Emperor Mage Read online

  “Daine, what in the name of Bright Mithros are you doing?” Kaddar, panting, ran up to them. “Didn’t you hear me call? You were supposed to stay where I left you!”

  Her legs and feet suddenly felt odd, the muscles loose and trembling, as if she’d run, or walked hard, for a long time. She slumped onto a nearby bench and rubbed her aching calves. “But I just turned aside to look in the courtyard—”

  “What courtyard?”

  “It was right off that walk where you left me.” She looked around, and gaped. The trees, the walk, the five soldiers—all had vanished. Instead they were at the top of a long, dusty street, with no courtyards or fountains in sight. Buildings, each with a statue over the door, lined the avenue. At its far end loomed a big temple-like structure with a golden dome. “Where are we?”

  “The Sacred District.” Kaddar yanked out a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty face, patting carefully to avoid smearing the paint that lined his eyes. “And you couldn’t have seen it from where we were, because it’s a quarter mile away from there. You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

  She stared up at him. “Are you crazy? I’ve never been to Carthak in my life.” The additional thought—that she was starting to wish she hadn’t come now—she kept to herself.

  “Nonsense. You walked as if you were born here. And you didn’t stop for me! Don’t you realize you can’t run around here without an escort?”

  Daine blotted her own face on her sleeve. The direct sun was brutal without trees to shield them. “I didn’t walk here. I saw the old slave woman by the fountain, and I was trying to reach her. Do you know who she is? An old woman, about my height? I thought she was a slave. Yesterday she straightened my room—”

  Kaddar’s eyebrows snapped together. “Why would I care about any slave, young or old?”

  Daine felt as if she’d been punched. She fiddled with the cuffs on her shirt and collected herself. At last she said quietly, “Because I thought you were a decent human being.”

  Kaddar scowled and walked away for a few paces, rubbing the back of his neck.

  All right, Daine told herself, it’s plain the old woman isn’t a slave. A slave wouldn’t feed rats, or dice with Rikash. And I’m sorry he’s in a pet, but I did think maybe he cared more about other people than some of them that live here.

  None of the furred ones care about no-furs—what you call slaves, said Zek. That is, they care when they hit the slaves, and that’s all. The slaves work and try not to make the furred ones notice them. When furred ones—

  Owners, Daine told him silently, to keep the prince from hearing. Two-leggers with fur—with hair—who order slaves to do work are the owners of the slaves.

  Like the Monsterboy owned me? asked the marmoset.

  The girl petted him gently. It’s much the same.

  Kaddar had mastered himself. “I’m sorry if I was rude,” he said as he returned, his voice cold and clipped. “You must understand, I’m responsible for you. If any harm came to you, my uncle would be—displeased. And your old woman cannot be a slave. When palace slaves reach a certain age, they are given tasks better suited to them, in the weaving rooms or warehouses or nurseries. The slaves in the guest quarters, and the imperial and nobles’ quarters, are young. Now, if you please, you asked to see our chapels.”

  Kitten made an extremely rude noise. For a moment Daine thought the prince would lose his temper again. He fought the urge, and smiled at last. “She knows what that sound means?”

  “She knows the meaning of every sound she makes.” Daine tried on a smile of her own as she got to her feet. After hearing that the old weren’t allowed to work where they would be seen by anyone important, she knew it wasn’t a good smile, but Kaddar accepted it.

  He guided her into the first of a series of small chapels. This was dedicated to a god of the inner desert, far to the south, and a statue made of red sandstone was placed over the altar.

  While statues and altars changed from building to building, certain things were the same everywhere. Dust lay in corners and under what few benches or offering tables remained. Daine saw none of the things she expected to see: incense, flowers, candles, lamps. The air in these houses of worship was stale and unmoving. The dust in the shrine dedicated to the Threefold Goddess was so thick that Daine couldn’t make out the details of the wall mosaics.

  There were exceptions to the lack of offerings. The Trickster, god of thieves and players, presided over an altar where lay scattered playing cards and a few wilted bouquets of weeds. Several someones had left shells or bits of coral for the Wave Walker, but the gilt on the sea goddess’s statue was peeling. Hidden behind the altar of Shakith, goddess of seers, were a score of candle stubs and a battered lamp. For Gainel, the Master of Dream, Kitten found two lavender-stuffed packets, too small to be called pillows, concealed under a bench.

  “Are these less-known temples?” Daine asked. “Are there others—more popular ones?”

  Kaddar’s smile was crooked. “These are the only palace temples. The ones in the city are not in such bad shape as these.”

  Only Mithros’s temple, the one with the golden dome, had serving priests—a three-man staff, explained Kaddar, with two boys as acolytes. All of them came running to greet their guests by dropping to their knees and touching their heads to the ground, a gesture that made Daine uncomfortable. Priests of any god should only bow to other humans, not genuflect as the Carthakis expected their slaves to do.

  This temple was in better condition. Brightly polished sun disks caught outdoor light and reflected it into the sanctuary, but streaks of soot above wall brackets told her that light after sunset came not from lamps or candles, but inexpensive torches. She smelled incense burning, and freshly cut flowers lay on the large altar, but the priests were underfed.

  Once they’d looked around, Kaddar led her toward the back of the temple, past the altar. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Aren’t we returning the way we came?”

  “There’s one more,” explained the prince. “Mithros is the best known, and the king of the gods, but our empire had its own, personal goddess. Uncle built her a temple behind Mithros’s house, so he could make offerings to her once he was finished with his duties as the Sun Lord’s high priest.”

  Passing through a small door, they entered a long, open gallery. At its end was a door inlaid with a patter of black-and-scarlet dice. Statues of hyenas sat on either side of the portal. A group of three rats sat over it.

  Daine looked at those carvings for so long that Kaddar had to reach back and pull her through the entrance. Inside, the air held a faint odor of perfumes, but the silver candlesticks and chalices on the altar were tarnished, and the floor was unswept.

  Behind the altar was the image of the temple’s goddess, the most unusual statue Daine had ever seen. For one thing, hyenas and rats crouched at her feet like pets. One hyena held a dice box in its jaws, while two rats offered a die each to their mistress.

  Except for the Threefold Goddess in her third aspect of the Hag, or Crone, goddesses tended to be young or mature women. This one did not show wisdom or grace as statues of the aged Goddess did. This Hag was bent, leaning on a gnarled stick, grinning so widely that the onlooker could see that she had only a few teeth left. Her eyebrows were bushy; one of them was cut in two by the strip of an eye patch.

  Daine and Kitten stared at it, gape-mouthed, while Zek chittered his shock.

  “What is it?” asked Kaddar, bewildered. “Daine? What’s the matter?”

  “It’s—I think it is. I can’t say for sure, with her hood up, and being stone, not colored like a—”

  “What are you talking about?” Kaddar demanded.

  “Her. It’s—” She was about to say “the slave” when her throat closed off, and she half swallowed her tongue. She choked, then coughed until her eyes ran.

  “Are you all right?” The prince thumped her between the shoulder blades. “Would you like water, or something else to drink?”

/>   Daine shook her head. “I’m fine,” she gasped. “I was just going to say, that statue—”

  Coughs erupted, tearing at her throat. Both her nose and eyes ran this time. Whenever she thought she was better, each time she tried to explain about the resemblance between the slave and the Graveyard Hag, she began to hack as if she had lung disease. The explosions didn’t let up until Kaddar took her outside, into a garden. She sat on a bench and took deep breaths through her nose, while the prince went to find water for her.

  I know what this is, Daine thought furiously, clenching her teeth to stop the explosions. She thinks she can silence me this way. What I’m going to say to her the next time we meet . . .

  Who are you talking to? asked Zek, confused.

  Her. That—Hag these southerners worship. I’m coughing because she doesn’t want me telling Kaddar she’s been about!

  Then don’t say anything, if she doesn’t like it, Zek said. Our gods, Chrrik and Preet, don’t like us talking about them to outsiders.

  Daine blew her nose. Chrrik and Preet?

  Chrrik is the first male of the pygmy marmosets, explained Zek. Preet is his mate. They are very private gods.

  Daine ran a finger down the marmoset’s varicolored fur. That I can believe, she told him. But from all Numair has said this is not a private goddess, and she cannot play with me! I don’t know why she’s here and showing herself to me, but she can either let me speak out or leave me alone!

  She doesn’t only show herself to you, Zek pointed out. She was talking to the Big Stinker—Rikash—and to the rats.

  Kitten, following the conversation, nodded vigorously. The girl scowled. They were right. Moreover, Rikash had acted like the old lady was someone important.

  “And he didn’t tell me who she was,” she remarked aloud, her voice a croak. “Maybe he couldn’t. But why stop me from talking about her?”

  “What did you say?” Kaddar had returned. With him came a young slave bearing a tray, a pitcher, and two cups. “I thought grape juice might help.” At his nod, the boy put the tray on a nearby bench and poured juice for both of them. Once he presented the cups to Daine and Kaddar, the prince ordered, “Leave us, but don’t forget to return and clean this up.”

  “Thank you,” Daine told the boy with a smile. He bowed deeply and retreated, still bowing.

  “Perhaps your body reacted to the incense or flowers in the temples,” Kaddar remarked when Daine emptied her cup. “My life is a misery with sneezes and coughing at haying time, and my mother cannot be near roses without her eyes watering.”

  Daine knew her problem had a very different cause, but she appreciated his concern. “I feel better now, thank you,” she told him, thinking that seemingly she’d go on feeling better if she didn’t tell anyone their Hag was out and about!

  “No doubt you’re wondering about the temples.” He didn’t meet her eyes, but fiddled instead with his ruby-drop earring.

  “Perhaps folk here keep shrines in their homes?”

  Kaddar shook his head. “I wish I could explain. There is no good—never mind.”

  “What’s the matter?” Daine asked. “Is something bothering you?”

  Kaddar shook his head and put a finger to his lips. The girl frowned, not understanding. With a sigh, he reached up and tugged his ears. Pale green magical fire sparkled around his fingers.

  Magic? Ears? Daine thought, then remembered Duke Gareth’s warnings. “There’s no listening spells on us, Your Highness. Kitten wouldn’t allow it.”

  Kaddar frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Kit?”

  The dragon voiced an earsplitting whistle. Light flared, from the rubies at Kaddar’s nose and ear, from the etched and heavy silver ring on his left wrist.

  “So the only magic is on the things that glowed—is that so, Kit?” asked Daine. The dragon nodded. “Your jewels are magicked,” the girl told Kaddar.

  He covered his bracelet and the ruby drops with his hands. “Not by Uncle or his mages.”

  “What are they for?”

  He looked at her, tugging the drop. “Kitten really knows if there’s magic near?”

  Daine nodded. “If she feels it, she uses a sound to make it appear. Unless it’s invisibility or illusions—those she sees normally. She caught your uncle, our first night here, sneaking around the reception while he was invisible.”

  Kaddar took his hand from the bracelet. “Do you want to stay here?” he asked Kitten. “You’d have whatever you desire. Do you know how valuable she is, Daine? A creature that can tell when a spell is in place? Our nobles would give you her weight in diamonds.”

  “She’s not for sale,” replied Daine. “She’s her own self, and goes where she wants.”

  Kaddar sighed. “Oh, well. Did you know rubies are protective stones?” Daine nodded. “Mine ward me from the sendings of lesser mages, though they may not work against a powerful one. The bracelet works on drugs and poison in my food. Even if I eat them, the magic turns them harmless. That one was so costly my mother won’t tell what she paid the Shusini mage who made it. I think she sold family heirlooms to pay for it, but I don’t like to ask, because it’s saved me five times.”

  Daine shuddered. “What of the temples?” she asked, putting the subject of Kaddar’s close calls out of her mind for now. “You were going to say why they’re so neglected.”

  “My uncle decreed that, since the gods are eternal and his is not, the people should not spend their money on offerings, but on taxes. Anyone caught making an offering to a god is fined the cost of the item. The priests, all but one or two, and those the oldest, have been put to work for the empire as clerks and overseers. City temples fare somewhat better than the ones here, but even they don’t look their best anymore. On the other hand, the treasury is full. That’s all my uncle cares about—more gold for weapons, and the armies, and mages.” He seemed relieved to be able to criticize his uncle without fear of being overheard.

  They stood and followed a walk that led away from the Hag’s temple. “But people need to worship, don’t they? If they haven’t got someone to call on, someone bigger who helps them with their troubles, what can they hope for? All creatures need hope—two-leggers or beast-People.”

  “My uncle says if they need to worship someone, they can worship him.” Kaddar’s shoulders drooped. “He says that he can change or ruin their lives more quickly than gods bother to.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “But that’s fair crazy.”

  “You noticed.”

  For a long time they walked in silence, Daine mulling over what she’d learned. They reached the gardens that supplied the kitchens with common herbs, part of the working areas behind the palace.

  “We have a choice from here,” Kaddar said. “We can turn south and visit things like the wood shops, forges, stables, kennels, and so on. If we turn north, we’ll come to the training yards used by the nobles and bodyguards. The warhorses are stabled out that way. My friends should still be there, practicing their battle and hunting skills.”

  She had made him take her to the chapels, knowing he didn’t really want to go. “Why don’t we see the training yards?” Shielding her eyes to look up at him, she was rewarded by his grin.

  As he led her down the small roads that marked this area into neat squares, she asked, “Why were you so upset by those soldiers before?” The worry and concern that had marked him behind the Hag’s temple returned to his face, and she almost wished she’d kept quiet.

  “It’s a breach in custom,” he explained, nodding to the group of hostlers who bowed to him as they led horses past. “Traditionally, the army is forbidden to come closer than a mile to the palace. The men said the orders came from my uncle, who commanded regular small patrols through the palace and gardens, starting last night.” He shook his head.

  “Is that such a bad thing?” she wanted to know. “At home we have the King’s Own, the Guard, and the Queen’s Riders all quartered at the p
alace.”

  “Tortall’s armies have never had a habit of rebelling against its rulers—ours do. Evidently my uncle—” He looked at Kitten. “No one’s listening?” The dragon shook her head. “Thank you. My uncle doesn’t think he needs to be wary of the army. He looks more at certain nobles who have protested the state of things in the empire, and who live here. He should worry about the army. Too many officers come from conquered lands and have no reason to love any of us.”

  At the archery butts they found a handful of males their own age, practicing with short, double-curved bows. They were laughing, well-groomed young men, their skin ranging from tan to brown to black. All were dressed simply in brown, knee-length tunics and leather sandals. Their rank and wealth showed only in their jewelry—earrings, nose rings or nose buttons—and in the high quality of their weapons.

  When Daine stayed with the Queen’s Riders, she took a daily turn shooting with them, or with the guardsmen, pages, and squires. Now her hands fairly itched to try that short, well-made bow, but she was too shy to ask. Instead she watched, leaning on the fence that separated yard from street, as the youths joked and pummeled Kaddar. They didn’t appear to be in awe of the heir, but treated him as an equal. For a moment she saw Kaddar relax, becoming as carefree as any of them. The sight of his wide grin and dancing eyes told Daine how much on guard the Prince acted with her.

  As she waited, Zek climbed onto the fence to observe. Kitten wriggled under the bottom rail and sat up to watch. It was the flash of the dragon’s blue-gold scales that drew the attention of the young men. Kaddar, recalled to his duties, introduced Daine to everyone. The foreign names and titles flew in and out of her ears. She hoped no one expected her to remember all of this information, but nodded and smiled cautiously. She did not like the way they looked her over, bold eyes lingering on her face, her chest, and everything from the waist down.

  Of course, she thought, red-cheeked from embarrassment and irritation. They don’t usually see women with no veils, and in breeches.

  “Daine is from Tortall,” Kaddar said warningly, noticing the same thing that Daine had. “She came with the peace delegation to care for my uncles’ birds.”