Роберт Асприн - Forever After

Fireneedle Strikes injected pain into his shoulders and elbows. Foot-saber Kicks cut his legs out from under him. Abbreviated Velvet Palm Strikes cracked ribs and an Elbow-spear broke his right cheekbone. And then, after he hit the ground, more assaults bruised and battered him. Parts of his body that were not numb howled with pain and it appeared to him, as Udan Kann hauled him into a sitting position and leaned him against a cool wall, that the only part of his body that worked correctly was his pain-reporting nervous system.

Udan Kann slipped Anachron from around Gar’s neck. “Forgive my hasty departure, but I have things to do, tyrants to see and all that. I will let your friends know what happened to you. Perhaps they will even give me a reward.”

“Perhaps you’ll get what you deserve.”

Udan Kann shook his head. “You were my most promising student, and I thought that you would be the one to supplant me. Perhaps, when I return, I will have Anachron make you whole again and we will see if I was right.”

“You were.”

“That is to be decided at another time, Pariah.”

Gar nodded as Udan Kann strode from the chapel and was lost in the mists of Gelfait. Gar clenched his teeth against the pain, then sought to clear his mind so he could limit his discomfort. As he did so he caught words and images, all quick and incomplete. He saw Domino’s face flash past, then he smiled. “Wedding… surprise? I certainly hope so.”

A last image of Jord burst through his brain, and in its wake came a memory of the last stanza of the poem Spido had taken as prophecy:

Gar Quithnick, the last Tian-shi-Grashanshao , did not know why those words came to him, or what they meant. He did not know if they were good poetry or bad, but he knew he liked them. As the sun set, and Gelfait faded from the world, he considered Jord’s words and reclaimed the peace of Tian-shi-sheqi .

Princess Rissa stood on the balcony outside of her room, staring mournfully at the geyser of mud and sulphur that had replaced the clear lake behind the castle, reflecting that sometimes reality was a bit more symbolic than was polite. Perhaps she should have gone with Jancy to return Sombrisio. They would be out in the wastes together, listening to the gripes of the mercenaries and trading dreams about what they would do after everything was right again. Calla Mallanik might tell some tale of elven valor designed to make humans feel subtly inferior and Sombrisio would—

She grimaced as the lake farted mud and filthy water. Sombrisio would love to pull something like that.

“Your Royal Highness!” twittered a voice from behind her. “The dressmaker is here to fit your wedding gown!”

Rissa came indoors with a final wistful look toward the distant Desolation and stepped into her bedchamber.

In the parlor, Daisy, her maid since her return from slavery and adventure, conversed with the seamstress, a slim, angular woman with a pronounced squint. Silvery-haired Daisy was buxom and plump. Together, they reminded the Princess of a needle and pincushion.

As she stripped down to her shift, the Princess eavesdropped on their conversation.

“You don’t say!” Daisy said. “Giant snakes! Winged! Flying!”

“I do say,” the seamstress said. “They’ve been harrying the cattle market two hours since. The Prince’s archers brought one down. It had lovely scales once you could stop worrying about it swallowing you whole without so much as a by-your-leave.”

The Princess stepped into the room and the servants curtsied deeply. Rissa accepted their homage graciously. Part of being a princess, Mama had always said, was being poised even in your underwear.

The seamstress began unwrapping the parcels her assistant carried. There were yards and yards of ivory silk, lengths of hand-tatted lace, and a rattling box of pearls. When the seamstress and Daisy shook the fabric out, Rissa could see that it had begun to take on the form of a elegant, long-trained wedding gown. Her earlier bleak mood gave way to excitement.

When the fitting was finished and the seamstress sent on her way, Rissa put on riding clothes, picked up the elven bow and arrows that Calla had made her, and went looking for Rango. The guards said that the Prince was alone in his privy council chambers and she bustled down, still full of her excitement about the wedding.

“Rango, darling,” she said, sweeping in with a pro forma rap on the door, “come hunting with me!”

The Prince looked up from a heap of papers, the flicker of annoyance on his handsome features changing into something warmer, but not precisely welcoming. He rose and kissed her hand.

“Rissa, dearest,” he said. “Hunting? Now, with our coronation and wedding to plan and our country in peril?”

“That peril was what I thought to hunt,” she said, somewhat tartly. “Report is that winged serpents are harrying the cattle merchants. I thought that we could go and bag ourselves one. The skin would make us fine matching boots and belts.”

“Boot and belts are far from my concern now,” he said, relinquishing his grasp on her hand.

“Then what about die morale of our citizens?” she asked. “They await a warrior prince to ascend the throne, but you seem transformed into a clerk!”

“Perhaps a clerk is what peacetime needs, precious,” he said. “If they need martial succor, I shall send one of the Guard units down. They will deal with the serpents.”

Rissa pouted, hating herself for it, but unable to stop. Rango spoke rightly. Her own parents had reigned more with law book and example than with martial valor, but she had not expected Rango to settle down so quickly. When she and Jancy had met him after their departure from Anthurus…

She might have said more, but there was a rap on the council chamber door.

“My next meeting, Rissa,” the Prince said, his expression neutral. “I will send a division of the Guard out after the winged serpents.”

Rissa knew a dismissal when she heard one. She left the chamber, barely sparing a glance for the wiry man in priest’s robes who was waiting to enter.

Lemml Touday looked after the Princess as she departed.

“The Princess seems less than happy,” he observed to Prince Rango.

“The Princess will be more settled after the wedding and coronation,” the Prince replied. “Right now she is still adjusting to her new duties after a trouble-free life of adventure.”

“I heard that the Princess was taken as slave, sold into a brothel, and escaped only by daring a journey across the ghoul-haunted Desolation to the very gates of Anthurus, City of the Dead,” Lemml commented.

“Precisely,” the Prince said. “Days without responsibility except to oneself. Days of immediate gratification and glory. Days without ritual, pomp, or protocol. She will settle down when the weight of her new position comes home to her.”

“As it has to you, Your Highness?”

“Indeed. You have a report for me?” The Prince smiled suddenly. “Forgive me, Lemml. I have not yet offered you hospitality. My little interview with Rissa unsettled me. Take a seat by the fire and let me fetch some wine.”

When the Prince uncorked the wine, the liquid frothed in a fashion quite unlike champagne or beer and spilled thick and brown into the goblets. Brow wrinkled, the Prince sniffed the liqueur.

“It is not beer. In fact, it smells curiously sweet.”

Carefully, he sipped, then took a larger swallow.