The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [168]
He was happy that the cloud that concealed the Vhelny had no effect on his own vision, however, as they drifted through the delicate layers of clouds and the vista below revealed itself.
Directly beneath his feet Eslen castle pointed towers up at him like whimsical lances. About that were the tiers of the city and the long, green island of Ynis, held all around by the two mighty rivers and a thousand neat canals stretching off toward the horizon.
And along the banks of those rivers, beside those canals, were fires, tents, and tens of thousands of men.
West across a great bay, beyond an awesome many-toothed wall, the Lier Sea was thickly jeweled with ships for as far as he could see.
“Eslen,” Zemlé breathed.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“Never.”
“Nor have I.”
That wasn’t exactly true. He had never been to this Eslen, but he remembered an earlier, much smaller one, little more than a hill fort, really, a tiny place trying not to be crushed by giants, its little leaders capering to his will.
Now it was quite splendid, though. He could hardly wait to see the royal scriftorium. Who knew what precious texts it might hold, unappreciated for millennia?
But first things first.
He had the Vhelny set them down on a pretty little hill on the island, where they had a good view of the surrounds, then set the demon to guard them from anyone approaching. They picnicked on salty ham, pears, and a sweet red wine. Zemlé was nervous at first, but when no one bothered them, she eventually relaxed and even drowsed.
He noticed the Vhelny drifting near.
“I smell the throne,” it said.
“Yes,” Stephen said. “So do I. It’s not here, but it will be soon, down there in the shadow city. That must be where Virgenya put her shortcut.”
“You’re speaking nonsense, wormling.”
He shook his head. “No. She left the power, but she left a key to it in the blood of her line and a place for that key to unlock. She made a faneway, a brief one containing only two fanes—but separated by a hundred leagues. But once one of her heirs visited the one, it was inevitable that they should visit the other and inherit much of her power. That’s what happened to Anne. But Anne isn’t Virgenya. She won’t use the power and then give it up.”
“That’s why you seek the throne? To save the world?” the Vhelny sounded dubious.
“To make it what it should be.”
“Then why not go now to the city of shadows and wait?”
Stephen plucked a straw of grass and placed it between his teeth. “Because I can’t make out even the faintest shadow of Anne anymore. Even after I walked the faneway, I couldn’t see anything about her, but I knew where she was. Now it’s as if she’s gone completely. She might be a thousand leagues from here or right there, waiting for me. I can still see Hespero, and I should probably challenge him first, garner his strength before attempting Anne.”
“Coward.”
“Ah, you want me to rush into this and lose. You’d like to be free again. You won’t be, I promise.”
“Man-worm, you know so little.” Stephen felt the prick of a thousand ghostly needles against his flesh. He rolled his eyes and dismissed the attack with a wave of his hand.
“Hush. I’m going to try to find her again. Maybe being closer will help.”
The Vhelny said nothing, but he felt it coil in upon itself, sulking.
He sent his senses drifting, expanding away from him like ripples in a pond. There was the throbbing sickness that was the emerging throne; there was the contained puissance of the man whom he once had known as Praifec Hespero but who lately had risen in the world. He would be difficult. Should he make an alliance with him against Anne? That might be the safest course; he could strike the Fratrex Prismo once they had won.
But then, Hespero would nurse the same plan.
He was almost ready to give up when something caught his attention, a sort of glimmer in the corner of his eye. It was a few leagues from the city, and like Eslen-of-Shadows, it reeked of Cer.
At first