Part 40 (1/2)

”But didn't my father, I mean my mother's husband, object?”

”Ah, well, the poor man met with an unfortunate accident- It would have been quite improper for your mother, as a newly widowed woman, to stay at Court.”

”And I don't suppose that you had anything to do with the 'accident'?” Malum said.

”That is an entirely scurrilous suggestion,” Phalastra replied without heat.

”I apologize, my lord,” Malum said, equally bland.

”And did the Emperor make no attempt to contact her thereafter?”

”He did as a matter of fact, somewhat to my sur- prise,” Phalastra said, knowing that the young man would prefer the lie, ”but your mother, doubtless to protect you, or at any rate preoccupied with your birth, declined to return to Court. The Emperor, of course, found another favorite.”

Phalastra sat back. ”So now you know,” he said. ”I felt a responsibility to your mother and I have felt a responsibility for you. I feel that I have discharged them both. I would not have told you, save that I feel that I owe you the truth and because I know you to be wise enough in the ways of the Imperial Court to understand that you can never claim your birthright. If Varodias has never been a father to you, that is not his fault.

Nevertheless, you owe him blood loyalty. He does not need to know why you serve him so well; indeed, if you value your life, he must never know. You do under- stand that, do you not?”

”Yes, my lord, I understand,” Malum said, and he did.

Phalastra nodded. ”Good. I am glad that the secret is out. I have carried it a very long time. Now I think I 219.

shall get me some rsst. Do you get up a report on our meeting with His Imperial Majesty. We can go over it”-he glanced at the clock on the mantel-”at the sev- enteenth hour.”

”Until then, my lord,” Malum said, rising.

When he was back in his own room, the Emperor's b.a.s.t.a.r.d spent a long time in front of the looking gla.s.s trying to find hints of Varodias in his face.

ChAptCR 20

t

?wo months had gone by since the Commission for the Outland had been dissolved. The heat of summer had diminished and while the middens stank less, the biting flies were everywhere. Perhaps it was the cooler nights, or even the unwanted attention of the flies, but there was a feeling that the land was coming to life again after the torpor of summer. Jarrod was certainly active. He had taken the opportunity to resume work on his history, but he did not neglect his body. He rose, as always, before dawn, rode for an hour, after Making the Day, on a three-year-old roan he had bought him- self as a namingday present and then went in for break- fast. The roan was spirited and possessed of a mercifully comfortable gait, but he could not match the pleasure that Jarrod derived from riding Nastrus. The unicorn, however, had returned to his job of clearing the Giants'

Causeway. Jarrod missed him, but not enough to go with him.

After breakfast Jarrod spent four hours on research, broke for lunch and then worked for two hours on his ma.n.u.script. He closed the energetic part of his day with an hour of sword practice. He was still rusty after all the years of neglect and his stamina was not what it had been when the Guardian's servitor had put him through his paces, but he was improving. He trained with Robarth Strongsword's old Master-at-Arms. Ranulph was delighted to have a pupil. The new generation of 221.

n.o.blemen had abandoned the short fighting sword in favor of a longer and more graceful blade. ”All stick and no cut,” as Ranulph said derisively. Jarrod pre- ferred to build on the strengths he already possessed.

He bathed after sword practice and dined, most nights, in the Outpost's Hall with the other Magicians.

Once a month, however, he made a point of dining at the palace. He had no administrative duties for the mo- ment, but he knew that, at some point, he would suc- ceed Greylock as Mage of Paladine and then he would need the goodwill of the n.o.bles and Court functionaries that he was cultivating. He usually spent an hour after Hall with Greylock and then retired to bed. Once every couple of weeks he spent an evening with Greygor. Yar- row had snagged the baron's commission and gone south. It was, in many ways, a perfect life.

He was working contentedly on a crisp morning with an early fire crackling in the grate when the Duty Boy rapped on the door. Jarrod looked up, annoyed at be- ing disturbed.

”The Lady Marianna of Gwyndryth,” the boy said, and stood aside.

Jarrod rose from his desk as Marianna swept in. She was dressed for Court and her color was high. Jarrod was never sure before she spoke whether the condi- tion was the result of the ride over or because she was angry.

”Marianna, my dear, what a pleasant surprise,” he said, advancing across the room, hands out. ”Your hands are freezing,” he said after clasping them. ”Come over to the fire and warm yourself.” He looked at the boy. ”A couple of tankards of mulled cider, if you please.”

He turned and ushered Marianna to the fireplace. He had, for the most part, managed to put the events of Celador out of his mind. The memory of her body re-

222 turned to him in the drifting moments before sleep, but, since he had heard nothing from her, the possibility of a child had been banished. Now it was back. He glanced at her waist and saw no change.