Part 42 (1/2)

Isgrimnur watched Lector Velligis leave the throne room. The huge man's litter was carried by eight grimac ing guards, and was led out, as it had been led in, by a procession of priests bearing sacred objects and smoking censers. Isgrimnur thought they resembled a traveling fair on its way to a new village. Spared kneeling by his injuries, he had watched the new lector's performance from a chair against the wall.

Camaris, for all his n.o.ble look, appeared uncomfortable on the high ducal throne. Josua, who had kneeled beside the chair while Lector Velligis offered his blessing, now rose.

”So.” The prince dusted his knees with his hand. ”Mother Church recognizes our victory.”

”What choice did Mother Church have?” Isgrimnur growled. ”We won. Velligis is one of those who always puts his money on the favorite-any favorite.”

”He is the lector, Duke Isgrimnur,” said Camaris sternly. ”He is G.o.d's minister on earth.”

”Camaris is right. Whatever he was before, he has been elevated to the Seat of the Highest. He deserves our respect.”

Isgrimnur made a noise of disgust. ”I'm old and I hurt and I know what I know. I can respect the Seat without loving the man. Did taking the Dragonbone Chair make your brother a good king?”

”No one ever claimed a kings.h.i.+p made its possessor infallible.”

”Try telling that to most kings,” snorted Isgrimnur.

”Please.” Camaris raised his hand. ”No more. This is a wearisome day, and there is more yet to be done.”

Isgrimnur looked at the old knight. He did look tired, in a way that the duke had never seen. It would have seemed that freeing Nabban from his brother's killer should have brought Camaris joy, but instead it seemed to have sapped the life from him.

It's as if he knows he's done one of the things he's meant to do-but only one. He wants to rest, but he can't yet. The duke thought he finally understood. The duke thought he finally understood. I've wondered why he was so strange, so distant. He does not wish to live. He is only here because he believes G.o.d wishes him to finish the tasks before him. I've wondered why he was so strange, so distant. He does not wish to live. He is only here because he believes G.o.d wishes him to finish the tasks before him. Clearly any questioning of G.o.d's will, even the infallibility of the lector, was difficult for Camaris. Clearly any questioning of G.o.d's will, even the infallibility of the lector, was difficult for Camaris. He thinks of himself as a dead man. He thinks of himself as a dead man. Isgrimnur suppressed a shudder. It was one thing to yearn for rest, for release, but another to feel that one was already dead. The duke wondered momentarily whether Camaris might, more than any of them, understand the Storm King. Isgrimnur suppressed a shudder. It was one thing to yearn for rest, for release, but another to feel that one was already dead. The duke wondered momentarily whether Camaris might, more than any of them, understand the Storm King.

”Very well,” Josua was saying. ”There is one person left we must see. I will speak to him, Camaris, if you do not mind. I have been thinking about this for some time.”

The old knight waved his hand, uncaring. His eyes were like ice chips beneath his thick brows.

Josua signaled a page and the doors were thrown open. As Count Streawe's litter was carried in, Isgrimnur sat back and picked up the mug of beer he had hidden behind his chair. He took a long sip. Outside it was afternoon, but the chamber's ceiling-high windows were barred against the storm that lashed the seas beneath the palace, and torches burned in the wall sconces. Isgrimnur knew that the room was painted in delicate colors of sea and sand and sky, but in the torchlight all was muddy and indistinct.

Streawe was lifted from his litter and his chair was set down at the base of the throne. The count smiled and bowed his head. ”Duke Camaris. Welcome back to your rightful home. You have been missed, my lord.” He swiveled his white head. ”And Prince Josua and Duke Isgrimnur. I am honored that you have summoned me. This is n.o.ble company.”

”I am not a duke, Count Streawe,” said Camaris. ”I have taken no t.i.tle, but only revenged my brother's death.”

Josua stepped forward. ”Do not mistake his modesty, Count. Camaris does rule here.”

Streawe's smile broadened, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. Isgrimnur thought he looked like the most grandfatherly grandfather that G.o.d ever made. He wondered if the count practiced before a looking gla.s.s. ”I am glad you took my advice, Prince Josua. As you see, there were indeed many folk unhappy with Benigaris' rule. Now there is joy in Nabban. As I came up from the docks, people were dancing in the public square.”

Josua shrugged. ”That is more to do with the fact that Baron Seriddan and the others have sent their troops into the town with money to spend. This city did not suffer much because of Benigaris, difficult as times are. Patricide or no, he seems to have ruled fairly well.”

The count eyed him for a moment, then appeared to decide a different approach was warranted. Isgrimnur found himself enjoying the show. ”No,” Streawe said slowly, ”you are correct there. But people know, know, don't you think? There was a sense that things were not right, and many rumors that Benigaris had slain his father-your dear brother, Sir Camaris-to achieve the throne. There were problems that were certainly not all Benigaris' fault, but there was also much unrest.” don't you think? There was a sense that things were not right, and many rumors that Benigaris had slain his father-your dear brother, Sir Camaris-to achieve the throne. There were problems that were certainly not all Benigaris' fault, but there was also much unrest.”

”Unrest which you and Pryrates both helped to kindle, then fanned the flames.”

Perdruin's ruler looked genuinely shocked. ”You link me with Pryrates!?” For a moment his courtly mask fell away, showing the angry, iron-willed man beneath. ”With that red-cloaked sc.u.m? If I could walk, Josua, we would cross swords for that.”

The prince stared at him coldly for a moment, then his face softened. ”I do not say you and Pryrates worked in concert, Streawe, but that you each exploited the situation for your own ends. Very different ends, I'm sure.”

”If that is what you meant, then .I name myself guilty and throw myself on the mercy of the throne.” The count seemed mollified. ”Yes, I work in the ways I can to protect my island's interests. I have no armies to speak of, Josua, and I am always prey to the whims of my neighbors. 'When Nabban rolls over in its sleep,' it is said in Ansis Pellipe, 'Perdruin falls out of bed.' ”

”Well argued, Count,” Josua laughed. ”And quite true, as far as it goes. But it is also said that you are perhaps the wealthiest man in Osten Ard. All the result of your vigilance on Perdruin's behalf?”

Streawe drew himself up straighter. ”What I have is none of your business. I understood you sought me as an ally, not to insult me.”

”Spare me your false dignity, my good Count. I find it hard to believe that calling you wealthy is an insult. But you are right about one thing: we wish to speak with you about certain matters of mutual interest.”

The count bobbed his head solemnly. ”That is better to hear, Prince Josua. You know that I support you-remember the note I sent with my man Lenti!-and I am anxious to speak about ways that I can help you.”

”That we can help each other, you mean.” Josua raised his hand to still Streawe's protest. ”Please, Count, let us avoid the usual dancing. I am in a fierce hurry. There, I have given up a bargaining token already by telling you so. Now please do not waste our time with false protestations of this or that.”

The old man's lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. ”Very well, Josua. I find myself oddly interested. What do you want?”

”s.h.i.+ps. And sailors to man them. Enough to ferry our armies to Erkynland.”

Surprised, Streawe waited a moment before replying. ”You intend to set sail for Erkynland now? After fighting fiercely for weeks to take Nabban, and with the worst storm in years sweeping down on us out of the north even as we speak?” He gestured toward the shuttered windows; outside, the wind wailed across the Sancelline Hill. ”It was so cold last night that the water froze in the Hall of Fountains. The Clavean Bell barely rang over G.o.d's house, it was so icy. And you wish to go to sea?”

Isgrimnur felt a clutch of shock at the count's mention of the bell. Josua turned for a moment and caught the Rimmersman's eye, warning him not to speak. Obviously he, too, remembered Nisses' prophetic poem.

”Yes, Streawe,” said the prince. ”There are storms and storms. We must brave some to survive others. I will take s.h.i.+p as soon as I can.”

The count lifted his hands, showing open, empty palms. ”Very well, you know your own business. But what would you have me do? Perdruin's s.h.i.+ps are not wars.h.i.+ps, and they are all at sea. Surely Nabban's great fleet is what you need, not my trading vessels.” He gestured to the throne. ”Camaris is master of the Kingfisher House now.”

”But you are master of the docks,” Josua replied. ”As Benigaris said, he thought you were his prisoner, but all the time you were gnawing him away from within. Did you use some of that gold they say fills the catacombs below your house on Sta Mirore? Or something more subtle-rumors, stories... ?” He shook his head. ”It matters not. The thing is, Streawe, you can help us or hinder us. I wish to discuss with you your price, whether in power or gold. There is provisioning to do as well. I want those s.h.i.+ps loaded and on their way in seven days or less.”

”Seven days?” The count showed surprise for the second time. ”That will not be easy. And you have heard about the kilpa, have you not? They are running like quinis-fish-but quinis-fish do not pull sailors over the rails and eat them. Men are reluctant to go to sea in these dark days.”

”So we have started the bargaining?” Josua asked. ”Granted and granted. Times are difficult. What do you want, power or gold?”

Abruptly, Streawe laughed. ”Yes, we have started bargaining. But you underestimate me, Josua, or you undervalue your own coffers. You have something that might be more use to me than either gold or power-something that in fact brings both in its train.”

”And what is that?”

The count leaned forward. ”Knowledge.” He sat up, a slow smile spreading across his face. ”So now I have given you you a bargaining token in return for your earlier gift.” The count rubbed his hands in barely restrained enjoyment. ”Let us speak in earnest, then.” a bargaining token in return for your earlier gift.” The count rubbed his hands in barely restrained enjoyment. ”Let us speak in earnest, then.”

Isgrimnur groaned softly as Josua sat down beside Perdruin's master. Despite the prince's stated hurry, it was indeed going to be a complicated dance. This was clearly something Streawe enjoyed too much to do quickly, and something Josua took too seriously to be rushed through. Isgrimnur turned to look at Camaris, who had been silent during the whole discussion. The old knight was staring at the shuttered windows as if they were an intricately absorbing picture, his chin resting on his hand. Isgrimnur made another noise of pain and reached for his beer. He sensed a long evening ahead.

Miriamele's fear of the dwarrows was dwindling. She was beginning to remember what Simon and others had told her of Count Eolair's journey to Sesuad'ra. The count had met dwarrows-he called them domhaini-in domhaini-in the mines below Hernystir's mountains. He had called them friendly and peaceful, and that seemed to be true: except for s.n.a.t.c.hing her from the stairs, they had not harmed her. But they still would not let her go. the mines below Hernystir's mountains. He had called them friendly and peaceful, and that seemed to be true: except for s.n.a.t.c.hing her from the stairs, they had not harmed her. But they still would not let her go.

”Here.” She gestured to the saddlebags. ”If you are so certain that something I am carrying is harmful, or dangerous, or ... or whatever, search for yourselves.”

As the dwarrows conferred in anxious, chiming voices, Miriamele considered escape. She wondered if dwarrows ever slept. But where had they brought her? How could she find her way out, and where would she go then? At least she still had the maps, although she doubted she could read them as efficiently as Binabik had.

Where was Binabik? Was he alive? She felt almost ill as she remembered the grinning thing that had attacked the troll. Another friend was lost somewhere in the shadows. The little man had been right-this had been a foolish journey. Her own stubbornness had perhaps brought death to her two closest friends. How could she live with that knowledge?

By the time the dwarrows had finished their discussion, Miriamele did not much care what they had decided. Gloom had settled on her, sapping her strength.