The Grand Ellipse Part 58

"Well, take heart. A year or so of penance in the chilly wilds of Rhazaulle should properly atone for your blundering, and after that my intercession with the imperior will serve to curtail your exile."

"I do not ask your intercession, Grandlandsman. I do not want it."

"Ah? You prefer a more protracted expiation? Or perhaps you seek to bury your errors in Rhazaullean obscurity?"

"I do not acknowledge specific errors, nor with all the benefits of hindsight would I alter the decisions I made throughout the course of the race. If my reputation has suffered, I will repair it by means of my own efforts."

"Indeed. You cannot know how pleased I am to hear you say so."

Karsler glanced at his uncle. The grandlandsman was smiling with an air of inexplicable approval. The apparent cordiality was uncharacteristic and disquieting. He waited.

"You look as if you've swallowed a bayonet. I a.s.sure you, I mean what I say. Your desire to restore the full l.u.s.ter of the Stornzof name delights me, for the opportunity to do so is at hand. You will redeem yourself fully in the eyes of the world this very night. Listen, and I will explain."

THE DOOR OPENED, and Luzelle rose instantly from the couch. King Miltzin IX stepped into the room and she swept a low curtsy. Chancing a quick glance up at him, she saw that his protuberant eyes were fixed attentively on her neckline. She stood, and the eyes dragged themselves from her chest to her face.

"Miss Devaire. I am so very delighted to meet you at last. Allow me to extend my warmest congratulations together with my deepest admiration." Smiling, he extended both hands.

She did not know what she was supposed to do. In antic.i.p.ation of this meeting she had studied some Lower Hetzian courtly etiquette, but nothing in the books had prepared her for such casual spontaneity. Acting on instinct, she offered up her own two hands, which were accepted at once. He drew her to him, kissed her warmly on the cheek, and released her. His walrus moustache tickled and she fought down the nervous urge to giggle. She caught the odors of expensive cologne and hair pomade.

Not such a bad start. She must have made a good impression. "Your Majesty honors me," she murmured.

"Nonsense, my dear, you grace us with your presence. Do you know," the king inquired, "that I was certain from the moment I first set eyes on you at city hall that you would be the winner? The morning the race began, I looked at you standing there so radiantly resolute, and I just knew. Occasionally I am blessed with such flashes of insight, and they never lead me astray."

"Sire, you astound me," Luzelle confessed. "At the start of the Grand Ellipse I stood in the midst of the racers. I never dreamed that Your Majesty had favored me with your notice."

"Ah, you do not know your own power. My dear, you are all but impossible to overlook. It was all I could do that day to prevent myself from staring, and this evening such an effort is entirely beyond me."

"Your Majesty is most gracious." She lowered her eyes becomingly.

"Not at all, I speak the simple truth." Miltzin planted himself on the damask couch. "Come, my dear Miss Devaire-ah, ruination, but that's so distant, so chilly. I hope you'll not take it amiss if I address you as Luzelle. That is far more cordial, is it not?"

"If it please Your Majesty."

"Indeed it does. Come then, my dear Luzelle-sit here beside me. Let us talk, let us discover one another."

She seated herself with care; not close enough to appear brazen, nor so far away as to seem entirely unapproachable.

"Champagne?"

"Thank you, Sire."

The small table before the couch supported a big silver cooler containing two iced bottles, a pair of long-stemmed flutes, and a doc.u.ment elaborately stamped and sealed. Miltzin IX filled the gla.s.ses, handed one to Luzelle, and proposed gallantly, "To victory."

Whose? she wondered. Gla.s.s clinked on gla.s.s, and she took a small, careful swallow. Not the time to be muddling her head. she wondered. Gla.s.s clinked on gla.s.s, and she took a small, careful swallow. Not the time to be muddling her head.

"Ah. Before I forget." He picked up the doc.u.ment and handed it to her. "There, my dear. The writ of enn.o.blement, spoils of the conqueror. Conqueress? I cannot sort it out. Suffice it to say there is no one I will recognize with greater pleasure as a peeress of Lower Hetzia."

"Thank you. It is too great a reward, far more than I deserve. Sire, I am overwhelmed." She scanned the doc.u.ment, which was written in Hetzian, a language she comprehended imperfectly, and further complicated with convoluted legal phrases. The royal stamp and seal were elaborately authentic. All in all, an impressive piece of parchment, but what exactly was she supposed to do with it for the rest of the evening?

"But how thoughtless of me." Miltzin evidently noted her dilemma. "This will be delivered to your hotel tomorrow morning."

"Your Majesty is as considerate as you are generous. I am grateful beyond expression." She smiled prettily and wondered how to work the conversation around to the subject of Sentient Fire.

King Miltzin furnished unwitting a.s.sistance. Refilling his empty gla.s.s, he urged with enthusiasm, "And now, my very dear Baroness Luzelle, you must relate the tale of your Grand Ellipse adventures. I've caught a few of the stories at second hand, and they're tremendous. But now I would hear the true and accurate version, straight from the lovely lips of the winner herself."

Bless him, he was making it easy.

"Sire, I'll try not to weary you." She meditated a moment and then commenced, "Perhaps it's best to begin in occupied Lanthi Ume, where the local resistance continues to battle the forces of the Imperium. Just at the time I arrived, the Grewzians were engaged in executing a prominent, popular Lanthian citizen-an elderly gentleman who had been badly beaten, loaded with iron chains, and was subsequently dropped through a hole in the dock to drown in full view of his countrymen-"

"Did you actually see this with your own eyes?"

"I did."

"But how distressing!"

"It gets worse. The spectacle of the old gentleman's murder," Luzelle resumed, "incensed the spectators, and there was some public outcry to which the Grewzians responded by firing on a crowd of unarmed civilians. I myself was in that crowd. The bullets pa.s.sed so close that I fancied I'd been hit. A young boy, little more than a child, standing not an arm's length from me was killed outright."

"Gad, what an episode!"

"Lanthians fell by the score, and even as they tried to flee the dock, the Grewzians went on shooting them down."

"Unnecessary. Absolutely unnecessary."

"Such was my conclusion, Sire. Later that same day," Luzelle continued, "I was contacted by several members of that ancient Lanthian society of savants known as the Select, who offered a.s.sistance in the form of an arcane conveyance, a sorcerous gla.s.s of transference-"

"Marvelous!"

"But even as the savants transported me and several others from the city of Lanthi Ume, the Grewzian soldiers burst into the secret meeting place and opened fire. I don't believe that any of the Lanthians survived."

"What an unconscionable waste of talent. These Grewzians are running amok. I wonder if Cousin Ogron quite realizes?"

"Sire, I've scarcely begun to tell you all I've seen." Luzelle spoke on. She told of natives tortured by the Grewzians in Xoxo, and of frightful abuses of power in Jumo Towne. She described the ma.s.sacre and the Grewzian atrocities she had witnessed in Rhazaulle, the ugly incidents in the Mid-Duchies, and finally delivered a calculatedly incendiary account of the Grewzian violence inflicted upon innocent civilians in Upper Hetzia, only a few scant miles from His Majesty Miltzin's own borders.

The king's gra.s.shopper eyes rounded as he listened. He sat quite still, his champagne gla.s.s forgotten on the table before him. She had definitely claimed his full attention; in fact, he appeared almost spellbound.

Her narrative concluded. She had daubed the Grewzians in the ugliest colors her verbal palette contained and, she hoped, obliged the king to view them through her eyes. She surveyed him. His expression was not easily a.n.a.lyzed. She decided that he looked stunned.

"Extraordinary," Miltzin conceded in a hushed tone.

She had moved him. Time to exploit that advantage.

"Sire, these Grewzian barbarians are bent on conquest and empire, they make no secret of it. They'll overrun the civilized world," she essayed. "We are all of us their victims, there are no exceptions. Lower Hetzia itself stands at risk."

"It's difficult to credit."

"But true. Your Majesty must believe. They'll crush us all, unless they are forcibly halted." She allowed him a moment to think about it, then suggested quietly, "It's widely believed that the king of Lower Hetzia owns the instrument of our preservation." He said nothing, and she prompted cautiously, "The news of Your Majesty's wondrous possession-the Sentient Fire-has traveled everywhere."

"You astonish me."

"Sire, I thought you knew. The hopes of threatened nations near and far-including my own land of Vonahr-fasten upon the Low Hetz. Your Majesty holds the power to save us all. I pray that you will choose to exercise that power."

"Remarkable. Quite remarkable. Such eloquence. Such fire. Such knowledge of the world. Such luxuriant beauty. And the places you have been, the scenes you have witnessed, the dangers you have experienced! How fully you have lived lived!" Miltzin's eyes glowed. He took her hand in both his own. "You are a rare woman, the very embodiment of adventure! I do not believe I have ever encountered your equal. Indeed, I sensed from the moment our eyes met and merged that a connection existed between the two of us, between our souls, and now that we finally speak, the belief strengthens to certainty. You feel it too, do you not? I know that you do, you must."

"Sire, what I feel is hope, and confidence in your humanity, your intelligence, and generosity-"

"Ah, but it is so easy to be generous to you, Luzelle. I long to shower you with affection. I confess, I've never found myself so hopelessly smitten!"

"Majesty, if that's true, will you grant my greatest desire?"

"Name it."

"Sell the secret of Sentient Fire to Vonahr. Enrich your treasury, and grant my country the means of self-defense. Do this, and you'll have all my grat.i.tude."

"But you see, my dear, the Low Hetz is neutral. Always. In any event, how can I think of sales, secrets, and warfare at such a moment? You intoxicate me!" So saying, Miltzin IX drew her into his arms and pressed enthusiastic lips to hers.

Luzelle controlled the impulse to push him firmly away. She could hardly afford to offend the king of Lower Hetzia. She could not even afford to disappoint him. And really, the man wasn't so very bad. He wasn't rough or cruel, he didn't stink. He wasn't at all as repulsive as the soldiers at Glozh Station or the night guard in Jumo Towne. Nothing about him that she absolutely couldn't endure. She became aware that she was sitting rigid as a corpse, and carefully relaxed her muscles. Perceiving this as encouragement, Miltzin allowed his ardor to escalate and his hands to stray.

Instinctively she pulled away from him, averting her face, then camouflaged the rebuff by reaching for her gla.s.s. A couple of sips bought a tiny respite.

"You are impetuous, Sire," she chided softly.

"It cannot be helped, my dear. You are the most confoundedly exciting creature. And the sweet fervor of your response a.s.sures me that our feelings are mutual, as I knew they must be."

"The admiration of a king is stimulating as the best champagne, and yet"-she bowed her head-"despite all temptation I can't forget my fears and I can't ignore them."

"Gad, you aren't afraid of me me, surely?"

"Never, Sire. Your Majesty is all loving kindness. No, I mean I can't forget my fear for my homeland. It's like a black cloud shadowing my thoughts, quenching light and warmth."

"A young and beautiful woman cannot carry the woes of an entire nation upon her deliciously rounded white shoulders."

"I am Vonahrish, Sire. My country's danger is my own. So long as the Grewzian threat endures, my heart is imprisoned in ice."

"Ice?"

"Glaciers, Majesty."

"That is a tragedy, my dear. It isn't natural, it isn't right, to deny the deeper emotions. Your spontaneous affections must express themselves, else your health is bound to suffer. Allow me to comfort you. Between the two of us, I promise we'll manage to defrost that heart of yours."

He had his arms around her again. His hands were stroking her back while his lips worried an earlobe.

Again she controlled the impulse to shove him away.

"Sire-" she began, but got no further before he stopped her mouth with his own.

"NEPHEW, I'VE OCCASIONALLY slighted your Promontory training, and not without some cause," observed the Grandlandsman Torvid. "But even I can hardly deny certain obvious benefits. Specifically, that curious knack of yours, the ability to sense the working of arcane force." slighted your Promontory training, and not without some cause," observed the Grandlandsman Torvid. "But even I can hardly deny certain obvious benefits. Specifically, that curious knack of yours, the ability to sense the working of arcane force."

Karsler Stornzof regarded his uncle steadily. He said nothing.

"This ability remains intact?"

Karsler inclined his head.

"Excellent, for Grewzland requires your services tonight." Torvid paused, vainly awaiting a query. After a moment he resumed, "This Waterwitch Palace conceals a secret workroom occupied by one of the Hetzian king's favorites, a certain sorcerous adept of proven talent. No doubt the workroom reeks to the skies of unnatural activity. It should be a simple matter for you to find it."

"What do you want with Nevenskoi, Grandlandsman?"

"Ah, you are somewhat informed. Good, that simplifies matters. You've heard of the Sentient Fire created by this Rhazaullean adept?"

"I have heard rumors. I cannot vouch for their accuracy."

"I will state the facts briefly. The fire is real, and offers the greatest weapon of warfare the world has ever known. The Imperium must have this weapon, but the royal Hetzian fool refuses to part with it."

"You intend to negotiate directly with Nevenskoi, then?"

"Negotiate? I do not plan to waste time chattering with some Rhazaullean freak of nature. Listen, I have brought with me tonight half a dozen skilled Grewzian commandos disguised as servants and guests. When the workroom has been located, my men will enter and secure the adept, together with all the arcane writings, records, and paraphernalia of recognizable value that they can lay hands on. These prizes will be removed from the Waterwitch and packed posthaste off to Grewzland, where this Nevenskoi will a.s.suredly yield the secret of Sentient Fire, together with any other useful knowledge he happens to possess."

"And then?"

"Need you ask? With such a weapon as this fire at our command, Grewzland becomes invincible. The present wars will conclude swiftly, freeing troops and supplies for new campaigns. Vonahr will fall in a matter of days, opening a path to the western princ.i.p.alities and all their resources. In the east, the conquest of Aennorve will establish our total dominance upon the Sea of Immeen. The Imperium will grow, waxing in power and splendor, until all the world is melded at last into a single, eternal whole. And there is an end to the petty rivalries of small nations, the jealous disputes and ignorant mutual fears that r.e.t.a.r.d all progress. There will be a single great state, with one language comprehended by all, one set of intelligent laws governing all, one rational standard of behavior applying to all, one universal religion accepted by all who cannot do without such things, one universal currency, one consistent system of education, one universal philosophy-and one Grewzian imperior ruling over all like a G.o.d destined to bring order out of human chaos. You were ever the idealist, Nephew. Tell me if this is not a glorious ambition."

"A very large one, Grandlandsman. Certain to collapse beneath its own unwieldy weight. And perhaps that is all for the best. The world is not some great parade ground whereon all human beings may be compelled to march in step."

"The scope of the project intimidates you?"

"Less intimidates than repels, but that is beside the point. The fact is that your vast endeavor will smash itself upon the rock of practical reality."

"Practical reality is no rock, but a clay that strong men mold as they will. I'm sorry, if not surprised, to discover that you have not the stomach for greatness. Fortunately, your approval is not required, you need only cooperate. You will locate this Nevenskoi's hidden workroom and after that I have no further use for you, and you are more than welcome to slink off to the Rhazaullean front."

"No." Karsler spoke without particular emphasis and without change of expression, but something long held in check had finally released itself. He seemed to taste the words. "No more of this."

"It is not a request."

"Your aims are misguided, your methods contemptible, and I will not a.s.sist you."

"Have you lost all reason? As head of House Stornzof, and in the name of the imperior, I order you to perform your duty."

"You sacrificed your right to command me weeks ago, Grandlandsman. As for the imperior, if he were here in person, I would answer him as I answer you-I will have no part of this latest criminal scheme."

"This is madness. It is impossible." Torvid spoke almost in disbelief. "We have always been at odds. Harsh words have been spoken, the rancor has been mutual. For all of that, you are a Stornzof and I have never seriously questioned your loyalty to Grewzland."

"It is unimpaired. I remain loyal to Grewzland-the real Grewzland, a nation founded upon principles of honor, built and brought to greatness by a people of much courage, generosity, and decency. That true Grewzland still exists, strong in thousands of hearts and minds, but its outward aspect has been distorted by that monstrous ent.i.ty we call the Imperium. I would gladly die in the service of my country, but the Imperium is not Grewzland. The Imperium is a disease."

"So." Torvid drew smoke deep into his lungs and released it. "I remember I called you a traitor in Lis Folaze. At the time I imagined that I used the term carelessly in anger, but now I see the description was accurate. You disgrace the name of Stornzof, you disgrace the uniform you wear, and I would not accept your a.s.sistance now if you pleaded on your knees to serve me. There are other guides to be found. I will succeed without you, and for the sake of our family I will conceal your weakness, but know this-from this day forward I do not regard you as a member of my House. Now stand aside." He made for the door.

"One moment." Karsler did not move. "I cannot allow this."

"You are are mad; you belong in an asylum." mad; you belong in an asylum."