Part 17 (1/2)
”Well, Prokliam, what is it? Didn't you go for the girl?”
”Not yet, majesty, begging your pardon....”
”If you have something to say, then say it. And get the girl.”
”Majesty, a seneschal knows the palace. It is his job....”
”I warn you, Prokliam, I have little patience today.” Her anxiety was evident.
”No one wishes to be chosen,” Prokliam blurted quickly, boldly, ”even as I did not wish to be chosen to accompany the body of Prince Jlomec on the Journey of No Return. Now that you have spared me, in your royal benevolence, I thought I might in turn advise you....”
”Yes, what is it, man?”
”You should not have killed the Utalian, majesty. If it is ordained that a living man and a living woman accompany the Prince's body to the Place of the Dead, to die there with him, their spirits serving him in death, why choose from among the palace staff? We all have family, we all have friends, we all stand something to lose. But majesty, if you were to break with tradition, if you were to send instead two strangers whose loss meant nothing to the palace, the palace staff would love and revere you even more than they already do.”
Volna's beautiful face smiled at him. He did not know what she was thinking. He never knew. No one did. She might reward him or have him slain on the spot. ”Why do you tell me this, Prokliam?” she asked.
”For saving me when it was thought I would accompany--”
”No. There must be another reason.”
”If you do this deed and if the palace and the people love you for it, and if the scepter of power should slip from Bontarc's hand to yours, and if, when it came time to select your prime minister....”
”Ha! Ha! Ha! We have an ambitious palace butler.”
”But surely you--”
”Yes, Prokliam. I understand. I won't deny it. Perhaps I had the Utalian slain impetuously. But there's still the girl.”
”I'll fetch her at once, majesty.”
”And if,” mused Volna, no longer aware of the seneschal's presence, ”we could find another stranger, a man, to accompany the body of Prince Jlomec on the Journey of No Return, not only the palace, but the people as well would love me. A stranger....”
”Take me to your King,” Bram Forest told the palace guard.
The guard smirked. ”Do you think any stranger in the realm is granted an audience with King Bontarc, fool?”
”It is a matter of life and death.”
”But whose life and death?” demanded the guard, roaring with laughter.
”Yours, idiot?”
”It is about Ylia the Wayfarer.”
”I know of no Ylia the Wayfarer. Begone, dolt!”