Part 43 (2/2)

Freia slept as much as she could, curled in a ball on the wooden bench which was her bed. There were beetles in one end of the bench, which was crumbling slowly, and she kept her feet away from them. The cell was relatively free of vermin, and relatively warm, and all she had to do, she thought, was wait until Prospero realized he'd left her behind.

The time she had fallen in the canyon and broken her leg, Prospero had brought her home hours later, with his sorcery. Where was he now?

Surely, she thought, somebody had seen her and Trixie.

Surely, she thought, Dewar would tell Prospero she had been left behind.

But it seemed to be taking a long time.

Ottaviano rode into Landuc thinking of Lunete, his wife of a year and a half's standing with whom he'd had but few days of postmarital pleasure. He wanted to see her again. Their last meeting but one-well, that had been Otto's fault, really, he'd been angry at her furious reception, had said some stupid things, had behaved like a pantomime caricature of jealousy, and he knew she'd never take a lover, she was too straitly made for philandering. Of course she was antsy, closed up in that claustrophobic castle, and she was right when she said he hadn't spent much time with her. He thought he'd made up a great deal when she'd let him come to her on his return a half-month later. He smiled, thinking of it.

He made plans to buy some peace-offerings here in the city and send them to Lys. Rubies. A tiara. Something fas.h.i.+onable like that. Summer silk and pictures of the newest styles.

362.

'E&za&etk Itfittey Behind him, beside him, his men checked their weapons. They had been permitted through the Gate of Winds, inside the city walls; it remained to be seen how things would go at the Palace.

At the Palace, things were progressing rapidly. The Emperor had been informed of Otto's approach by a fast runner from the city gate. The Emperor had Summoned Prince Herne and the Prince Marshal and ordered them to tighten up Palace security. The troop of men might enter the first courtyard, under the arrows of Herne's archers. Gaston was to meet and disarm Otto and escort him to the Emperor.

”He is not come to yield, Avril,” Gaston pointed out. ”See the green branch.”

”Parley, hah. He's come to bargain. We knew he would. He is an impatient young fool,” and the Emperor grinned ferociously. ”We shall have him now.”

Gaston bowed slightly and went out. He had not ceased to express doubts of the truth of Otto's and Golias's claim that they had Prospero's very daughter in custody. And he misliked the idea more when he thought of Lady Miranda of Valgalant. Gaston rarely followed his hunches, preferring his reason, but in this case his reason and his hunches both indicated that some evil must come of bartering a niece (if niece she were) for victory. It was no clear conquest.

So Otto and his troop were permitted into the first courtyard, which they saw perfectly well might be an ambush, and Otto alone was escorted by the courteous and close-mouthed Prince Gaston to Emperor Avril's smallest receiving-room, which had one chair, the Emperor's.

The Emperor looked him over, meeting him for the first time.

”Sebastiano's boy,” the Emperor remarked.

Otto straightened from his bow with a certain chill in his glance. He was becoming irked at being called somebody's boy-first by Prospero, now the Emperor.

”You take after your distinguished grandfather,” the Emperor observed, scrutinizing him. ”Let us hope you have his wits. You realize, Baron, that if you do indeed have hostage Prospero's daughter, we can refuse to treat with you Sorcerer and a QentUman 363.

and point him to you when he arrives. And we daresay he will. We can let him kill you, or you kill him, and remove the victor at our leisure.”

”You realize, Your Majesty, that if Prince Prospero approached me and demanded his daughter restored to him, I would instantly comply,” Otto said, ”and then we would, since we both have much to gain thereby, perhaps discuss matters of common interest.”

The Emperor smiled slightly. ”Your last sorcerous ally did not serve well,” he said.

”Prospero is a known quant.i.ty, and an honorable man,” Otto said, unwittingly p.r.i.c.king the Emperor.

”We are all honorable men, when our honor is worth it,” the Emperor retorted. ”What proof have you got that the woman is indeed his daughter?”

”Her own word, under Binding of truth.”

”So at least she believes this to be true.”

”There is a familial resemblance,” Otto added, ”which buoys the idea, and moreover she was certainly aiding him in his attack. I have no doubt whatsoever. If Your Majesty's doubts are so great, then of course we have no further need to speak.” He smiled.

”You are young and your haste is unwise,” the Emperor said. ”We have much to discuss.” He rose. ”Prince Marshal, Count Pallgrave, Cremmin. Accompany us and our visitor to the White Conference Room.”

Otto's visits had ceased. Freia found this disruption of routine worrying, and worry occupied her too-long waking hours. In their last encounter, she had asked him what he'd do if someone took his wife and imprisoned her like this, and he had been startled that she knew he had a wife. Dewar had mentioned it, but she didn't explain that to Otto.

That had been days ago.

When a rattle which was not that of the food-slot at the bottom of the door sounded, she sat up. It wasn't, as far as she could tell, the usual time for question-and-silence sessions.

Four armed men were outside, carrying lanterns. Freia's 364.

'LdzoBetd heart bounded and then sank. One was Golias, who had sat in on several of the sessions-the only ones when Otto had actually gotten any answers-and Freia feared him. His barely-restrained viciousness was clear to her; she smelled the reek of danger and hatred on him. She had seen him hurt Utrachet. Otto had not allowed Golias to interrogate her alone.

Golias grinned as two of the guards came in, and Freia didn't bother resisting them as they bound her hands too tightly behind her. Her wrists burned.

A veiled woman waited in the narrow, low stone corridor behind Golias. ”So,” she drawled, ”this is the keystone of your plan.”

”A hard stone.”

The woman laughed softly. ”We shall hammer it into shape,” she said.

Golias took a dirty grey rag from his belt and shook it out-it was a sack. He put it over his prisoner's head and grabbed her elbow, dragging her along the corridor and up a flight of stairs. Freia stumbled and was shaken and hauled upright.

As they climbed, she heard sounds above the noise they made in the confined s.p.a.ce: shouts and the bang and thud of fighting. It grew louder.

Where was Otto? Freia wondered, beginning to feel more than fear.

They skirted the sounds of the fight; Freia tripped on thresholds and then on uneven cobblestones as she was taken outside. It was cold, but bright; the light leaked through the sack and made her squint. A breeze pushed the coa.r.s.e cloth against her face. It was dusty and smelled of dirt.

Golias lifted her up; someone grabbed her and dragged her bruisingly, then dropped her on wood which thumped hollow.

Wagon, Freia guessed.

More ropes were put around her, tying her legs and arms more tightly.

Sorcerer and a QentUman 365.

”The horses should be blindfolded,” said the woman's voice.

The breeze brushed at her arms, her body, her legs, chilling her to the bone.

The wagon started to move. There was shouting; the woman cried something and there came a windrus.h.i.+ng implosion, a grinding crash of stones like an avalanche. Freia's ears popped; as the air pressure returned, everything sounded dull and underwater. The fight seemed to have stopped.

”Good,” Golias said, above her somewhere.

Someone screamed, a horrible pain sound. Freia whimpered in sympathy, inaudible in her sack.

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