There had been a time not so long ago when that would have seemed anathema to him. It would still seem so to many of his comrades, but he was starting to think that matters might not be so bad. He had once argued the exact opposite with Asea, and thoughts of that argument returned to him now. He wanted to say that he found himself far more in sympathy with her Scarlet ideas now than he once had been, but he did not want to disturb her concentration. Instead, seeking companionship and some conversation, he turned to Rik who huddled miserable and sick-looking in the corner of the basket, glaring at everyone with insane hatred in his eyes. Like all of them he was unshaven, and the stubble on his jaw gave him a wild feral look.
Sardec tried to tell himself that it was the long flight that was bringing out this side of the half-breed’s personality but the truth was that he had looked this way ever since he had returned to the embassy. Some of the things he mumbled to himself in his dreams were chilling.
Sardec squatted down beside him, grabbing the edge of the basket with his hook. “What happened back there?” he asked eventually then he smiled. “I seem to be making a habit of asking you that question. First the Serpent Tower, now this.”
Rik’s smile was cold and there was no hint of sanity in it. Sardec felt his flesh crawl but he continued to speak. “What trouble did you get yourself into?”
“It was Malkior. He set the Quan on me.”
“You talked with a Quan?”
“They don’t talk. They eat your mind, and while they eat your mind they digest your thoughts.” He laughed in a hideous manner. “Only I ate it. I ate it.”
Perhaps he was not laughing, perhaps he was trying not to weep. Sardec had once, to his shame, ordered Rik whipped. He had taken that whipping with as much insouciance as Sardec had ever seen. He had come out of the shadowy hell beneath Achenar with his sanity intact, and survived the destruction of the Serpent Tower seemingly unmarked. What had happened back there to do this to him? What horror had he encountered to surpass all those others?
Then he realised it was something else. Asea’s eyes were closing. The wind was starting to howl around them. It was getting colder. The sylphs were running out of control.
Sardec rose and grasped Asea by the shoulders. He shook her gently. “Wake up. Wake up!” he said urgently. Her eyes snapped open. She shook her head and seemed to realise what was happening. She muttered binding spells and the winds died down. The salamanders returned to an even glow.
“You can’t go on like this,” he said. “We need to get down from here.”
“Just a few more hours,” she said.
“You don’t have a few more hours in you. We need to get down to land. By now we must surely have outdistanced all pursuit.”
Much to his surprise she did not argue. “Very well,” she said. “When I see a suitable site I will try and put us down.”
Sardec watched the balloons burn. The landing had been rough but they had made it with only a few scrapes and bruises. The elementals had run out of control at the last, burning the baskets and silk, but not till after they had all got clear. Asea lay in the snow, surrounded by the men, covered in blankets. She seemed weary unto death. It was all right, Sardec told himself. It was her time to rest. Now it was time for him to do his job.
Looking around he could see that Weasel and the Barbarian had returned from the nearby town. “It’s Khalastrea, sir,” said Weasel. “We’re not more than twenty leagues north of Halim. There’s a small garrison here, our troops.”
Sardec remembered the town from his maps and did some swift calculations. He could commandeer some sledges and horses here if he had to. Using them and the post inns he could have them back in Halim in three days at most. They had come a long, long way in a very short time on those strange aircraft.
Sardec let out a long frosty breath of relief. They were almost back to the army. They had escaped from the impregnable city of Harven. “Shape up, lads,” he told the soldiers. “Another couple of days and we’ll be back with the regiment.”
When they gave three ragged cheers for him and Lady Asea he had to turn his head. He did not want them to suspect he was crying.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There was a discreet knock on the door of Rik’s chamber in the Palace at Halim. He lay still in the bed, luxuriating in its softness and comfort. It had been a week since they got back from Harven and he had started to recover from his ordeal. Sleep and food and some of the strange golden wine that Asea used to replenish her strength after magic had all helped. The voices were still in his head but they had sank back to a gentle murmur, omnipresent but almost unnoticeable except when he was tired or when he sought to work sorcery; then they would swell to a chorus that could almost swamp his sanity.
“Come in,” he said.
A servant in palace livery entered, bearing a silver platter on which lay a message. Just as quietly as he had entered, he withdrew to let Rik read it in privacy. The envelope was of thick expensive paper; the seal was one he did not recognise. Briefly he wondered about poison or letter curses or any of the other strange things he had heard of but decided that he most likely did not warrant such a thing. He broke the seal and studied the writing. The penmanship was lovely, the characters clearly formed in a precise hand. It said:
Lord Sardontine and his Lady wife request the pleasure your presence on the evening of the seventh day of the twelfth month. Our evening of music and conversation will begin at the eighth bell of evening.
It was signed by Lord Sardontine. Rik folded the letter up and placed it back in its envelope. He wondered why the old Terrarch wanted him at his dinner. Perhaps he was expected to sing for his supper with tales of his bravery. Or perhaps they were hoping for more gossip about their Queen or Rik’s recent trip to Harven. His instinctive response was to turn the invitation down. He had no place hobnobbing with Terrarch aristocrats. He was a former thief from the streets of Sorrow. For all the training Asea and her servants had given him, he remained so at heart. He doubted he could feel comfortable moving among such people.
When he visited Asea in her chambers, he mentioned it to her.
"You should go," she said. She was dressed once more in a gown. She still looked pale and more than a little gaunt. Their trip to Harven seemed to have been even more costly for her than it had been for him. He doubted she was getting much sleep. At night when he had passed her chambers, he had heard the sound of chanting, even through the sound deadening spells. She was preparing powerful magic. Doubtless she anticipated a struggle with Lord Malkior in the not too distant future.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because Lord Sardontine is one of those old aristocrats who likes to keep a foot in both camps. It would not hurt to get a feel for what he is saying."
"I seriously doubt that if he has any traitorous plans he is going to explain them to me over dinner."
"Sometimes you are surprisingly naive, Rik," she said and smiled. She obviously knew that would annoy him. The voices hissed disapproval in the back of his mind.
"In what way?"
"Lord Sardontine knows you are my protege. He is simply trying to establish a direct line of communication."
That made a certain amount of sense. The thought of being Asea's emissary did not make him any more comfortable with the idea of going to the dinner. His encounter with Malkior and the ease with which he had been taken had left him more than a little suspicious. “I don’t like hobnobbing with the upper crust,” he said, to hide his real reason.