And the old imperor! Emshandar had always been spoken of as a man of honor. He had been a good imperor, ruling as a man of peace although he had soldiered well in his youth. A man of law and justice. The elf had been very cruel in forcing him to cast the deciding vote and put his heart before his head.
Of course Kadolan had wanted Master Rap acquitted, and she had joined in the applause with everyone else, probably much more sincerely than most of the spectators. Yet somehow she had felt a wrongness, and almost a feeling of guilt. She felt like an accomplice to something shameful. Perhaps it was to be expected of so turbulent a day that the best news it could produce would be so flawed.
Inosolan had no such scruples. With a yell of delight she released Kadolan’s hand and pulled loose from Azak’s arm—for the sultan was being quite shamelessly attentive to her, like a love-sick boy—and went tearing over to embrace Master Rap. Kadolan was left standing between a gold candelabrum on one side and an almost equally tall sultan on the other, and she was not sure which was putting out more heat. She thought for a moment he was going to pursue his errant wife and drag her away bodily, but he restrained himself when he saw Master Rap evade the hug.
“Inosolan!” Azak bellowed, and Inos slunk back to him like a beaten dog.
Kadolan cringed. She was certain that Inos was going to refuse to share a room with her husband that night. There was going to be a most frightful scene. Azak was probably capable of using force, and even Imperial law was on his side there. Gods knew what Zarkian law would have to say on the matter. Why, oh, why had Master Rap been so pigheadedly honorable?
Frightful scene or not, surely the trial had ended and everyone could leave? Her feet and ankles were complaining bitterly that every day must end at last, even a day like this one. She peered around at the company—the wardens on their thrones, the haggard old imperor, gentlemen in red or white togas, or uniform, ladies in their white chitons. They all looked exhausted. What were they all waiting for?
Then she saw that everyone was studying either Rap or the warlock of the west. Both of them, in fact—they seemed to be glaring very hard at each other.
What was the wayward faun up to now? Cheeking a warlock?
If the God of Love Themselves had not decreed it, Kadolan would never have seen this boy as a suitable partner for Inos. He seemed to do the wrong thing so often. It wasn’t that he was headstrong—the Powers knew that Inosolan needed no tutoring or assistance in that direction! No, Master Rap so often seemed to act deliberately, and for the best possible reasons, and then commit the worst possible blunder. Disaster followed him like a black dog.
The staring match continued. That was the sort of silly game very small boys played, not young men. Not sorcerers, surely?
Then why did everyone seem to be holding their breath?
Abruptly the dwarf lurched down from his throne and reeled across the floor toward Rap. The warlock seemed to be drunk, or ill, and Master Rap remained paralyzed, the audience still spellbound. Kadolan glanced at Inos, and she obviously did not understand what was happening either. But this was no childish matter, clearly.
About two paces from Rap, the dwarf halted and raised great killer hands, as if about to attack him. But then he just stood for a moment, swaying on his feet, and suddenly the game seemed to be over. Both contestants started from the trance; both breathing heavily. Rap wiped an arm across his forehead. What had all that been about?
Then the elf explained. “Hail to our new warlock of the west!” he sang.
Inosolan jumped. So did Kade, despite her sore feet. Warlock?
Apparently not. Rap shouted out that he was no warlock. Now everyone seemed completely confused, even the wardens. Rap and Zinixo were back watching each other, but Rap at least was trying to make friends. He smiled. He held out a hand.
Then West accepted the handshake, vigorously. And not just a handshake—an abrazo as well? How disconcerting! She knew that in some times and places it was permissible for men to embrace one another, but she had thought that it was an elvish custom, not a dwarvish one.
Kadolan relaxed with a sigh of relief. Well, perhaps now the show was over and they could all go off to bed, please?
No—suddenly the day made another of its mad plunges into disaster.
Warlock Zinixo vanished, totally. Master Rap staggered back, clutching his head. The other three wardens all leaped to their feet, and Warlock Lith’rian clapped his hands over his ears.
That gesture . . .
Rap had done that just after Rasha had made him tell her a word of power, as if he had heard something mundanes could not.
Not a kiss. A whisper!
Rap spun around, looking at the imperor—who had fallen back in his seat, aghast—and then at the other three wardens in turn. And finally he turned to stare across at Inos, as if in farewell. His face was a mask of despair, and his eyes were already glowing with a pearly gray light.
It was a judgment—a judgment on the perverted judgment! The Gods had spoken!
Kadolan heard herself cry out. The Rotunda swayed and the rushing sound of rain was suddenly impossibly loud . . . Inosolan caught her, and Azak helped, and they lowered her to a sitting position on the floor, but then she resisted, refusing to lie down despite the spinning howl in her head.
Rap screamed.
So did several other people. His clothes were smoldering, smoking . . . fire trickled out from his collar. And suddenly he was engulfed in searing white flame.
Inosolan released Kade’s arm, and a second time she raced across the floor of the Rotunda to Rap. “Tell me!” she yelled as she went. “Share them! Dilute them!”
Impetuous as ever, she threw her arms around him and was enveloped in fire also. Her dress vanished in one flash. For a moment the pair of them were visible, two bodies locked in terrible embrace, blazing together, filling the Rotunda with light so noontimebrilliant that the candles seemed extinguished. Spectators raised hands to shield their eyes from the glare; the floor was striped black with their shadows and the shadows of the candelabra. The seats and distant walls sprang into view; the great stone ribs of the ceiling shone overhead, with every crystal pane reflecting back the incandescent lovers’ pyre through a gathering haze of white smoke.
Consumed, the bodies vanished, and the fire, also, and the Rotunda was plunged into Stygian dark.
Sacred flame:
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
Are all but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.
— Coleridge, Love
TEN
Bold lover
1
The midnight. sky was dusted with a myriad of bright stars. Slowly they grew brighter and larger, becoming candleflames and crystal droplets on the candelabra. A dull, faint light returned as eyes adjusted, although a greenish afterimage of the immolation still ached on the retinas. Shapes of gentlemen in togas materialized in the gloom, and two ladies came hurrying to Kadolan’s assistance.
“No, please!” she protested. “. . . standing a little too long. Quite all right . . . If you’ll just help me up . . .”
Marshal Ithy himself was at her side then, bringing the chair vacated by Princess Uomaya, and willing hands helped her into it. She felt a fool.
The Rotunda seemed very dark, still. The warlocks had vanished. The imperor was slumped on the Opal Throne, elbows on knees, face in hands. Dismay and fear ruled the court.
Gone? Inosolan gone? Rap gone?
Kadolan’s mind could not comprehend the tragedy. Surely the Gods could not be so cruel?
Voices began to rise as people demanded explanations. Azak’s harsh tones broke in, explaining what had happened.
Plop! Heads turned. Sudden silence. Inosolan was back.
She was standing exactly where she had been when she vanished, before the throne. The golden hair that had scorched away in flames was restored to its former glory; her sheer chiton hung again in soft folds, clinging daringly to her figure. Kadolan had watched that garment sear away to nothing, and the sandals, also.
Not a burn, not a scar . . .
Inosolan smiled vaguely and said, “Hello?”
The imperor looked up, incredulous. Others just stared.
Azak recovered first. He moved forward a few paces and then halted, peering at the apparition from a safe distance. “Inos?”
She blinked over at him as if still bewildered, her smile a trifle unfocused. ”Who else?”
“What happened there?” he demanded.