Part 18 (1/2)
Jarrod asked.
”Certainly. But the extension of our influence east- ward is the best thing that could happen for us. Do us a lot more good in the long run than this rubble-clearing effort of yours. What you don't seem to understand is that if you give Varodias what he wants, all you're do- ing is forcing him to pick another fight.”
”Are you saying that another war is inevitable?” Jar- rod asked, unwilling to hear Holdmaster Gwyndryth's opinion confirmed.
Ragnor sipped on his sack and then pursed his lips as if to consider the question. ”Nooo. We could have the b.a.s.t.a.r.d a.s.sa.s.sinated. He's killed off the only sons
96 he had that showed a sc.r.a.p of talent. The remaining boy is a weakling. The ensuing struggle for the throne would probably occupy the country for a good twenty years. It would, at the very least, provide a breathing s.p.a.ce.”
”But Varodias is a duly consecrated monarch,” Jar- rod said, eyes widening.
”Spare me/' Ragnor said witheringly. ''You sound like a Maternite. You can't be that naive. Consecration, as you call it, usually comes from blood on a sword.”
Jarrod took a deep breath. ”If the Concordat is rat- ified, we become one of his prime targets.”
”Of course/' the Archmage agreed, ”but then we always have been. They loathe the Isphardis, but Um- brians think that we are unnatural. Magic violates the rules of what they consider to be science, and the Ma- ternite Church considers us anathema. Without the mortar of a common enemy, conflict is bound to occur.
Songuard and Isphardel are a natural buffer between us, and it would be the ultimate folly to allow the Em- pire to absorb them.''
”I can't say that I care for your a.n.a.lysis, Archmage, but I can't fault it,” Jarrod said placatingly, wondering as he did if Ragnor had wandered off the beam again.
”I shan't live to see it, the G.o.ds be thanked, but we shall have to face the Empire one of these days. Perhaps our presence in the east will delay it.”
”Well, that's still up in the air,” Jarrod said. ”The Oligarchs haven't agreed and the new terms of the treaty haven't been voted on.”
”Olivderval speaks for the Oligarchs,” Ragnor said decisively. ”As far as the treaty is concerned, Arundel and Talisman will follow our lead. It really doesn't mat- ter which way Naxania decides to go, though it would be nice if the Magical Kingdoms could present a united front. It might be an additional deterrent.”
97.
”Do I construe that as an order?” Jarrod asked with as much lightness as he could muster.
”Oh, I think you might,” Ragnor replied, matching him, and in that instant Jarrod knew that not only was the Archmage in control of all his faculties, but that he was aware of Jarrod's doubts. ”Now let's discuss this demonstration,” the old man continued. ”I think it's important that Greylock play the leading role. It will enhance his reputation and he'll need that to a.s.sure his succession. I hate to say this, but he's been too quiet too long.”
”Of course he'll play the leading role. After all, the whole thing was his idea/' Jarrod said mendaciously.
”That's what he's here for.”
”Good. Exactly how do you, ah, does he intend to carry out the ceremony?”
Ragnor sat back and listened, sipping absently, while ^Jarrod laid out the details. When he had finished, the Archmage pushed his spectacles higher on his nose and said, ”I'll have myself carried up to the Causeway in a sedan chair.” He grinned, showing the few remaining teeth. ”It's not as much work for them as it used to be;
still, it'll make a nice change and I'll be able to wear something fancy.” He looked over at Jarrod and his eyes twinkled behind the circles of gla.s.s.
”I don't suppose you brought anything decent to wear? No, I thought not. That plain blue gown has be- come quite an affectation with you. Never mind, it'll be quite like old times. You, me, the Gwyndryth girl and a unicorn.”
”Marianna?” Jarrod said, surprised. ”Is she at Ce- lador?”.
”Yes indeed. Came to see that boy of hers. Dropped by to pay her respects. She's grown into a deucedly handsome woman. You should have married her when you had the chance.” He finished his wine and put the
98 cup down. He settled himself and the head began to droop. ”Odd that she should have produced a Magi- cian,” he said, the voice soft and m.u.f.fled, ”but you never know about that sort of thing. Errathuel's blood turns up in the unlikeliest places. . . .” The voice faded away and the chin sagged.
Jarrod got up quietly and put his chair back against the wall. He returned his cup to the sideboard and then went and removed the Archmage's spectacles and put them on the table beside him. As he went back down the stairs he was pleased with the thought that Mar- ianna was visiting the capital. It had been five years, he realized, since he had seen her last. Ragnor was right, it was somehow fitting that they all be together for this occasion. He would have to see to it that she got a good seat.
He saw her at Hall that same night, as he had-.half expected to. Ragnor's eye for a pretty face was still un- dimmed. She was a beautiful woman. Slim still, though a mite less so than the portrait that memory held. The red-gold hair rippled past her shoulders. She wore a dark green gown, cut square across the bust. A very large emerald hung on a thick gold chain, emerald tear- drops peeked out from under the hair and her waist was girdled by a hammered-gold belt that was studded with jewels. Jarrod was shy about wearing any of the things that he had brought back from the Island at the Center, but Marianna obviously had no such inhibitions. He waved to her and she smiled back. ,