Let the wary traveler keep eyes and ears open;
Wit is needful for those who travel far.
—Arkendian Proverb
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RED MOON INTERLUDE
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Don Viero glowered into his brandy. It was Iberg brandy, perhaps intended to show how the sophistication of Arkendian tastes, but it was the sort of brandy Iberg derelicts drank in the gutters. At least, he thought, she didn't throw me in a dungeon. He leaned back in the pillowed couch of his ambassadorial suite in the palace of the Arkendian queen. Not yet, at any rate.
"May I come out now, Master?" Phix's raven voice squawked from the closet.
"No, you may not."
"Ca-hawwk! How long must I hide in this room? It has no windows."
"That is the nature of a closet."
The closet door opened a crack. "There are no Arkendians here to view me."
"We can't take any risk, Phix. If an Arkendian sees you, they'll assume you are a possessed scarecrow, and we'll all be hanged."
The closet door opened, and Phix edged out into the candle light of the room. Viero frowned, and glared over at him. The tryst servant cut a lanky figure, hung in an over-large wine-colored robe with a high, deep cowl that nevertheless miserably failed to hide a foot-long yellow beak. Glittering black eyes peered mischievously from the depths of the cowl.
"You will always hide here, Phix. You will never be accepted. Do you understand that? You must be utterly invisible. Unless you take your bird form."
"My bird form cannot drink brandy."
"Brandy burns you, which is even worse."
The bird-man was silent, his black eyes sparking beneath the cowl.
"Hawwk! You may be dead already."
"We will not know until my interview with the Queen. But I think not. I thank my timing for that. The year I make myself the most hated magus on the continent, the Arkendian Queen discovers a race of magic-using chimpies in her back yard. The year I wash up on her shores, she is desperate for a magus advisor."
"Then you owe the Kwendi a debt."
Viero brooded. Chilled by the damp air of Kingsport, he pulled the furred collar of his coat around his ears. "Do I? We are in Kingsport, after all, a place synonymous in our language for ignorance and barbarism."
"You would prefer exile in the Ice Wastes or the deserts?"
"You misname them," said Ugo, from his silent place by the window. Viero's eyebrows raised. The huge Oliitian rarely spoke.
"It is the name on the maps!" Phix squawked.
The two servants could not be a better study in contrasts. Where Phix was lanky and scarecrow thin, with nervous bird-like energy, Ugo was as huge and heavy as the snow-bears his people hunted in the north. Oliitians out-weighed all other races on the continent. They even outweighed Arkendians, though Arkendians took an easy second in the race. But where the Arkendian physique was angular with broad shoulders and narrow hips, the Oliitians were broad-shouldered, broad-chested and broad-hipped all at once. Their lines curved over layers of muscle and padding, well suited to the cold, and perfect, Viero imagined, for wrestling troll-seals from holes in the ice.
He'd seen beautiful Oliitians, with graceful frames, tea-brown skin and slanted almond eyes, but Ugo was not one of those. He had a blunt, protruding face like the end of a battering ram, and small eyes slanted beneath thick brows. An overly earnest and honest mien gave him a misleading air of simplicity or even dim-wittedness.
Ugo's placid eyes stared into Phix. "We do not live in Wastes. We live in mountains, and oceans. Ice Oceans and Ice Mountains."
"Ice is a synonym for Wastes in my language," Phix squawked. "Pity we were in such a hurry we had no time to find a ship bound for the deserts."
Viero crossed to the balcony and looked down from the top of the palace hill to the descending rings of curtain walls and the roofs of lesser palaces to the deep port below. Dozens of ships lay at anchor in the gray waters. Dozens more crowded the busy wharfs.
Gray. Brown. Gray. Gray.
It seemed all of Kingsport was built in muted, storm-cloud sandstone. Could they not have imported some Ostian Umber or Honey Geldi? Mio Luno! Between the clouds, the river, and the stone of the city he sensed a conspiracy to drown the spirit in gray! No wonder the Iberg Compact had yet to annex the place. Once conquered, who would garrison it? Who would stay? In place of the tapered columns and airy domes of his native Sanifi, Kingsport sulked behind double thick battlements and moats as if they'd built for siege. In a land haunted by such things as the Old Ones, it made a kind of grim sense.
Motion caught his eye from an adjacent spur of the palace. A small group of courtiers crowded a balcony, gossiping and pointing his direction.
He cursed and retreated into his chambers.
"Master?" Ugo stood.
"Peeking fools, Ugo. Nothing more. But I should be more careful until we have Her Majesty's sponsorship."
Ugo's thick brows bent, and he strode to the door of the balcony to assess the danger himself. He had to duck his head slightly even for Arkendian doors, which were taller than most on the continent. "Close the door, please, Ugo. There's no harm in their looking, but I'd just as soon we give them little to prattle of." As Ugo obliged, his physical opposite appeared in the doorway of the bedchamber. The magus waved Phix back, and this time Phix obliged by shutting himself back in the closet.
He wished to the moons they'd get on the interview. The suspense was excruciating.
Viero unfolded the royal summons, and studied the contents again for clues he might have missed. The script was bold, and clear, but a woman's, he deemed. The Queen had not trusted it to be delivered by a page or even one of her officers, but had sent it by none less than the famous Lady Anna, a woman as old as she, and her confidante since youth. He reasoned that if she had not trusted the summons to be delivered by anyone but Anna, then she would not have trusted it to be written for her by anyone else, either. And he was confident it was not the Lady Anna's hand, for he had seen her, and she was quiet and demure, not the author of this bold script.
You will be summoned this evening at dusk and escorted without your servant.
All of this secrecy suggested the meeting would be free of most of the queen's officers and advisors. Very possibly it would be a private audience, which was auspicious.
You will not receive N.
N. She meant the nexus he had surrendered to her: a white nexus, of the White Moon. The nexus was not his, technically, as he had taken it from the white magus he'd slain using his own nexus—a nexus of the Red Moon. The red nexus he had trusted to Phix in order to avoid confiscation and to maintain the illusion that he was in fact a White Magus, and willingly submitting to the queen's mercy.
A knock at the door sent a stab of anxiety through Viero. It was time. He stood, and smoothed his robes and manicured beard. Phix retreated into the bedroom as Ugo answered the door.
The Lady Anna herself floated in, wrapped in an evening cloak and veiled hat from which she'd lifted the veil. A lady of some sixty years, she nevertheless possessed an elegant face—quite angular, with high cheekbones and thin nose—yet softened by kind hazel eyes and warm expression. On her arm she carried what looked like a set of white robes very like those the Iberg wore, and two evening cloaks very like hers. She presented the robes and cloaks to Viero, with a small curtsy.
"It is Her Majesty's will that you remove your robes, and don these."
Viero stood waiting for more instructions. When she understood that he was confused, she blushed. "I am sorry for the awkwardness, but Her Majesty will see you alone. You understand she must be certain you are no threat to her in any way." She paused, steeling herself for what followed. Speaking quickly, she said, "You will undress before me, and then don these robes I provide."
Viero blinked. Then he smiled kindly to the lady, who was clearly uncomfortable. "My lady, in the Imperial Courts we bathe in a sanitarium as large as this palace," he said, letting the white silks slip from his shoulders to his waist. "Men and women together."
The Lady Anna turned crimson. Her nostrils flared. "I—mah—must watch. To be sure you harbor no weapons."
"I understand."
He slid the silks to the floor, and held his arms from his sides. Then he rotated slowly, unhurried, to show himself utterly naked and without weapon. "Do not be bashful. I am most used to a woman's eyes upon my parts." Privately, he enjoyed the extremity of discomfort his calmness caused her. When she proffered him the fresh robe, it seemed all she could do to maintain even a modicum of composure. He donned the white silks, and then the evening cloaks and a wide-brimmed Arkendian courtier's hat.
"My lady, I am your servant," he said, bowing. "I will follow your lead."
She did not depart, but produced a small flask from her cloak, and filled its lid with purple liquor from the flask. "This dram will slow your reactions, and diminish your coordination, but it will not impede your judgment, nor will it hinder your walking if you hold to my arm. Let me assure you, however, that it would make any attempt at violence impossible."
He swallowed it without hesitation, and she nodded her satisfaction.
"Speak to no one. Let the brim of your hat shield you from curious eyes. Hold to my arm, and I shall lead you. The dram will act quickly. By the time we reach Her Majesty's chambers you will need to rely upon my arm for balance."
"The guards?" Ugo asked, gesturing to the door.
"They have gone to supper. Their replacements will not return until I have deposited you here again. But I should warn you that my own people are stationed to assure that you do not leave, Master Ugo."
He nodded passively, and sat his tremendous bulk by the door in a chair intended for an Arkendian, which made it comically small under his enormous Oliitian posterior.
#
Don Viero expected to find the palace empty and free of observers, for it was near midnight. To his surprise the Arkendian court appeared quite active even then, and populated with courtiers and officers striding about on business as if it were midday. Many enjoyed meals in halls and bar chambers, or flirted in finely furnished smoking rooms where the scent of Arkendian ragleaf was cloying.
On two occasions a high-ranking lord or officer seemed to recognize the Lady Anna and hailed her or made toward her purposefully with a question or a bid for her attention. On both occasions, however, these officers themselves were hailed by solicitous or flattering ladies, who blandished such attentions of their own that the Lady Anna never altered pace or showed any sign of hearing the lord.
It happened a third time when a rotund, bejeweled dowager emerged from a smoking room directly in their path and flopped a fat hand on Anna's unescorted arm. Anna! Oh, Anna, I simply must talk to you about lord Frin!" The dowager was then beset with a bevy of whispering maidens whose appearance was nothing short of miraculous to Viero. Their gossip was so instantly tantalizing that the dowager all but forgot about the Lady Anna, who bustled on her way unimpeded. It wasn't until then that he realized these interceptions were not good fortune, but clever planning. The ladies were stationed along Anna's path to intercept any chance meddlers, and they did so with surprising skill and alacrity. His respect for the cleverness of the otherwise demure older woman rose significantly: she wasn't a mere lady in waiting—she was a meticulous professional.
Their path was so circuitous and confusing that Viero had no way of knowing what wing of the palace they were in, or how it lay relative to his own wing. They finally halted behind an ornate door in the modest foyer of a pastel-painted apartment that smelled of women's perfumes and lotions. The Lady Anna blindfolded him there, and led him through a door, followed by a narrow corridor, and another door, into a room that smelled of incense and sugar dates and fine candles. When she removed his blindfold he stood in a small, thickly carpeted audience chamber, lined with dark wood and books, lit by a small fire to one side, and a single candelabra on a heavy wooden table in the middle. Behind the table sat the queen, in what an Arkendian would think a magnificent evening dress and dazzling silver jewelry, but which Viero thought entirely overwrought.
A single chair awaited him across the table from her.
The Lady Anna dipped to one knee before the queen, and he sunk drunkenly beside her. The drug was indeed effective; it seemed his every move was in slow motion, and his limbs responded only weakly and sluggishly, in vague approximations of his intentions.
The queen spoke, her voice hard, flat and direct. "I am pleased to see the clothing fits. It is yours to keep, of course, along with several other sets to your taste, provided we reach an understanding."
Don Viero inclined his head and raised his eyes briefly to meet her gaze. "Your Majesty is gracious."
"My Majesty is rarely gracious, Don Viero. On this island grace is another word for weakness, and those that indulge it do not live long. But I do like to be fair, when I can afford that. The clothes are a token of my respect, and a token of my appreciation that you stripped and left your own garments behind. You understand the necessity."
"You are more than fair, Your Majesty."
"Sit," she said, curtly. "We may dispense with the small talk. We have only a little time before my officers conclude their meeting and require my presence."
Lady Anna helped him rise, and led him to his chair. The iron gaze of the Lone Queen followed his every move, studying him, measuring, calculating. When he was seated, the Lady Anna moved behind her queen, and watched him calmly. The queen's gaze never faltered from his face, as if she would catch the smallest flutter of untruth in his countenance, or the smallest hesitation in his words.
"Don Viero, I don't have time for diplomacy. Our relationship must be direct from the beginning. Tell me why you were forced to flee your home."
"It is a long tale..."
"Shorten it."
Don Viero inclined his head in a tiny bow of acquiescence. "How much do you know of the Bi-lunar Compact, Your Majesty?"
"Bi-lunar. Two moons. The Bright Mother, and the Mad Moon. It's missing a moon."
He nodded. "No one deals with the Unseen Moon, Your Majesty. It is outlawed even on the continent."
"They're all outlawed here. What I know of the Bi-lunar Council is that the two physical moons have a kind of elite parliament wherein they govern each other with rules and restrictions, to assure balance between their powers. An emperor or sorts, you call him consul, rules them, and rules the continent."
"Very well said. The Bright Mother and the Mad Moon are opposites, as you know—one builds, one destroys—yet we need both, so the two regulate each other in an agreed-upon institution of rules and balances, which is the Bi-lunar Compact. Its workings are never pleasant, and often inefficient, as the two moons mistrust each other and seem to bring out the worst in each other. It is also burdened with many old and dysfunctional traditions." He spread his hands in a gesture of powerlessness. "I believe that system must be changed."
"What was your crime?"
The magus knew he could not hesitate here; without a hint of her intentions, a partial truth was the safest option. "I advocate heresy. In short, I believe the powers of the moons were never meant to be held in opposition to one another, but in cooperation, and I pushed for a blurring of the lines between the moons. I pushed—rather harder than I should have, I now see—to be allowed to learn the arts of, and serve, both moons at once. I had just enough magi thinking like me to make me dangerous, but not enough to sway the Compact. That was my crime. My enemies outmaneuvered me, and I had to flee."
For several long moments queen's iron gaze pinned him to his chair, but he held it with his own gaze, buttressed with the strength of his own passion and zeal. A small smile softened the hard line of her mouth. "So. You are a maverick philosopher. A misunderstood visionary."
Viero closed his eyes again, and inclined his head in a tiny bow. "But a poor politician."
"You say your beloved emperor requires the services of both moons. Tell me why."
Viero sensed he had passed the first test, as her line of questioning had shifted. Now she was probing along a different line, which seemed fairly straightforward. "He needs his legions of fire-callers to conquer, and he needs his white mages to ensure prosperity and health to his people and their lands."
"It is the property of the Bright Mother to heal, is it not?"
"Indeed so, Your Majesty."
"And to engender health and long life? How old is the emperor now?"
"He is older than most grandfathers, Your Majesty."
"And yet young. Tales of his exploits in the hunt still reach our ears in far Arkendia. And the emperors are notoriously long lived, are they not?"
"Indeed."
"And this longevity is the doing of the white mages." It was a statement, not a question, and her face betrayed no emotion. Nothing in her voice betrayed her. Nothing in her eyes. She was indeed a consummate politician. But in that moment Don Viero understood her, and he nearly laughed aloud.
How simple! How vain! How common! She feared growing old! She wanted long life and vigor, and she wanted him to bring it to her. Oh vanity, how sweet you are to a helpless magus! Now he held all the cards, and she none, and he knew he would live. "I see you understand me," she said, the iron gaze sifting his expression. "Do not attempt to conceal it—your thoughts are written plainly in your face, so it is no wonder your enemies outmaneuvered you at home. You have the soul of a philosopher, which requires honesty."
"Your Majesty is kind."
"Yes. But is my majesty correct? Is it the white mages that give the emperor such youthful long life?"
"The Compact forbids its use for such purposes."
The queen leaned over the table, eyes blazing. "But for him, they do. Can you give me that?"
The question hung in the space between them like a headsman's axe at the peak of its arc. The Lady Anna swayed behind her queen. Her eyes widened as if the queen's question had taken her by surprise, or as if she feared the implications of his response. Viero's mind swarmed with possible answers—qualifications, warnings, hesitations—but the fire in the queen's countenance left no place for ambiguities. Now was the time for brevity, and surety.
"I could, Your Majesty...with difficulty."
Her nostrils flared, and the tension around her eyes diminished. She leaned back, and glanced briefly at the Lady Anna, whose hands slid slowly from her mouth in a mixture of stunned relief, or hope, and something closer to fear. The iron gaze returned to the magus. The queen's voice fell soft as snow in the ensuing silence. "If this is a ruse, Don Viero, it will play out very falsely for you."
"My life is in your hands, Majesty."
"Quite."
"Your Majesty should understand that this rite is very difficult, and the exact nature of it known only to a select few, of which I am not one. I can discover it, with research. But it will require time."
"I give you a month."
"Your Majesty thinks of the Century Moon—Krato's Moon, you call it?"
"I do. Only the three of us will know of this. I will introduce you to the court as our cultural advisor. There will be a formal interview with my advisors, during which time your nexus will be in my keeping. Nevertheless you should expect to have your chambers searched by diligent officers of the court, without warning, and of course with my tacit permission. If they find a nexus, you will be hanged. Let there be nothing to incriminate you, for I will not be able to save you from such a blunder."
"Would a pet bird be incriminating?" He regretted the question as soon as it was out.
"A spirit servant?"
"Oh. I see how it must be perceived."
"Do not underestimate the depth of superstition in my court, Don Viero. The presence of the Kwendi here has loosened the fears in many of our youngest, but it has only strengthened it in others. That fear runs deep, and I cannot help you if you run awry of it." The Lady Anna bent and whispered in the queen's ear, and the queen grunted her assent. "The Lady Anna will provide you with a live-in companion who will help you learn our ways, and who will keep you out of trouble as much as possible."
He glanced at the lady, who dropped her eyes, blushing slightly.
"Ah! I see! A lady friend." He smiled warmly. "Such kindness. I am grateful to you."
The queen regarded him frostily, and after an awkward moment in which it seemed she might recant the offer, he changed the subject. "Your Majesty, if I am to conduct my research, I shall need my nexus."
"Of course. The Lady Anna will visit you. She will devise a way to deliver it to you on such occasions."
A soft knock sounded on a door obscured in the darkness of the apartment behind the queen. The queen stood, her mouth a tight line. "Our business is concluded here. I am pleased."
"I am most blessed, Your Majesty, to be your servant."
The queen left in a rustle of layered gowns. He bowed his head again, and wavered slightly. The Lady Anna hastened to his side, and helped him stand.
#
"Did the Don seem drunk to you?" the queen asked, as Anna unfastened the buttons at the back of her dress. "I thought he would fall down when he first bowed with you."
The Lady Anna allowed herself a private smile behind her queen. "He did seem to lose his balance, Majesty. But I thought it merely nerves. He did not slur his words. And when I entered his apartments I smelled no wine, nor did I see any evidence of drinking."
The queen frowned. "No. But did he not sway a bit in his chair when he bowed his head? And it didn't it seem his bows were oddly timed? A bit slow?"
The Lady Anna turned from her queen, where her face was concealed in darkness. "He did seem a bit awkward, Majesty. But scholars are not famously spry. His nerves made him clumsy."
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