Dropping her shoes to the sand, the blonde waded ankle-deep into the gentle surf. The wavelets coolly lapped her ankles and buried her feet in soft silt.
She thought of the romantic tale of the highlander's duel for the hand of his late wife. Caldan had killed--not once, but twice. How could he have had the force of will to end a life, even Hulgmal's sick existence? She looked at her own hands and flexed the fingers, then tried to imagine how it would feel to tear a life away, to send the Queen into the dim, unbroken, nothingness of death. Into the Mist.
No! Elzin sucked in a startled breath to clear her head. She mustn't think of that. Not now, not ever!
Goddess help me!
How could he have killed her undetected? The Queen warded herself fanatically with spells and tasters. Her physicians would have checked for marks or the symptoms of poisoning. The Royal Elite would have investigated thoroughly. How then could he have managed it?
Doubt crept in, turned about upon itself and settled, comfortable and comforting as a kitten curled beneath a sleeping chin. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe the physicians' warnings had proved true. Maybe he hadn't done a thing.
"Great Lady?"
She started. "Jenir."
"You asked me to remind you. It is time for your fitting with the Royal Seamstresses."
"Yes, that's… important, isn't it?" Her eyes wandered toward the bay. "I'll only be a moment."
o0o
Intrigued by the arrangement of shells, Heratinn walked slowly around the deep blue Sealord net, left behind by two of Baron Tower's sons. Almost instantly, he discerned that the pink shell player's apparent weakness was deceptive; if his opponent were unwary, pink would quickly overwhelm the white.
So easy, to read a child's strategies on a child's game-net. Heratinn had been, as a boy, too skilled at it for his own good. He thought it dishonorable to lose on purpose, and Stantinn thrashed him when he won. Where now had that uncanny talent gone, now that he needed it most?
Gods! Each time he thought his life could get no more complex, it did. His brother, dead, and then, his mother. Decisions besieged him at every turn: announcements, agreements, arrangements. Funerals, a coronation. Castandra. Her father.
Caldan had requested an audience. Thinking of Castandra, Heratinn had admitted him immediately. But the count had not come to discuss his daughter. Instead, he had come to talk of war.
An invasion. Heratinn might have laughed had such fantastic news come from another quarter, but the highlander was another matter. During and after their journey, he had seen that unshakable composure tested under the worst of circumstances. The count did not make even the smallest of decisions lightly, and yet there he had been, calmly advising an entire populace be mobilized for battle.
And yet, no matter how much he respected and trusted the councilor, Heratinn found himself unable to act on his proposals. Caldan steadfastly refused to reveal his sources. He had offered no proof except for figures showing a recent and remarkable increase in exports to Buktoz. While on paper such a sudden exodus of ships might seem alarming, the merchants he spoke with had assured him, such upturns were the way of trade, and nothing more than happy coincidence.
The highlander had seemed neither daunted nor surprised by Heratinn's final decision. There were no recriminations, just the simple statement that he would bring it up before the council, which, at the late queen's request, had remained in session throughout the spring and would now continue to do so until Heratinn was settled on the throne.
Gods, what fun the other councilors would have with this proposal! Already, they laughed among themselves about Val Torska's personal affairs: his relationship with Elzin, his possible tryst with the Queen, his daughter's scandalous flight from her new husband. Add to it this mad talk of an invasion…
Val Torska knew, he had to know, how the council would react. And yet, he went ahead. But why? Heratinn touched a bright pink shell and wished he could stand back see to another net laid out before him. But pieces were missing, important pieces, and he could not help suspecting that, like the young Sealord player whose game he stood admiring, Count Caldan Val Torska had some strategy in mind.
o0o
Still humming happily before her mirrors, Elzin sorted through the riches heaped in an uneven semi-circle about her. As Superior Gage entered, Kezwann pulled a shade so the slanted rays of the late afternoon sun would not impair her lady's view. She then left upon her errand.
Elzin set aside a coffer of rings. "There's a chair beneath those robes."
"I do not care to sit, Great Lady." said Shagril. Gods, he looked grim as a funeral at Summer Festival, and she wished she hadn't sent Kezwann away for tea and almond-orange cakes.
"One of my own men betrayed you to the Queen."
"It's true, then. But, who? Why?"
"Thelwinn. The Queen held his family hostage."
"Oh! Oh, poor Thelwinn! How awful!" She numbly gathered up the robes herself and dropped into the chair she had offered Superior Gage. "The Queen really was a monster. I can't help it if I'm glad she's dead. Send Thelwinn to me, Shagril; I'll tell him myself there's no harm done."
"This has never happened before, Saire Elzin, not in all the history of the Royal Elite Guard. The elite are deeply shamed."
"She had his family, Superior Gage."
"He had his duty first, Great Lady. And I cannot send him to you. He is dead."
"Dead? But how? Why?" Insight turned her face to alabaster. "You! You killed him! You killed--!"
"I cannot expect that you would understand our ways, Great Lady. No, I did not kill him, but if someone else had not, it would have fallen to me. He could not be allowed to live, Saire Elzin. The elite must remain inviolate.
"I chose the men who would be under my command. Whatever flaw made him unworthy, I failed to recognize it. Perhaps if my discipline had been more stringent, perhaps if I had been more perceptive… Still, it makes no difference. I have asked to die, but they have refused my petition. I would rather die than leave my command in shame."
"Then don't! Don't leave! Stay here and do your duty."
"I have no duty. I have nothing. I am nothing."
"Superior Gage--!"
"I am not Gage, either. I am Shagril, and Shagril only. I have failed you, and can make no reparation. I have come to confess my shame, and have done so. Your leave, Great Lady…"
"Wait!" She tossed the robes back over the chair and maneuvered into his path. "Wait. Where will you go? What will you do?"
"I will wander. I will exist until I die. Great Lady, allow me to go."
"No--wait. What about reparations? You said reparations. What if you could make them? What if--"
"There can be no reparations for a failed elite."
"Curse the elite! What about me? What if you could make reparations to me?"
Did something change, some small thing in his attitude or stance? Could she give him meaning? Hope?
"A task?" She cleared her throat and strove for a deeper pitch. "I have a task for you, Shagril."
"Great Lady, another--"
"I want you!"
His face twisted bitterly. "Your pity only shames me further."
"It's not pity!" she cried. "Everyone else has failed, Shagril! No one can find my brother!"
The wait felt dread and long, like the wait for a tree to fall when one doesn't know which way the axe has bitten.
"Since I have known you, Great Lady, you have searched for your brother."
"Of course I have. I love him and he's gone, Shagril. I want to know why. I want to know where."
"I will find your brother, Great Lady. For me, there will be nothing else."
o0o
Char pounded along the beach. Her grey hooves sent up plumes of spray as they struck the incoming waves. Caldan could not see the spray, but he could hear it, smell the brine in the droplets, feel them as they struck his legs, his hands, his face. Char did not fear to run in the dark. Char did not seem to fear anything.
I should be so fortunate now.
The hounds had bayed that evening. Olkor had done his duty; his son was gone.
And then, the dream had visited him again. The mist, the horrible sensation of being held helpless in it, alive and cognizant while his mind was emptied, until… what? He didn't know. There was simply a point in the dream at which he was no longer aware. He did not know if he awoke when he reached that point, or if the dream went on without his knowledge. He only knew that when he did awaken, it was to the frantic drumbeat of his own heart.
Caldan slowed his mare to a canter, and then a walk. She wanted to continue, and so did he, but she was obedient to the reins, and he could see the first grey light creep into the sky just above the horizon. By dawn he would be at his desk to make good use of the light, until it was time to prepare for the playing of the Flute and Heratinn's coronation.
Then, tomorrow, the first day of the special council session to help Heratinn with his period of transition. The first day in which he would try to convince the rest of his fellow councilors that even now, Buktoz moved against them. In all honesty, he could not conjure up even the smallest hope of success. He had no proof. He certainly couldn't offer them the truth--that he acted on a series of private visions from an instrument which by his heritage he could do nothing less than loathe. That, a small gold coin that happened to look like something described in a book he had read as a boy, and the unusually heavy commerce that had coincidentally called so many Lhantian ships to Buktoz. He actually gave more credence to his story by refusing to reveal his sources. Rumors of international intrigue were what had contributed to the final move against his father--let them think the sources he refused to compromise came from there.
His own people prepared even now. If he failed here, they at least would be ready. But they would be doing little more than buying time. He doubted that the Buktoz would accept the same terms that the lowlanders had; they would not respect the isolation of the Kyr, and his people would kill any outsider who stepped uninvited into Tarska. There was not even escape; the Kyr would never leave their land, for they would never abandon the Starsinger. In over a millennium, that law had been transgressed but once, shortly after the war with King Sheldwinn. The offenders had vanished without a trace.
And so he would endure whatever he had to, do whatever he had to, but he would somehow mobilize Lhant. It was that simple, and that difficult, and it never occurred to him that he might be wrong.
The sky had turned from lightest grey to peach and blue when he led his warmare into the yard of the royal stables. A horse and a pack mule stood tethered, and with surprise he noticed that it was Shagril who tightened the cinch on the riding horse. He had nearly failed to recognize the man without his uniform. Of course, Caldan realized. Thelwinn. The betrayal of one of his men would put an end to his career. Such a waste.
"Shagril."
"M'lord."
The two men regarded one another for a moment before the councilor spoke. "I am sorry to see you go."
"Thank you," Shagril replied. "I am fortunate that everyone has been so forgiving of my carelessness."
"You were never careless. Where will you go?"
"The Great Lady has given me a task so that I might redeem myself. I am to find her brother."
"Elzmere. You know that he and the Queen were lovers for a time, just before he disappeared?"
"Not just a rumor, then," Gage said unhappily.
"No. No rumor."
Shagril sighed and stepped into the saddle. "Knowing that will help." His eyes swept over the castle that had been his home for so many years, and then he looked down at the highlander. "Thank you."
Caldan watched Shagril's departure until the guards pushed closed the wooden gate. Ah, Elzin, he thought, your faithful Gage will search forever.
He had spoken the truth to Shagril Gage. Elzmere had become the Queen's lover, a foolhardy bid for her favor that the young elite had admitted to with almost hysterical remorse. Elzmere had come to him, begging to be put beyond her loathsome reach. Out of pity, he had done so.
But in the end, he had put him beyond everyone's.
Chapter Twenty-Four
If Past bore Pain,
Let Pain bear Hope,
Let Hope beget Fate.
In Hope is our Future.
-- The Offset of Deleterious Recessives (introduction)
Lyrvahn
A miniature ship's bell depended from the marble hand of the statue of Shador. Duke Oakfellow rang it solemnly three times and intoned ceremoniously: "The First Chair recognizes Lord Councilor Val Torska."
Early, for the Tarskan's turn; barely half of the assembled councilors had spoken. As the internally elected head of the Council of Lords, Oakfellow recognized the others in any order that he chose. Generally, he chose to call upon his old adversary last, or close to it, after the group's attention had waned, victim of too much talk, too much food, too much heady wine. But, the new king sat in on this first session since his coronation, and the highlander rested firmly in the young monarch's favor; it wouldn't do to snub the Tarskan too overtly. Besides, the speeches today would all be directed at Heratinn and consist of nothing more than innocuous introductions, pledges of allegiance and offers of condolences to the bereaved ruler. Or so he thought.
Caldan stood. "Your Majesty, fellow members of the Council of Lords:
"At each of our inaugurations, we gave a solemn oath to do all in our power to protect and defend Lhant. I tell you today that the time soon comes when that oath will be tested to the utmost. Buktoz has launched an armada of ships against us -- "
"What is this nonsense!" All eyes turned to Baron Sandicrest. On his feet already, he shook his fist at the highlander. "You! Haven't you caused enough scandal already? Sit down! Sit down, I say, and shut up!"
"Since the esteemed First Chair neglects his duty," the highlander said coolly, "let me remind you, Lord Councilor Sandicrest, that I have the floor. It is you who will sit down and be silent until my time is expired."
"By Shador," thundered the baron. "I will not suffer such insolence from a man-eating savage! I'll --"
Oakfellow held up his hand. "No, Lord Councilor Val Torska is right. Please be seated, Lord Councilor Sandicrest. You will have your say next. The representative from Tarska may continue." He favored the highlander with a predator's smile.
"The man-eating savage thanks the First Chair," said Caldan drily.
"The intelligence I have received establishes the latter part of Sheyil for the launch of the Buktoz fleet. Because of the prevailing winds this time of year, this fixes their arrival in or near the first part of the month of The Great Queen. A very short paper accompanies the records I have compiled to back up my source; I present these documents for examination by the council. Their contents detail the unprecedented and implausible demand for local goods that has caused so many of our ships to make for Buktoz ports and also reminds council of the intelligence discussed at a meeting several months previous. Council may recall that King Gorbagg had begun to amass a sizable army outside the port city of Zuk. His claims of future aggressive expansion to the north were at that time given credence and the subject was dismissed--a grave error on our part. I ask council to imagine a fleet swelled by our own commandeered ships and filled with trained warriors, many of them seasoned veterans. If such were to arrive today, a well-disciplined army of that size could sweep across Lhant virtually unopposed.
"But the invasion will not come today, and when it does Buktoz need not find us unprepared. Although we lack time to conscript and train a truly competent army, if we begin now, we have an excellent chance of gathering a sufficient force to repel them."
The count took his seat.
"Lord Councilor Val Torska has surrendered the floor. The First Chair recognizes Lord Councilor Sandicrest."
The baron, his beefy face still red as the wine he'd been gulping, growled sullenly into his tankard. "Lor
d Councilor Sandicrest yields to Lord Councilor Azinhill."
Oakfellow was not surprised. As much as Sandicrest might want to castigate the highlander personally, he knew, as they all did, that it was Azinhill who had the pretty tongue.
The Baronet of Azinhill stood and gestured broadly toward his fellows. "Each of us, save Lord Councilor Val Torska, has had a great deal of experience in matters involving foreign exchange, and that, perhaps, gives us a somewhat different outlook on matters involving marine trade. As responsible merchant-statesmen, each of us must recognize the bonanza that these Buktoz orders represent, but to a highlander, a people who are by their very nature warlike, I suppose it comes as no surprise that this lucrative exchange might suggest a military threat.
"Now, it is not, of course, my intention to cast aspersions on my esteemed colleague. I recall, when he was but a youngster and I already in my early tenure as a member of this council, my admiration at how manfully he strove to don the cumbersome mantle of gentility, until his reputation for temperance and manners might do any noble credit. To be sure, one might argue that of late the mantle has slipped somewhat," he paused as quiet laughter rippled through the councilors, "but I ask you, my fellow councilors--who among us has not had our little weaknesses and thereby suffered the little confusions that attend them? If we ourselves were subjected to so many… shall we say distractions… each one on the heels of the other, might we, too, not have our moment of faulty judgement upon which we might act too hastily?" He beamed paternally at the highlander. "Yes, I think even we might. Therefore, I feel that it is only charitable that we give Lord Councilor Val Torska the opportunity to rescind his understandably ill-considered accusations against our Buktoz friends. Then we may all forget the matter, and continue on with this meeting in good order."
"I rescind nothing," said Caldan.
"But you offer us no real proof. Tell us how you have come by this notion. Perhaps then--"
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