Chapter VI
Gate Building
Alone in her dark little sorcery laboratory, Rualath stood a long time lost in thought, even as she had been doing again and again since boldly making her vow to Haralachan about snaring Naitachal. What was she going to do about fulfilling that vow? She couldn’t afford to waste too much more time. Soon enough the Dark Elf lord would be wondering what she was about, and if she didn’t have something to show him—
Wait. Panic was ridiculous, weak. Take the problem point by point. Naitachal, now…she could not claim to know Naitachal very well. Even though they shared clan and caste, he had always been a strange creature, keeping to himself as much as possible, never really letting himself be involved in any of the convoluted, endless tangle of Nithathili plots, save those necessary for his own survival. But even as a child he had attracted the attention of those whose task it was to train promising young sorcerers in the proper science of Necromancy, the potential for Power radiating around him, strong and dark.
No, Rualath corrected herself drily, it would appear that his Power hadn’t been truly Dark after all. Though at the time he had seemed most perfectly born and bred for the role of Necromancer, absorbing every harsh lesson of the art without complaint or weakness, Naitachal had most definitely perverted his talents.
“Music.” Rualath said that foreign word with distaste, then shook her head. How could he possibly take such deep pleasure in a random collection of sounds?
No. Never mind that. Naitachal’s bizarre tastes hardly mattered. No matter how fiercely he might try to deny his heritage, he was still a fully trained Necromancer. That made him a dangerous foe—but a predictable one. Other Necromancers had challenged Rualath in the past, seeking to supplant her as Haralachan’s consort. She had destroyed every one of those who’d dared challenge her. No, the difficulty would not be so much in fighting and besting Naitachal, but in finding a way to lure him back to the Darkness in which he could be conquered.
Oh, indeed. And how was she going to find such a way? With an impatient hiss, Rualath knelt and released the magical clasps of chest after chest, crouching to rummage yet again through the scrolls that represented long years of study and experimentation.
But at last she sat back in helpless frustration. Nothing! There was still nothing she could use! If Naitachal was still of the Darkness, there would have been half a hundred strategies she could have used to snare him. But what could lure him now? What had he become, this impossibility of Darkness turned Light? How did he think? What would he, what could he want?
Ae, but she could hardly come before Haralachan with an inane, “I’ve failed.” That would be as good as offering him a sacrificial knife and lying meekly down on the altar. No, no, there had to be another solution.
All right, then. Think. If the finished, set magics she’d previously created were useless, perhaps one of her experimental, untested spells might serve, instead. But…which?
With a sudden snarl of impatience, Rualath got to her feet, straightening her robes with brusque hands. If her mind refused to help her here, perhaps a change of scene—and just possibly a brief hunt should some prey, animal or servant, cross her path—would clear her thoughts.
###
Rualath silently prowled the chill, dark caverns of her lord’s realm, seeing no one, hearing no one. But then she stopped with a soft, startled hiss, staring into utter blackness that even Nithathil sight could not pierce, her every magical sense alert and on guard. Another was here, another stood silent in the darkness. Why? A threat? Rualath drew defensive Power to her, ready to cast.
“I am alone.” A shrouded figure moved slightly forward, just enough for Rualath to see it assume the posture of Courteous Submission to an Equal: arms out from sides to show no weapons hidden, palms held parallel to the stone floor to show no spells being worked.
Ha, she knew the aura of this one. “Tanarchal. What do you want?”
If he was surprised at the ease with which she’d identified him, he showed no sign, calmly pushing back the hood of his cloak to meet her gaze. “I am overcome with admiration,” he said.
“Meaning?”
“Your sorcerous skill. And strength of will. I would not have the courage to experiment with Power as you do.”
“You would not have the talent,” Rualath said flatly. “I ask again: what do you want?”
“What do you want? So much Power, so much talent…what do you want, Rualath?”
She raised a skeptical brow. “I am consort to our ruler, free to work whatever experiments I wish. What more could I want?”
His teeth flashed in the darkness in a predatory grin. “I hardly expect one such as you to show weakness.”
“Weakness!”
Tanarchal kept his palms flat and outstretched. “Is not innocence a weakness?”
Rualath gave a sharp little laugh of contempt. “Don’t attempt to condescend, Tanarchal.”
“Never that. Not to someone who just might remember those who knew her before she…ah, but you surely have no desire to ascend the throne.”
“The throne is already occupied,” she reminded him reflexively, but the faintest spark of alarm shocked through her. Was this a genuine attempt at an alliance? Did Tanarchal truly mean to help her overthrow Haralachan? No Nithathil aided another without an ulterior motive: did Tanarchal see himself as the power behind the throne? Or…could he already have made some manner of alliance with Haralachan? Was this a trap? A test of her loyalty? There was never a Nithathili plot laid without a dozen interlacing possibilities and perils.
Haralachan is so much more powerful than this ambitious youngster, Rualath reasoned coldly. He holds the support I do not yet command and Tanarchal never will. Ambition and inexperience are perilous companions.
So, then. Better Haralachan’s dangerous arrogance than the need to forever be watching her back without respite that would come with an alliance with Tanarchal.
“No,” she said aloud. “Find another tool.”
His smiled thinned ever so slightly. “A challenge?”
“Against you?” Rualath let contempt flavor her words ever so delicately. “No.”
He bowed shortly, relief just barely veiled, his wary gaze never leaving her face just in case she might choose to attack without formal warning, then he backed away into shrouding blackness. Rualath stood with predatory patience for a long while till she was sure she was in no peril from his sudden ambush, then walked away with slow, studied grace, radiating total lack of concern with every step. It wasn’t a complete act: since he had forgone attack here and now, there wasn’t any real threat from Tanarchal; he knew as well as she that she wouldn’t betray him to Haralachan. No, if Haralachan wasn’t strong enough to hold off Tanarchal or any other would-be usurper without help, then he didn’t deserve to keep the throne.
Ahh, yes. But if Haralachan continued to hold power, then the problem of Naitachal remained unsolved. Rualath let out her breath in a long sigh, and turned back towards her sorcery study, part of her mind forever wary against possible danger, the rest contemplating magic. There must be a solution, there must!
###
Haralachan slowly lowered the small, intricately cut gemstone from his eye, letting it fall back on the thin chain about his neck. So, and so…interesting. Interesting that Rualath should choose to cleave to him. She must have been sorely tempted for a moment; he was very much aware of her ambition, just as he was aware that she knew only too well that with him rested political might.
For now, whispered a sly corner of his mind, and Haralachan’s lips tightened ever so slightly. Yes. For now. For now and for as long as he wished to hold that power. Tanarchal? Now and again a Tanarchal arose, more willfulness than sense. Others before him had come and gone. And Tanarchal, in turn, would someday serve his lord and the Darkness in the hunt or on the altar. In the meantime, Haralachan would let him live, for the possibility of that future entertainment.
Rualath, though. There was a deeper threat—but also the greater promise of excitement: long Nithathili lives soon led into boredom without the thrill that came from such potential danger from such intimate companions. Haralachan smiled languorously, coldly. If she failed him now, in the matter of Naitachal, he would, of course, take her life. If she succeeded, why then, she became all the more dangerous to his security—and all the more exciting.
###
Entering her study, Rualath barred the door with a commanding wave of her hand, then, safely alone, fell back against a wall. Ignoring the coldness of the stone stealing through her, she stood grimly hunting through her mind, remembering every sorcerous test she’d ever made, finding and analyzing and rejecting concept after concept, until…until…
Hai, yes! The answer hit her so suddenly Rualath straightened as though she’d been slapped, nearly cried out in startled triumph. Yes, oh yes, indeed! Pausing only long enough to will her thoughts to proper coolness, she sent a mental call.
“Yes,” came Haralachan’s cool answer. “What?”
“I have an intriguing little tale to tell you.”
“Well? What?”
“Dealing with our wandering traitor. May I join you?”
“In the audience cavern, yes. Now.”
He broke the mental contact so brusquely Rualath bared her teeth in a silent snarl. Oh, she’d truly named him arrogant! How dare he summon her as though she were nothing more than an erring slave? And forcing her to meet him in such a public place—Haralachan was most surely making certain she didn’t dare fail him, not with potential witnesses certain to be all about.
“I will not fail,” Rualath promised softly. “And may the day come when you regret that fact.”
Her walk smooth and deliberate as a predator’s stalk, she returned to where Haralachan sat at ease on his obsidian throne and paused a moment to study him. Ah, what an image he presented. His long legs were outstretched and crossed at the ankle, the lazy pose contrasting sharply with the darkness half-hiding his lean form and the waves of cold, casual Power radiating from him.
Save the tricks, Rualath thought wryly. I’ve seen them all before.
“Well, my dear consort?” Haralachan asked with delicate irony, looking at her over steepled fingers. “What have you?”
Rualath smiled slowly. “As I hinted, I have an intriguing little solution to our…problem.”
“Naitachal, you mean. What?”
“Ah, then you are interested, my lord?”
His eyes flickered with impatience, glinting red in the dim light above the elegant hands, but Haralachan’s coldly perfect face remained impassive as stone. “Speak.”
“I call my magical creation simply a Gate Spell.”
“There have been other Gates.”
Rualath narrowly kept from frowning at the casual scorn in his voice. “Of course there have,” she replied smoothly, “but none quite like this.”
“Ah? How so?”
“This Gate,” Rualath purred, “shall be a sorcerous doorway, yes, but it shall,” if the magic works correctly, she added wryly to herself, “be keyed specifically to Naitachal. It will be designed to snare him the moment he passes through the Gate, or even too near to it, and pull him, helpless as a slave, straight into our arms.” She paused with a slight smile, just barely keeping it from turning into a triumphant grin. “Does that intrigue you, my lord?”
Even though his face still showed not the slightest trace of emotion, Rualath saw the mingled relief and caution glint in his eyes. Yes, my lord, she purred silently, respect me. Fear me, even.
Oh, granted, the Gate Spell was still very much in the experimental stage, with a good deal of potential for its going wrong or failing altogether. Rualath admitted to herself that she hadn’t yet been able to send a rat through the Gate she had created in tests without the whole thing shattering uselessly. But showing herself as fallible in any way before Haralachan would be worse than inane: it would be suicidal.
And that, Rualath told herself, I most certainly am not. As far as Haralachan may know, my spells never fail.
“Yes,” Haralachan said at last. “It does intrigue me. Go, my good Rualath. Begin your spell. The traitor shall be ours at last.”
Yes, he shall, my melodramatic consort. But when he is snared, Rualath thought with an inner smile, the glory of that snaring, when none else in all your realm could catch him shall all be mine.