Lyf wore long boots over his stumps but he was supporting himself on crutches; his soles did not touch the ground. He carried a rectangular case made from polished stone on a chain around his neck. Heatstone — her head was already starting to throb. Did it hold his ebony pearls? It looked big enough to hold the master pearl as well.
“Ugh!” she said, rubbing her head.
“What did you do with my iron book?” said Lyf.
“One of your people took it.”
“One of my people?” he exclaimed.
“Mad Wil. Wil the Sump. He carried it down under the palace.”
Lyf wrinkled his brow, but did not speak for a long time. Then he dismissed the thought and moved slowly towards Tali.
“I’m tempted,” he said. “The master pearl could solve everything.”
Because it could lead you to the key, she thought, and give you command of king-magery.
“That’s why the chancellor has exactly the same number of guards as you do,” she said pointedly.
“And yet,” he said, as though she had not spoken, “sometimes I wonder if I’ve taken the wrong path. Whether it’s all been worth it. I’m not sure I know my people any more. My fault — I couldn’t let them go, but to save them I had to take them apart and remake them. Did I remake them in the wrong image?”
Tali cracked. “You’re just like the bloody chancellor.”
He stiffened. He had not expected that. His eyes roved over her, and Rannilt hiding behind her.
“I’m nothing like the chancellor, Lady of the Pale.”
“Yes, you are,” said Rannilt. “He was always moanin’ and wringin’ his horrid, twisted fingers. And askin’ Tali for advice and confidin’ his troubles to her, and the same time he was holdin’ her in prison and punishin’ her.”
“Was he now?” said Lyf. “But I’m not confiding my troubles, child, because I don’t have any. Everything is going very well for me.”
“Except for the stink in your temple,” the child retorted. “You can’t get rid of that, can you?”
Lyf almost fell off his crutches. “Who told you that?” he hissed, his breath smoking. “Who’s the spy in my camp?”
“You think you’re such a big smartypants,” said Rannilt, peeping out from behind Tali. “But you don’t know nothin’.”
“I can force you to tell me,” Lyf said menacingly.
“That would break the truce,” said Tali, “and prove that your word meant nothing.”
“Your treacherous Five Heroes started it,” snarled Lyf. “They broke their word and betrayed me in the first place.”
“That was two thousand years ago. People change.”
“Some people don’t.”
“Anyway,” said Tali, “they were Herovian. They’re not my kind.”
“You’re all Hightspallers. You’re all from the same stock.”
“Axil Grandys saw us as inferior stock.”
Lyf shot forwards, and Tali’s head gave such a piercing throb that she fell to her knees on the grass.
“What’s the matter?” said Lyf, staring at her.
“Heatstone. It always hurts.” And knew she had blundered badly.
“Does it now?” said Lyf. He drifted up in the air for several feet, looking down at her. A gong sounded in the temple. “It’s time. Now we shall see.” He turned and drifted up the slope.
“He’s too strong,” said Rannilt. “What are we gonna do, Tali?”
“I don’t know, child,” Tali said, shivering.
Storm clouds had formed over the lake to the north and lightning was flickering there, reflecting on the water. Was it always this stormy in Hightspall? she wondered. There seemed to be one every week. Or had Lyf created the storm for some fell purpose?
“Why are you shiverin’ when it’s so warm?” said Rannilt, putting her arms around Tali.
“I don’t know.”
“You shouldn’t have told Lyf that heatstone hurts you. I’m worryin’, now.”
So am I. Tali moved slowly up the slope, drawn to the drama taking place inside the temple. The columns were vast, dwarfing the dozen or so people gathered at the table in the centre.
A pair of guards stepped into their path. One was a Cythonian man with spiral face tattoos, the other a tall redhead, one of the chancellor’s female guards. Tali had seen her on her first visit to the chancellor’s red and black palace, a long time ago now. Was her name Verla? The guards studied their faces and checked a list.
“You may pass to the red rope,” said the Cythonian, “but no further.”
A great circle of red rope encompassed the conference table, the leaders of both parties, and their personal guards and counsellors, who stood well back. Tali and Rannilt went in slowly until their toes touched the circle, whereupon another guard held up a hand.
Lyf was at one end of the table, the chancellor at the other. Various provincial leaders of Hightspall occupied the right-hand side, including Rix. Lyf’s generals sat in the chairs on the left, and after them were three old women dressed in white.
“Are they the Matriarchs of Cython?” Rannilt asked in an awed whisper.
No Pale slave had ever set eyes on the legendary matriarchs, who had assumed leadership when the underground realm of Cython was established. “I suppose they must be. Shh!”
Tobry looked as uneasy as Tali had ever seen him. The dark clouds moved steadily down on a warm breeze. The light faded to an ominous olive gloom. In the distance, thunder rumbled.
After ten minutes, Lyf and the chancellor stood up together and went to the centre of the table, one on either side. An attendant held up a document on heavy paper or parchment. Lyf read it, then the chancellor. Lyf checked it three times, with a variety of implements, and Tali saw the shimmer of magery on the parchment.
“Why’s he doin’ that?” whispered Rannilt.
“In olden times, the Five Heroes used magery and forced King Lyf to sign a charter giving up the best half of Cythe to Hightspall. Axil Grandys then used the lying charter to prove that the Cythians were wicked cheats, and to justify going to war with them. Lyf has hated our magery ever since.”
“He’s got magery too!”
“But in the olden days the kings of Cythe only used their magery for healing. That’s why Lyf wasn’t suspicious of the Herovians’ magery. He thought it was the same.”
“He uses bad magery now.”
Tali sighed. “I suppose he’d say he had to fight bad with bad.”
“They’re goin’ to sign. Does that mean the war will be over?”
“I hope so.”
The storm was coming closer, tracking down the peninsula towards Glimmering-by-the-Water. It was less than half a mile away now, and moving rapidly. The air seemed to tingle.
“What’s that funny smell?” said Rannilt.
Tali had noticed it too. It was like alkoyl though more acrid, stinging the nose and eyes.
The chancellor signed the charter with a flourish. The attendant held it up so everyone could see his signature, then extended the charter to Lyf. His fingers had just closed over its edge when he went still. He looked over his shoulder, uneasily. Then over the other shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” said Tali. “What’s he worried about?”
“He’s comin’,” Rannilt said in a bloodcurdling whisper. “He’s comin’, Tali.”
“Who’s coming?”
“He is.”
The chancellor was whispering in his chief magian’s ear. Time for desperate measures, he had said. Was this part of a last-ditch plan to even the odds against Lyf?
“Is he on our side?” said Tali
“He’s Lyf’s enemy,” said Rannilt.
Lyf raised his right hand. Tali didn’t see anything, but suddenly the tension drained away and he was the one who was smiling.
“What just happened?” said Tali. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Lyf’s enemy can’t get through. Lyf’s blocked him.”