From laughter, the hall now filled with contentious words. Amaltar called for quiet, and Valdid rapped the mosaic floor with his staff until the warlords reined in their tongues.
The crown prince sat back on his throne, rubbing a finger across his clean-shaven chin. “What do you say, Mistress Yoralyn?” he asked.
Seated far to the side, the head of the White Robes in Daltigoth could not address a council of war unless spoken to by the prince or emperor. Having been given leave, though, she now said firmly, “Put your trust in Lord Tolandruth, Your Highness. He will succeed.” Nazramin snorted into his pewter mug.
“We’ll go with Lord Tolandruth,” offered the turbaned kender, who was not Forry Windseed.
The wrangling threatened to resume, but a tall, gaunt figure emerged from the curtains behind the throne, silencing all arguments.
Although no longer the vigorous warrior of earlier decades, Emperor Pakin III still commanded the deep respect of his subjects. Everyone knelt, even Nazramin. Pakin III looked them over calmly.
“My, how you all talk. Too much talk will be the death of us,” he said. “The council is over. Amaltar, send Lord Tolandruth. Give him what he wants and let him go to Hylo.”
Amaltar stood, clapping his heels together in salute to his liege. “It shall be done! Lord Tolandruth will be given his pick of three hundred soldiers, and all the supplies he needs. The kender will show him the way. He will take orders directly from the throne. Let it be so recorded.”
The emperor shuffled back up the dais toward the curtains. The legion of scribes seated below the prince’s dais made the proper notations. Egrin shook his head at his former shilder. Prince Nazramin looked triumphant.
Once he was alone with Tol in the courtyard of the Inner City, Egrin gave vent to his misgivings. “Prince Nazramin maneuvered you into this,” he said. “He wants you out of Daltigoth. He’ll do anything to ensure your mission fails.”
“Then I’d better not fail.”
As the vexed Egrin headed off to return to Juramona House, Tol remained behind. He wanted to make an offering to Mishas in the garden temple, he said, to ask the goddess to watch over him on his journey.
Over his shoulder, Egrin said, “Give her my good wishes also.” And Tol was left to wonder at the import of his words.
When he reached the grove surrounding the College of Sorcery, Tol paused. The last light of the setting sun illuminated the Tower of Sorcery. The structure had reached a height of twenty paces, a massive octagon of stone encased by a rising web of scaffolding, overtopping the trees. Above the line of dense stone, the phantom tower remained, shimmering and translucent. The magical double of the tower, formed of cherry blossoms from the natural life-forces present in the college and garden, glowed shell-pink in the sunset. At night it shone white and solid, like a brilliant lamp.
Progress on the tower had been slow, for work proceeded in daylight only. At night the sorcerers activated their wall of sleep to keep intruders out. They had enlarged their spell to encompass the entire garden, even the Font of the Blue Phoenix. Of course, the barrier had no effect on Tol, protected as he was by the Irda millstone. He’d threaded a strong copper chain through a small gap between the smoky glass and the braided circlet, allowing him to wear the millstone on his left wrist.
Valaran had felt the metal on Tol’s wrist and knew he had a talisman there, but she asked about it only once. He told her knowing the secret could end her life, and so she did not ask again.
When the sun was fully set and he was certain he was unobserved, Tol called her name softly. She stepped out from a niche in the wall. Wrapped in a dark gray cloak, she seemed a part of the warm twilight. He held out his arm, and she rested her hand lightly on his wrist. Together they walked unfazed through the invisible barrier of sleep.
The fever of their early days together, stoked by their mutual fear of discovery, had mellowed with time. They now passed some nights in conversation, even in scholarship, as Valaran enlarged on the rudimentary reading and writing skills Tol had acquired in Juramona.
This evening, Tol wasn’t thinking of books. He hadn’t seen Valaran for three nights. As soon as they were safe, deep in the enchanted garden by the fountain, he pulled her into his arms.
“Poor lad,” she said, teasing. “You’ve missed me, have you?”
“I always miss you. And I’ll miss you more still. The emperor has ordered me to go to Hylo and find out who defeated a Tarsan army there.”
Valaran kissed him ardently. “I can ask Amaltar to keep you here-”
“No! You don’t understand-I asked to go.”
“You want to fight?”
Tol sat on the low wall that encircled the fountain pool. He pulled Valaran down beside him.
“I’m tired of chasing footpads through back alleys and brawling with Nazramin’s thugs!” he said. “A warrior must fight, else he’s just an over-dressed fool in an iron hat.”
Valaran trailed her hand in the cool water, causing the reflected stars to shatter and shimmer. She looked up from the moonlit basin and regarded him seriously. “You must obey the emperor’s will, as I must. But it will be terrible, being apart from you.”
She leaned toward him and pressed her fist against his chin, saying sternly, “If you get yourself maimed, I’ll never forgive you. Killed, however, is acceptable. I’ll grieve most ardently, then find another lover. But I can’t bear the sight of cripples.”
Feigning shock, Tol twined his fingers in her long, soft hair and gently drew her head back. “You are a heartless woman,” he said.
“I am.”
“You admit it?”
“Certainly. I gave my heart to a peasant boy long ago. He keeps it still.”
They read no books that night.
Valaran lifted the hem of her skirt to keep it out of the dust as she hurried across the plaza to the palace. She entered through the stifling hot kitchens, quiet now that no meal was expected until breakfast. In a small room beyond the kitchens, she found Kiya and Miya. They sat at a table, heads resting on their arms, asleep. Her arrival woke Kiya, the lighter sleeper.
“Ah, it’s you, Princess,” Kiya muttered. “Is your visit done?”
“Done. Thank you again for helping Tol and me.”
The oft-repeated words were like a ritual among them. The Dom-shu sisters were part of Valaran’s deception. Anyone in the crown prince’s suite who went looking for the princess would be told she was with Kiya and Miya, collecting information about their forest tribe for a book she planned to write.
Kiya re-tied the thong that held back her long blond hair. “Don’t mention it. What’s a wife for, but to help her husband meet his lover?”
Kicking her sister’s ankle, Kiya said sharply, “Miya! The market’s open! Go buy us some venison!”
“No more ’n three silver pieces apiece,” murmured the sleeper.
Val laughed softly, but Kiya rolled her eyes. “She’s always been like this. Our mother used to pinch her nose shut just to wake her.”
“Why don’t you do that now?”
“Same reason Mama stopped doing it: Miya punches hard!”
Kiya hauled Miya to her feet, and hoisted her over one shoulder. Valaran led her through the empty kitchens.
Outside in the fresh air, the princess said, “Tol is going away, to Hylo.”
“We heard. News moves like the wind in this pile of stone.”
“Will you be going with him?”
Kiya yawned. “I think so. Do us good to get out of the city for awhile.”
“I envy you. You get to go with him. I must stay here.”
The towering Dom-shu woman patted Valaran on the shoulder, and the princess said, “Take care of him. Bring him back to me.”
“He doesn’t need much care. But we’ll watch his back, Miya and me.”
With the inert Miya over her shoulder, Kiya strode off. Some distance away, she stopped and dumped her sister unceremoniously on the ground. Miya awoke, flailing her f
ists. After an exchange of familial insults, the women walked away together. Valaran could hear them sniping at each other long after the night had wrapped them in darkness.
She re-entered the palace. She needed no candle to light her way through the echoing, darkened corridors. So familiar was every inch of the sprawling palace, she could have run to her room blindfolded and never touched a wall or piece of furniture.
In the crown prince’s suite, she ascended the stairs. As she turned off the landing, headed for her own rooms, someone stepped out of an alcove and seized her by the arm. A cry of alarm formed in her throat, but a large gloved hand covered her mouth, stifling it.
“Quiet, lady, if you please. You’re in no danger. It’s your brother, Nazramin.”
Heart hammering, Valaran nodded her head to show she understood. His hand came away from her mouth.
She jerked her arm free, and said icily, “Brother by marriage. What is the meaning of this rude imposition?”
“Nothing of import, lady I wanted to inquire after your health. Cavorting outdoors at night can be hazardous. All sorts of nasty vapors lie in wait for the unwary.”
Valaran had mastered her surprise at his sudden appearance. “Speak plainly, sir, or do not hinder me further!”
“Fine. Hear me, Princess Betrayer: You deceive my brother with a peasant upstart!”
Alarmed anew, she drew back a step. Nazramin advanced the same distance. He was taller than his half-brother Amaltar, and more strongly built.
“Mind what you say,” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “I am not some serving wench you can bully into submission!”
Nazramin came closer. “You and that farm boy are lovers, and have been for years.”
“Spare me your dirty insinuations. I know the penalty for infidelity.” Under Ergothian law such petty treason was punishable by burial alive. Haughtily, Valaran added, “Would I risk disgrace and death for any man? Now stand aside and let me pass!” He advanced on her until she was pressed against him. She stared up at her tormenter not with fear but stubbornness and contempt. Nazramin rested his hand on the wall, just over her shoulder, and smiled.
“Princess, I have informants everywhere. I’ve known about you and the peasant from the first. Days, places, how long you were together-would you like to see the catalog of specific infidelities I’ve compiled?”
Valaran regarded him without any change of expression, yet inside she was quaking, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn’t doubt for a moment Nazramin had her and Tol dead to rights. He could have denounced them already, but he hadn’t, which meant he wanted something other than their destruction.
After only a moment’s pause, she spoke, and was proud that her voice still sounded cool and steady.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Gold? You’re richer than my entire family. Power? You’re second in line to the throne, with all the privileges and none of the responsibilities my husband has to bear. What more does a serpent like you crave?”
He smiled, a flash of teeth behind his red mustache. His breath smelled of stale beer. “I’m not here to avenge my dear brother’s honor,” he admitted. “I’m more interested in having an informant in his innermost circle.”
Now she was confused. “Amaltar tells me nothing-”
“Not your husband’s circle, lady, your swain’s.”
Fury rose up in Val’s breast and she cried, “I’ll not betray Tol!”
“Mishas bless you, lady, of course you won’t!” he said, chuckling. “And if I wanted to hurt him, I would simply reveal what I know to the prince. So please do continue your dalliance with Lord Tol. All I want from you is a record of his plans and movements-plus any letters he writes to you. Share that with me, and I won’t ruin you both.”
“Lord Tol” was a deliberate insult, but Valaran hadn’t heard it. She was busy turning over in her mind how to escape Nazramin’s suffocating coils. In spite of her outward show of bravery, she knew her fate was in the prince’s grasping hands. He would certainly be believed, especially if he had specific information about her activities. For what she’d done, there was no clemency. Amaltar could not spare her even if her wanted to. She’d he entombed alive in the palace wall, and Tol would lose his head. But if all Nazramin wanted was information about the Hylo campaign-?
He read her thoughts in the frown of concentration on her face. His look of triumph infuriated her all the more.
“There may not be any letters! He’ll be much too busy to bother writing me,” she snapped.
“Not write to his beloved? What country swain would fail in such a pleasant duty?”
Nazramin put his hand to her throat. Valaran immediately knocked it away and ducked under his outstretched arm. The prince’s low voice carried to her as she hurried up the wide stairway.
“You cannot refuse me, Princess Betrayer. My eyes and ears are everywhere. I’ll know when every letter arrives. Try to hide them from me, and I’ll tell a pretty tale to my brother and father.”
Valaran lifted her skirt high and ran the rest of the way to her rooms. Nazramin’s deep chuckle followed on her heels, terrifying, inescapable.
Chapter 17
Helpful Stranger
Without fuss or fanfare, Tol’s expedition departed Daltigoth at dawn. They passed through the Old City and out the main north gate, known as the Dermount Portal, for Emperor Ackal II Dermount was entombed there directly under the gate. As an old man, he’d prepared for one last campaign against his lifelong enemies, the Wak-shu tribe. Moments after declaring he would return victorious or be buried where he fell, he dropped dead from his horse as he rode out the north gate of his own capital. His loyal retainers honored his word and buried the doughty old warrior exactly where he died.
For the first time, Tol led his three hundred men from horseback, riding Cloud, a fine dappled-gray stallion and the son of his old mount Smoke. Egrin had brought the horse with him from Juramona.
The bulk of the men given to Tol were city guardsmen, hired commoners like the foot guards he’d once led in Juramona. They were tough and competent fighters, but few had seen any campaigning outside the city. Some had never been out of Daltigoth in their lives. To guide and instruct them in foot soldier tactics, Tol appointed each man of his personal retinue, as well as Egrin, to command a company of thirty men. Each commander was also mounted.
Unlike a typical Ergothian army, Tol’s demi-horde boasted no cumbersome baggage train. Each man carried ten days’ supplies, his arms, and a bedroll. If more was needed, they would have to forage. Once his band left the imperial road, Tol wanted the soldiers to be able to move fast, unencumbered by slow-moving wagons or gaggles of camp followers.
Kiya and Miya walked with the soldiers. Horses weren’t used in their dense forest homeland, and both women disliked the animals. They trusted their own two feet to get them where they needed to go.
Flanked by Egrin and Narren, Tol surveyed his men as they marched past. Alongside him as well were the two kender mounted on their own ponies. Forry was still clad in fringed buckskin, but Rufus had exchanged his oversized turban for a pointed cap with a sweeping plume as long as Tol’s arm. Both cap and feather were a startling shade of yellow-green.
Tol found his eyes drawn away from his passing troops to the walls of the Inner City, tinted rose by the rising sun. It was ridiculous to think he might spot Valaran on the palace battlements from this distance, but he cherished the hope.
Leaving Daltigoth behind, the demi-horde marched due north, along the unfinished Kanira Path. This broad paved road, begun by the Empress Kanira over one hundred years ago, was supposed to connect Daltigoth with Hylo by way of a new city, Kaniragoth. Neither road nor city was ever completed, however. Sixteen years after deposing her husband, Emperor Mordirin, Kanira was in turn overthrown and imprisoned by Ergothas II, a fine ruler much revered in the provinces. Kanira’s extravagant building schemes were quietly forgotten, and the erstwhile empress finished out her life imprisoned on a rocky pinnacle ove
rlooking Sancrist Bay.
The distance from Daltigoth to Hylo was ninety-three leagues. At a foot soldiers’ pace, it would be an eighteen-day journey, and even without the paved road, this early part of their trip would have been an easy one. The land north of Daltigoth was all flat floodplain, watered by several tributaries of the Dalti. On both sides of the elevated Kanira Path enormous fields of green wheat and barley stretched to the horizon. Walnut and burltop trees lined the road as well. Planted by Kanira’s builders, they were lofty, mature giants now.
Raised in hill country, Tol found the utterly flat, ordered vista and open bowl of sky a revelation. All day he gazed ahead as clouds built from small, white streaks on the afternoon’s eastern horizon into vast towers of vapor by evening. The open terrain allowed them to view some spectacular sunsets, but offered little respite from the torrential downpours.
Leaving the river bottoms behind, they entered the wooded foothills of the mountain range that encircled Daltigoth on the south, west, and north. A dozen leagues from the capital, the paved road ended, and the Kanira Path shrank from four wagons wide to a scant two. Trees and thick undergrowth encroached on the edges of the old road. Decades of freezing and thawing had crisscrossed it with ruts and exposed tree roots. This was still the chief land route to Hylo, but these days most heavy trade goods went by sea. Only peddlers, pilgrims, and plunderers used the old track. For their part, the Dom-shu sisters were happy to be done with stone under their feet. They joyfully discarded their city sandals and resumed going barefoot.
In five days, they reached the mountains proper. Camping below the ridge that evening, Tol continued the letter to Valaran he’d begun his first night away from Daltigoth. As a result of her tutelage, writing was less difficult for him than it once had been, but he still found it a tedious chore. However, he was determined to include a letter to Val with the regular dispatches.that he would send off before they crossed the mountains in the morning. When dawn arrived, he would give the courier two silver crowns to deliver the sealed and folded parchment to Draymon, captain of the Inner City Guard. And Draymon in turn would pass it to a trusted servant, who would leave it in a certain alcove in the palace from which Valaran would retrieve it. The precautions seemed clumsy to Tol, but the safety of his lover was worth any amount of trouble.
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