The Serpent Bride Read online

  “I loathe it that he has one of the spires,” said Eleanon, speaking of the glass pyramids. “If I’d known you would give one to that vile creature, then none of us would have consented to give them to you.”

  “He does not know what it is,” said Lister. “He has no means at all to comprehend it. But to the real news. Isaiah has brought Axis SunSoar back from the Otherworld. All on his own.” Lister gave a little laugh. “I’d never thought Isaiah would have the initiative to do something like that. How do you feel about it, Eleanon? The legendary StarMan back from the dead?”

  “He means nothing to me.”

  Lister gave him a long look. “Of course not. And he is, after all, so far away. But what if, Eleanon—just suppose, if you please—one day Axis thought to command you?”

  “I answer only to you, Lister.”

  Lister gave a small smile, and then a nod. “And, of course…?”

  “And, of course, to the Lord of Elcho Falling.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Palace of Aqhat, Tyranny of Isembaard

  Axis enjoyed Ba’al’uz’ absence. Without Ba’al’uz’ sly, insidious terror, the entire palace relaxed: servants smiled as they went about their daily duties, the frogs who lived on the reed banks of the River Lhyl sang more melodiously, the sun shone less fiercely, and Isaiah spent less time at his official duties and more time at leisure, when Axis could join him.

  One of the first things Axis noticed was that, in the weeks following Ba’al’uz’ departure, he was allowed far more liberty to move about the palace and its surrounds. Guards were either unobtrusive or utterly absent. Axis still could not ride out into the countryside by himself, but in all other respects he was given the freedom of Aqhat.

  Axis did not abuse the privilege. There was nowhere he wished to “escape” to, anyway. His family, everyone he loved, existed in a world other than this, and Axis did not fret for them. They were safe, and he believed that Azhure would know something of where he was. She would not fret, either, although Axis was sure she missed him.

  He most certainly missed her companionship and love. Not desperately, but it was a constant ache in his otherwise peaceful existence at Aqhat. To counter it, Axis spent hours each night writing Azhure long letters about what he’d done during the day, and his observations of Isaiah and of Isembaardian life in general. Axis had never been a great wordsmith. When he was BattleAxe and then StarMan, the pen had always been Axis’ least favorite weapon of choice. Indeed, he’d hardly written anything save the occasional battle order, and he and Azhure had always been able to communicate by more magical means than letters during their occasional absences from each other. But now Axis found a great serenity in writing, and found himself enjoying playing with words, and expanding his literary skills.

  Most of all, though, Axis found it beneficial to order his experiences and thoughts. The mere process of revising his day onto paper deepened his experiences: he remembered odd comments or sights that he might otherwise have forgotten, and was able to glean new insights in relating individual experiences to each other.

  Once Axis had finished a letter, he carefully folded it, wondering what Azhure might think of what he’d written: how her interpretation of his experiences might differ from his, how she’d laugh over some amusing incident…or his cumbersome prose. The closing of the letter, and his imagining of Azhure’s reaction to its contents, was the sweetest moment of the entire process, and one he looked forward to greatly.

  Then, once it was folded and sealed, Axis left the letter on the table in his chamber and went to bed, accompanied by the agreeable chorus of the frogs coming in the window.

  In the morning, every morning, the previous night’s letter would be gone.

  Axis didn’t know where the letters went. Perhaps, by some magic, they were actually transported to Azhure’s hand. More prosaically (and far more likely), Isaiah had a servant creep in during the night and remove the letter to Isaiah’s hand. Axis often had a quiet laugh to himself, imagining Isaiah secreting himself away in a corner somewhere to read what Axis had written, and he wondered if Isaiah kept the letters, or burned each one once he’d read it.

  Whatever the reason—Ba’al’uz’ absence or Axis’ letters—he and Isaiah were becoming closer. They spent many evenings together, and days were spent riding out across the plains to the east. More important, Isaiah began to include Axis into his public persona as tyrant.

  One day Isaiah asked Axis to attend him in his privy chamber in the third hour after dawn. Axis was curious. Isaiah had kept Axis very much in his personal sphere to this point, but Axis knew that the privy chamber was where Isaiah met with his generals and governors, as well as other high-ranking officials, and where he conducted the day-to-day business of the Tyranny.

  From his time spent with Isaiah, as well as occasional discussions with other household officials, Axis had gleaned that Isaiah, as all tyrants before him, governed his vast empire via the twin mechanisms of military generals and civil governors. Each dependency of the Tyranny was administered by a governor who reported directly to Isaiah, either in person three or four times a year, or via one of the governor’s most senior and trusted aides. The entire tyranny was also coadministered by Isaiah’s vast military. There was a similar number of generals to governors, and the generals played as important a role in the daily administration of each dependency as the governors.

  Axis thought it an unwieldy system, and one designed to create frustrations between the governors and the generals, but he understood its necessity as far as Isaiah was concerned. Infighting between governors and generals meant that Isaiah could the more easily maintain control over men otherwise more than likely to challenge him.

  The generals were there to keep the governors in order, the governors there to inform on the generals and their troop movements.

  From what Isaiah had said to him—or, rather, from what Axis had inferred from what Isaiah had not said—a tyrant spent most of his reign trying to outmaneuver his generals. They were the main threat to his throne. Any perceived weakness on the part of the tyrant, and the generals might think themselves strong enough to move against him. Isaiah was already in a vulnerable position, having lost his initial campaign of conquest against the Eastern Independencies, thus his generals watched him with constantly speculative eyes.

  Axis could only imagine how desperately Isaiah was needing to succeed in his invasion of the kingdoms north of the FarReach Mountains. Fail there, and he would lose both throne and life.

  A soldier escorted him to Isaiah’s chamber. It was set high in the palace, with airy views over the Lhyl and the plains beyond.

  The one window that would have given view directly onto DarkGlass Mountain was kept shuttered.

  Isaiah was already there, as were his five senior generals, and Isaiah introduced Axis.

  “Axis SunSoar,” said Isaiah, “of Tencendor. Its StarMan. I know you have heard his tale.”

  Axis repressed a grin as he nodded at each of the five men in turn. That single pronouncement of Isaiah’s had rendered them speechless. Axis had no idea why the generals had been called to conference with Isaiah, but he wagered they had not thought to meet a redundant legend. As he made eye contact with each one, he tried to evaluate them.

  The eldest and most experienced general was a white-haired but tall and fit man called Ezekiel, who had commanded for Isaiah’s father as well. He had tight, watchful eyes, but Axis thought Ezekiel was possibly too old now to try for power himself. Nonetheless, he might prove an invaluable ally for someone else’s attempt.

  Axis thought that attempt was most likely to come from the three generals in mid-age: Morfah, Kezial, and Lamiah. They looked tough and experienced, but were young enough to hunger for power.

  Axis wondered if they spent more time watching each other than eyeing Isaiah for any possible weakness.

  He distrusted the youngest of the generals, Armat, the most. Axis had heard from Isaiah earlier that Armat had only rec
ently joined the ranks of the generals, and had the least experience of the five men. He was also, judging by the calculation in his dark eyes, the most ambitious. That ambition was combined with inexperience meant Armat was potentially the most dangerous. Where the others might hold back, Armat might well leap forward.

  It was Armat who stated what every one of the generals was thinking.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said.

  “As I was,” Axis said, knowing what Isaiah needed him to say, “until Isaiah pulled me out of my afterlife and back into this world. Your tyrant is a powerful man, gentlemen, with many hidden abilities.”

  As one, the generals all shifted their gaze to Isaiah, who shrugged as if the matter was not even worth the discussion.

  “A small trick,” Isaiah said, “taught to me by an old and wise man, many years ago.”

  Now the generals all exchanged glances between themselves, and Axis almost smiled.

  Isaiah was a good manipulator.

  “Why resurrect a dead man?” said Ezekiel. “One who has lived his life.”

  Axis repressed a grin. That last sentence of Ezekiel’s translated directly to “an old and useless legend.”

  “I felt myself in need of an impartial advisor,” Isaiah said, moving to a table where several maps and sheaves of documents were spread out. “One who could step into any of your shoes”—his eyes slipped over the five generals—“should I be so unfortunate as to lose any one of you. You are all, naturally, aware of Axis’ stunning prowess as a military commander.”

  Stars, thought Axis, now I shall have to look out for the knife in my back, as well!

  He happened to catch Ezekiel’s glance, and was surprised to see amusement dancing there. Axis instantly revised his earlier estimation of him, thinking that the man might prove a worthwhile ally one day.

  Ezekiel was true to Isaiah and would support no rebellion against the tyrant.

  “To matters at hand,” Isaiah said, waving the generals forward to the table. “We need to discuss our preparations for invasion. Reports?”

  For the next half an hour each general gave a terse summary of the current state of readiness. At this point, approximately a year away from actual invasion, the emphasis was on gathering new recruits, training, and stockpiling equipment and supplies.

  Axis was stunned by the size of the army that Isaiah was gathering—it would be at least half a million men, and probably much, much larger.

  “I would also like to raise the subject of resettlement at this time,” Isaiah said.

  “Resettlement?” Axis said, then apologized for his interruption.

  “Whenever a tyrant gathers to himself a new dependency,” Ezekiel said, “he ensures its ‘loyalty’ by moving into its territories large numbers of Isembaardians to settle the new lands.” He looked at Isaiah. “But this is not normally something we plan until our victory is assured.”

  “Consider my victory assured,” Isaiah snapped, “and consider it time to begin the planning for resettlement now.” He pulled a map toward him, then tapped the upper corner of it. “The northwest of the Tyranny—the FarReach and En-Dor Dependencies—are poor and their peoples struggling,” he said. “They shall be happy to remove themselves to the gentler and more fertile pastures of the Outlands or the Central Kingdoms above the FarReach Mountains.”

  The five generals just stared at him.

  “But—” Morfah began.

  “You will be responsible for their organization, Morfah,” said Isaiah, “together with Ezekiel. Unless you both feel yourselves incapable.”

  No one said anything, but again there were hurried glances among the generals.

  “Or unless you wish me to bring someone else back from death to deal with it for you,” Isaiah said.

  “Your order,” said Ezekiel in a smooth, calm voice, “is as always my command. Let us not disturb the dead any more than we need to. Morfah and I will see to it, Excellency. At what point after the invasion do you wish the peoples of En-Dor and the FarReach dependencies to begin the long trek north into—”

  “They shall move with the invasion,” Isaiah said. “Thus they shall need to be informed now that new lands await them and they need to begin making preparations for their journey north.”

  “With the invasion?” Lamiah said, adding almost as an afterthought, “Excellency?”

  “The Outlands and Central Kingdoms are very far away from the main bulk of the Tyranny,” said Isaiah. “They need to be settled as rapidly as possible. The peoples of the En-Dor and FarReach Dependencies shall follow directly behind the main military convoy.”

  “They are not going to be happy to be ordered from their homelands,” Morfah muttered.

  “Then your silver tongue shall be needed to persuade them,” Isaiah said. “And persuade them you will, Morfah…Ezekiel.”

  They both gave small, stiff bows of acquiescence.

  “Together with the army and the settlers,” Axis said once the five generals had left, “how many people will there be in the convoy, Isaiah?”

  “A million, maybe a little more.”

  Axis could say nothing for a moment. A million people? “The logistics…” he said.

  “Are a nightmare,” said Isaiah. “No wonder I needed you back from death to advise and aid me, eh? I cannot be everywhere at once.”

  Axis just shook his head. A million people. He couldn’t escape the feeling that Isaiah was heading directly for his second military fiasco.

  Stars alone knew what the generals were thinking.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  West of Pelemere, Central Kingdoms

  They had been on the road for weeks, and Maximilian was enjoying the freedom. He appreciated the chance to catch up with old friends. He knew all the kings of the Central Kingdoms, some better than others. Malat, who ruled over Kyros, was a good friend, and his son, Borchard, an even better one. Maximilian had enjoyed his four-day stay in Kyros immensely, although the good-natured prenuptial ribbing of Borchard was something he was thankful to escape.

  He worried a little about leaving Escator, but that worry was mainly engendered by guilt at enjoying his freedom so greatly. The Privy Council were capable enough of managing the kingdom’s daily affairs, and all would manage nicely without him.

  Some of Maximilian’s enjoyment began to pall as they drew closer to Pelemere. Ishbel was near, an equal distance to the east of Pelemere, according to the report of a passing Icarii, as he was to the west, and now all of Maximilian’s attention was focused on their meeting.

  What would she truly be like, this serpent bride? What was her purpose: to become his wife and bear his children, or to deliver a darker message into his life?

  Together with his increasing anxiety about Ishbel, Maximilian was also growing a little irritable with the constant company. Garth and Egalion were his close friends, and he knew the men of the Emerald Guard intimately. While he enjoyed their company, Maximilian was so solitary by nature, a trait exacerbated by his seventeen-year imprisonment, that he found the constant company trying. He found himself dreaming about pushing his horse into a gallop across a vast plain, seeing nothing but the gently rolling grasslands ahead of him, enjoying no company save that of his horse, having to respond to nothing more than the sun on his face and the wind in his hair.

  And soon he would have a wife.

  Six days out of Pelemere, Maximilian’s rising anxiety and irritation combined to push him to a sudden decision.

  “Egalion,” he said, as they dismounted for the evening, “I am going to take a few stores, and a bedding roll, and ride off by myself for a few days.”

  “Maximilian—”

  “I need to get away, Egalion. Just by myself. Just for a few days. You know how…”

  Maximilian’s voice drifted away, and Egalion nodded. Yes, he knew “how.” Maximilian had spent seventeen years chained to a gang of men, and Egalion knew that sometimes it seemed to Maximilian as if those chains had never vanished.

 
; “You need to keep safe,” Egalion said.

  “I don’t need a guard.” Maximilian’s voice was sharp.

  “I won’t send men to shadow you, Maximilian. But keep safe.”

  Maximilian tried a small smile, which didn’t quite manage to warm into life. “What part of the world can be more boring, more safe, than the western plains of Pelemere, my friend?”

  Garth had wandered over and had heard enough of the conversation to know what was happening. “Maxel?”

  “The hanging wall,” Maximilian said, referring to the ceiling of rock that had hung over him for so much of his life, “is bearing down on me, just a little too much. Let me go, Garth.”

  Garth and Egalion exchanged a glance, then Garth nodded. “Keep safe, Maxel.”

  “I will rejoin you a day outside of Pelemere.”

  Maximilian stepped back, his eyes holding those of Egalion and Garth for just a moment; then he vanished into the gloom of dusk.

  Maximilian pushed his horse for five hours into the night, angling a little northeast of the route Egalion, Garth, and the Emerald Guard would take, until the animal was almost dropping from weariness. He halted in the shelter of a small grove, made his horse comfortable, then gathered enough dry wood for a fire.

  Maximilian felt exhausted himself, but he knew he would not sleep.

  There was something he wanted to do.

  He just didn’t know what Ishbel represented. Contentment, or the ruination of peace? Maximilian wasn’t even sure that meeting her would solve the puzzle: Ishbel was likely to be an enigma not easily explained within the first five minutes of acquaintance.

  Once the fire was blazing, Maximilian set out some food…then ignored it.

  He would eat once he was finished.

  Pushing the food to one side, he slid the Persimius ring from his left hand, then took the queen’s ring from his cloak pocket. Holding them loosely in his hand for a moment, Maximilian took a deep breath, then set them down, slightly apart from each other, before the fire. The Whispering Rings could do more than just set his day on edge with their irritating chat.