A small quiet voice told Sardec to be careful. Who was he to know who was trustworthy or not. According to his father, a great deal of treachery had been perpetrated by the First down the years. Still, he could not see what harm would be done by speaking to her.
She seemed particularly interested in his description of the Ultari when he came to it.
“You saw it quite clearly?”
“Quite clearly, Lady.” He remembered now how particular Colonel Xeno had been on this point as well, and pulled up short.
“What is it, Prince?”
“Perhaps nothing, Lady Asea.”
“I am intrigued.” He did not want to tell her of the Colonel’s interest in the subject, so he said.
“I was wondering why you are so interested in these creatures.”
“I am more than curious.” She shivered. “I can still remember the time of the wars with the Spider God. I was in the western islands at the time fighting against the Spawn of Dagoth. The tales that reached us even there were disturbing to say the least.”
“But the Spider God was defeated.”
“Yes. Deep Achenar was sealed, the minions of Uran Ultar defeated and the Spider God banished or destroyed.”
“You think the matter is significant?” She gave him a dazzling smile that made him feel more childish than ever.
“The Scuttler in the Shadows was one of the greatest foes the Ten Thousand ever faced. It troubles me more than a little that a sorcerer should be poking around so close to his last resting place. More worrying still is that one of Uran Ultar’s servants should still be alive down there.”
“You think someone may be trying to resurrect the Spider God?” That was a disturbing thought.
“Resurrect is the wrong word. I doubt that Uran Ultar was ever truly dead. The entrances to Deep Achenar were destroyed. The ways were sealed with Elder Signs and a guard was set to watch over the place. Nothing ever emerged and over the centuries the watch was withdrawn. The thing was deemed dealt with by the powers that be.”
“You think Uran Ultar still waits in the darkness?” He had gone down into those mines. He had seen the Ultari. Had he really been in close proximity to an ancient demon god?
“I think it’s more than possible. More to the point perhaps somebody else thinks it’s possible. What other reason could your sorcerer have for being there?”
“Seeking knowledge perhaps? The Old Races possessed many secrets unknown even to the Terrarchs.” Even as he said it, Sardec was aware that he must sound terribly earnest and naive, presuming to give advice to a sorceress who had been steeped in the darkest of arts a thousand years before he had even been born. Once again it occurred to him to wonder what exactly her interest was.
“This is a matter that bears further investigation.”
“If there is anything I can do to help, milady, you have only to let me know.”
“Thank you. I may hold you to your word.” She spoke over her shoulder to the black garbed servant. “Karim, go to the temple and request from the Archivist any copies of the Books of Skardos he might have in his possession.”
Karim bowed and departed. Sardec realised he must be a trusted servant indeed to be entrusted with such a request, and the Archivist must know it, for she seemed to expect no difficulties in acquiring a loan of the books that sounded as if they should be on the Scarlet Index.
After that their conversation sank back into the intricate chit-chat required by etiquette. “Perhaps you would care to see my gallery,” Asea offered, after Sardec talked of his liking for Trentuvalle’s painting. He assented at once.
They passed through a long gallery lined with paintings. Every one of them was a masterpiece of its kind. They depicted famous scenes from Terrarch history on Gaeia. He felt a little silly when he realised that the beautiful woman who appeared in all of them was the same lady who walked beside him now.
There she stood with the Old Queen Amarielle at the head of the Terrarch Host when they had first passed through the Eye of the Dragon to set foot on this world. Behind them in a seemingly endless line, passing through the arch that was also a gateway between the worlds, was the entire Ten Thousand. Awestruck humans, wrapped in wolfskins, watched the arrival of their new rulers. Angels played harps in the stormy sky above them. Asea followed his glance.
“Rather overdone,” she said. “I don’t recall the musical angels but Azhog was always prone to flights of fantasy when he painted. The Queen wore a green silk headscarf, not red. Of course, the picture dates from the height of the Schism, three hundred years ago. Politics was in the air.”
“Azhog was a human, wasn’t he?”
“He was. Why do you mention it?”
“Humans are always sensitive to what they see as the desires of their patrons.”
She gave him a sidelong smile that was at once knowing and annoying. “And Terrarchs are not?”
He smiled back, realising that he had made something of a mistake. Asea was well known to have been of the Scarlet faction. Her support for so-called progressive causes was legendary. She had been one of Queen Arielle’s most vocal supporters during the Schism, helped recruit her half-brother Azaar to the Scarlet cause. In many ways, she had been one of the prime movers in the destruction of the First Empire. Had it not been for her, a unified Terrarchy might still rule all the lands between the Great Eastern Wastes and the Western Ocean, instead of being divided into the Five Kingdoms of the West, assorted petty states and the Dark Empire of Sardea. Of course, that would have meant they would now be living under the rule of Arielle’s sister, Arachne. He realised she was waiting for an answer.
“No. The power of patronage is too well known in our society for me to deny it,” he said. She gave him the sort of smile a proud teacher gives a clever child. “You have an interesting collection of paintings.”
“They are a vanity of mine,” Asea said. “This gallery in particular.”
He glanced at a shocking picture of the murder of the Old Queen, the two sisters who were to become rivals glanced at each other of their corpse of their dead mother, as she lay on a blood-soaked bed in her chambers in the Amber Palace. Arielle was dressed in red, Arachne in purple. They glared at each other with a hatred that foreshadowed the coming civil war. It took him a moment, to pick out Asea’s face in the crowd of witnesses. She did not look shocked. She looked calm.
“I do not recognise this painter,” Sardec said. “I am sure I should. The style is remarkable.
“Hanusan, another human. His work was suppressed by the Inquisition. It is on the Black Index. Somebody objected to his rather too realistic depictions of certain events in our history. I believe it was Lord Malkior. He was chancellor at the time.” Sardec paused to contemplate this for a moment, realising that he was looking on nothing less than a display of astonishing political power. Lady Asea was so secure that she could flaunt proscribed works. She seemed to read his thoughts.
“This gallery is restricted to my personal use, and that of a few privileged guests. I have a personal dispensation from the High Inquisitor. He trusts my judgement.”
“As no doubt he should, Lady Asea. Are all your paintings by humans?”
“All of them in this particular gallery, yes. I have been the patron of many of their best artists down the years.” Sardec felt compelled to say then that it was all rather crude work, but honesty prevented him from doing so. If it fell short of the best Terrarch paintings it did so only be a hairsbreadth. If truth be told, some of it was significantly better than paintings by well-known Terrarch artists.
“You look as if something has just struck you,” Asea said.
“I think this gallery makes a statement about its owner,” he said. “Several statements actually.”