King of Swords (The Starfolk) Read online

  “And if I’m not too ugly or too dangerous?”

  “Then it’ll list you as a halfling, but you’ll have to find a starborn to sponsor you. That’s status. Are you dangerous?”

  Rigel decided that his behavior while shopping in Nanaimo could justify classifyng him as extremely dangerous. “So-so. Usually I’m a cuddly kitten, but I turn into a man-eating tiger at the full moon. What if I don’t get status or can’t find a sponsor?” Saiph wouldn’t allow him to be “put down” easily, if that meant what he thought it did.

  “Don’t even ask!” Izar said darkly. Snip! Snip!

  “I do ask, most noble Izar Starling.”

  The starling pulled a face. “I don’t know. That’s why I told you not to ask. I ’spec it’s pretty horrible, though.” Izar stepped back to admire his work, and Rigel realized that he was cutting the hair with two fingers, pretend scissors. They made the right snip sound, and they cut through the hair like a razor. More magic.

  “What do you do when you’re not cutting hair?”

  “All sorts of things.”

  “Like what? What do you enjoy most?”

  Izar went back to snipping. “White-water swimming. Rock climbing. Unicorn riding. I have my own unicorn, and his name’s Narwhale. My dog’s name is Terror, and I teach him tricks. And I like kite riding, way up high, and training my puma and playing my lute and doing magic. I’m good for my age.”

  “I can see that.”

  Izar glanced up to smile at whoever had just come through the door behind Rigel. “How’s that look, Greatmother? Don’t blame me for his ears, they were that small when I started. He still looks savage enough, doesn’t he?”

  Rigel wished he had a mirror, but the gale was making his eyes water so much that it might not have been of use anyway. He rose and turned to meet the lovely Alniyat’s silver gaze.

  She smiled. “He’s done a wonderful job for a first attempt. But let me…” She gestured, and a mist of hair cuttings swirled away into the air. “That’s better. Come along and I’ll take you to a mirror.” She offered a long-fingered hand.

  Rigel said, “Thank you for the haircut, most noble Izar Starling.”

  “Oh, really! Izar, I told you not to speak to the halfling.”

  “Sorry, Greatmother.” The dagger teeth showed in an unrepentant grin. “He looked scared, and I wanted to cheer him up.”

  “Imp!” She opened the door, and this time it led into darkness and warm, heavily scented air. Sunlight streaming in from the balcony illuminated a path of fieldstones. Alniyat and Rigel’s shadows cut across it like bars on a dungeon window. When the door closed behind them, they stood still for a moment, waiting for their eyes to adjust.

  “You don’t look at all scared,” she said. “Or savage.” She squeezed his hand.

  He squeezed back encouragingly—as the proverb said, when in Rome, do whatever you can get away with. Once he had adjusted to the lighting, he turned to look at her. Their eyes were exactly level, although her ears made her taller. They did not look foolish on her—they were exactly right; she was perfect in every way and breathtakingly beautiful.

  “Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

  It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

  As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear:

  Beauty too rich for use, for Earth too dear.”

  Her silver eyes opened wider. “Where does that come from?”

  “Shakespeare.”

  “Where’s that? Never mind. I’m not Izar’s greatmother, you know. I’m his sister, stars help me. You mustn’t believe a word that imp says.”

  Maybe. “I could tell you weren’t his greatmother just by looking at you.”

  “No you couldn’t.” She pressed close to him and her free hand stroked his back. “Would you like to kiss me?”

  No one had ever asked him that before. There had to be a first time for anything, but under the present circumstances he found the question so inappropriate and alarming that his hair would have tried to stand on end if it hadn’t already been doing so.

  “Very much. But do you want me to?”

  She sighed and released him. “I might if I knew you a little better. You smell nice. Nashira bet me that you would try if I encouraged you.”

  “And what would have happened then?”

  “I would be branded a promiscuous hussy and spurned by all my friends. If it came out in court, it would ruin your chances of gaining status. Shall we go?”

  “Lead on.” It was hard to think.

  She led him along the paved path flanked by phosphorescent flowers, whose scent hung heavy in the air. The many-colored twinkling lights in the trees were presumably Starlands fireflies. A full moon shone low in the sky, illuminating filmy clouds that perfectly complimented Alniyat’s silver hair. Even allowing for the dim light, this place seemed much more real than anywhere he had yet seen in the Starlands. A great white shape swept past overhead, silent as an owl, which it might or might not have been.

  “This is the celebrated Moon Garden?”

  “One part of it. It’s huge, famous. Ancestral. One of Dubhe’s greatfathers imagined it centuries ago.”

  “Greatfather?”

  “Father, grandfather, then greatfather. It works the same way with greatmothers. As soon as the moon sets on one side, it rises again on the other.”

  “And Muphrid stole this place?”

  “He flew a portal of his own in a couple of years ago, which is trespassing. Then he closed Dubhe’s portals, which made it grand larceny.” Alniyat sighed. “But Fomalhaut was bluffing when he threatened him. Dubhe is a Talitha supporter, so the prince will do little to help her. And the regent does whatever the prince tells him to.”

  The night was very dark, in more ways than one. “Um? Prince?”

  “Vildiar. This is where I’m staying.”

  It seemed more like a cave than a room to Rigel, being a small hollow hill, but it had several entrances, either doors or windows as one pleased, plus its own pool and waterfall. The floor was cushioned by moss and trees grew on the roof. If you had unlimited magic to throw around, as the starfolk seemed to, why not build a nice cool, damp cave?

  Alniyat sat on a couch-shaped rock, sinking into the moss. “There’s a mirror behind those ferns.”

  Rigel found the mirror where moonlight conveniently shone on his face. It was an unfamiliar face, with its funny little human ears exposed. With Alniyat’s help, the little starling had given him a buzz cut that looked a little like elfin fur, but his eyes didn’t sparkle as the starfolk’s did. Nashira had called them “dead.”

  Sprawled back against mossy cushions, Alniyat was staring absently at the roof. “This gathering is a crushing bore. There isn’t one interesting male among the lot of them.” Her pose was as blatantly provocative as her words.

  Beauty too rich for use. Rigel had quoted the words Romeo had used upon his first glimpse of Juliet, which now felt like a serious indiscretion. “I thought I had already passed the seduction test?”

  “Yes, you did.” She sighed and sat up. “Time to go. We’ll be late for dinner. If you are given status, I may let you kiss me, just once, to celebrate. But you must promise faithfully not to tell anyone.”

  “They wouldn’t believe I could ever be so lucky.”

  “No, they wouldn’t.” She smiled.

  Her teeth were two ivory saws and her ears as big as her hands, but she was unbelievably gorgeous in spite of that.

  “Do we have to change our clothes for dinner?”

  “No. Just rinse off in a fountain.” She fixed her silvery gaze on him and angled her ears at him too. “You do realize that they’re all afraid of you, little tweenling?”

  “Frightened of me? Why?” That was crazy.

  “Your scars and the blood that covered you when you arrived. I know Fomalhaut said it was just earthling blood, but we starfolk don’t go in for fighting and killing all the time like earthlings do.”

  He wished she h
adn’t reminded him that he was a mass murderer. Who was this Fomalhaut, anyway, and why had he turned up to rescue him right after the killings? Rigel hadn’t had time to wonder about that strange coincidence yet, not to mention the mystery of what had motivated the strange mass violence in the first place.

  “We don’t do it all the time either,” he said. “I’ve never killed anyone before, but I was attacked, and Saiph defended me.”

  “Well, earthling blood doesn’t count for much here. We starfolk never die, you know?”

  Of course not. Goddesses were immortal.

  “Lucky you. How long do halflings live?”

  “Not long by our standards, just a few centuries, but much longer than mudlings or earthlings. We can be killed by violence, of course. One of my greatmothers was eaten by a kraken, and my grandfather drowned. But we don’t go around killing one another. No wars, no murders.” She pulled her feet up, hugged her knees, and stared fixedly at him. “You know why?”

  “Because you’re more civilized?”

  “Oh, no, we’re not. Because any starborn who kills another dies of guilt, that’s why. It takes all the fun out of blood feuds.”

  She paused, waiting for his reaction. He was pretty sure now that Alniyat’s childish, dreamy manner was a velvet sheath on a steel stiletto. She was dangling something important just out of reach. Now it was time for an IQ test apparently.

  He said, “Suppose you hired a killer? No, you couldn’t. You couldn’t hire a starborn killer, anyway—same problem. How about arranging an accident, a leaky boat, say?”

  She shook her head, lighting up the cave with a hint of a smile. “Indirect murder is still murder.”

  “Hiring an earthling, then?”

  “That’s absurd. No earthling or mudling would stand a chance against a starborn. Besides, they’re only tools, so the curse would fall upon their owners.”

  Now he saw where she was heading. “Halflings, then? Do we tweenlings die of guilt if we kill starfolk?”

  “Not usually.” She flashed her teeth again.

  “And we’re not tools? We have free will?” Rigel looked down at the Saiph amulet. It was like owning Excalibur, Naegling, Durendal, or the sword of Welleran… or, rather, it was like being owned by them. “How do I ditch this damned thing?”

  “Just by dying. Most amulets can be put on or off like ordinary jewelry, but defensive amulets are different. Saiph wouldn’t be much good if you could be threatened or blackmailed into taking it off, now would it?”

  “Of course not,” he said, although the logic was obscure.

  “Poor Rigel! They won’t give you status, not ever.” She floated to her feet and drifted close to press her breasts against him and touch the tip of her tongue to the end of his nose. “They won’t dare. Halflings make good assassins and you’re impossible to defeat. They can’t let you loose. It’s out of the question. You have the white hair of a child before his color comes in, but you’re not a boy, are you?”

  No he wasn’t, and she knew it. This was her third attempt at seduction. “You really want me to prove it? Lie down.”

  “You already have proved it,” she said. “You’re a man and you wear Saiph, the king of swords. I have to decide what to do about that. In the meantime, let’s go to dinner.”

  Chapter 8

  Muphrid explained that he had created the Versailles room as a copy of the Hall of Mirrors in that what’s-its-name French palace, but the huge paintings were blurred and the gold frames were half-melted, giving the room the same phony, half-baked appearance as the swimming glade. Whereas the Moon Garden had felt real, this place was strangely out of focus.

  “They were still building it, then,” he explained. “King Louis the something or other?” He peered inquiringly along the table at Rigel.

  “Fourteenth, probably,” Rigel said, that being the only Louis he could recall.

  “Sounds too low. It was about three hundred years ago. What number are they up to now?”

  “I don’t think France has kings any more, starborn.”

  “Queens are better,” Muphrid agreed, nodding.

  He and his dozen guests were dining under a row of chandeliers the size of Honda Civics, all of which blazed with candlelight, even though afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the huge arched windows. The meal was being served by about twenty footmen in historical costume—knee britches, silk stockings, powdered wigs, and so forth—under the direction of Senator, who wore a similar outfit with extra gold and scarlet trim on his frock coat. All the servants were human, and they seemed grateful for their heavy wool garments, for the hall was cool even for Rigel. Some of the full-blooded elves in their trifling moon-cloth wraps had drunk enough to become loud, flushed, and sweaty.

  King Louis of whatever number would have disapproved of the diners’ dress and recoiled at their choice of food. The live starfish, for instance. The trick, as explained to him by Nashira, was to pop the wiggly beasts into your mouth and hold them there while they thrashed around, emitting an unpredictable spectrum of flavors. If you bit them, they would sting, and when they turned bitter you had to swallow them quickly or they would nauseate you. Rigel found that such eating required extreme concentration, and he was seriously distracted by the presence of beautiful bare-breasted girls on either side of him and another directly across the table.

  His left-hand neighbor was the purple-eyed Nashira, who amused herself between courses by stroking his thigh under the table. This activity had been noted by Alniyat, who was directly across from him, and she kept sending him warning signals, which might mean that she’d kill him if he responded to Nashira or that Nashira would if he didn’t. Or perhaps if he did. Some of the foreplay going on around the table was even more blatant.

  Most of the conversation bored him, for it was vapid gossip about the rich and famous of the Starlands. There was trivial chatter about royalty: Princess Talitha, Prince Vildiar, and Regent-heir Kornephoros, who was designated to succeed Queen Electra when she retired “soon,” meaning in a century or two. Some starborn with an unpronounceable name had created the most fascinating ice park, complete with penguins and polar bears—one must see it. My lord This had lost several subdomains, apparently by absentmindedness, and my lady That had reportedly been found in bed with a human boy, which was much worse. This confirmed Rigel’s suspicions about Alniyat’s attempts to make a pass at him earlier.

  The talk that should have interested him made no sense. Starborn Icalurus, who had pink hair, announced that he had found an intriguing temple park in Japan and was planning to imagine something like it in his domain as soon as he completed his new thunderbird aviary. Nashira cattily asked if he had been extroverting after those geisha girls and he angrily told her that two good friends of his had been convicted of extroverting recently, and the regent had confiscated half their domains as a penalty. The others expressed sympathy but generally agreed that the ban on extroverting made good sense, and then began to argue about friends who had been stoned to death. It was all gibberish.

  Desperate to make conversation, Rigel asked about maps. The starfolk looked blank. Geography, he explained. Blanker. Eventually he got his meaning across, and they all burst out laughing. Geography was an earthling idea. They had no geography and didn’t need it. Where depended on who, they said, and that was that.

  He considered asking how many halflings there were and decided not to risk it. Did he even want to be granted status, assuming that it was some sort of residency or work permit? Would he be happier going back to Earth to face at least three murder charges? Was that even an alternative? The starfolk might be quite happy to banish him back to the real world, but he suspected they would not want to lose their legendary Saiph.

  The thought of Earth reminded him of Mira. What was happening to her?

  He was being asked a question, something about minotaurs…

  “No, starborn, never,” he said.

  “Great sport!” Muphrid proclaimed. “We’ll find yo
u a good young one.”

  “He’ll be able to show us Saiph in action!” That was Nashira, of course. When she wasn’t too busy caressing his thigh, she never missed a chance to snipe at him.

  Playing toreador with a minotaur? Would he have to wave a red cape?

  For years Rigel’s highest ambition had been to find his parents. It still mattered to him, and now he was making progress. Now he knew that one had been human, the other starborn. Maybe Gert had been his mother after all, and her story of the King of the Elves close to true except that her supernatural visitor had probably not been royalty. She wouldn’t have cared who he was or how strangely his ears were shaped so long as he paid well. “You’re growing tall like your dad,” she had told him when he was young. After the baby was born, his elfin father must have given him Saiph to defend him in his youth.

  Or had the amulet served another purpose? Could the use of magic be detected by some sort of elfin direction-and-ranging system? The first time Rigel had needed it… no, the third time. And that made sense. Fomalhaut had turned up much too promptly for it to have been a coincidence. Rigel punching out a mugger’s teeth in Vancouver might have alerted elfin watchers that the amulet had been activated, killing a bear would narrow down his location, and then slaughtering three men in Walmart would lead them right to him. Which sort of suggested that his father’s name was Fomalhaut, a conclusion even less appetizing than the toasted ivy salad.

  The first dozen courses were followed by an intermission, during which a flock of eight imps, including Izar, came in to entertain the grown-ups with an act they’d been rehearsing. They varied in height from about one meter to more than two, and only the tallest had any trace of color in their hair and eyes—the rest had the same white pigmentation as Rigel. The imps brought two sorts of harp, three lutes, two woodwinds, and a zither, setting up the large harp at one end of the line and the zither at the other. They then began to play, dance, and sing, all at the same time. As they wove in and out, they tossed instruments back and forth, so that a child might strum a few bars on a lute and then toss it to another in return for a woodwind. The older ones added back flips and other acrobatics. They never missed a beat and they all sang like angels when they weren’t blowing into oboes. See it and weep, Cirque du Soleil!