His reflection, when he glimpsed it in a quiet pool at the edge of the river, was so unlike the robust Baron Endbrook that he doubted his pursuers—even if they should glimpse him across the breadth of the White Water—would know him. Bent with weariness, limping in boots never meant for so much walking, he was incarnated as the man Walnut the whore's son would have become had he never escaped to sea—a thief and beggar, weary, wounded, and alone.
Oddly, Waln's hatred did not center itself on the queen who had sent him on this mission, nor upon the woman who had betrayed him. It rooted in something he had trusted as he had never trusted either queen or lady—in the two items he had taken from Lady Melina as guarantee of her fidelity: a necklace of sparkling gemstones and a little girl with red-gold hair.
With this hatred to fire his heart, Waln tramped on long after darkness had fallen. The wisdom of both thief and bully kept him from stealing a horse, though he passed many set out to pasture when the days were fair—as the weather turned soon after his escape, as if regretting the discomfort it had caused him.
A bit of clothing or a few eggs or a chunk of bacon from a smokehouse might not be missed; if it was, it was not likely to be pursued. A horse, however, especially one strong enough to carry a man of his size, would be missed. Horse thieves were usually dealt with on the spot.
So Waln kept his stealing small, the hours of his walking long. The river proved a true guide and late one night the clear cold air carried on it the salt tang of the sea.
In order that he be able to retrieve Citrine Shield when he returned from New Kelvin, Waln had been taught the land way to Smuggler's Light. As Princess Lovella's campaign long years ago had proven, Smuggler's Light could be reached by land, but only with great care.
Happily, Waln had assumed that he would be coming to the swamp directly from New Kelvin, so the landmarks he had been given were visible as soon as the swamp was in sight. A tall cypress with a boulder at its base marked the beginning of the trail. This was apparent as soon as dawn pinked the sky, but Waln waited until daylight shone clear and bright to venture further.
Winter had stripped the deciduous trees of their leaves, but the swamp was home as well to thick growths of long-needled pines that seemed all the more dense amid the skeletons of trees and vines. Despite the chill wind that whipped at the baron, the footing remained marshy beneath his boots, the taint of salt and the warmer temperatures here to the east of New Kelvin having kept frost from the ground.
Tying a bundle containing a flitch of bacon to his belt, he converted his stick to a walking staff, testing before each step. The Isles had their share of swamp and marsh, so Waln was familiar with the tricks it could play: mudholes without apparent bottom, sand spread lightly over water, hummocks that rocked or sank when you jumped on them.
In addition to watching his footing, Waln kept alert for the trail markers. None of these were as crude as a blazoned tree or a cairn of rocks. The smugglers preferred more subtle signs. Two bird's nests in the crotch of a dead scrub oak marked one turning, a sapling "chance bent" along the ground made a long pointer. By these and other signs, Waln made his way.
He had just realized that the fiat grey in the near distance was dressed stone overgrown with vines when a voice spoke to him from above:
"Name yourself and your business."
"Rain riders," Waln said, "seeking shelter from the storm."
"Come along, Baron Endbrook," the voice said. "We had not looked for you so soon and garbed so fashionably."
There was dry laughter beneath the words, holding within it mockery and menace. With a sudden seizing of his heart,
Waln Endbrook wondered if he had come to a refuge or to yet another betrayal.
Winter thunder was rumbling among the upper peaks of the mountains on the day that Grateful Peace escorted Lady Melina Shield to her first meeting with the Dragon Speaker.
Peace was an educated man—few Illuminators were not, given the range and variety of texts they encountered from their youngest days at the desk. Even so, he felt his bowels chill at the distant rumble. His parents had controlled their large, unruly brood with a variety of threats regarding the wizard-spawned horrors that dwelt in the vast reaches of the Sword of Kelvin Mountains, and whenever he heard winter thunder he was once again a very small child.
Lady Melina did not appear to hear the distant rumbles. Bright, alert, and, as far as the thaumaturge could tell, not a bit nervous, she walked with quick and eager steps toward the Speaker's Tower.
She looked quite nice in a gown of autumn gold velvet trimmed in black. That she chose to wear the colors of House Gyrfalcon said something, Grateful Peace knew. He wondered what. Was she reminding them of her noble birth and status? Was she asserting her continued alliance to her homeland? Or was the choice simply habit, what she was accustomed to wearing for matters of state?
Even after they had climbed the long spiral stair—Apheros had ruled against revealing to her the secret of the lift—Lady Melina had lost little of her energy. Grateful Peace found himself admiring her despite himself. The New Kelvinese capital city was set high in the Sword of Kelvin Mountains and strong men had found themselves reduced to short, panting breaths until their hearts and lungs adjusted to the altitude.
When the herald announced them, the Dragon Speaker rose with stately majesty to greet them. In his robes of office, Apheros was a towering figure, magnificent in scarlet silk trimmed with gold. His long-jawed face was painted black but for a hint of crimson rimming each eye and silver, bat-winged dragons sparkling on each cheek.
A gold dragon clung to the top of his head, claws digging into the Dragon Speaker's scalp so that a thin trickle of blood oozed from beneath them. The dragon's eyes glittered so realistically that the reptile seemed alive and watchful. Any moment, it seemed, the dragon might bend its sinuous neck and whisper secrets into the Speaker's ear.
Grateful Peace knew something of the artistry that went into creating this effect. Apheros was a tall man, but the shoes he wore hidden beneath the hem of his robe were what gave him that unreal height. His face paint was not purely black, but included a subtle shading of greens and browns that sharply defined his features despite the apparent monotone.
The gold dragon was, of course, not alive. It was an heirloom of the Founders' days, set onto a skullcap shaped anew with each Speaker to precisely fit that Speaker's head.
Peace wished he could have known the face artist who had thought to add the blood coming from beneath the dragon's claws. It added a certain horrid realism. Indeed, he knew otherwise quite sturdy thaumaturges who admitted not liking to look directly at the Dragon Speaker when he was in full formal garb because of this single touch. They claimed the damp-seeming trails of blood made them queasy.
Lady Melina, however, was not showing any such weakness. Upon entering the audience chamber she had sunk into a deep curtsy such as was used to honor monarchs in Hawk Haven. She did not move until Apheros spoke.
"Rise, visitor."
The language he used was New Kelvinese. He might have spoken Pellish, but that would have been a concession to a foreigner. In any case, Apheros's command of languages was nowhere near as good as Peace's. It would break the carefully constructed illusion of power if the Dragon Speaker trotted out his halting command of the other language.
Lady Melina rose and stood with her head thrown slightly back, studying the Dragon Speaker's face. Perhaps Apheros was somewhat put out by this inspection, for he moved to the business at hand more rapidly than Peace had anticipated.
"The time has come," Apheros began in deep, resonant tones more thrilling than any commanding bellow could be, "to unseal that which you have carried so faithfully to this land. As reward for your determined efforts, it has been decided to grant you, Lady Melina Shield, the great honor of opening each box and revealing what has been hidden within."
Peace concealed a smile. Actually, Apheros and his intimate counselors had been concerned by the fact that—as far as any o
f their artisans could tell—the boxes were in no way trapped, were each closed with a fairly simple mechanical lock, and were sealed only with a wax impression of Queen Valora's coat of arms.
Fear that there was some more subtle protection upon the boxes rather than a desire to honor Lady Melina was what prompted this generous gesture. Otherwise, the boxes would have already been opened and their contents studied. After all, why let the foreign woman have a chance at them if her knowledge would prove unnecessary?
If Lady Melina was aware of what a dubious honor she had been granted, she gave no sign. Dipping another curtsy, she murmured in New Kelvinese:
"Thank you, Honored Apheros."
Her accent only made her humility the more charming. Apheros gave a haughty nod.
"Herald, summon the Primes."
The Primes were the thaumaturges representing each of the sodalities. Added to their number were the Dragon's Three, the Speaker's own chosen counselors. Apheros would have preferred to limit the witnessing to this latter group, but his precarious hold on the office made it unwise for him to risk alienating his allies.
The Primes wore full face paints, designed not only to display the patterns of their sodalities, but meant to minimize any personal tattooing. In this gathering, they were not themselves, but their sodalities.
Lady Melina watched with interest as the thaumaturges processed in, her brow furrowing with, concentration as she sought to identify each pattern. As this was all the introduction she was to get to this august body, Peace thought she was wise.
He himself would not have kept her so uncertain of her own status, but Apheros had been firm. No honors or privileges would be granted to the foreigner until she had proven herself necessary. Otherwise, should the need arise to dispose of her, awkward questions might be asked by the members of the conclave who, rightly, might fear that their own privileges would no longer protect them.
After the procession had ended and the Primes had seated themselves on the high-backed, gilded chairs set along the curved walls of the tower room, Peace drew back to his own seat. This was to one side toward the back, at an angle from which he could study the gathering without being obvious himself.
He knew that by Hawk Haven's standards his place was a low one and saw one of Lady Melina's slender brows arch in momentary surprise. Doubtless she was reassessing his importance in view of this information.
Angered, Peace contemplated enlightening her as soon as they were alone together—finding some subtle and cutting way of explaining that being the Dragon's Eye was among the highest honors. Then he decided not. Let her learn the truth and grovel when she realized how she had slighted one of the powerful.
After the thaumaturges had settled into the statue-still poses etiquette demanded when display rather than debate was the order of the day, a pair of the Dragon Speaker's staff clerks—one of them Kistlio—carried out a low table and set it in front of Lady Melina. A chair was brought next.
Apheros had not wanted to give Lady Melina even this, but Peace had argued otherwise, saying that if she was not to suspect the ambivalence of her position she must be granted at least some courtesies. Lady Melina, however, ignored the seat. She remained standing, taut as a drawn bow, awaiting the first box.
Kistlio brought forth the largest of the three, a long, broad rectangular box that, despite its relative breadth, was so lacking in depth as to seem nearly flat. He also carried the ring of keys the New Kelvinese smiths had made to replace those the vanished Baron Endbrook had carried away.
A flicker of anxiety touched Grateful Peace as he thought of the absent baron. None of the search parties had located Endbrook, nor had the New Kelvinese spies heard anything about him. Doubtless, as the guard insisted, Baron Waln Endbrook was buried in some snowdrift or had drowned trying to cross the White Water River.
Dismissing thoughts of the baron, Peace returned his attention to the center of the room.
Lady Melina was fitting the first key into the lock. She had to struggle to turn the lock—not surprisingly, given the weather through which the boxes had been carried. Still, Peace found he was holding his breath.
All around the chamber not a person moved. A Songweaver shut her eyes as if in anticipation of an explosion. Then, with a solid metallic click, the lock snapped open.
"I think it was a bit rusted," Lady Melina said apologetically.
At her words, Grateful Peace noted a general release of tension among the brightly garbed ranks, but his gaze was drawn inexorably to where Lady Melina was now raising the lid of the box. Whatever lay within was swaddled in fabric, so she lifted out the entire bundle and slowly unwrapped the contents.
Like used bandages, the cloth coiled in a heap at her feet. At last there was a glint of silver, a hint of color. When the last piece of cloth slid to the floor, Lady Melina held her discovery out so that all gathered could see it clearly.
It was a silver mirror, set into a long-handled ivory frame. The ivory was intricately worked with patterns of twining vines, open blossoms, and impish faces. In places the surface had been stained with pigment and set with tiny gemstones, the color just enough to bring out the details without obscuring the perfection of the carving itself.
In his deepest heart, Peace knew this mirror to be a fit vessel for sorcery.
The next box brought before Lady Melina was also fairly flat, but much smaller, hardly long enough to span her hand from the heel of the palm to the tips of her fingers. The lock worked after a slight struggle and this time several of the thaumaturges forgot dignity—and prudent fear—enough to lean forward to watch as it was opened.
There was not so much padding in this box, just a layer on the top that Lady Melina lifted out and set to one side. For a long moment she stared in puzzlement at what was revealed. Then she remembered her manners and lifted the artifact out, holding it up for general examination.
It was a comb—not an ornamental comb used to adorn an elaborate coiffure, but a simple comb such as anyone might use to tidy up. It was crafted from a smooth, highly polished wood in rich shades of reddish brown. The comb was quite attractive in its simple way, but no one could deny its essentially utilitarian nature.
Had Lady Melina herself not been so evidently puzzled—and equally evidently trying to conceal that puzzlement—Grateful Peace might have wondered if she had made a substitution at some point during her journey. However, had she done such a thing, surely she would have picked something else with which to fool them—a slim wand or an elegant dagger—certainly not a comb.
The final box was square, and about the size of Lady Melina's palm. This time the lock clicked open smoothly. Peace wondered in passing if the practical Kistlio had dabbed in a bit of oil after seeing the struggles with the previous two locks.
From the moment Lady Melina opened the lid, those directly alongside her could glimpse a gleam from the contents, for what the box held had not been swathed or padded. There was no need; the interior of the box had been shaped to hold, the lid's interior quilted with satin.
Still, the artifact within was so small that it was not until Lady Melina took it upon herself to parade around the room, holding up the box so that each Prime might see the contents, that Peace got a clear look.
A ring rested within, a ring cast from pure gold and set with a bluish white moonstone that seemed to glow with a pale light of its own. The curved surface of the moonstone had been carved in the likeness of an enigmatically smiling face, its eyes half-hooded, though whether in laughter or in mockery Grateful Peace could not feel certain.
Upon closer inspection, Peace realized that the setting that held this unsettling gem was no simple band. The prongs that clasped the moonstone in place were the fangs of a snarling beast that held the moonstone in its jaws.
The creature so represented might have been a bear or perhaps a wolf, though its mouth was stretched so wide that any likeness to an actual animal was more fancy than otherwise. The beast's eyes were represented by perfect rubies, so
tiny that it seemed beyond possibility that any human hand might have faceted them, but faceted they were so that they caught the light and gave it back sparkling as with rabid fury.
Unlike the comb, the ring seemed—as with the silver mirror—a worthy vessel for enchantment. The enigmatic expression of the moonstone countenance remained with Peace even after Lady Melina had passed on around the room. He contrasted it with the snarling beast that held it.
What power was concealed behind that smile? Might it glow with light? Might the stone hold the secret of slowing the moon in her nightly voyage? Might the carved face speak in riddles that held enchantments within their convoluted prose?
Grateful Peace saw a trace of his own wonder and excitement on the face of Kalvinia, representative for the Sericulturalists, and schooled himself to impassivity. Lady Melina already knew more than enough about his own hopes. No need to add to her store of knowledge. He still wondered that he had spoken so freely to her.
The Dragon Speaker stared longest and hardest at the ring, then he gestured Lady Melina back to her place. Obediently, she returned, this time taking her seat. She did not lay as much as a single finger on the three artifacts, but arrayed them in their boxes on the table in front of her so that all might glimpse them. Then she spoke unbidden for the first time:
"Now we see what we have, honored thaumaturges. Where do we go from here?"
The foreign woman's expression as she looked around the room was as enigmatic as that of the moonstone ring—except in her case there was no doubt that her smile held just the slightest trace of mockery.
Immediately after Firekeeper had related Elation's report regarding Lady Melina's movements, the company had left Gateway, riding along the northeast road toward Dragon's Breath until nightfall and resuming the journey again almost before dawn had lit the sky.
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