Herbie Brennan - Ruler of the Realm

‘Well done, Woodfordi!’ Pyrgus exclaimed admiringly.

Then, at the edge of the crater, a goblin head emerged, reddened by the dust of the desert but otherwise intact. It was the creature Nymph had injured, pulling itself up with its one remaining arm. Another head appeared, then another. The liquid eyes were filled with hate.

Beyond the crater, a second group of rocks was morphing into another Goblin Guard. Then another appeared and another. The wasteland was filled with the clack of lobster claws.

‘Good grief!’ Nymph exclaimed, eyes wide.

‘Run!’ Pyrgus shouted.

But Nymph failed to move. ‘Run where?’ she asked.

Pyrgus looked around him desperately. Behind them towered the Great Cliff, sheer, unclimbable, impassable. Before them Goblin Guards approached. Beyond them, more Guards morphed out of their disguises. The creatures were walking towards them with a terrifying, slow deliberation. This time there was no escape.

Pyrgus moved beyond all thought of consequence. He grabbed the arms of his two companions and, dragging them behind him, plunged into the nearest Hael portal.

A tightly knit three-man Goblin Guard was on their heels.

There was a discreet knock on the bedroom door before it opened silently. Madame Cardui, who suffered most fearfully from insomnia, was propped up in her bed, resplendent in a flowing peignoir, reading some State papers. She glanced up over the top of her spectacles at the figure who slipped in.

‘Ah, Kitterick, you’re back.’

‘Indeed, Madame,’ Kitterick confirmed.

‘We are at war, Kitterick.’

‘So I understand from your guards, Madame.’

‘You saw nothing of it?’

‘I was fortunate in the route I took to return.’ He began to tidy the room, a routine that came easily to him.

‘You’ve been away a long time. Mrs Ogyris, I presume?’

‘I fear so, Madame. Did Pyrgus not inform you directly?’

Madame Cardui sighed. ‘He was the soul of discretion. Were your efforts fruitful?’

‘In a manner of speaking, Madame.’

‘Information on the war?’

Kitterick shook his head. ‘I fear not, Madame. It was not a development I anticipated, so I concentrated on the time flowers.’

Madame Cardui removed her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘It was not a development any of us anticipated, Kitterick. Will the time flowers prove our undoing?’

Lanceline, Madame Cardui’s translucent cat, appeared from underneath a table and wound herself around Kitterick’s ankles. He reached down and absently fondled her ears.

‘No, Madame, they will not,’ he said emphatically.

‘Ah,’ said Madame Cardui and waited.

‘Pyrgus appears to have destroyed them,’ Kitterick said.

She frowned. ‘Pyrgus told me they had been removed.’

Kitterick shook his head. ‘Not then – on his previous visit. When he shattered the glasshouse.’ He moved deferentially towards the bed, produced a single crystal bloom from the pocket of his jerkin and presented it almost gallantly to Madame Cardui.

‘Why, thank you, Kitterick. This is one of the actual flowers?’ The thing was exquisite, like some wonderful artwork.

‘Yes, Madame. But it no longer functions to control time. None of them do. For that one needs a living flower and this one, like the others, is now dead. They require a special atmosphere to grow. When picked they can be preserved for several hours by means of a sealant spray. After that they become inert. The glass was supposed to be impervious – Merchant Ogyris never imagined anyone would be idiot enough to attack it with a Halek knife. When Pyrgus broke it, there was no one to spray the preservative. The entire harvest died within minutes.’

‘I see,’ said Madame Cardui. She felt a small wellspring of relief. One less problem for the morrow. Lanceline jumped on to the bed, curled herself into a question mark and fell asleep.

‘There is one thing, Madame…’

Something in his tone alerted her at once. ‘Yes, Kitterick?’

‘The flowers were not grown for the Faeries of the Night, as Pyrgus believed. They were to be exported to Hael.’

The relief was replaced by a sudden chill. This was what she had feared. ‘For Beleth to use against us?’

‘It would seem the Realm owes Prince Pyrgus a considerable debt of gratitude, even if he didn’t know what he was doing. Madame Ogyris was not privy to the details, but it appears the demons have been considering a strike against the Faeries of the Light and believed the time flowers would tip the military balance. They approached Merchant Ogyris some time ago, before the portals closed.’

Madame Cardui leaned forward slightly. ‘So this was a long-term plan?’

‘Very much so. The flowers themselves are a Hael plant. In their natural state they control time for no more than a second or so – a defence against insects, I believe. The hybrids Merchant Ogyris was growing could only be produced in the Realm. The light spectrum makes it impossible for them to grow in Hael. So the demons did a deal.’

Madame Cardui shuddered. Beleth was proving an implacable enemy, one far more dangerous than Lord Hairstreak could ever be. If the Realm survived the current crisis, the Intelligence Service would have to pay far more attention to the demons than it had done in the past. If the Realm survived…

She said drily, ‘Madame Ogyris seems to have been most forthcoming, Kitterick.’

Kitterick lowered his eyes modestly. ‘ Most forthcoming, Madame,’ he agreed.

Blue climbed out of bed.

The strange thing was she’d actually been sleeping, but she was wide awake now and excited. The glow-globes responded to her movement, but she switched them off with a whispered command. Best to alert no one just yet. She walked to the window and silently drew back the curtains. The twin moons of the Realm hung low on the horizon and bathed the room in a soft glow, enough light for her to get dressed.

She moved to the wardrobe, pulling her nightgown over her head. Most of her outfits were severely functional. She’d long preferred boys’ clothes and even now she was Queen her taste hadn’t really changed. But tonight was a special occasion and she had to look her best, so she selected the dress of spider silk she’d commissioned for Pyrgus’s coronation. It was formal, but well suited. Her only regret was that it wasn’t new, but she’d yet to commission another and until she did, the Silk Mistress’s creation was by far the most fetching thing in her wardrobe.

As the slick material flowed over her body, she felt the familiar enchantment. Even without the aid of a mirror she knew she looked superb. She certainly felt elegant and confident. Exactly how she should feel on such an important night. She wondered briefly about make-up, but decided she really needed no illusion spells. She was young, she was fresh, and in the spider silk she knew she was attractive. Nobody needed more than that.

As she left her quarters, her personal guard moved to accompany her, but she waved them away with a gesture. They’d talk, of course. They’d speculate about her midnight wanderings. But that didn’t matter. In an hour or two, everyone would know anyway.

The Purple Palace was a building so gigantic that new servants often disappeared for days while they wandered its passages and corridors. Ten years ago, one unfortunate actually starved to death in a disused wing, unable to find a food store. When the emaciated body was discovered, Blue’s father, then the Purple Emperor, ordered maps placed at strategic locations with spell coatings that would locate the individual and plot a course to any major spoken destination. Blue, who had wandered the labyrinth since the time she learned to walk, had no need of them. Besides which, none of the spell coatings contained her destination.