The White Gryphon v(mw-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  Shalaman went absolutely rigid, as if struck with a sudden paralysis. His face froze except for a tic beside his right eye; he opened his mouth slightly, as if to speak, but nothing emerged.

  Amberdrake sensed a turmoil of emotions—chief of which was panic. And overlaying that, real guilt. And beneath it all a terrible shame. All of his own doubts were resolved; consciously or not, Shalaman had tried to rid himself of his rival by underhanded means and had just been forced to acknowledge that.

  Caught you. Now to soothe you.

  “Serenity,” he said swiftly, using his Gift just as Skan had advised, to emphasize his words and gently prod the Emperor’s emotions in the direction he chose. “Winterhart is a beautiful woman, full of wit and wisdom and grace. She is a fit consort for any King, and I cannot fault you for desiring her. We are private in our emotions, and you could not know that this was not a marriage of convenience between us.”

  “You are generous,” Shalaman growled.

  Amberdrake noted the dangerous anger behind that simple statement. Time to turn that anger in the proper direction.

  “I also cannot fault you for falling into a trap that was laid for all of us,” he continued with a little anger of his own. “A trap contrived by someone—or a conspiracy of someones—who must be the most clever and fiendish I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. The party behind it—whoever he or she is—saw your interest and did not scruple to use it against all of us.”

  Shalaman knitted his brows slightly in puzzlement. “I do not understand,” he told the kestra’chern. “What are you trying to say? That these murders are serving another purpose?”

  Amberdrake nodded. “There is someone in this land who wishes to be rid of the folk of White Gryphon. I dare say he or she would not be averse to seeing you come to grief as well, and this person contrived to put you in a situation where you might not see the threat to your honor.” There. No accusation, only point out the existence of the threat. “That is why—or so we believe—these dreadful murders have occurred, all of them of people who objected to our presence but were completely loyal to you. That is why—so we conjecture—this person arranged a situation that you would also be entrapped by.”

  “So—I have a traitor in my own ranks?” the King asked, his expression darkening to anger, seizing gratefully on the suggestion that his actions had been manipulated by someone else—just as Amberdrake had known he would. It was an easier answer, one that was more palatable.

  Better that than be thought dishonorable, even by barbarians. Interesting. Amberdrake had the feeling that he was finally beginning to understand these people.

  “We believe so. The problem is that we will never find this person unless we lull him into carelessness,” Amberdrake told him earnestly as Skan and Zhaneel moved quietly away from the door. “So, before we go any further, that I may clear my name and honor before you, at least, I should like the services of Truthsayer Leyuet—but only in private.”

  Again, the King was taken aback. “Why in private? Do you not wish your name to be made clean?”

  Amberdrake shrugged. “We are gambling with more than just my personal honor here,” he said philosophically. “To ask for the Truthsayer before the Court would reveal that we are aware of some of what is going on, and I am willing for others to continue to suspect me if it will help us to catch the true villain. That is more important, and I can abide suspicious glares and the anger of your courtiers to achieve justice for the murders.”

  Sincerity, honesty, graciousness . . . do believe me, Shalaman. It all happens to be true.

  Shalaman nodded cautiously; too much the diplomat himself to take even this at face value.

  “I also request Leyuet’s services on behalf of the servant Makke,” he continued persuasively. “The reason will become clear when you hear what she has to say.”

  Shalaman frowned but nodded again. Gesten—who had left his message with Shalaman only to go fetch Leyuet—knocked in his familiar pattern at that precise moment, and Skan moved to open the door to let the hertasi and the Truthsayer in.

  They almost lost their advantage at that moment as Shalaman realized how they had manipulated him. But his own good sense overcame his temper, and he managed to do no more than frown at his Advisor as Leyuet came in.

  Leyuet made a formal obeisance to his leader which appeared to mollify the King somewhat. Shalaman gestured to the rest of them to take seats, then appropriated the best chair in the room and sat down in it with ill grace.

  “I see you have all this planned,” he growled, waving his hand at Leyuet. “Continue, then, before I lose my patience. Truthsayer, examine the man Amberdrake.”

  Good. He’s angry. Now to turn that anger away from us and toward whoever is conspiring against us.

  “There is only one thing more that I need to tell you, Serenity,” he said, very carefully. “But I needed the Truthsayer here to confirm it so that you will believe it. If you would, please, Leyuet?”

  The Truthsayer nodded and then knelt upon the floor at Amberdrake’s feet, closing his eyes and assuming an expression of intense concentration. As Silver Veil had explained it, Leyuet would not actually read Amberdrake’s thoughts as a Mindspeaker might, nor his emotions as an Empath would. She could only describe it as “soul-touching, perhaps, or heart-reading”—that Leyuet would take in what Amberdrake was, with no emotions or surface thoughts intruding, and relate that to the truth or falsehood of what he was saying. As she described it, the act would be far more intimate on Leyuet’s part (for Amberdrake would sense nothing) than any Empathic sensing of emotion. It was impossible to lie to a Truthsayer, she claimed. If that was the case, Amberdrake did not envy Leyuet his Gift—

  There are more than a few slimy souls I would never have wanted to touch in that way. Ma’ar, for instance, or Shaiknam. The very idea makes me shudder.

  “I wish to prove to you why my lady and I are more than we appear. Winterhart and I have a very unusual bond,” he said, choosing his words with care. “In our tongue, it is called ‘lifebonding.’ I have not been able to find the equivalent in yours, but it is a binding of soul to soul—a partnership that completes both of us. What one feels, the other feels as well—”

  He continued, trying to describe their relationship in terms that Shalaman might understand, groping through the unfamiliar Haighlei words, until suddenly Leyuet’s eyes flew open and the Truthsayer exclaimed with dismay—

  “Serenity! These two are loriganalea! Oh, dearest gods—what did you think you were doing?”

  The look of horror on Leyuet’s face was mirrored in Shalaman’s.

  What on earth? Why—

  Amberdrake had no time for any other thoughts, for suddenly, the Emperor himself, the great Shalaman, was on his knees, clutching the hems of Amberdrake’s garment and Winterhart’s in turn, begging their forgiveness. Amberdrake had not seen anyone so terrified in ten years. What had Leyuet said?

  Amberdrake was taken so aback he didn’t know what to say or do next. Leyuet seemed to be completely paralyzed.

  Finally it was Skan who broke the impasse.

  “Well,” he said, in a completely casual tone, as if he saw all-powerful Emperors groveling in front of his friends every day, “I always said you and Winterhart were something special.”

  Things were very confusing for several long moments. When a greatly-shaken Shalaman—who had by this time lost every aspect of Emperor and seemed to have decided that he would be, for now, only Shalaman the man—was calmed down and assured of both their forgiveness, they finally learned from him and from Leyuet why their reaction had been so violent. In fact, Leyuet was still looking a bit gray about the lips.

  “This is a sacred bond,” Leyuet said, carefully, so that there could be no mistake. “This is a marriage, made not for lust or for power or the sake of convenience, but made by the gods. The holy books are very plain; interfering in such a bond will bring the curses of the ages upon anyone who tries to break it, anyone who help
s to break it and anyone who does not aid the bonded ones. If he who tried to interfere in the bonding is a ruler, the curses would fall even upon the people as a whole. You have done a good thing, Amberdrake, by recognizing this bond and telling us of it. You have not only saved the Emperor’s honor, you have prevented the curses of all of our gods and yours as well from falling upon this land.”

  “You were well within your rights to withhold this knowledge from me,” Shalaman said miserably, shaken to his bones. “If I had not the opportunity to obtain your forgiveness, it is possible that the curses would still have come, and you would have had your revenge upon me threefold. It would only have been justice—your withholding of information in exchange for my omission.”

  The Emperor shuddered, his lips pale with strain. “There is nothing I can give you in my entire Empire that can compensate you—”

  This was too much. Amberdrake cast a glance of entreaty at the Truthsayer for help, since nothing he had said seemed to penetrate the Emperor’s reaction. Leyuet placed a hand upon Shalaman’s, keeping him from saying anything more. “It is enough. It did not happen. Amberdrake and Winterhart understand and forgive. They both know—well, enough.”

  ‘That is the truth,” Amberdrake said hastily. “Remember, we were all caught in a web of deception. The blame should rightly fall on the spider who spun it; let the curses fall upon him.”

  That was evidently exactly the right thing to say; the Emperor closed his eyes and nodded, relaxing a little.

  But Leyuet was not finished. “And you know, my Emperor, that even if Amberdrake were to perish in the next instant, Winterhart would still not be for you, nor for any other man. You may wish to consult Palisar on the matter, but I would say this proves that the gods regard those of White Gryphon as they would the Haighlei, in matters of the soul and love.”

  That last was said with a certain stern relish that made Amberdrake wonder if the pointed little reminder were not Leyuet’s tiny act of revenge for his own mental and emotional strain over this situation. Poor Leyuet. He walked a thread above a chasm, and he survived. I should not be surprised if he garnered more white hairs from this.

  Shalaman nodded weakly. “I know. And I swear that I will think of her from this moment as I would my own sister, my own mother, my own daughter—and with no other thoughts in my heart.” He shook himself a little, then looked up at Amberdrake. “Now, you will assert your innocence in this matter, and Leyuet will verify it, and I will make this public if there is no other way to prove that you are blameless. Will that suit your plan to trap this plot-spinning spider?”

  “It does. But do not reveal my innocence unless there is no other way to save my life,” Amberdrake reminded him. “We must make our enemy think that he has us trapped, all of us. He will never make any mistakes unless he becomes overconfident.”

  We have to think of other things that will make it look as if I am still the chief suspect. . . .

  Leyuet assumed his Truthsaying “trance” again, and Amberdrake carefully stated his innocence in all the murders. There was no point in doing this if Shalaman would still be wondering if Amberdrake had anything to do with the other three deaths. “Nor would I harm any other member of your court,” he added, “except to bring this killer to justice.”

  There. I think that covers everything. Shalaman hardly looked at Leyuet, who confirmed everything Amberdrake said in a dreamy, detached voice. Odd; he looked so strained before, but now he actually seems to be experiencing something pleasant! I wonder why?

  “Now, for Makke—” Amberdrake brought the trembling woman to sit in front of Leyuet. She seemed to be on the verge of tears, but bravely held them back, looking only at Amberdrake. She seemed to take comfort and heart from his presence, and he put a steadying hand on hers as he knelt beside her chair, out of Leyuet’s way.

  “Makke, you are the servant and cleaning woman for myself, Winterhart, Zhaneel, and Skandranon, are you not?” he asked in a gentle voice.

  She nodded mutely, and Leyuet echoed the gesture. “One of your tasks is to see that our clothing is taken to the laundresses and returned, is that not so?” he continued; she nodded, and Leyuet confirmed the truth of the statement.

  “Now—today, this morning, when you fetched the clean clothing, some of it was missing, correct? Whose was it?”

  Makke’s voice trembled with suppressed tears. “Yours, great lord.”

  “And that was before the afternoon recess, when all the Court takes a rest, was it not?”

  “Yes, great lord,” she replied, a single tear seeping out of the corner of her eye and escaping into the wrinkles of her cheeks.

  “When you took it away yesterday, did it ever leave your hands from the moment you received it to the moment you delivered it to the laundresses?” he asked. She shook her head mutely.

  “And when did you discover that there was a piece missing?” he asked her.

  “When I opened the bundle as it came from the laundresses, in these rooms, great lord,” she said and sobbed as she lost her tenuous control of herself. “I am—”

  “No,” he said quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her from saying anything more. “Describe the missing piece, if you can.”

  As he had hoped, she remembered it in minute detail, and it was obvious to anyone who had seen the bloody fragments that the robe she described and the pieces found with the last victim were the same.

  “Good,” he said. “Now, simply answer this. Did you leave the bundle anywhere, after you received it from their hands? Did you even leave it alone in our rooms?”

  She shook her head.

  “So during the entire time when the clothing was in your control, you did not leave it anywhere but in the hands of those who were to clean it?” It was a rhetorical question, but she nodded.

  “The woman speaks the truth,” Leyuet said tonelessly.

  “So—first, the clothing that turned up with the last murder victim was missing from my possession this morning, so I could not have been wearing it,” Amberdrake said triumphantly. “And second, it cannot possibly have been Makke’s fault that it came into the possession of someone else. She was not careless, she didn’t lose anything—it was stolen, and she can hardly be held responsible for the acts of someone who is a murderer, a traitor, and a thief.”

  Shalaman sighed wearily, and Makke suddenly looked up, her expression changing in an instant from one of despair to one of joy.

  “That is so, Emperor,” Leyuet said slowly as he shook himself out of his trance. “Though I fail to see why it was so important—“

  He stopped himself, flushing with shame. “Forgive me, woman,” he said to Makke, with stiff humility. “It was important to you, of course. Not all troubles involve the curses of gods and the fate of empires—but sometimes the fate of empires can devolve upon the small troubles.”

  Makke obviously didn’t understand what Leyuet was trying to say, but she nodded timidly, shrinking back into the chair.

  ‘The question is,” Leyuet said, “what do we do with her? I do not know that she should continue as your cleaning woman. Perhaps a retirement?”

  Makke shrank back further still.

  “If I may make a request?” Zhaneel put in. “Makke is the only one who knows that the clothing was missing. This puts her in danger, if the murderer thinks of it. Could she not be protected if she were here, in our personal train? If she were to be made—oh—” Zhaneel’s expression became crafty “—the nurse of my little ones? She would then be in our suite all the time, and under our guarding eyes and talons!”

  Leyuet looked dubious. “Is this permitted?” he asked Shalaman. “She is of the caste of the Lower Servants, is not a nursemaid of the caste of Upper Servants?” He seemed far more concerned over the possible breach in caste than by the threat to Makke’s life. Shalaman’s brow creased with a similar concern.

  Hang these people and their ranks and castes!

  Skandranon snorted with derision before anyone else
could say anything. “At the moment, the servants watching the little ones are from whatever caste takes care of pet dogs and parrots!” he said with thinly-veiled contempt. “This is, I believe, on the judgment of whoever it is that decides who should serve where. I hardly think that they can be of any higher caste than Makke. They are certainly of less intelligence!”

  Leyuet looked a little happier. “It is true, Emperor, that there is no description or caste for one who would be a nursemaid to—to—” He groped for a tactful description, and Skan supplied him with an untactful one.

  “Nursemaid to the offspring of intelligent animals,” he said shortly. “And I don’t see any reason why Shalaman can’t declare it to be in Makke’s caste and give her the job here and now.”

  “Nor do I,” Shalaman said hastily, obviously wanting to get what seemed to him to be nonsense over with. “I declare it. Leyuet, have a secretary issue the orders.”

  Leyuet emerged from his trance feeling more like himself than he had since the foreigners arrived. His stomach was settled, his headache gone, his energy completely restored.