Shivering, he turned in his post horse and purchased an elderly gray mare at the livery stable. She had a forgiving disposition and a comfortable seat and her wind seemed sound. He named her Auntie, patting her neck apologetically when he had tightened the girths.
“I know it is no day to be traveling, old girl,” he said, wishing he dared use a little mastery to encourage her.
Auntie flicked her ears resignedly.
Where to? Soon he must decide between three possible destinations, although all of them were many hours’ ride away yet, for this was no meager city. He swung shakily up into the saddle.
Once Hub had been a hotbed of sorcery, a constant rumble in the ambience. Now it, too, was silent; or almost so. He knew that there were many occult contrivances in the city—magic doors, phantom watchdogs, bottomless wine bottles, and other such gimcrackery, cobbled together by sorcerers over the years as gifts for their friends, most like. He could still sense many of those gadgets clicking away in the background, but deliberate use of power seemed to have ended even here.
As Auntie trotted out of the yard, he heard a bell tolling in the distance. A few minutes later another joined in. He knew then that there was no use going to the palace today. The palace had never been a promising option anyway.
Waves of sound flowed out from the center until the whole capital reverberated with grief. One by one the other temples entered the sonorous chorus, a measured, mournful clamor that rapidly became a torment. The City of the Gods, the imps called Hub, meaning the City of Temples. Soon it was a madhouse of dolorous metallic clanging on all sides. Dogs howled crazily at the carillon and the very stones seemed to shake.
Rap thought of those ripples spreading across the frozen countryside, from hamlet to hamlet and town to town, outrunning the couriers until, they lapped the waters of three oceans. The Impire was paying tribute to Emshandar.
He was surprised at the intensity of the sorrow. As a sorcerer, he could smell grief in the air as clearly as he could see the whirling snow. Imps had a mystical loyalty to their imperor, like bees to a queen. They would mourn any imperor, no matter how brief or unpleasant his reign, and tonight they knew an age was passing. Even the imps of Krasnegar would mourn when the news arrived there, in the summer.
Gradually the streets cleared. Wagons and carriages seemed to disappear first, pedestrians became scarce and then rare. Soon the snow was falling almost undisturbed. Auntie’s hooves thumped a muffled note on the deepening blanket, barely detectable through the endless tolling of the bells.
As dusk fell, windows darkened. Obviously the mourning city was going to show no lights, not even the door lamps that the wealthy maintained as a public service to brighten the streets.
Rap wondered how footpads and cutthroats viewed their civic duty on such occasions.
His choice was clear now. Sagorn must wait—if he and his gang were even in town. Rap headed for the center, the abodes of the rich and the aristocracy, where the Epoxague mansion was.
2
Take your wife and your child and begone, for the city is no longer safe . . . To Eshiala, the words seemed to echo and echo, round and around the dome. Maya was in danger!
Momentarily blinded by the explosions and the sudden darkness after, she groped wildly for the side of the Opal Throne to steady herself. She opened her mouth to speak to Shandie, but Shandie was already barking commands to others.
Maya in danger? The thought was crippling. She was only a baby; her second birthday was just past; but she was a royal baby, second in line to . . . No! Minutes ago her father had become imperor, making Maya heiress presumptive, the princess imperial, first in line.
And she herself was the impress. Gods preserve me! “Come, my dear!” Shandie swung his cloak up to cover her, also, in a useless gesture. He hugged one arm around her tightly, urging her down the steps to the floor. Then he rushed her toward the door.
“What did . . . Who was . . .” She struggled to collect her thoughts, for she had so many questions that she did not know what to ask first. The floor was littered with gravel and rubble and she still could barely see. Being entangled in Shandie’s cloak and tight embrace didn’t help. “What did that dwarf mean about . . .” She stumbled.
“Careful, my love!” Shandie said. “Here, I’ll carry you . . . ” She started to say that if he would stop wrestling her around and perhaps just hold her hand, things would be a lot easier, but he tried to lift her just as he himself stumbled on a pebble, which rolled. He almost fell, pulling her down with him. She broke loose from his grip and now she could see better where they were going, too. She clung to his arm and then they proceeded in a more sensible fashion.
“Why did that dwarf say Maya was in danger?”
“I don’t know. Gods, look at that!” On the platform where the Red Throne had stood until two minutes ago, now only a few fragments of rock remained. The rest had been blasted to gravel and spread over the Rotunda. The base itself was cracked. “Can you imagine how old that thing was?”
Did he really think she would care, when Maya was in danger?
They hastened around the remains, plunging into the gloomy tunnel beyond, almost running. She was glad she was wearing sensible shoes, or he really would have to carry her.
“That was the warlock?” she demanded.
“Yes, that was the . . . Well, I suppose it was! Nobody else would dare, would they? Ah! Legate!”
“Sire!” A large man in glittering armor fell into step on Shandie’s other side, and all three rushed along together. Shandie began rattling orders again. “Her Majesty and I are going to the personal quarters. Send a contingent to Oak House—”
“No!” Eshiala shouted. “We are going.to Oak House. Or I am at least!”
“Beloved—”
“I want my baby!”
“Oh, very well!” Shandie said, sounding surprised by this sudden rebellion. “We’ll go around by Oak House and pick up the child ourselves. My signifer has orders, but he’ll need your assistance . . . and of course I want to see you as soon as you have organized this madhouse . . .”
They burst out into daylight and falling snow. Armored men were everywhere, with a coach waiting. Shandie handed her up ahead of him, which was a breach of protocol she supposed, but a welcome gesture. He leaped in himself and the horses were moving even before the door closed.
He settled beside her and peered, as if looking for damage. “Are you all right, my dear?”
“Of course I’m all right! Except that I want my baby and I want to know what the danger is!”
She had never spoken to him like that before. “You are very brave! ” he said.
Brave? Whatever the danger, the two of them were running away—that required no courage. She did not feel brave. She felt worried about Maya and . . . and very relieved that the awful ceremony was over. She was no longer on display. The time for bravery had passed, as far as she was concerned, but she could never expect Shandie to understand that.
Wheels and hooves made strangely muffled sounds in the snow. Even the jingle of harness seemed hushed and the splendid hussars themselves rode without sound.
“I want to know what the danger is!” she said again.
“So do I.” Shandie’s expression was grim as winter, but it was directed at the front of the carriage, not at her.
“The wardens . . . Why only two?”
He shook his head impatiently, as if he wanted peace to think. “I don’t know! They wrangle among themselves all the time, but . . .”
“But?”
“But they would never wreck the Rotunda like that over any normal squabble.” He fell silent. She studied him with growing annoyance. Why would he never share his thoughts with her? Why must he shut her out of state business and treat her like a porcelain doll? True, she had no real interest in politics, but a husband and wife must have something in common, apart from the bare-legs-in-the-bed thing. She would gladly listen, if he would only speak!
The carriage pitched and rocked as it rushed down the hill from the Rotunda, through palace grounds already deserted. Emshandar V, Imperor of Pandemia. Impress Eshiala! Suddenly he looked around at her, his dark eyes intent. ”Oh, my love! I promised you wealth and power and adoration . . . and now I seem to have brought you exile and danger.”