Танит Ли - The Storm Lord

Several women stood beyond the bed; low evening light caught ornaments glistening like rain and showed, too, a certain unease on the dark faces.

“Where is my child?” she asked them.

Nervously they glared into each other’s eyes.

A fat midwife approached the bed.

“Majesty, you have a son.”

“I know.” Val Mala became impatient. “Let me see him. At once.”

The woman backed away, was replaced by a man in surgeon’s robes who leant over her and breathed: “It might be best, gracious madam, if you were to recover a little of your strength before we bring the baby to you.”

“I will see him now. Now, fool, do you hear?”

The man bowed low, gestured and a girl came from the end of the chamber carrying the white bundle of the infant in her hands.

Val Mala stared about her from her cushions.

“Is the child dead?” The sudden question sent a pang of terror through her. This was her only key to Dorthar and the power of Dorthar; if this were a stillbirth—Oh gods, what would she do? She snatched the baby in its dragon-embroidered mantle, and it was warm and feebly moving, though it gave no cries. She unwound the cloth. Why did the thing not cry? Was this unhealthy? No, now it sat naked in her hands she saw that it was perfect. And yet, what was—?

Val Mala screamed. The discarded baby fell tumbling down the bed, the midwife and the girl rushing to catch it up.

A monster, she had birthed a monster. Waves of insane rage and fear pounded and smashed in her body like a boiling sea.

A pale bird, sacrificed on the altar of Amnorh’s palace, would not die. It screamed and fluttered, its breast sliced open, until all the birds in the cages of the aviary court were shrieking and dashing themselves against the bars. It appeared the gods were loath to accept the offering.

At noon a flight of white pigeons, winging up past the windows of the Storm Palace, redrew the incident clearly and frightfully in his mind. An omen. Yet what place had omens in the Warden’s scheme of things?

Val Mala came into the room a moment later.

Her beauty was restored. It had taken her one month and the arts of a hundred women and slaves, masseurs from Zakoris, beauticians from Xarabiss and Karmiss and an astrologer-witch out of the Elyrian lands. She wore a gown of amethyst velvet, a girdle of white gold, and jewels scorched in her hair and on her hands.

“My greetings, Lord Warden.”

“I have been in darkness without the lamp of your loveliness,” he said.

“Pretty words, Amnorh. Did you buy them from a minstrel?”

Amnorh stiffened. He felt a sudden obtrusive coldness in his loins and around his heart. She had changed toward him, then. He must tread softly now, very softly. He thought of certain rumors he had heard concerning the birth of the prince. Certain rumors, too, that certain people present at the birth were strangely no longer seen about.

“I seek your counsel, Lord Warden. Your advice on a delicate matter.”

“I am your servant, madam, as you know.”

“Do I, Amnorh? Well.”

A low white shadow drifted through the open doorway. The kalinx had followed her in. The sense of cold griped in Amnorh’s vitals as if this creature were the presage of some disaster. It rubbed its face against her foot and sank down beside her, and she, seating herself in a low chair, began to caress its head. Her familiar.

“I am troubled,” she said, “deeply troubled. I’ve received curious reports regarding the Lowland girl. No one has seen her baby for many days, and she will say nothing. I think she’s killed the child and hidden the body.”

His narrow eyes studied her expressionlessly.

“And why, my peerless Queen, should she do that?”

“I’m told she suffered unduly at the birth. Perhaps she’s deranged.”

Amnorh gambled.

“Perhaps there’s a beautiful woman who hates her.” And saw at once that he had lost a good deal on this one cast. She stared at him with her black-as-venom eyes and said without inflection: “Never be too sure of me.”

“Madam, I speak only as your servant—one who would guard you whenever possible.”

“Really? You’d guard me, would you? Haven’t you known how this Lowland witch has practiced against me with all manner of diabolical magics and foulnesses?”

“Radiant Queen—”

“She is a sorceress and shall be punished as such,” Val Mala cried out in sudden fury, and the kalinx lifted its icy head and snarled.

Mastering himself, Amnorh tried a new tack with her.

“What you do is dangerous,” he said. “All high positions make enemies. Beware of those who will seize any opportunity to destroy you.”

“Who?” she said, almost in a caressive tone. “Tell me.”

“You yourself should be aware—”

“I am aware of more than you think, Amnorh. And why is it that you want the Lowland bitch to live? Was the body of the Queen not enough for you?”

“The nucleus of her spite,” he thought, “merely jealousy? But such dangerous jealousy.”

“There’s a reason why the girl should be spared. She has knowledge of peculiar powers. They would ensure you complete and unassailable rule. The throne of Dorthar would be safe for you and for your son.”

“I don’t need your safety,” she said.

Silk rustled in the doorway.

“Majesty, the Lord Orhn still waits on you in the antechamber,” a woman said.

“You may tell him I shan’t be long.”

Amnorh held his breath, weighing the feel of a balance in his mind. Val Mala rose.

“Go now,” she said, and she smiled at him, “go and enjoy your skinny little Lowland whore while you are able.”

“You misjudge me, madam.”

“I think not. I’ve heard you’ve often been a midnight visitor at the Palace of Peace.”

The coldness filled his mouth, and he shivered. Flinging the last dice, knowing already everything was lost, in a measured voice he said: “You forget the service I did you, Val Mala, in the Shadowless Plains.”

“Oh, but I do not.”

His tongue grew large in his mouth as it had when he looked at the white and golden nightmare creature in the cave. He bowed, turned silently and left her, knowing very well what she had promised him. In the anteroom he passed the tall figure of the Prince Orhn Am Alisaar, but did not see it.

Orhn, however, marked the Warden’s going and waited no longer.

He came into the room, and the kalinx lifted its head, lifted its lip and bared wicked ivory at him.

“Keep your place, you filthy abomination,” he said to it, and the kalinx sank, tail twitching, eyes a livid blue.

Val Mala turned.

“I didn’t give you leave to enter.”

“We’ll dispense with this playacting, I think, madam. I have entered and am here, with your leave or without it.”

“I’d heard, Orhn, that we were at last to be blessed with your departure.”

He grinned unexpectedly, but it was a wolfish, menacing grin.

“I’ll depart, madam, all in good time. But I seem to remember, madam, I did you a kindness which hasn’t been repaid.”

“Ah, yes. The prince rescued me from a serpent. What do you want, then? The usual mercenary’s fee?”

“What I have in mind I don’t imagine you spend on hired soldiers.”

Val Mala’s eyes widened. She took a step back, and he several steps forward. He reached out his large hands and gripped her velvet arms.

“Before I leave, I’ve promised myself something. And I calculate you know precisely what.”

“Your insolence is disgusting.”

“I always appear to disgust you, but you graciously granted me this audience. And so beautiful and elegantly dressed you are for it. Or do I mistake? Did you pretty yourself for Amnorh instead?”