Robert Hughes - The Wizard in Waiting

AWAKE AGAIN.

Those were the first words of the Imperial House of Chaomonous in over a thousand years. The second words followed logically from the first.

Therefore, the dragon is dead.

The Imperial House did not speak as men do. How could it, lacking lungs and a mouth? Yet to one who knew castle speech, the groaning of aged door sills or a whistling draft down a hallway would have expressed thoughts as clearly and purposefully as the words of human language. Condensation formed on all the interior walls of the palace as the House struggled for understanding, reaching for the memories stored within its drapes and dungeons scenes that had been registered within it somehow, even when it had slept through the years.

The dragon was dead that much was obvious. For untold centuries, the accursed Vicia-Heinox had been discussed and cursed within these halls.

The dragon had straddled the Central Pass of the One Land, obstructing traffic and making a general nuisance of himself. Such a nuisance, in fact, that the One Land had been broken into three warring states, and the Central Pass had come to be called Dragonsgate.

The dragon had devoured humans voraciously in those days long ago. The House cared little about the consunuvation of persons, of course. With a few exceptions, one human was much like another, and it took real concentration to tell them apart. But the castle had been bothered considerably by the beast’s utter lack of concern for structures. Some fine old manors had perished in the dragon’s fires, in that first great period of burning. Indeed, some of the castle’s own towers had been scorched by

Towers! the House exclaimed, and it quickly surveyed its own present condition.

Amazing, murmured a window sash, as the castle noted a thousand years of home improvements. New spires jetted up from repaved courtyards.

Reinforced parapets, gleaming in the sun from a recent whitewashing, gazed grimly down on the city that sprawled below. Gaily colored pennants fluttered in the breeze, at once festive and belligerent, throwing a bright challenge to anyone foolish enough to attempt to scale these heights. It was a stirring sight, to say the least, and the House wheezed with pleasure… A cold draft blew through the upper dungeon, chilling its inmates and puzzling the guards.

But of all the additions, by far the loveliest was a series of terraced gardens that climbed from deep within the castle’s heart to the very roof itself. Fountains and walkways graced this artful wonder, and so glorious was the greenery it would have stolen the castle’s breath away had the castle any breath to steal.

How odd, to grow so grand while sleeping!

The Imperial House took pride in its renewed appearance. Evidently it still stood tall among structures. Yet all was not as it should be.

While its old walls and towers functioned just as they always had, as the castle’s organs of touch and smell, sight and hearing, the new sections seemed devoid of life. There was no vision of the countryside from the new spires. The new pavements heard no conversation. Was it the House’s imagination, or did these new constructions tingle, as if still asleep?

Awake! the Imperial House ordered the new sections gruffly, and it sweated some more as it sought to force consciousness into these remodeled areas .. ,

“Kherda!” Queen Ligne shrilled at her Prime Minister. “p.o you see this?” She glided delicate, bejewelled fingers across a marble-tiled wait grown suddenly, inexplicably wet. “Just what is causing this?”

She demanded as she rubbed her moist fingertips together in his face.

“I have no idea, my Queen,” Kherda replied quietly, annoyed by her accusing tone. This wasn’t unusual. Ligne’s tone of voice regularly annoyed him and seemed to grow more annoying with every passing day.

But just as regularly, Kherda swallowed his pique and smiled. Kherda was quite creative at inventing new ways to grovel. “Perhaps, my Lady, it’s the weather?”

The House heard the conversation, and felt her caressing fingers, even as it registered a hundred other comments from a hundred other rooms.

It focused its attention here, however, on this black-maned beauty and her parasitic Prime Minister. This was by force of ancient habit, really. Centuries of watching human behavior had taught the House that, in the minds of humans at least, the most critical conversations took place in the courts of Kings. That wasn’t so, as the castle knew very well, having listened to years of sloppy drivel coming from this very throne room. It was often much more fun to hear what the messengers and consorts said outside the regent’s hearing. Even so, it was a relief to find that the throne room had not been greatly altered.

The foundations are the same, the House sighed, reassured. Still as firm, as impenetrable as the rock from which they had been carved.

Indeed, while cosmetic changes had been made, the basic ffoorplan of the massive palace would still have been recognizable to Nobalog.

Nobalog! The Imperial House winced, and a dolorous booming issued from the cistern beneath the kitchen, as the castle mourned the passing of its friend. More than a friend, really, for it had been the oowershaper Nobalog “the fat, bald one” who had birthed consciousness in the castle so many years before.

How many? the Imperial House wondered. How long had it been?

Not that it mattered, particularly, with Nobalog dead. While there had been many in that ancient age who sported with the castle, debating with it about current events or telling it meaningless human jokes, only Nobalog ever took the time to understand. More than that, of all the power shapers who had walked its corridors, only Nobalog had been sensitive to the damaging effects of magic upon the House. Nobalog had been a friend.

But Nobalog was long dead. That was the problem with humans.

Eventually, they all died. Nobalog had been gone a thousand years by the time the dragon came, and put the castle to sleep.

The House listened again with some attention to the words of Queen Ligne, for her sharp voice had jogged its memory. It had heard her before!

There have been dreams, the House said quietly, dreams that were not dreams at all, but rather stages of awakening. This is why some things are known.

Seeking to learn more, the House followed the woman’s march down the hallway and onto the grand spiral. This was a gigantic curving staircase that formed the hub of all castle activities. Had she passed down the spiral, it would have taken her onto the dais of the vast great hall, where all of those within the walls took their meals. The House noted with some concern that the upper end of the spiral now opened onto the lowest garden terrace. Though beautiful, this new area was outside the castle’s range of hearing. Ligne did not climb that high, however, turning off instead to stamp toward the royal apartments. She was bellowing orders even before she reached her attiring room, so that, by the time she slung open the door, a dozen attendants were already waiting to change her.

The House watched attentively as the army of maids stripped the queen bare. The castle’s standards of beauty had all been drawn from the comments of men, and it was fully aware that many within the walls would have longed to watch this operation. To the House, however, the woman’s shapely form was no more nor less entrancing than any of the other objects of art that lined its corridors or stood in its courtyards. While her imperious manner indicated that she truly believed herself the owner of this palace, the House knew better. Long after she passed from the scene, the House would continue to stand.