Emperor Mage

‘I heard that about my looks,’ Lady Alanna said, joining them. ‘I’ll get you later.’ Like Daine, she wore a tunic and breeches. Hers were violet silk trimmed with gold braid, over a white silk shirt. At her waist hung her sword. She grinned at Daine. ‘You do look good.’

‘Thanks,’ Daine said, blushing once more. ‘So do you.’

The others, clad in daytime finery, joined them now that the ship was about to dock. Under their conversation, Daine tugged Numair’s sleeve. ‘I need to talk to you as soon as you can manage,’ she whispered as the sailors made the ship fast. ‘It’s really, really important.’

He nodded, but his eyes were on the ships around them. She couldn’t be sure he’d even heard.

Across the harbour a gong crashed three times. The Carthakis on the docks knelt and touched their heads to the ground as slow, regular drumbeats sounded. A path had opened from their ship across the busy harbour to what appeared to be a canal lock. Down that path came a high-prowed boat rowed by shaved-headed slaves. Its gilded surfaces threw off painful flashes as it swept along.

Daine peered at the man seated on a throne-like chair on the deck. He wore a crown like a cap, one covered with diamonds, that glittered fiercely. ‘Who is that?’

Gareth the Younger said, ‘Probably a lesser prince, one of the imperial court.’

‘This prince isn’t a lesser one.’ Numair’s stage whisper carried to those behind him. ‘See the lapis lazuli rod in his left hand? That is an attribute of the heir – what’s his name?’

‘His nephew Kaddar,’ one of the others said. ‘Age sixteen. Studies at the university.’

The Tortallans got into the ship’s boat and were rowed to the galley, where a heavy ladder was dropped to them. Daine waited for the senior members of her party to board, then followed. Kitten lost patience with her slow progress up the ladder and scrambled past her, beating her onto the deck. Their order, as they gathered before the prince, was roughly that of importance, with Duke Gareth, Lord Martin, and Lady Alanna in front, Numair and the other officials behind them. Gareth the Younger, Daine, Kitten, and the Tortallan clerks kept to the back.

Someone called orders. A drummer sounded a beat. Sunburned and tanned backs on Daine’s left stretched forwards. The left bank of oars dipped; the boat began to turn.

Standing by the prince was a herald. He wore a gold robe cut like those Daine had already seen on other Carthakis, a knee-length tunic with short sleeves. Thumping his staff of office on the deck, he cried, ‘His Imperial Highness, Kaddar Gazanoi Iliniat, Head of House Khazoi, Prince of Siraj—’

Daine lost track of the rest. She was interested in the boat: once it had turned, both sets of oars rose and fell on drumbeats, and the vessel raced across the harbour. On either side of the deck the rowers sat at their benches. Each time they stretched forwards or pulled back, she heard a clatter under the drum’s thud and the men’s grunts of effort. It took her a moment to realize that it was the noise of the chain that linked their ankle cuffs.

Her skin prickled. She made herself look away and listen to the herald. ‘His Most Serene and Imperial Majesty, Ozorne Muhassin Tasikhe, Emperor of Carthak—’

Kitten went to the end of a bench, chirping and peering at the man seated there. The girl went after her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told the man, who watched the dragon from the corner of his eye. ‘She doesn’t know not to interrupt when folk are working—’ The slave looked up at her, startled.

‘Eyes to your oar!’ snarled a voice nearby. A lash snaked out to flick the man on the cheek. The slave hardly blinked, though the whip had come dangerously close to his eye. Daine bit the inside of her cheek and went back to her place, hoisting Kitten onto her hip.

Someone passed a handkerchief to her as the herald began to name their company to the prince. She quickly wiped her eyes. By the time she was under control, Gareth the Younger and the dean of mages at the Tortallan royal university were bowing to the prince, who greeted them both with distant courtesy. They bowed again, and stepped to the side so that Daine and Kitten were revealed.

Awed, the girl saw that the odd shape of the prince’s eyes came from dark lines drawn on both lids and extended to his temples. He was a light-skinned black, with thin lips and long, thick eyelashes, dressed in a calf-length tunic of crimson silk. His jewels shimmered in the sun. He boasted three gold rings in his left ear, a gold bangle shaped like a many-flamed sun, and a ruby drop in the right. Another ruby served him as a nose button. He wore a collar-like necklace of gold inlaid with mother-of-pearl strips. Rings decorated fingers and thumbs; bracelets hung on both wrists. A flash drew her eyes to his feet, where she found rings on toes bared by his sandals. It occurred to her that she might not possess as much jewellery in her entire lifetime as the prince wore right now.

‘Veralidaine Sarrasri,’ the herald proclaimed. ‘The dragon Skysong.’

‘I greet you in the name of my august kinsman, the Emperor Mage of Carthak,’ the prince said formally. Then he leaned forwards, eyes sparkling with interest. ‘It’s a true dragon?’ His voice was light and fast. ‘Not a basilisk, which we’ve seen, but maybe a young basilisk—’

Kitten walked to the raised chair and rose, balancing on her hindquarters as she gazed at the young man. ‘She’s a true dragon, Your Highness,’ replied Daine. She saw intelligence in his eyes, paint or no. ‘Basilisks have pebbled skin, almost like beading. Kit – her name’s Skysong, but mostly folk call her Kitten – she has scales. Her ma was the same.’

The prince frowned. ‘A mother? We were told there is only one dragon in the Mortal Realms.’

‘There is. Her ma was killed by—’ She almost said ‘Carthaki raiders,’ but stopped herself. As she had been told over and over, no one could prove they were Carthaki. ‘Pirates,’ she went on. ‘She gave birth to Kitten a week before she died, and I’ve been raising Kit ever since.’

‘Is it hard? What does she eat? Does she hunt live prey, or—’

The herald coughed. ‘Your Highness, the ambassadors have yet to greet the delegation.’

The prince looked like any of Daine’s Rider friends caught in a misstep. He made a noise that sounded like a sigh and eased back in his chair, holding the blue stone rod and gold fan crossed on his chest once more. ‘It is my hope that, should you have idle hours during your stay with us, you will permit me to show you some of Carthak’s wonders.’

Duke Gareth had told her such an offer would be made by a Carthaki noble, so Daine had an answer ready. She bowed. ‘I’d be honoured, Your Highness,’ she said, while thinking, He sounds so thrilled.

‘May I present you of Tortall to your colleagues and fellow ambassadors,’ intoned the herald, more as a command than a request. He led their group to the spot where men, some dressed like the prince, some in robes cut in the same fashion as Numair’s, waited under a canopy. Most of their names escaped Daine, at the rear of the Tortallan delegation. She would have to deal with almost none of these dignitaries, and saw no reason to memorize alien names and titles.

One, a mage, did make an impression. He was a different fish among so may black-, brown-, and olive-skinned southerners – a tall northerner, tan and weathered from sun and wind, with earnest blue eyes and silver streaks in his flyaway blond hair. He stood with lesser mages and nobles, wearing a scarlet robe with earth-brown cuffs and hem. He wore his robe unfastened, over a northern-style shirt and breeches made of undyed cotton. When the herald gave his name – Lindhall Reed – he and Numair embraced. Daine smiled. Ever since she had met Numair two years ago, she had heard much of his old teaching master.

‘Arram,’ Lindhall said, using Numair’s birth name, ‘welcome, if that is the proper word.’

Numair’s eyes were overbright. ‘I’m surprised you remembered our arrival,’ he replied, voice scratchy. ‘I thought I’d have to root you out of your workroom.’

‘No, no.’ Reed’s voice was quiet, cultured, and fast, as if he fought to breathe. ‘I have a good assistant, better than you were. She keeps track of everything. Unfortunately, she’s about to go and live with the merfolk and study their culture. I hear they’re moving in all along the Tortallan coast. I’d thought they’d live in rookeries, like sea lions, but their nature appears to be more tribal. And you are Arram’s student,’ he said without a break, looking at Daine. She jumped at the change of topic. ‘He wrote to me so much about you. He says you know how bats avoid objects and catch prey. When I was a student I incurred censure when I hypothesized that they do it with manipulation of sound, and Arram said you proved that to be true.’

Daine smiled up at this man, who was nearly as tall as Numair. ‘Well, yes. They squeak at things. Their ears move separately, to gather in what they hear, and each sound has a meaning—’

‘I don’t like to interrupt,’ Numair said apologetically, ‘but, Lindhall, I have questions that require answers. Forgive me, both of you.’

Lindhall looked wistfully at Daine. After friendship with Numair, she recognized someone who would rather talk about learning than anything else. ‘Duty calls,’ the older mage commented. ‘And I know we shall have other chances to confer, since you are here for the emperor’s birds, and I help him to care for them. Very well, Arram, I am yours, for the time being. Unless—’ His face brightened. ‘I know you’ve also had encounters with whales. It is true, their songs are communication, not merely noise? Or communication in the sense of birdcalls, proclaiming territory, and so forth? I—’

‘Lindhall,’ Numair said firmly, and dragged his old friend away.

I didn’t even get to ask him what’s wrong with the emperor’s birds, Daine thought, and sighed.

‘Daine,’ called Alanna, ‘can you spare Kitten? Duke Etiakret and Master Chioké would like a closer look at her, if she doesn’t mind.’

Kitten whistled an enquiry to Daine, who smiled. ‘Go on. They want to admire you.’ Kitten, always open to admiration, galloped off.

Trying not to look at the slave rowers, Daine went to the prow of the boat, where she could see the riverbank. During the introductions, they had left the port city of Thak’s Gate behind, following canals that led finally into the River Zekoi. As the oars tugged the barge south, the city on Daine’s side of the boat gave up its claims to the riverbank.

An army replaced it. From here she saw barracks in long rows, taking up hundreds of acres. Companies of soldiers stood side by side on the riverbank, each soldier with a bright, rectangular shield on one arm, a spear in the opposite hand. Looking at them, she swallowed hard. She was no stranger to military camps. Since her arrival in Tortall she had visited home bases for the army and the Queen’s Riders alike, but none of them were as big as this.

As the imperial vessel passed the first company of soldiers, Daine heard a shouted order. As one man, the soldiers banged their spears three times on their shields, then thrust the spears into the air with a roar. The second company followed suit, then the third, then the fourth. It seemed to go on forever, drowning out all conversation and making Daine’s ears ring. Duke Gareth is right, she thought, feeling ill. Even if we could beat so many, what would be left afterwards?

The gods are up to something, she remembered abruptly. Something that might put a crimp in the style of this army. If only I could find out what’s going to happen!

‘That is just the Army of the North.’ The prince joined her at the rail as they sailed past the last soldiers. ‘My uncle has three other armies of identical size, all in combat readiness.’

It was hard to read his face, but he sounded as if he wasn’t proud of the imperial forces. ‘What’s over here?’ she asked, turning. They now had a good view of the far bank also. This side of the Zekoi was untamed. Reeds grew head-high; a web of streams emptied into the river. The loglike shapes on the far bank were not dead wood, she realized, but animals.

‘Crocodiles.’ The prince had seen what she looked at. ‘Do you have them in the North?’

‘No,’ she replied, calling with her magic. They stirred, drunk with the sun. ‘They’re giant lizards, aren’t they? I have a book that tells of them.’ She called again, and felt a soft reply.

‘Giant, water-swimming, vicious lizards,’ replied the prince.

Daine counted to three, then said politely, ‘There’s few animals that’re “vicious” by nature, if you’ll forgive my saying so. Usually there’s a good reason for them acting nasty – like you’re stepping in their nests, or you’re stealing their food.’

Food, agreed a low voice in her mind. Hungry, commented another. A third voice added, Waiting for food.

‘Like all females, you are sentimental about animals,’ the prince replied, his tone superior. ‘If you had a croc after you in the water, you wouldn’t be so quick to stand up for them.’

‘They came after you personally?’ She couldn’t see this painted fellow doing anything that might wrinkle his clothes.

‘Well, no, but everyone says they do.’

Someday I must read this scholar Everyone, she thought as she bit her tongue to keep from giving a rude answer. He seems to have written so much – all of it wrong.

She called to the crocodiles again. I’m Daine, she told the great creatures. I come from the North.

You are odd, replied the one who had spoken last. You smell of frozen water and too many trees. Do not scold that two-legger. If he enters our water, we will eat him gladly.

A private boat, brightly painted, floated by. A man in a low-backed chair read under a canopy; a slave chased a boy who ran with something that struggled in his arms. Cornering the child at the rail, the slave tried to make him release his prize. The child leaned away. Suddenly he screeched. His arms flew open, and his captive tumbled into the water.

‘If you can’t hold on to pets, you don’t deserve to have any,’ scolded the slave. The child screamed as she dragged him away without another look at the animal in the river. The crocodiles did not share her disinterest. They slid into the water from their riverbank.

‘No, don’t!’ Daine cried to them aloud, forgetting her com-panion. ‘Let it be!’

Hungry, said a voice. Food is food.

It will die anyway, replied the one who spoke the most. Look at it.

The crocodile was right. The tiny creature, whatever it was, couldn’t swim. It fought to stay up, but the current dragged on its fur and limbs.

Stripping off her boots, Daine jumped over the rail and into the river. Swimming against the current, she struck out for the drowning animal. Please stop, she told the crocodiles silently. It isn’t more than a mouthful! One last pump of her arms, and she had reached the sufferer.

I hope you do not interfere in too many meals, remarked the talkative crocodile as the reptiles swam off. We do not have enough food as it is.

I’ll try not to, Daine promised. Treading water, she pumped liquid from the pet’s lungs. He gasped. ‘Shh,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. I’ve got you.’ He was a monkey, tiny enough to sit on her palm, with huge grey-green eyes. Around his neck was a jewelled collar. ‘No wonder you couldn’t swim.’ She unbuckled the thing and let it fall. ‘That was probably too heavy dry, let alone wet.’

Black, sparkling fire yanked them from the river and pulled them through the air. Daine soothed the frantic monkey until Numair’s magic deposited them on the deck of the imperial barge.

The Carthakis, from prince to slaves, gaped at her and her new friend. Kitten began to scold as Daine blushed. Muddy water formed a pool on the polished deck; her hair dripped. Her linen and silk were ruined. Someone – a female – giggled. A man snorted. Daine glanced at Duke Gareth and saw that he had covered his face with one hand as his son’s broad shoulders quivered with suppressed laughter. More than anything at the moment, she wished she had the power simply to vanish.

They went from their quarters to the women guests’ baths soon after their arrival, to Daine’s relief. Not only was she able to wash, but maids brought a basin and extra mild soap so that she could bathe her new friend. They even gave her towels for him. She dried him quickly there, then returned with him and Kitten to her room to do a more thorough job.

She used the work to get acquainted with this odd creature. Lindhall had called him a pygmy marmoset. Imported from the Copper Isles, he’d been the pet of the child he called the Monsterboy, the one who had let him fall into the river. His fur was strange – a mix of yellow, brown, grey, and olive green, which looked as if it might turn its wearer invisible in a proper forest. The marmoset gave his name, but it was in whistles and clucks, impossible for her to pronounce. She asked if he would mind if she called him Zekoi, or Zek, after the river she had taken him from. He seemed quite taken with that, even trying to pronounce it on his own.

Finished with Zek’s grooming, Daine got to her feet. ‘I need to change,’ she told the marmoset when he clung to her. ‘Hold on to Kitten.’ Zek eyed the dragon with misgiving. Kitten chirped, and offered her forepaw. He clutched it and watched Daine’s every movement.

Drawing on a shift, the girl surveyed her room. It was simple, elegant, and costly. Walls, floor, and ceiling were polished marble. Carved cedar window screens gave off their famous scent. The bed was delicately carved, the sheets fine cotton. Over it lay a silk eiderdown in autumn colours. The clean, sweet-scented privy lay off in a small dressing room. That chamber, a few feet from the bed, was furnished with a table and matching chair, a long mirror, and a number of tiny jars that held various cosmetics, salves, and perfumes.

There was but one feature she disliked – a tiger-skin rug. Its jaws were open in a snarl; yellow glass eyes glared at the world. ‘I have to ask them to move this,’ she told her audience. ‘I can’t sleep with it here.’ Kneeling, Daine touched it sadly. She had seen tigers in the king’s menagerie. They were magnificent cats, and she preferred the ones whose skin was still attached.

Her palms felt hot, itchy. Suddenly they pulsed. White fire spilled from her hands onto the tiger. Slowly the eyelids fell, and rose again. The jaw relaxed; the great mouth closed.

She thrust herself away so quickly that she fell over. ‘Did you see that?’ she demanded of Kitten and Zek. ‘What was it?’ Both stared at her, plainly as bewildered as she was.

Although she waited, the skin did not move again. Using a long-handled brush, she shoved it under her bed, poking it repeatedly to keep any part from sticking out. At last it was securely tucked away, and she could dress.

CHAPTER 2

IMPERIAL WELCOME

Some hours later, Daine looked round the antechamber to the throne room with awe. Kitten did the same. The marmoset Zek, who had refused to stay behind, observed everything from his hiding place under her hair, at the back of her neck.

There was much to stare at. The room was filled with nobles and mages dressed in their finest. Shaved-headed slaves were everywhere, offering food, drinks, flower garlands, and feathered or jewelled fans. Huge screens had been pushed back to reveal a broad terrace and gardens. Light came from large globes hung by chains from the ceiling. As the sky darkened, the globes shone brighter.

‘How do the lamps keep burning?’ Daine asked.

‘Magic.’ The speaker was Harailt of Aili, dean of magical studies at the royal university in Tortall. He was a stocky, round-faced man with an endless supply of jokes. Stuck in his outer room, waiting to bow to the emperor, Daine had been grateful for each and every jest. ‘Numair, why didn’t you tell us about this light-spell?’ Harailt asked. ‘To have steady, strong illumination—’

Numair looked up. ‘They didn’t have it when I was here,’ he said absently. ‘They did something with glass balls, but they faded after a short time. These aren’t glass.’

‘The globes are filled with crystals,’ Lindhall Reed explained. ‘Remind me and I’ll have one of the craft mages explain it for you.’ Seeing the door to the emperor’s audience chamber open, he added, ‘You’ll be all right, Arra – I’m sorry – Numair?’

The younger mage smiled. ‘I have to be, don’t I?’ As a page beckoned their group forwards, he took a deep breath. ‘Here we go, into the presence of the one and only Emperor Mage. Huzza.’

The Tortallans entered the imperial audience chamber, Daine, Zek, and Kitten at the back of the company with the clerks. The admiring looks of that group of young men told Daine that not only had she been wise to wear this twilight-blue silk gown, but that she had done well to accept the royal gift of a wardrobe for this trip. ‘You go as a representative of the Crown, just like the ambassadors,’ Queen Thayet had said, hazel eyes smiling. ‘My lord and I insist. Trust me: there is nothing like a good appearance to give a woman confidence.’ The queen had been right. It was hard to feel insignificant in a gown that whispered as she moved and winked with silver embroidery.

Introduced by a herald, Duke Gareth gave his speech to the emperor, announcing their desire to meet Carthak halfway and their hopes for a lasting peace. He then presented gifts from the king and queen to the emperor. As he spoke, Daine studied the ruler of Carthak, who sat on a tall throne before them, flanked by his ministers and nobles.

She had never heard of him until two-and-a-half years ago, when she had come from Galla to Tortall after her mother’s death. Now she knew him all too well. Most Tortallans believed it was this emperor who had managed to break the walls between Mortal and Divine Realms on frequent occasions, turning loose the creatures known as immortals to prey upon Carthak’s enemies. Daine herself, working with Numair a year ago, had found evidence that Ozorne was helping to plan a rebellion against the rulers of Tortall. When the monarchs of the other Eastern Lands, those countries north of the Inland Sea, had learned of Emperor Ozorne’s plot against one of them, they had united. The threat of the entire northern continent going to war against the southern one had caused Emperor Ozorne to back down, and to open peace talks with Tortall.

Her first sight of the infamous Emperor Mage filled her with awe. She had thought the prince was fine, but he was a barnyard rooster to his uncle’s peacock. Gold frosted Ozorne’s hair; gold beads hung from a wealth of thin braids. Gold paint shimmered on lips, brows, even his eyelashes. Gold rings marched up the curve of each ear; a diamond hung from his left earlobe. His neck was ringed with six rows of deep-blue stones that sparked with many-coloured fires: black opals, expensive stones prized because they could hold magical power. Beneath them he wore the calf-length, short-sleeved robe of his people in heavy gold brocade. Looped at his right hip and passing over his left shoulder was a crimson drape. The long end of the cloth was linked to the emperor’s left wrist by a gold bracelet. Each finger sported a ring. His sandals were gilded. Like the prince, he wore toe rings, and added to them ankle bracelets.

She’d heard of Carthak’s wealth and power, but it was one matter to hear such things, another to see one man decked out like an idol in gold and gems.

Duke Gareth had finished. Now the line of Tortallans started forwards as Duke Gareth gave their names, each bowing to the emperor as they were presented. Watching them, Daine felt a rush of pride. Carthak might be proud and great, but Tortall had sent wise and famous people to work out a peace settlement. Alanna the Lioness was a legend in the Eastern and Southern Lands, one the Carthakis couldn’t match; and as far as Daine was concerned, Numair was the fish their hosts had allowed to get away.

At last her name and Kitten’s were called. Taking a deep breath, Daine walked up to the first step of the dais on which the throne stood, and curtsied, spreading her blue skirts at her sides. The queen had worked on the movement with her for hours, and she was glad to do her teacher proud. Kitten walked up the steps, halting only when she reached the emperor’s feet.