Part 5 (1/2)
Mocker's universe shrank to a point of light which, after a momentary brightness, died. After that he was lost, and time ceased to have meaning.
FOUR: Intimations
Ragnarson dismounted, dropped his reins over a low branch. ”Why don't you guys join me?” he asked as he seated himself against an oak. A cool breeze whispered through the Gudbrandsdal Forest, a Royal Preserve just over the western boundary of the Siege of Vorgreberg. ”It's restful here.”
He narrowed his eyes to slits, peered at the sun, which broke through momentary gaps in the foliage.
Turran, Valther, Blackfang, Kildragon, and Ragnarson's secretary, a scholar from h.e.l.lin Daimiel named Derel Prataxis, dismounted. Valther lay down on his belly in new gra.s.s, a strand of green trailing from between his teeth. Ragnarson's foster brother, Blackfang, began snoring in seconds.
This had begun as a boar hunt. Beaters were out trying to kick up game. Other parties were on either flank, several hundred yards away. But Bragi had left the capital only to escape its pressures. The others understood.
”Sometimes,” Ragnarson mused, minutes later, ”I think we were better off back when our only problem was our next meal.”
Kildragon, a lean, hard brunet, nodded. ”It had its good points. We didn't have to worry about anybody else.”
Ragnarson waved a hand in an uncertain gesture, reflecting his inner turmoil.
”It's peaceful out here. No distractions.”
Kildragon stretched a leg, prodded Blackfang.
”Uhn? What's happening?”
”That's it,” said Bragi. ”Something.” Peace had reigned so long that the first ripples, subtle though they were, had brought him worriedly alert. His companions, too, sensed it.
Valther grumbled, ”I can't put my finger on it.”
Everyday life in Vorgreberg had begun showing little stutters, little stumbles. A general uneasiness haunted everyone, from the Palace to the slums.
There was just one identifiable cause. The Queen's indisposition. But Bragi wasn't telling anyone anything about that. Not even his brother.”Something's happening,” Ragnarson insisted. Prataxis glanced his way, shook his head gently, resumed scribbling.
The scholars of h.e.l.lin Daimiel took subservient posts as a means of obtaining primary source material for their great theses. Prataxis was a historian of the Lesser Kingdoms. He kept intimate accounts of the events surrounding the man he served.
Someday, when he returned to the Rebsamen, he would write the definitive history of Kavelin during Ragnarson's tenure.
”Something is piling up,” Bragi continued. ”Quietly, out of sight. Wait!”
He gestured for silence. One by one, the others saw why. A bold chipmunk had come to look them over. As time pa.s.sed and the little rascal saw no threat, he sneaked closer. Then closer still.
Those five hard men, those battered swords, veterans of some of the grimmest bloodlettings that world had ever seen, watched the animal bemusedly. And Prataxis watched them. His pen moved quietly as he noted that they could take pleasure in simple things, in the natural beauties of creation. It wasn't a facet of their characters they displayed in the theater of the Palace. The Palace was a cruel stage, never allowing its actors to shed their roles.
The chipmunk finally grew bored, scampered away.
”If there was anything to reincarnation, I wouldn't mind being a chipmunk next time around,” Turran observed. ”Except for owls, foxes, hawks, and like that.”
”There's always predators,” Blackfang replied. ”Me, I'm satisfied here on top of the pile. Us two-leggers, we're Number One. Don't nothing chomp on us. Except us.”
”Haaken, when did you take up philosophizing?” Bragi asked. His foster brother was a taciturn, stolid man whose outstanding characteristic was his absolute dependability.
”Philosophizing? Don't take no genius to tell that you're in the top spot being people. You can always yell and get a bunch of guys to gang up on any critter that's giving you trouble. How come there's no wolves or lions in these parts anymore? They all went to Ipopotam for the season?”
”My friend,” said Prataxis, ”you strip it to its bones, but it remains a philosophical point.”
Blackfang regarded the scholar narrowly, not sure he hadn't been mocked. His old soldier's anti-intellectual stance was a point of pride.
”We can't get away from it,” said Ragnarson. ”But the quiet may help us think.
The subject at hand, my friends. What's happening?”
Valther spat his blade of gra.s.s. While searching for another, he replied, ”People are getting nervous. The only thing I know, that's concrete, is that they're worried because Fiana has locked herself up at Karak Strabger. If she dies...”
”I know. Another civil war.”
”Can't you get her to come back?”
”Not till she's recovered.” Bragi examined each face. Did they suspect?
He wished the d.a.m.ned baby would hurry up and the whole d.a.m.ned mess would get done with.
His thoughts slipped away to the night she had told him.They had been lying on the couch in his office, on one of those rare occasions when they had the chance to be together. As he had let his hand drift lightly down her sleek stomach, he had asked, ”You been eating too much of that baclava? You're putting on a little....”
He had never been a smooth talker, so he wasn't surprised by her tears. Then she whispered, ”It's not fat. Darling.... I'm pregnant.”
”Oh, s.h.i.+t.” A swarm of panic-mice raged round inside him. What the h.e.l.l would he do? What would Elana say? She was suspicious enough already....
”I thought.... Doctor Wachtel said you couldn't have any more. After Carolan you were supposed to be sterile.”
”Wachtel was wrong. I'm sorry.” She'd pulled herself against him as if trying to crawl inside.
”But.... Well.... Why didn't you tell me?” She had been well along. Only skilled dress had concealed it.
”At first, I didn't believe it. I thought it was something else. Then I didn't want you to worry.”
Well, yes, she had saved him that, till then. Since, he'd done nothing but worry.
Too many people could get hurt: Elana, himself, his children, Fiana, and Ravelin-if the scandal became a cause celebre. He spent a lot of time cursing himself for his own stupidity. And a little admitting that his major objection was having gotten caught.
He'd probably go right on bedding her if he got through this on the cheap.
Before it showed enough to cause talk, Fiana had taken trusted servants and Gjerdrum and had moved to Karak Strabger, at Baxendala, where Ragnarson had won the battle Kavelin celebrated on Victory Day. Her plea of mental exhaustion wasn't that difficult to believe. Her reign had been hard, with seldom a moment's relief.
Horns alerted him to the present.
”Game's afoot,” Kildragon observed, rising.
”Go ahead,” Bragi said. ”Think I'll just lay around here and loaf.”