jayta, but gave no such courtesy to Idieze. The sooner that one spat out whatever poison she had brought hither, the better. For Ashake, memory was only too clear in reminding what Idieze could do.

Colonel Namlia was by the door as Tallahassee and Herihor reached it. And Tallahassee gave her order.

“We speak in private—by the pool. See that we are undisturbed.”

“On my head be it, Great Lady.” The Colonel raised her hand to touch the lion emblem to the fore of her linen sphinx headdress.

Two of her Amazons were waved to draw another bench near to the one where Tallahassee had rested earlier. Then they took their places well out of earshot, their backs to the four who sat there, Tallahassee between Herihor and Jayta, Idieze on the smaller bench facing the three bound in what she must see was open hostility against her.

“You would speak, I see you,” Tallahassee said.

“Princess, Priestess, General”—Idieze looked slowly from one face to another—“and all so ready to beware one unarmed woman—me. You grant me stature I do not have, Great Lady.”

“Be glad then that you do not, for the wrath of the Blood is not a light thing to face.” Out of Ashake memory came the words. Yet Idieze was smiling once more, and now she laughed, low and sweetly.

“Such ponderous language, Great Lady. One would think that the Blood was about to pronounce one of those Seven Curses which, we are told, could wither flesh, break bones. It does not matter that I am hated here, but truly I have come out of concern. The Blood has held power a very long time—by ways so ancient that the very accounts are now dreary dust. To everything there comes an end, have you ever thought of that, Great Lady? Those of the Blood, of the Upper Way are very few now, a handful against perhaps more than half a nation.

“There is no cure for narrowness of mind; that leads only to stagnation and defeat. The end of your road is very near, Great Lady, and if one does not heed the branching of another path ahead, there can follow chaos. None of us wants to see Amun rent by a war of brother against brother, sister against sister. But the branch of the tree which gives not to pull of the storm wind breaks and is gone.”

“A warning, Lady?” Tallahassee cut into this spate of metaphors. “So you think you are strong enough to give a warning? That in itself is interesting indeed.”

Idieze's smile set a fraction. “You here have had no news from New Napata, I believe, for some hours. There can be many changes in even a small portion of such a space of time, Great Lady.”

“And what momentous happening has there been at New Napata in those hours?”

“Changes, Great Lady. Not all love the past. It is said that the Temple of Light is now closed so that none go in or come out again. Rumor can whip the people to violence. And rumor spreads that the Son-of-Apedemek, Zyhlarz himself, has been struck mad so that he howls like a desert jackal and looses upon those of his own people death from the mind. Do not discount rumor, Great Lady, it often holds a core of truth. And do not discount what I have to offer. The turn in the road will not be open for long.”

“That turn being a way for Userkof?” Tallahassee asked. “From such a change there could come only trouble. He is not of the direct descent and his get—though I believe you have not yet provided our lord with any to call him father—cannot sit in the Lion's seat.”

“So there is no heir save you, Royal Daughter? Ah, but you are also barred from the throne now since you profess the celibacy of those who strive to follow the Upper Way. And this valiant lord has waited so long for you that already he looks elsewhere!”

She swung on Herihor, there was a sharpness in her features that carried the threat of an aimed dagger. Tallahassee did not doubt that Idieze was about to spew forth something she thought to be true.

“In the old days, General Prince Herihor, our men took more than one wife. Does this Great Lady betrothed to you know the rumors of a white skin from the north who now confidently expects to wear jewels of your bestowing?”

Herihor made a slight movement but his face was smooth of any telltale expression. “Your servants have been busy, Lady. But if I were you, I would subject their reports to a closer study. Such who spy upon command often relate only what their mistress wishes most to hear.”

“Perhaps, Lord Prince.” She shot a sly, searching glance at Tallahassee, as if to judge the effect of her revelation.