The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [104]
Lirith arched an eyebrow. “And what of the unofficial stories, Captain?”
“They say Meron raised the obelisks not to his father’s conquests in battle, but rather to his own conquests in the bedroom. From what we know of Meron, this was a shape he rather fancied.”
“But Captain Magard, these obelisks are enormous.”
“Well, historians say Meron always did have a high opinion of himself.”
She clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from guffawing like a sailor.
“I’d better get below,” Magard said, stepping back from the rail. “We’ll be dropping sails and rowing into port soon.” The captain started away from the prow, then stopped and looked back. “So this is your first journey to Tarras?”
“It is.”
His black eyes shone. “Then heed my advice and take care, my girl. This is an old city—so old it has forgotten a thousand things other places will never learn. It is said the springs in Tarras flow not with water, but with wine strong enough to warm the coldest spirit, and bitter enough to poison the purest heart.”
Lirith thought about his words. Certainly Tarras was an ancient city, and one long into its decline. Once, the Tarrasian Empire had spanned most of Falengarth, the greatest power on Eldh. But over the centuries, under the rule of weak, cruel, and petty emperors, the Tarrasian Empire had retreated, its borders moving ever southward, leaving the northlands first to tribes of barbarians, then later to the seven Dominions. Now the empire—such as it was—consisted of little more than Tarras itself, along with a group of smaller cities clustered along the shores of the Summer Sea.
Yet even so far into its ebb, it was said Tarras was still the greatest city in all the world. And looking at the myriad domes, spires, and soaring bridges, Lirith could believe it.
The captain disappeared belowdecks, and Lirith turned toward the prow. The city was close now; she could smell the scent of spices on the warm, drowsy air. People moved on the docks, men and women dressed in flowing clothes of subtle, jewel-like hues. It was strange and marvelous how, in just the space of a fortnight, she could travel to an entirely new world.
They had departed Ar-tolor at dawn the day after Melia learned of Ondo’s death. And the day after they found Tharkis, mad fool and onetime king of Toloria, hanging by his neck from a rafter, his crossed eyes gouged out.
The murder of Tharkis had unsettled everyone in the castle. Most said that Tharkis had finally uttered one too many taunts, and that some knight or lord had finally taken out his wrath upon him. However, there were other whispers in the castle as well, ones that said it was not a knight or lord who had slain the fool, but rather a woman. After all, could it be coincidence that Tharkis had met his gruesome end even as the witches who had secretly journeyed to Ar-tolor were just as secretly departing?
Lirith knew no witches had murdered Tharkis, that this was simply the fear of the common people speaking. And yet … It seemed to her there was a kernel of truth to what the rumors said. For some reason Lirith felt a woman’s touch in this terrible deed. But whose? And why?
Aryn had been the last to see Tharkis alive, and later that day, the baroness had told Lirith of her encounter with the fool. Listening over a thread of the Weirding, Lirith had heard Tharkis’s words even as Aryn recalled them.
She sees everything. I cannot hide … even when I sleep she finds me. But she is not the only one who sees. I have seen things as well.
And then, stranger yet, his final words. Fear the one alive and dead, for you cannot escape her web.
But how could one be both alive and dead? And why would this woman want Tharkis murdered? Unfortunately, all of this only added up to Master Tharkis’s final and most puzzling riddle. And by that evening, both Lirith and Aryn had known they had more pressing concerns to worry about.
Ivalaine had summoned them well after dark, as the horned moon sank toward the western horizon.
I have a burden I must place upon you, the queen had said as