Sky Trillium. Julian May

Skritek had also been routed by Gorkain and his men.

      ‘Well done,’ cried Queen Anigel warmly.

      But the King looked down upon his filthied person with a grimace. ‘Only the Triune knows how we shall remove this mess from ourselves, unless we take a headlong leap into the swamp and exchange mud for spawn-slime.’

      As if in answer, thunder rumbled overhead and a deluge of rain pelted down. Antar removed his helm, tilted his head so water bathed his face, and laughed. ‘Thank you, gracious Lords of the Air! By the time the main column catches up with us, we may almost be fit for civilized society again.’

      ‘Perhaps you should return to your carriage, my Queen,’ Lord Marshal Lakanilo suggested to Anigel. He was a tall man of sparse flesh, whose manner was grave and dignified in spite of his befouled appearance. He had been appointed to his office following the heroic death of Lord Marshal Owanon in the Battle of Derorguila.

      The Queen shook her head, dismissing the suggestion that she should retire. ‘Heavens, no, Lako! With the smell of Skritek now stronger than ever, my ladies will wrap their faces in perfume-soaked veils. Frankly, my nose is less offended by the smell of the monsters.’

      Princess Janeel and Crown Prince Nikalon came cantering up with a group of noble attendants and gave noisy greeting to their parents and the Oathed Companions.

      ‘Phew!’ cried the Princess, pinching her nose. ‘The spawn-reek is much worse up here – oh!’ She screamed at the sight of the slaughtered creatures.

      ‘They are quite dead, my Lady,’ the Lord Marshal said. ‘There is nothing to fear.’

      Prince Nikalon had drawn his sword and his eyes were alight as he surveyed the noisome remains. ‘Are you certain, Lako? Perhaps we’d better reconnoitre the swamp. I’m ready!’ At fifteen, he had nearly attained a man’s stature and wore a helm and breastplate and military cape.

      ‘Ready ready ready!’ Immu exclaimed crossly. ‘Your royal parents and the Oathed Companions must now feel very relieved that such a great champion has arrived.’

      ‘Oh, Immu,’ groaned the Prince. The knights were laughing, but with good humour for they all were very fond of the impetuous Niki.

      ‘There is no need for us to leave the road,’ Antar said. ‘Indeed, it would be foolhardy for us to do so, since the water continues to rise.’

      ‘Well, I’m sorry I missed the fight. I never saw Skritek spawn before.’ The boy sheathed his sword and began questioning the knights about the attack, and the Lord Marshal sent off for another mount.

      Janeel rode closer to her parents and the little old nurse, expressing relief when she was told that the only casualty was a single fronial. ‘What horrible things the spawn are! Is it true that they kill their dams at birth?’

      ‘More often than not,’ Immu said. ‘Adult Skritek have the use of reason – more or less! – but the young are ravening and mindless. If the mother is lucky, she may leap to safety as each larval offspring drops from her womb, and the spawn will feed upon meat she has provided. But it is more common for the offspring to awaken before birth and gnaw their way from confinement through the mother’s body wall.’

      ‘Ugh!’ said Janeel. Her face had gone white within the hood of her raincape and she would gladly have departed the nauseating scene, were it not that Queen Anigel seemed unfazed. ‘No wonder Skritek know nothing of love or gentleness.’

      ‘And yet,’ Prince Nikalon interposed with grisly relish, having rejoined his parents and sister, ‘the Skritek are the oldest race in the world, and sages say all Folk are descended from them. Even you, Immu!’

      ‘I thought humankind was the most ancient race,’ the Princess said.

      ‘We did not originate in this world,’ said the Queen. ‘Your Aunt Haramis the Archimage learned that human beings came here from the Outer Firmament uncounted aeons in the past. The Vanished Ones were our ancestors.’

      ‘What is even more amazing,’ said King Antar very quietly, ‘is that the Vanished Ones used the blood of both Skritek and humanity to fashion a Folk-race that might withstand the Conquering Ice.’

      ‘But … why?’ The Princess, unlike her older brother, had never heard the story; nor had most other people, for the Archimage had decided that it must be kept secret, except among the royal family and its most trusted confidants.

      ‘The ancient humans felt guilty abandoning the world their warring had largely destroyed,’ Antar said. ‘You see, Jan, the Vanished Ones believed that the ice they had unwittingly created twelve-times-ten hundreds ago would devour all the world’s land, save for the continental margins and some islands. They thought the Skritek would surely die, leaving the world devoid of rational beings. But that did not happen. The ice failed to conquer after all, and both the Skritek and the new race of hardy Folk lived on together. So did certain stubborn humans who had remained behind when the rest Vanished into the Outer Firmament.’

      ‘Those aborigines that we call Vispi,’ said the Queen, ‘the high-mountain dwellers who aided your Aunt Haramis in obtaining her talisman and who are now her special Folk, are the result of that long-ago experiment. They are the true firstborn, combining the Skritek and human lineage. Of course they give birth in human fashion, as other high races of Folk do.’

      ‘But the Vispi are so beautiful,’ Jan said, ‘while the other races of Folk are – ‘ She broke off, realizing how improper it was to speak thus before the old Nyssomu nurse. ‘Oh, Immu, I beg pardon. I did not mean to insult you.’

      ‘I take no offence, sweeting.’ Immu was calm. ‘To Nyssomu and Uisgu the Vispi appear unattractive. You call them beautiful merely because they most resemble yourselves.’

      ‘But how, then, did the other races of Folk come about?’ Janeel inquired.

      ‘Some were engendered through new infusions of Skritek blood,’ said the Queen in a sombre tone.

      The Princess thought over the horrid implications of this, and she and her brother were silent for some time.

      Then Immu added, ‘Over the ages, fresh human blood also contributed to the racial mixing. In ancient times, humans often mated with Folk. It is just within the last six hundreds that your people began to call mine Oddlings, insisting that we are inferior beings. In other human kingdoms, the disdain for us persists. Only in Laboruwenda are the Folk acknowledged to have souls, and certain of us are granted the privileges of citizenship.’

      ‘I will see that the nation of Raktum does likewise,’ Princess Janeel stated offhandedly, ‘when I marry Ledavardis and become its queen.’

      ‘Oh, Jan!’ Anigel exclaimed angrily. ‘You know I have forbidden you to speak of that matter before your Royal Father.’

      ‘What’s this?’ Antar glared at his daughter. ‘Don’t tell me she still fancies that Goblin Kinglet?’

      ‘Ledavardis of Raktum is a brave man,’ Janeel said, ‘and no more a goblin than Niki is. Even though his body is not handsome, he is noble of heart.’

      ‘So you say!’ The furious King spoke to the Princess through clenched teeth, and his blond beard bristled. ‘To my mind, the Raktumians are naught but half-reformed pirates, and no daughter of mine will wed their malformed King! How can you forget that Raktum allied with Tuzamen and the despicable Orogastus to make war upon us?’

      ‘Ledo fought and surrendered with honour,’ Janeel retorted. ‘And he has ever since then commanded his people to change their old lawless ways and behave in a civilized manner.’

      ‘Civilized!’ The King’s laugh was contemptuous. ‘Nothing has changed in the pirate kingdom, except now the Raktumian corsairs commit their crimes on the sly, whereas before they were bold as the vipers of Viborn. You shall never marry Ledavardis.’

      The Princess burst into tears. ‘You care nothing for my happiness, Father. The real reason why you reject