Death's Angels

Chapter Nineteen

“Please be seated, Prince,” said Lady Asea. Sardec waited for her to sit and then took his own chair. A servant stood behind each of them to make sure the seat was perfectly placed.

The room was, as he had expected, beautiful. A formal landscape by Trentuvalle dominated one wall, a painting of one of the Seven Lakes so exquisite that you could almost believe that the painter had walked the Blessed Land before the Exile. He made the observation and saw Lady Asea hide a smile behind her fan. As he always did in the presence of Terrarchs so much his elder, he felt more than a little gauche. It was hard to imagine this smiling beauty as the famous Lady in Grey, a sorceress as feared during the conquest as Azaar himself.

“It is a true and perfect likeness of Lake Neverne. Cousin Trent painted a similar in miniature to remind him of home,” said Asea. “It was his favourite place. He carried that miniature everywhere… until the end.”

Sardec seemed to recall a rumour that the painter had been her lover. He had committed suicide under extremely obscure circumstances. There might have been a scandal if he recalled correctly.

“How is your dear father?” she enquired.

“As well as might be expected,” said Sardec, proud of the fact that his face had not coloured in shame. Many felt his father, too, should have gone to the Palace of Forgetfulness when his sickness came on him. Having the Grey Plague and not doing so was considered very tasteless in some quarters.

“I have regretted being deprived of his company these recent years,” said Asea. For all his pride, Sardec’s father’s illness had caused him to withdraw to their estates.

Asea removed her mask and placed it down on the small table between them. Her features were just as exquisitely sculpted and far more lovely. Her eyes were very large. Her lips were very full. Her teeth were very white. Her cheekbones were high. But it was not just the physical beauty that was so affecting. The unmasking produced an effect of extraordinary sensuality that struck Sardec like a blow.

She smiled as if she knew exactly the effect she was having and was enjoying it. Sardec raised his guard even higher. He had known such Terrarch women as this before. He had never enjoyed feeling manipulated by them.

“Will you have something to drink?” asked the Princess, in such a manner that made it clear that he was expected to say yes.

“I would love to, Lady,” said Sardec. The smile widened a fraction. She rang a bell and a servant appeared. Sardec had to struggle to keep from staring. The human, if human it was, was garbed all in black from his tunic to his shiny boots. Even his head was wrapped in what must have been a very long scarf so that only his blazing black eyes were visible. He wore a crimson sash at his waist. Through it was thrust a short curve-bladed knife the like of which Sardec had never seen before. He placed a tray containing a decanter of silverine and two glasses on the table beside Asea’s mask. He poured from the decanter and then withdrew to a discreet distance. He was, by far, the most perfectly poised human Sardec had ever encountered. Asea followed his glance once more. Once more he felt gauche. Was she doing this deliberately he wondered.

“Karim is from the desert lands of Xulander,” she said. “He entered my service there. His people served the Serpent Men once. Now they serve me.”

Another rumour came to him, one he had overheard being quoted rudely and speculatively in the officer’s mess when the Terrarchs were in their cups — something about her and two of her servants from the southern continent being lovers. Was it true, he wondered? He could detect no signs of impropriety in the relationship now, but then how could he judge? Asea had more than a millennium’s experience of dissembling her emotions. Her smile widened fractionally again, as if she could read his thoughts.

“Tell me about your recent sojourn in the mountains,” she said. Off balance, Sardec began telling her about his recent foray into the hills. Only once the tale was well under way did he begin to consider the propriety of talking to her about what some would have said was a secret mission. He dismissed the thought. The Lady Asea was trusted by Azaar himself. She was one of the First. If she was not to be trusted, no one was.

A small quiet voice told Sardec to be careful. Who was he to know who was trustworthy or not. According to his father, a great deal of treachery had been perpetrated by the First down the years. Still, he could not see what harm would be done by speaking to her.

She seemed particularly interested in his description of the Ultari when he came to it.

“You saw it quite clearly?”

“Quite clearly, Lady.” He remembered now how particular Colonel Xeno had been on this point as well, and pulled up short.

“What is it, Prince?”

“Perhaps nothing, Lady Asea.”

“I am intrigued.” He did not want to tell her of the Colonel’s interest in the subject, so he said.

“I was wondering why you are so interested in these creatures.”

“I am more than curious.” She shivered. “I can still remember the time of the wars with the Spider God. I was in the western islands at the time fighting against the Spawn of Dagoth. The tales that reached us even there were disturbing to say the least.”

“But the Spider God was defeated.”

“Yes. Deep Achenar was sealed, the minions of Uran Ultar defeated and the Spider God banished or destroyed.”

“You think the matter is significant?” She gave him a dazzling smile that made him feel more childish than ever.

“The Scuttler in the Shadows was one of the greatest foes the Ten Thousand ever faced. It troubles me more than a little that a sorcerer should be poking around so close to his last resting place. More worrying still is that one of Uran Ultar’s servants should still be alive down there.”

“You think someone may be trying to resurrect the Spider God?” That was a disturbing thought.

“Resurrect is the wrong word. I doubt that Uran Ultar was ever truly dead. The entrances to Deep Achenar were destroyed. The ways were sealed with Elder Signs and a guard was set to watch over the place. Nothing ever emerged and over the centuries the watch was withdrawn. The thing was deemed dealt with by the powers that be.”

“You think Uran Ultar still waits in the darkness?” He had gone down into those mines. He had seen the Ultari. Had he really been in close proximity to an ancient demon god?

“I think it’s more than possible. More to the point perhaps somebody else thinks it’s possible. What other reason could your sorcerer have for being there?”

“Seeking knowledge perhaps? The Old Races possessed many secrets unknown even to the Terrarchs.” Even as he said it, Sardec was aware that he must sound terribly earnest and naive, presuming to give advice to a sorceress who had been steeped in the darkest of arts a thousand years before he had even been born. Once again it occurred to him to wonder what exactly her interest was.

“This is a matter that bears further investigation.”

“If there is anything I can do to help, milady, you have only to let me know.”

“Thank you. I may hold you to your word.” She spoke over her shoulder to the black garbed servant. “Karim, go to the temple and request from the Archivist any copies of the Books of Skardos he might have in his possession.”

Karim bowed and departed. Sardec realised he must be a trusted servant indeed to be entrusted with such a request, and the Archivist must know it, for she seemed to expect no difficulties in acquiring a loan of the books that sounded as if they should be on the Scarlet Index.

After that their conversation sank back into the intricate chit-chat required by etiquette. “Perhaps you would care to see my gallery,” Asea offered, after Sardec talked of his liking for Trentuvalle’s painting. He assented at once.

They passed through a long gallery lined with paintings. Every one of them was a masterpiece of its kind. They depicted famous scenes from Terrarch history on Gaeia. He felt a little silly when he realised that the beautiful woman who appeared in all of them was the same lady who walked beside him now.

There she stood with the Old Queen Amarielle at the head of the Terrarch Host when they had first passed through the Eye of the Dragon to set foot on this world. Behind them in a seemingly endless line, passing through the arch that was also a gateway between the worlds, was the entire Ten Thousand. Awestruck humans, wrapped in wolfskins, watched the arrival of their new rulers. Angels played harps in the stormy sky above them. Asea followed his glance.

“Rather overdone,” she said. “I don’t recall the musical angels but Azhog was always prone to flights of fantasy when he painted. The Queen wore a green silk headscarf, not red. Of course, the picture dates from the height of the Schism, three hundred years ago. Politics was in the air.”

“Azhog was a human, wasn’t he?”

“He was. Why do you mention it?”

“Humans are always sensitive to what they see as the desires of their patrons.”

She gave him a sidelong smile that was at once knowing and annoying. “And Terrarchs are not?”

He smiled back, realising that he had made something of a mistake. Asea was well known to have been of the Scarlet faction. Her support for so-called progressive causes was legendary. She had been one of Queen Arielle’s most vocal supporters during the Schism, helped recruit her half-brother Azaar to the Scarlet cause. In many ways, she had been one of the prime movers in the destruction of the First Empire. Had it not been for her, a unified Terrarchy might still rule all the lands between the Great Eastern Wastes and the Western Ocean, instead of being divided into the Five Kingdoms of the West, assorted petty states and the Dark Empire of Sardea. Of course, that would have meant they would now be living under the rule of Arielle’s sister, Arachne. He realised she was waiting for an answer.

“No. The power of patronage is too well known in our society for me to deny it,” he said. She gave him the sort of smile a proud teacher gives a clever child. “You have an interesting collection of paintings.”

“They are a vanity of mine,” Asea said. “This gallery in particular.”

He glanced at a shocking picture of the murder of the Old Queen, the two sisters who were to become rivals glanced at each other of their corpse of their dead mother, as she lay on a blood-soaked bed in her chambers in the Amber Palace. Arielle was dressed in red, Arachne in purple. They glared at each other with a hatred that foreshadowed the coming civil war. It took him a moment, to pick out Asea’s face in the crowd of witnesses. She did not look shocked. She looked calm.

“I do not recognise this painter,” Sardec said. “I am sure I should. The style is remarkable.

“Hanusan, another human. His work was suppressed by the Inquisition. It is on the Black Index. Somebody objected to his rather too realistic depictions of certain events in our history. I believe it was Lord Malkior. He was chancellor at the time.” Sardec paused to contemplate this for a moment, realising that he was looking on nothing less than a display of astonishing political power. Lady Asea was so secure that she could flaunt proscribed works. She seemed to read his thoughts.

“This gallery is restricted to my personal use, and that of a few privileged guests. I have a personal dispensation from the High Inquisitor. He trusts my judgement.”

“As no doubt he should, Lady Asea. Are all your paintings by humans?”

“All of them in this particular gallery, yes. I have been the patron of many of their best artists down the years.” Sardec felt compelled to say then that it was all rather crude work, but honesty prevented him from doing so. If it fell short of the best Terrarch paintings it did so only be a hairsbreadth. If truth be told, some of it was significantly better than paintings by well-known Terrarch artists.

“You look as if something has just struck you,” Asea said.

“I think this gallery makes a statement about its owner,” he said. “Several statements actually.”

“But, of course, all such collections do. They reflect the taste of the individual involved.”

“And the thought, I would say, certainly in this case.”

“You intrigue me. What do you think this collection says about me?”

“That you are unconventional.”

“That is a rather conventional observation.”

“That you are vain.”

“I see you do not seek my favour by flattering me.” She sounded amused rather than offended.

“That you wish to remind the viewer of your position in our long history.”

She nodded. “And?”

“And you want the world to know of your political sympathies. You favour the humans. You are a devotee of the Scarlet cause.”

“Surely we all are. Our queen, after all, is the Scarlet Queen.”

“Let us say some of us are rather more dedicated to our Queen than the cause.”

“Is that possible?”

“I think many Terrarchs have reservations about the humans. They are not ready for power. I doubt even you are so…democratic in your principles as to suggest they are.”

“You sound almost like a Purple, Prince.”

“Far from it, Lady. I have sworn an oath of loyalty to our Queen. I will see her laws enforced. I will see our nation defended. Do not doubt it.”

“You sound just like your father did when he was your age,” she said.

“I am proud to do so,” he said, a little annoyed. She smiled and led him off down the gallery. They passed more paintings. He did his best to ignore them. He felt like he had just failed an important test. All pleasure in the viewing was gone for him.

Eventually enough time passed that Sardec felt that he could leave. Asea made him uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than any woman ever had. She seemed to sense this and even enjoy it.

“I regret that my duties require my presence elsewhere,” he said.

“It has been a very great pleasure for me,” she said. “You must call again.”

“An offer I accept with relish.”

“And you must come to our Solace Night ball,” said the Princess.

“If my duties permit it, I will gladly do so,” he said.

Sardec bowed to the Lady and backed out of the room, feeling obscurely like he had just made his escape from something he was not in the least prepared to deal with.