“Water?” said the emperor. “Is that all-?”
“Hush, father,” said Delia, whereat I smiled alarmingly.
The withered brown lips were somehow coaxed into receiving some of the milky fluid from the Sacred Pool of Baptism of the River Zelph in far Aphrasoe. Delia poured a golden cupful, and we helped Queen Lush to lift herself, and Delia coaxed her gently. The crone moaned and slobbered and much of the priceless fluid ran down that withered witch-like chin.
“How much, my heart, do you think?”
“I do not know. But Yantong is a mighty powerful devil of a wizard. Give her plenty. Better more than less.”
“You are right.” Together we fed the magical fluid, sip by sip.
The emperor rocked back. He was shaking. His eyes opened wide. “By the sweet sake of Opaz!”
“Yes, father,” said Delia, impatiently, “and don’t jog the cup. You have wasted two mouthfuls.”
For Queen Lushfymi changed. The lines and wrinkles sloughed away and her skin took on that smooth peach bloom. Dark tint suffused the stringy white hair; slowly it resumed that lustrous darkness that shone with blue-black light. Her body filled, her shrunken flesh restoring that voluptuous outline, the skeletal claws firming to the shapely hands with which she gestured so gracefully. In not too long a time Queen Lush glowed seductively before us, fully restored to beauty.
“My love-” She turned those limpid violet eyes on the emperor. Delia blinked and smiled. “How can I thank you? You have made me — made me myself again-”
“It was not me, my queen. Rather, thank the wild leem Dray Prescot — and my daughter Delia.”
She took Delia’s hand in hers. The reconciliation would have been most affecting; but the sound of conflict and shouting and the screams of wounded and dying men burst savagely in. I stood up.
“There is work to be done — but, emperor, we’re finished here. You must discharge the mercenaries in honor and then we must leave.”
“There is no airboat-”
“I shall arrange that.”
He stood up and faced me. We stood looking at each other for a heartbeat. Kov Lykon and the Lord Farris — who was a kov, also — burst in. “The devils are through the Peral Gate! We must pull back-”
“I am coming,” I said. “We will hold them at the Wall of Larghos Risslaca.” That was dangerously close to the very heart of the palace.
“Hold!” The emperor spoke thunderously. He bore down on them all, imperious. “I may die soon. I do not know. But this I swear as my testament. Long have I held my son-in-law in contempt as a clansman and, also, regarded highly his skill at arms, his boorishness which he calls integrity. He is a Hyr-Jikai-”
“Get on with it,” I said. “I’m going out there to bash-”
“Wait! Should I die, then you, Dray Prescot, will be Emperor of Vallia. Witness this testament of my will, all of you. This thing will be — will be, by my decree.”
“You won’t die yet, emperor,” I said. And then, in the heat of the moment, burst out: “Sink me! You’ve a thousand years of life yet. Now — let us go and bash a few skulls.”
Delia ran swiftly out with me and I turned on her and bellowed: “I don’t want you fighting on the walls!
Stay with your father and keep him company.”
“You told him. A thousand years of life — he’ll want to-”
“Later, my heart-”
That little fight proved harder than those preceding as we held the Hamalese on the walls, pulling back to the Wall of Larghos Risslaca and shooting down on the rasts as they raced with their scaling ladders. We halted them. It was hard. But the next onslaught would be harder still to halt. I went back to see the emperor. I found him gazing at Queen Lush as though dyspeptic — and realized my ill humor was affecting my judgment. I had to hold up. The emperor would live a thousand years, and with Queen Lush at his side could be kept out of my hair. The future looked promising, if we could escape the here and now.
“Those cramphs of Hamal have fliers out there,” I said without preamble. “They build them well for themselves. I’ll fetch one. Meantime, arrange to discharge our paktuns and mercenaries. As for the Crimson Bowmen, they are mercenaries, also, and should be discharged. Make the compact that we must leave in safety, all we Vallians. Do this.”
Queen Lush said: “And — me-?”
“You’re a Vallian now, by intention of marriage. And we’ll take Lome back for you. There is little time. And, while I am gone, emperor — stay out of trouble.”
“A thousand — what did you mean?”
“Delia may explain, if she will. Just make sure you stay alive to enjoy it. With my blessings.” I ran out. Kissing Delia, I said as I let her go: “Take care of yourself.”
In a much lighter frame of mind I took myself off through secret tunnels I had used before. Vondium was a buzzing hive of danger; but there at least I could strike out freely. I felt a keen pleasure that Delia’s father was proving himself more human day by day. He wouldn’t change, of course, so much as actually come to like me. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was Vallia — and the country was in a sorry, blood-soaked state at the moment. Once Phu-si-Yantong got his hooks firmly wedged into the country people would realize they had seen nothing yet.
Outside the palace I dodged like a grundal from bush to bush of some ornamental gardens, got across a canal, insinuated myself past a group of wounded Hamalese and so, in the guise of an irregular mercenary hired to the Empress Thyllis, set off for the fliers. They were easy enough to spot. Only at the last moment, as we lifted into the air, was there any trouble. Some old oily rags in the voller served to wipe the longsword clean.
Skimming low over the ground, taking the voller in racing curves around temples and over villa walls, I avoided detection from the air. Ahead the massive bulk of the palace lifted. I looked up. Casting down twin shadows onto the white walls, rank after rank of fliers slanted in for the palace. I knew them.
Trylon Udo and his Hawkwas smashed in to strike the final blows.
And then, beyond the armada from the Northeast, another fleet hove into view. They were not as many. They flew the flags of Kov Layco Jhansi. He was the emperor’s chief pallan. I did not give a cheer; but I felt like shouting in glee.
Among the fliers with Jhansi were many whose flagstaffs flew treshes of checkerboarded ochre and umber, the colors of Falinur. I frowned, suddenly. Layco Jhansi was supposed to be fighting the rebellious Falinurese. It looked as though he was in alliance with them. I sent the voller hurtling flat out for the palace, treachery stinking in my nostrils.
All was confusion in and around the palace.
That frowning pile had become the centerpiece for all the vindictive hatred, the scheming, the vengeance, the sheer outright deviltry of all those attacking Vondium and seeking to claw down the emperor. The voller leaped across the sky. Quarrels spat toward me. Varter-driven rocks hissed past my head. Now smoke and flames rose from the bewildering maze of domes and towers of the palace. The unceasing shrilling of fighting men beat a diapason to the bright sky. The suns passed across the heavens, and cast down their mingled streaming light, and an empire went down in flames and blood. Into a niche high along a flower-hung balcony I dropped the voller with a precision of handling that would have pleased Delia, who had taught me my flying. I leaped out. Smoke blew chokingly across from a burning roof. In a courtyard below men fought and struggled and died. I saw the colors. I raced away, leaping down well-remembered stairs, haring for Delia.
Faction against faction — hatreds and jealousies were tearing the heart out of the empire. Those colors down there — Jhansi’s men fought them both, and the Hamalese fought all. It was a madness. Blood clotted the bright tapestries and fouled the priceless carpets. I raced along the corridors and so came, at last, to where Laka Pa-Re and his Pachaks fought the last great fight. The longsword flamed, striking this way and that in the vicious yet fully controlled fighting technique of the Krozairs of Zy. Hamalese fell away. A group of Hawkwas surged up, screeching, and together, the Pachaks and I, we bested them and drove them off, running.
Chuktar Pola Je-Du was wounded, a slashing gash across his shoulder armor, where the plates hung down broken. His face showed only firm resolve.
“Pola — you have not been discharged from your nikobi?”
“No, prince. We fight to the end.”
