Heritage Of The Xandim

20

DHAGON

The death of the trader ended the morning’s business. The fearful crowd, aghast at the smoking remains of Ambaron, cleared the room with amazing speed. Ferimon watched them go, and exulted. Tiolani sank down upon her throne and sat, expressionless as a statue, her face so white that it looked as though it had been carved from alabaster. Ferimon glanced across at Varna, and beckoned her with a tilt of his head. She hurried to join them as he insinuated his hand beneath Tiolani’s elbow and led her from the room, with the warriors of the Lady’s bodyguard grouped around them.

As they passed through the corridors of the palace, everyone melted out of their way. When they reached her suite, he stationed guards in front of her doorway. ‘See that the Lady Tiolani is not disturbed,’ he ordered, as he and Varna accompanied her inside and closed the door behind them.

Once she reached the sanctuary of her own rooms, Tiolani walked across to the window and stood in silence, staring out. Ferimon and Varna exchanged an anxious look, but Tiolani had a surprise for them. Before they had time to speak to her, she turned, staring through them with a cold, blank expression. ‘Why are you two still here? I do not recall asking for company.’ Her tone of voice was different from any she had used before: firmer, stronger, ringing with confidence. For once Ferimon found himself floundering, unsure of what to say. ‘But . . . but Lady,’ he stammered, ‘we were concerned - we wanted to make sure you were all right.’

‘Of course I am all right,’ Tiolani said icily. ‘Why should I not be?’

‘But my dearest Lady, I was afraid you were feeling bad about Ambaron’s death.’

‘As was I,’ Varna added quickly.

Tiolani shrugged. ‘You idiots. All I feel is rage, not remorse. How dare that half-blood trader accuse me of keeping Hellorin imprisoned out of time, so I could rule the Phaerie.’ Her voice had turned to a snarl, and a cruel little smile curved her lips. ‘But I soon corrected that. And you know, it finally made me realise that I have not been taking a strong enough hand with these insolent courtiers, or with my father’s advisors. I won’t make that mistake again.’

A shiver passed through Ferimon. He had done his work almost too well. He looked into her face and saw a familiar expression - the same one she had worn when she came back from the Wild Hunt, exulting in the bloodshed and slaughter. Had the horrors she’d experienced during the ambush that had killed her brother twisted her mind in some way? He was beginning to wonder. But no matter what had happened months ago in the forest, today had been a turning point for Tiolani. She had grown up, and proved she was her father’s daughter. She had finally come to understand the extent of the power she possessed - and to revel in it.

Tiolani, in the meantime, had sat down before her mirror and was brushing her hair, as cool and unconcerned as if she had just returned from a morning stroll in the garden. ‘Varna, you may go now. Send for some food, Ferimon, will you? I’m starving.’

‘Yes, my Lady.’ Her face tight with anger, Varna swung around in a swirl of skirts and marched out. Ferimon opened his mouth, closed it again, and quickly sent a message in mindspeech to the kitchens, requesting all the Lady Tiolani’s favourite delicacies. Today it definitely seemed wise to stay on her good side.

After the events of the morning, Tiolani had been surprised to find herself hungry, but when the food arrived, she devoured hot soup, cold roast peacock and a big bowl of glossy, sweet cherries as though she had not seen food for a week. While she had permitted Ferimon to stay and eat with her, she was glad he had the good sense to remain silent unless she spoke to him first. Her actions that day had given her a great deal to think about, and the repercussions - both for herself and for those she ruled - were likely to be far-reaching indeed.

Hellorin’s daughter was feeling very proud of herself. She had executed that perfidious trader using her own magical powers, just as her father might have done. Her subjects had been given a long-overdue demonstration that, just like the Forest Lord, she was not to be defied or thwarted - especially not by some filthy half-blood, first cousin to those animals who had killed her brother. How sweet and fitting it would be to remove their taint from the Phaerie race . . .

‘Whose taint?’ Ferimon’s voice broke into her thoughts.

Tiolani realised that she must have spoken the last part of her musings aloud. ‘The Hemifae, naturally.’ She reached into the cut-crystal bowl and selected another cherry, which looked like a drop of blood between her fingers. ‘It was a mistake on my father’s part to let them infiltrate our race. They twine like strangling briars into every aspect of Phaerie lives. Why should they own mines and farms, be in positions of power, wealth and privilege? They are no better than the human animals that spawned them.’

She saw Ferimon’s eyes widen slightly in alarm, and exulted in her own sense of power. ‘But my love,’ he said carefully, ‘the Hemifae were spawned, as you call it, by the Phaerie, too.’

‘Their Phaerie blood is corrupted by human taint,’ Tiolani snapped back, ‘and that makes them just as bad as those filthy mortal scum. The hybrids are no better than slaves, yet they move among us in positions of authority, dressed in finery as though they believe themselves fit to be real Phaerie.’ She clenched her fingers, stained blood-red with cherry juice, into a fist and smashed it down on the table. ‘The Hemifae are an abomination, corrupting the purity of our race. Every trace of them should be cleansed from this world.’

‘But Lady,’ Ferimon said, still using that careful, coaxing voice, ‘the Hemifae are our civilisation, or at least the greater part of it. They are our artisans, artists and architects, our agriculturists and traders. The humans might work our farms and our mines, but the Hemifae run them. It is they who decide what should be planted and when. They direct the mining operations by deep-sensing the whereabouts of gold and gem deposits, and they train and coordinate the cutters, setters and polishers. Hemifae design the jewellery, and the clothing that we make from moonmoth silk - which, incidentally, they produce. They are the ones who take these articles out into the world, and trade with the Wizards for the necessities, luxuries and delicacies that otherwise we could not obtain. The Hemifae train our horses. They—’

‘Enough!’ Again, Tiolani struck the table with her fist. How dare he speak to her as if she were still a child? ‘Do not presume to lecture me, Ferimon. I know exactly what the Hemifae do. And I can see that it is only due to the laziness and indolence of the pure-blooded Phaerie that they have been allowed to gain such a stranglehold. Once, before the half-breeds grew so numerous, there were Phaerie who fulfilled all the functions that the Hemifae have now taken as their own, and we are perfectly capable of doing so again. My people may not possess many of these skills now, but they can learn - and they must. Then the Hemifae can be removed—’

‘Lady, before you continue with your most interesting plans for the Hemifae, you should know that they are the least of your problems.’

The voice was strange to her. Even as Tiolani spun around, Ferimon vanished from sight, imprisoned within a silvery orb that enclosed him completely. Though she would have been willing to swear that there had been no one else in the room, a white-haired figure dressed in grey stepped out from the shadows in the corner. ‘Now,’ he said, in a voice that was iron and granite. ‘That should take care of the minion. There is no reason why he should hear what I am about to say to you - in fact, when he is released, he will have no recollection that I was here at all.’

Tiolani was pleased to note that the intruder had the attenuated form of a true-blooded Phaerie. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he said, as though she had spoken her thoughts aloud. ‘Both my father and mother were pure-blood Phaerie, though it cost my mother her life to bear me. You will also notice,’ he added with a chilling smile, ‘that I have no compunction whatsoever about picking the most private thoughts from a poorly guarded mind, no matter what the person’s rank. You would be well advised to work on your shielding, my Lady. I could never extract the faintest whisper of a thought from your father.’ His eyes were what frightened her most. A strange, pale, silvery grey, they were stony and flat, reflecting rather than revealing, and utterly pitiless.

Not even during the ambush by the ferals had Tiolani been so afraid. Reacting from pure instinct, she lifted her hand in a blur of speed and hurled a sizzling bolt of lightning. But the stranger was faster. Even as she moved to attack, he had struck first. She saw the dazzle of the spell coming towards her - then it neutralised her own magic and enveloped her in a wave of icy cold that penetrated both her body and her mind, paralysing her limbs and slowing her thoughts.

With a sinking certainty, Tiolani realised that the interloper could only have one identity: he must be one of the Chahiri, the select, secret group of spies and assassins that Hellorin had formed long ago to be his eyes and ears - and when necessary his killers - in the world beyond the Phaerie realm. There were rumours that their services could be contracted by a private individual if the rewards were high enough, and by any standards, Ambaron had been very wealthy. Had his family hired this killer to avenge his death?

Again came the thin, mirthless smile that struck utter fear into Tiolani’s heart. ‘Not even close,’ he said. ‘Though you do have my profession correct. I am one of the Chahiri - in fact, I am their leader. You may call me Dhagon. Though I do occasionally permit my underlings to accept private contracts, I answer to your father alone. Until now, only he has known of my existence and, because he is still alive, I would have remained in secret, unknown to you - save that I am forced to reveal myself in order to bring you a warning. Danger is approaching. You must be on your guard.’

Tiolani, hypnotised by the gaze of those pale eyes, beckoned him to a seat by her side. ‘Tell me,’ she said.

He slid into place beside her as silently as a shadow. ‘I am head of a spy network that Lord Hellorin seeded throughout the dominions of the Magefolk,’ he told her. ‘I managed to place an agent in Tyrineld who, for the last two years, has sent information about the Wizardfolk and their activities directly to me; and thence, to your father. Information from that agent has just come into my hands, and brought me here to disclose my identity and warn you in person. Lord Hellorin trusts no one but me to coordinate the activities of his spy network, and as I am now unable to make contact with him, I must come directly to you with my information, for the responsibility for the realm currently rests in your hands.’

He hesitated. ‘Lady . . . Do you think your father will ever recover?’

Was he questioning her ability to rule? Or was he testing her in another way? Unease crawled down Tiolani’s spine. ‘We do not know.’ She looked away from this deadly stranger with the disconcerting eyes. ‘My father’s wounds were so grave, it was a miracle he survived at all. They say that they cannot bring him back into time for more than a moment or two because so many of his vital organs are malfunctioning, so they have given up that approach. Now they are trying to find some form of spell that will heal him all at once. If they cannot . . .’ She bowed her head, as if in grief, then suddenly her eyes snapped upwards and looked straight into the spymaster’s own. ‘Do you think I am responsible for his continuing decline?’

Her attempt to take him by surprise fell utterly flat. Dhagon simply gave her an unfathomable look. ‘My Lady, I am the last person to believe you capable of evil. But if Hellorin does not survive, I must take steps to keep his intelligence network functioning for you, his successor.’

Tiolani let out a breath that she did not know she’d been holding. ‘Thank you, Dhagon. I am glad of your loyalty, and grateful that you came.’ Belatedly, she remembered her manners. ‘Will you have wine? Or something to eat?’

He shook his head. ‘Thank you, no.’

‘Very well, then,’ Tiolani said. ‘So what are your urgent tidings?’

The spy leaned close to her and spoke softly. ‘For some time, rumours have been flying in Tyrineld about what is happening in our realm. They knew nothing for certain; however, the Archwizard Cyran has discovered of late that the Wild Hunt has been crossing the border between our lands with increasing frequency, and killing a number of slaves belonging to the Wizardfolk of Nexis - genuine forest workers going about their legitimate business. In order to protest the depredations, and also to find out why we have cut off all communication, he is sending a delegation to you here in Eliorand.’

Those pale eyes became as sharp and cold as a sword blade. ‘Lady, if you will permit me to say so, killing those slaves was most unwise. Did you not think there would be repercussions? Did you believe the Wizards would sit idly by and let their minions be slaughtered?’

Tiolani thrust out her jaw. ‘The Wild Hunt is accountable to no one.’

‘If that is your attitude, you’d better be prepared to deal with the consequences.’ His tone was flat and uncompromising. ‘Just as I have an agent in Tyrineld, it has now become evident that Cyran has also managed to place a spy in our midst. I have my suspicions as to his identity, and when I am certain . . .’

For an instant his jaw tightened and those chill eyes flamed. Then the mask slipped back into place so swiftly that she was left wondering whether she had glimpsed the loathing and anger at all. ‘I will find this spy,’ Dhagon went on, and the chill tonelessness in his voice was far more terrifying than the earlier fireflash of emotion that he had let slip. ‘I will use all the resources at my disposal to root him out, and when I apprehend him . . . You have my promise, Lady, that the traitor will be screaming for death to take him, ere I am finished.’

He took a deep breath. ‘In the meantime, however, we have more urgent business. Cyran’s delegates have already left Tyrineld, Lady. What will you do?’

Tiolani’s hands, which had been resting lightly on the table before her, clenched suddenly into fists. ‘They may have left Tyrineld,’ she growled, ‘but I will see to it that they never arrive in Eliorand.’

The spy’s pale eyes grew watchful; wary. ‘You play a very perilous game, my Lady. Are you truly saying that you want me to . . . dispose of them?’

‘Yes, do so.’ Her smile was as grim and mirthless as Dhagon’s own. ‘After all, the wildwood can be a dangerous place, filled with all manner of strange and deadly creatures. Travellers encounter them all the time. If Cyran’s representatives were to meet with an accident, how could we be blamed?’