The Catswold Portal (7 page)

Melissa turned away, both amused by the Harpy and annoyed at the feathered beast. As she moved to the next cell, she saw that the Toad was awake. It had risen to sit on its haunches, its huge, warty belly distended. It fixed Melissa with a bulging stare that seemed empty of all intelligence. Melissa glanced back at the Harpy. “What are the homilies it remembers?”

“How to sour goat's milk. How to grow artichokes. How to please the Griffon.”

Melissa stared in at the Toad. “Will you tell me how to please the Griffon?” She doubted that the Toad would answer, it looked so dull.

“Caress of gold warmed by sun,” the Toad said in a slow, expressionless voice. “Kiss of emerald blessed by Bast, can please the steed of Nemesis.” The beast looked at her without expression.

Melissa repeated its words, then, “Toad, can you tell me about my past? Can you help me remember who I am?”

The Toad stared at her then lay down again. In an instant it was asleep.

She shouted at it and reached through the bars, but her fingers could barely reach its warty hide. It slept on, deeply.

Well, at least it had told her how to please the Griffon, though likely she would never need to know that. The Harpy,
looking out at her, seemed to divine her thoughts. “The Griffon would as soon eat you as look at you.”

Melissa said nothing. She left the Harpy and approached the wall that hid the rebel prisoners, and pressed her ear to the mossy stone.

She could hear nothing. She tried all the opening spells she knew, but the wall remained solid. She drew her light over the mossy stones looking for seams, but found none. She turned away at last toward the stairs and climbed quickly.

U
neasily Melissa approached the door of the queen's solar, wishing she knew why she had been summoned this time, and afraid she did know why. Yesterday when Briccha sent her up with the queen's new riding boots, she had paused in Siddonie's wardrobe to listen to the queen and two men talking in the chamber beyond. She had recognized the voice of the queen's seneschal. The dark, stooped man made her uneasy; Vrech came into the scullery sometimes to paw the girls, embarrassing most of them, and enraging Briccha. He was harsh, mean eyed, and not too clean.

Standing in the queen's wardrobe, she had listened to talk about imported wines and medicines from the upperworld, and Siddonie had said something about the portal in Xendenton and about a caravan carrying goods to Cressteane and Ferrathil. Vrech said they should not use the southern portal, that it opened on the upperworld in too crowded a location. Siddonie had snapped that she knew that, but it was less than an hour's ride away and he should be able to
manage his affairs so no one suspected anything. The queen spoke with cool familiarity of the upperworld cities to which the tunnels led. When the conversation lagged and a chair scraped, Melissa had fled for the hall. She had reached the other end of the passage when Vrech came out, followed by a thick, stiffly moving man with grayish skin and mud-colored hair. The two men had started down the stair when Vrech glanced along the hall, looking her over.

“That's the girl,” he said softly.

The men had paused, staring at her. She looked back boldly, but fear touched her. Finally they had moved on, laughing. She was terrified they knew she had been listening. And now, summoned by the queen, mounting the last steps and starting down the hall, she was certain she would be punished for spying.

She had been summoned not to the black door that led to the queen's dark chamber but to the adjoining solar which opened between the queen's rooms and the king's. She expected another dark room with black furniture and closed draperies.

But she entered a bright room, the draperies open to the green day, and four oil lamps burning. The walls were of a pale, smooth material she didn't recognize. The cream satin draperies, tied back, revealed a balcony then the far forest and a sweep of granite sky. The queen stood before a white marble mantel. She was dressed in pale riding pants, soft boots, and a white satin shirt clinging to her breasts and open at the collar. Her black hair was coiled elaborately, her black eyes were intense. A memory touched Melissa—she saw the queen dressed in strange clothes, a tight dress that ended at the knee. The vision filled her with fear and hatred. Even her dislike of the queen, and her knowledge of Siddonie's cruelties, seemed not enough to support the deep, total hatred that now swept her.

“I have decided to shorten your hours in the scullery, Sarah. Will that please you?”

“I…Of course it will please me.” She was not to be punished, then? Did the queen not know she had eavesdropped?

“I plan to give you some tests. I believe you will find them interesting.”

“What—what sort of tests?”

“Why, to discover your magic skills.”

She shivered, puzzled and apprehensive. “I have no special skills.”

“Did you not bring a light to guide your way up the passages to me, just now?”

“That is cottage magic—anyone can do that. There is no power to that—not like your powers.” She didn't like treating this woman with deference, but she sensed that it was wise.

The queen smiled. “Do you remember the winged lizards which flew over you when you went to the Hell Pit? Ah, yes, I see that you do. My lizards saw clearly what you are capable of—Sarah. It takes a special talent to call the Lamia from the Hell Pit.”

Melissa felt naked and defenseless, as if she were suddenly suspended again over the Pit, about to be dropped into the flames.

“It takes great talent to make the Lamia obey you.” The queen's smile was so cold Melissa shivered. “I mean to train your talent in more complicated magic, Sarah.” The queen looked at her deeply. “You are to be my disciple. You are to learn the powers of a queen.”

Melissa gawked. She dare not speak. Why should the queen want to train her?

“And now, my dear, shall we begin to use your real name? I much prefer Melissa.”

She swallowed. “If you wish.”

“Why did you lie to me about your name?”

“I didn't mean to lie. I am used to Sarah; it is what I am called. Any other name seems uncomfortable.” She was sweating, her throat was dry and constricted.

“I'm sure you will learn to respond to Melissa. It is your birth name. Come closer and kneel.”

Melissa took three steps and knelt on the pale, richly patterned rug. Coldly she listened to the queen's spell binding
her to a disciple's rules and submissions. She had not been asked if she wished to serve. Siddonie of Affandar did not ask, she commanded.

The spells were long and complicated. The queen's power pressed so strongly on Melissa she was hardly able to breathe. Silently, terrified, she wielded a counter-spell to block Siddonie's enchantment. But she began to feel deeply lazy as the malaise of enchantment took her. How rich was the queen's voice. And Siddonie was so beautiful, her pale skin creamy against the satin shirt, her black hair and black eyes gleaming like ebony.

Melissa jerked her thoughts back, alarmed. She fought Siddonie's charm harder with all the skill she knew. But blocking Siddonie's powers, keeping her face passive, again she imagined another room, where Siddonie sat at a desk, a very young Siddonie, no more than a child. The room glowed with a white, harsh light, and beyond the window loomed infinite space, as if the stone sky had vanished, leaving a void, a terrifying emptiness.

But then the memory faded, and she continued to fight Siddonie, keeping her eyes expressionless.

The queen watched her intently. “You may rise, Melissa.” She nodded, smiling, as if she had seen in Melissa's face obedience to her spells. “You will return to the scullery when I dismiss you.” She moved away from the mantel and drew her fingers along the back of a satin chair. “You will tell Briccha that from this day you are to work only in the mornings. Once you have spoken to her you will go to the dressmaker to be fitted for two plain, serviceable dresses. I have chosen the fabric. Then you will go to the bootmaker for sandals. You will come to me promptly each afternoon when you are summoned, not before.

“You will like my lessons, Melissa.” She gave her a look of complicity, as if they were close now. “I mean to train you to skills you don't yet imagine, very special skills. If you learn as I expect you to do, you will know powers perhaps to equal my own power.”

Melissa left the solar quickly, and stood in the wide pas
sage shaking, sick with apprehension. She was exhausted from her resistance to Siddonie's spell, all strength seemed drained from her. She tried to recall the fleeting memories that had touched her but they were gone now and without meaning, leaving her puzzled and afraid.

In the scullery she delivered the queen's message to Briccha, then escaped quickly to find the sewing rooms. There she endured the slow ritual of being measured. She went to the bootmaker, and again was measured and prodded by strangers. And now, with Siddonie's unexplained interest in her, she might have little time to search for the Harpy's mirror. Once the queen's tests began, she would likely be watched more closely.

She must find the mirror quickly, she must look into the past and learn the spell Siddonie had used to lock away the rebel prisoners, she must free them and escape with them, escape the dark queen.

But that night when she went to search for the Harpy's mirror, slipping down from the attic toward the king's chambers, the queen's maid was on the landing. And the next afternoon when she tried again, two pages were waiting outside the king's door. The third time, very late as she approached the king's chamber, Vrech came out of the queen's door nearly on top of her. As she turned away, he caught her wrist.

“What are you doing down here? You belong in the attic at night.”

“I'm hungry. I'm on my way to the scullery.”

“This is not the way to the scullery, my dear.” Smiling, Vrech began to stroke her cheek. She kicked him in the shin and jerked away, and went quickly up the back stairs, her nostrils filled with the smell of stale sweat.

She did not go down again that night. The queen's testing started the next day.

On foot she followed the queen's horse toward the woods south of the palace. She was flanked by four mounted soldiers. Walking between the horses she felt very small. And she felt stiff, sick, and cold with fear. She didn't know what
would happen if she passed Siddonie's tests. But if she didn't pass she would be of no use to the queen and would likely be sent away.

When Siddonie drew her horse up, Melissa paused behind her at the edge of the woods.

The queen spun her horse suddenly to face Melissa and pointed toward a broad oak. “Do you see that dove?”

“I see it.”

“Bring it down.”

“I have no weapon.”

“Don't sass me.”

She stared up at the queen. The queen looked back impassively. “Bring it down or I will use a harsher spell on you.”

Angered, Melissa made a simple killing spell. But she intentionally muffed it. The dove bleated and flapped away unharmed.

When it landed, the queen said, “Kill it now. Do not make another—error.”

There was no help for it. She brought the dove down smoothly. The small bird screamed, fell struggling among the leaves, and lay dead.

“Fetch it,” said the queen.

Obediently she picked up the limp, warm bird. As she gathered it in her hands, a sharp excitement filled her. Suddenly she longed to tease it, to play with it. Shocked, she stared at her grasping hands. Woodenly, not understanding herself, she carried the bird to Siddonie and dropped it at the feet of her horse.

The queen rode over the bird, crushing it, and began to describe the next test. “You will call a war horse to you—that bay gelding in the pasture. You will make it obey the commands I give you.”

Melissa called the gelding. He jumped the fence and came galloping. He was tall and heavily made, and more willing than a stubborn pony.

“Make him run free to the forest then bring him back.”

It was harder to control the gelding at a long distance,
but she brought him trotting back. Under Siddonie's direction, she worked with the gelding all afternoon. Only twice did he defy her; then the queen brought him back with her own spell, quickly, deftly. It was dusk when Siddonie released her.

There were no more tests for two days. The queen quit the palace before dawn the next morning, riding out with Vrech. Melissa watched from the window beside her bunk.

She had awakened feeling ill. For two days she dragged herself about wanly, making no effort to search for the Harpy's mirror. The illness was so sudden she thought perhaps the queen had laid a spell on her and when, the morning the queen returned, she felt completely fit, she was certain of it. An hour after her return, the queen summoned Melissa to a tiny courtyard at the back of the palace.

An armed soldier stood beside Siddonie. And there was, in the queen's eyes, an intensity that alarmed Melissa. Siddonie said, “You will turn his sword aside when he strikes at you.”

Melissa stared at the queen, not understanding.

Siddonie repeated the order, as if to someone very stupid, “You will deflect his sword with your own powers. Only your own magic will save you from being struck through or beheaded.”

“I cannot do such a thing. I never have done anything like that.” And in truth she had not; this was beyond her powers. She watched the queen, terrified.

“He does not feign this,” Siddonie said. “You will turn the sword or you will die.”

But it was a test
—
surely it was only a test.

“If you cannot turn his sword, you are no use to me. He is instructed to kill you.”

Fear and rage sickened her. She had no way to know the truth. If the soldier had been ordered to kill, he would kill. He moved suddenly, his blade flashed upward toward her face. Fear shocked through her. Her terrified spell wrenched the blade from his hand so sharply he went off balance.

She drew back, faint, not believing what she had done.

The queen smiled. “Very good. We shall try a few more.”

“No. I will not do more. I don't like this. What are you training me for?”

In two strides the queen was before her, and slapped her against the wall. “You have no choice. You will do two more. Or you will die.”

The soldier crouched, circling Melissa. When his sword thrust up at her she was so enraged, so hot with anger and fear, she shouted a spell that sent him sprawling across the tiles.

Again he came at her, crouching, dodging. Her blood pounded. She shouted a spell that turned his sword toward the queen's throat; only at the last instant did Siddonie's oath cast his blade aside.

“No more,” Melissa said.

The queen smiled with triumph. “Very good, indeed. Soon, my dear, I will teach you some of my own skills.”

Melissa's hands were sweating. She didn't like this; she was close to pure terror, close to losing control. She did not want to be Siddonie's disciple. She was frantic with the need to escape.

But she could not run away, not until the rebels were free. She watched Siddonie narrowly, waiting for the next test.