Part 8 (2/2)

Greylock gave a court bow and withdrew. Naxania watched him leave, her lips compressed into a line once more. When the door had closed she looked at Darius and, abandoning the Formal Mode, said, ”That man tries my patience. He's so fixed in the traditions of the 47.

past. He doesn't seem to realize that the world has changed, and the same goes for the Archmage. They are both anachronisms. There ought to be some rule about retirement so that we could get some new blood into the upper ranks of the Discipline.”

Darius made no reply, knowing that anything he said would be wrong. He had come to know her very well.

Naxania got to her feet.

”We need to talk,” she said. ”Let us go and sit by the window. There's no point in your standing all the time and that throne isn't the most comfortable of seats.”

She led the way to the embrasure that looked out over the garden and turned her chair so that she could see it. Darius followed suit.

”It's serious this time, isn't it?” she said.

”Rebellion is always serious, my love,” Darius re- plied gently, ”but you have overcome one challenge and you will survive this one. If you remember, you thought that doom was at the gates the last time.”

She looked at him and smiled, then reached out and stroked his cheek. ”What would I do without you. I was green then. In retrospect they were a disorganized rabble of petty lordhngs. Besides, we had a lot more troops in those days. Whoever is behind this plot has had years in which to plan. They have all built up their private armies in defiance of my ordinances while my forces have dwindled. I shouldn't have listened to you.

I should have raised taxes and kept my forces up to strength.”

”And have a disaffected people all too willing to see you overthrown,” Darius reminded her.

”Old arguments,” she said with a sigh.

He realized how tired she really was, and the old in- stinct to console, cradle and protect her rose up as strongly as it had almost twenty years before. He leaned

48 forward, took one of her hands in both of his and rubbed it gently. She allowed her shoulders to droop and turned her head to him with a soft little smile that caught at his heart. The impartial light from the win- dow showed the stains beneath her eyes that powder had concealed.

”This time,” she said, ”the Duke of Abercorn has committed himself and he has better than a thousand men under arms, or so my spies tell me.”

”He hasn't exactly committed himself,” Darius cor- rected. ”My information is that his son attacked Spa.r.s.edale with a force of about two hundred men. If we retake the castle, and it'll be a tough nut to crack, I'll wager that the Duke will be full of chagrin and pro- testations of innocence.”

”We'll have to scotch him one way or another. He isn't going to stop this time. He wants my throne and he is no longer a young man.” She squeezed his fingers and looked into his eyes. ”There's something I want you to do for me, my dear.”

”Of course, my love.”

”I want you to go and take charge yourself. After all, you are the man who retook Fort Bandor. Will you do it?”

Darius leaned back a little as if to see her more clearly. ”Well,” he said, ”I had hoped that you were going to ask me to take you to bed.”

Caught by surprise, she laughed, withdrawing her hand to cover her mouth. When the laughter had sub- sided she said, ”You are an unregenerate, loin-driven old goat. But you will do it, won't you?”

”I'm getting too old for this,” he said with resigna- tion.

”If you're young enough to tumble me, you're young enough to retake an old castle.”

”There's only one way to find out,” he said, standing 49.

up. He reached out, caught her hand and pulled her to her feet- ”First we'll have to see if I'm young enough to tumble you.”

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