Part 25 (1/2)
A very, very old man stared down at him, his expression one of rapt adoration. ”Good morning, my heart,” he said pleasantly. ”Did you sleep well?”
”Morning?” Otavas struggled up into a sitting position. The old man neither helped nor hindered. He'd been lying on a pallet on the rough plank floor of a high-sided cart, his cloak folded to make a pillow. Facing him, were two young men, their skin a pale greenish-gray, their eyes sunk deep above purple crescents. They looked almost familiar. The prince fought to clear the fog from his head.
... where the shadows held terror.
Heart slamming against his ribs, he threw himself backward, cras.h.i.+ng up against the side of the cart. The old man reached out to grab his arm, but he twisted away. On hands and knees, he scrambled for the rear of the cart and tried to throw himself over.
Cold fingers clutched at him and pulled him back.
They were touching him.
He shrieked in disbelief, shuddered once, and darkness claimed him again.
Still grieving for her infant grandson, Her Imperial Majesty had taken the abduction of her youngest son very hard. Gabris had spent the night and the early morning at her bedside, playing, singing, giving what comfort he could. When she finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, he told her attendants to send for him when she woke and headed for his own quarters and his own bed.
The messenger from the Healers' Hall finally reached him as he left the Imperial Apartments. The message from Karlene reached him a few moments later as he hurried across one of the myriad courtyards honeycombing the palace.
I've gone after the prince. Ask His Majesty to trust me for just a little while.
Although Gabris Sang question after question at the kigh, he got very little information. Karlene was not alone; there were three people with her. She wasn't happy. The kigh wouldn't tell him where she was-had been told not to tell him where she was, and Gabris, even fully rested, no longer had as great a command of the air as the younger bard.
When he reached the bardic suite-having rushed past curious courtiers and servants alike, oblivious to their greetings or stares-he threw open the shutters and stepped out onto the small balcony. He couldn't tell if the kigh he called was the same kigh Karlene had sent to him or a different one as they all shared identical features. Putting everything he had left into the request, he asked it to find Karlene.
It pushed slender fingers through his hair in a mocking caress and disappeared.
Shkodan bards were allowed into the Havakeen Empire by Imperial indulgence. Although the restrictions holding them within the walls of the Capital had been lifted some years before, they were still required to keep the palace informed of their movements. As senior bard, he should be able to tell His Imperial Majesty, at any time, where Karlene could be found.
When the kigh returned a short while later, his relief lasted less than a dozen heartbeats.
Please, Gabris, don't try to find me. This is bardic business and has to do with... The translation tattered, but the familiar terror of the kigh came through distressingly clearly. This is His Highness' only chance to rest.
Gabris staggered back into the suite, sagged down onto the edge of the scribe's table, and buried his face in his hands. ”First, walking dead and now this,” he moaned. Obviously, the blow to the head and the shock of seeing the young prince abducted had somehow gotten mixed up with whatever had been upsetting the kigh over the past...
But the kigh were back. Gabris slowly straightened, eyes widening. So whatever had been upsetting them was gone from the Capital. Gone with the prince?
He had to admit the slim possibility.
But why had Karlene not come to him? Who were these three others the kigh placed her with? There were still too many unanswered questions.
Ask His Majesty to trust me for just a little while.
Putting himself in the place of a man who barely believed in the kigh at all and who needed a certain healthy amount of paranoia in order to maintain the integrity of far-flung borders-putting himself in the Emperor's place-Gabris could draw only two conclusions.
Either Karlene was involved with Prince Otavas' abduction and had rushed off to join her accomplices or the blow to the head had completely scrambled her brains and a dangerously powerful crazy woman was now wandering the Empire. Either way, it didn't look good.
”No.” Swaying in the saddle, Karlene fought to pull the reins from Gyhard's hands, trying desperately to see through the orange and yellow bars of light streaking her vision. ”We have to keep going. You said yourself, the dead have no need to rest.”
”The horses do.” Gyhard told her bluntly. ”We've shade here, and water, and I've no intention of wasting either. You can go on without us if you like, but it won't do His Highness any good if your horse founders.”
Lips pressed tightly together, the bard acknowledged his point with a reluctant jerk of her head and slid gracelessly to the ground. Leaving her companions to deal with the horses, she staggered to a crude bench under an ancient chestnut tree and collapsed onto it. Directly above the canopy of leaves, the sun blazed white-gold in a sky bleached of color by the heat. Underfoot lay reddish-brown dirt, crushed to the consistency of dust by centuries of travelers leaving the road to rest at this exact spot. If she turned just a little to the left, she could see a one-story building, the same color as the dirt. The world spun, and she closed her eyes.
At the well, Vree pulled the counterweight around and spilled another bucket of water into the stone trough.
”Bards live to ask questions,” Gyhard said as he watched the animals suck noisily. ”When this one recovers her wits, what have you decided to tell her?”
”What have I decided to tell her?”
”It was your choice to bring her along.”
He was being deliberately provoking. She wondered if Bannon's less endearing mannerisms were beginning to rub off the inside of his body.
”Hey!”
”You bought her the horse.” The sound of the bucket dropping back into the water echoed against the damp sides of the well.
”Come on, Vree; what do you mean, less endearing mannerisms?”
Gyhard stroked his gelding's damp neck. ”After you convinced me she represented a resource we could ill afford to ignore.”
”What, Vree?”
”She reports directly to the Emperor, you know,” he continued. ”I imagine he'll be fascinated to hear about you and your brother.”
”Come on, Vree, tell me.”
”Well, to begin with, you never know when to shut up!” She could feel his hurt retreat, as obvious as it had been when they were children and he'd crawl under the barracks and hide if she yelled at him. But things were a lot simpler back then, and right now she didn't have the time to crawl under after him and rea.s.sure him that she still loved him best. ”We'll trade her silence for our help rescuing the prince.”
”You mean for the prince's body,” Gyhard corrected with a false smile. ”And silence isn't something usually a.s.sociated with bards; they see all, they sing all.”
Vree studied him for a moment and wondered, if she asked, whether he'd tell her why the old man was so important to him. She knew the bard's reasons for wanting to set Prince Otavas' spirit free, she knew her own. She wished she knew his and even more, she wished she knew when it had become so important for her to know him as more than a usurper in her brother's body.
The horses had finished drinking, so she plunged her own face into the trough and raised it, dripping, a moment later. ”The bard can ask all the questions she wants, we don't have to answer. Right at the moment, she needs us and we need her and that makes her an ally.” Glaring across the well at him, she added, ”There've been stranger.”
This time the smile was genuine. ”I know.”
He thought he was on one of the barges that members of the Imperial Family occasionally took out on the water; that the rocking motion came from waves slapping against the polished wooden sides; that he could hear the creaking of the mast as the huge square sail filled with wind; that he could smell the faint stink of rotting fish that always seemed to drift over the river closest to the Capital; that he'd fallen asleep on deck. Without opening his eyes, he dragged his tongue across dry lips and-certain there'd be a servant close enough to hear- murmured how nice a cool gla.s.s of wine would taste.
Bony fingers closed on his shoulder.
And he remembered.
”No!” Otavas jerked into a sitting position, tearing himself out of the old man's grip.