They raised their smiling faces and kissed her shoulders. She knew each member of the inner court by sight and had names for them.
Something worried them. She relaxed, letting her understanding spread out like her urine through the water. She swam deep with them, out to colder water. They spiralled about her, occasionally touching her skin with their skin.
Secretly she hoped to catch a glimpse of the monsters of the true sea. She had not been exiled long enough in Gravabagalinien ever to catch a glimpse of them. However, they appeared to be telling her that this time trouble came from the west.
They had warned her of the death-flight of the assatassi. Although they lacked her time sense, she began to appreciate that whatever was coming was coming slowly but remorselessly, and would arrive soon. Strange thrills worked in her. The creatures responded to her thrills. Every shudder of her body was part of their music.
Understanding her curiosity, the dolphins guided her forward again.
She stared through the zafferine panes of the sea. They had brought her to the brink of a shallow shelf, on which seaweeds grew, bent before the overmastering current. They pushed through. Beyond was a sandy basin. Here were the multitudes of the retinue, line on line, facing westwards.
Beyond them, moving with the wary action of a patrol, was the whole force of the regiment, close together, body almost touching body, making the sea black and extending farther out than vision could penetrate. Never before had the queen been allowed such a close sight of the whole school, or realised how vast it was, how many individuals comprised it. Matching the complex ranks assembled came a tremendous harmony of noise, extending far beyond her human hearing.
She surfaced, and the court followed. MyrdemInggala could remain submerged for three or four minutes, and the dolphins needed to take breath as she did.
She glanced towards the shore. It was distant. One day, she thought, these beautiful creatures that I can love and trust will carry me away from sight of mankind. I shall be changed. She could not tell whether it was for death or life she longed.
Figures danced on the remote shore. One figure waved a cloth. The queen’s first response was, indignantly, that they were using her dress for the purpose. Then she realised that they signalled to her. It could only mean a crisis of some kind. Guiltily, her thoughts went to the little princess.
She clutched her breasts in sudden apprehension. To the inner court she gave a word of explanation, before striking back towards the shore. Her familiars followed or plunged before her in arrowhead formation, creating a favourable wake to hasten her strokes.
Her dress lay untouched on her throne, the phagors guarding it, shoulders hunched and acknowledging no excitement. One of the maids, in desperation, had ripped off her own garment to wave. She assumed it again as MyrdemInggala emerged from the water, reluctant to have anyone compare her body with the queen’s.
‘There’s a ship,’ cried Tatro, eager to be first with the news. ‘A ship is coming!’
From the headland, using the spyglass which ScufBar brought, the queen saw the ship. CaraBansity was sent for. By the time he arrived on the scene, two further sails were sighted, mere blurs in the murk of the western horizon.
CaraBansity rubbed his eyes with a heavy hand as he returned the spyglass to ScufBar.
‘Madam, to my mind the nearest ship is not from Borlien.’
‘Where, then?’
‘In half an hour, its marking will be clearer.’
She said, ‘You are a stubborn man. Where is the ship from? Can’t you identify that insignia on its sail?’
‘If I could, madam, then I would think it was the Great Wheel of Kharnabhar, and that is nonsense, because it would mean there was a Sibornalese ship very far from home.’
She snatched the glass. ‘It is a Sibornalese ship — of good size. What could it be doing in these waters?’
The deuteroscopist folded his arms and looked grim. ‘You have been provided with no defences here. Let us hope it is making for Ottassol and its intentions are good.’
‘My familiars warned me of this,’ said the queen gravely.
The day wore on. The ship made slow progress. There was great excitement at the palace. Barrels of tar were rolled out to an eminence above the little bay where it was anticipated the ship’s boat would have to land if Gravabagalinien was its destination. At least the crew could be confronted by flaming tar if they proved hostile.
The air thickened towards evening. There was no doubt now about the hierogram on the sail. Batalix sank in concentric aureoles of light. People came and went in the palace. Freyr disappeared into the same hazes as its fellow and was gone. Twilight lingered, the sail glinted on the sea; it tacked now, to keep the wind.
With darkness, stars began to appear overhead. The Night Worm burned bright, with the Queen’s Scar dim beside it. Nobody slept. The small community feared and hoped, knowing its vulnerability.
The queen sat in her shuttered hall. Tall candles of whale oil fluttered on the table by her side. The wine a slave had poured into a crystal glass and topped with Lordryardry ice was untouched and threw blurred gules on the table. She waited and stared across the room at the bare wall opposite, as if to read there her future fate.
Her aide de camp entered, bowing. ‘Madam, we hear the rattle of their chains. The anchor is going down.’
The queen called CaraBansity and they went to the seashore. Several men and phagors were mustered, to ignite the tar barrels if necessary. Only one torch burned. She took it and strode with it into the dark water. To the wetting of her garments she paid no heed. Lifting the torch above her head, she advanced towards the other advancing lights. She felt immediately the smooth kiss of her familiars about her legs.
Mingled with the roar of surf came a creak of oars.
The wooden wall of the ship, its sails furled, was faintly visible as a backdrop. A boat had been let down. The queen saw men straining, barebacked, at the oars. Two men were standing amidships, one with a lantern, their faces caught in the nimbus of light.
‘Who dares come ashore here?’ she called.
And a voice came back, male, with a thrill in it, ‘Queen MyrdemInggala, queen of queens, is that you?’
‘Who calls?’ she asked. But she recognised the voice even as his response came across the diminishing distance between them.
‘It is your general, ma’am, Hanra TolramKetinet.’
He jumped from the boat and waded ashore. The queen raised her hand to those on the eminence not to fire their barrels. The general fell before her on one knee, clasping her hand on which the ring with the blue stone gleamed. Her other hand went to his head, to steady herself. In a half-circle round them stood the queen’s phagor guard, their morose faces vaguely sketched in the night.
CaraBansity stepped forward with some amazement to greet the general’s companion in the longboat. Taking SartoriIrvrash in a great hug, he said, ‘I had reason to suppose you were in hiding in Dimariam. For once I guessed wrong.’
‘You’re rarely wrong, but this time you were out by a whole continent,’ said SartoriIrvrash. ‘I’ve become a world traveller — what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve remained here since the king left. For a while, JandolAnganol conscripted me to your old post, and almost killed me for it. I’ve stayed for the ex-queen’s sake. She’s in a doleful state of mind, poor lady.’
Both men looked towards MyrdemInggala and TolramKetinet, but could see no dolefulness about either of them.
‘What of her son, Roba?’ asked SartoriIrvrash. ‘Have you news of him?’
‘News and no news.’ CaraBansity’s forehead creased in a frown. ‘It would be some weeks ago that he arrived at my house in Ottassol, just after the assatassi death-flight. The lad’s crazed and will cause damage. I let him have a room for the night.’ He was about to say more, but stopped himself. ‘Don’t mention Robay to the queen.’