Part 21 (1/2)
Anna, flanked by Fhurgen, stopped short of the dais, squinting in trying to make out Arkad. Her nose itched. Mold? Dust?
”Pay homage to the regent,” growled Fhurgen.
Arkad looked up from the carved chair at Fhurgen, then to Anna ”I honor you, Regent. I honor you. I honor you.” Tears seeped from the rheumy eyes, disappearing into the food-stained and tangled white heard.
Anna paused. Something didn't feel right. She lifted the lutar slightly, her fingers feeling for the strings.
”I honor you,” cackled Arkad, a line of saliva drooling out of the left corner of his mouth. The Lord of Cheor tottered erect and bowed his head. ”I honor you.”
Anna glanced toward Fhurgen momentarily. Did Arkad seem as . .. mad . . . as she thought?
The ancient figure stumbled down from the dais toward Anna. ”Honor you!”
With the flash of silver Anna threw up her right hand and jumped aside, trying to protect the lutar and herself from the blade. A line of fire grazed the side of her hand.
”b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” Fhurgen's bare blade slashed, and the knife clattered on the stones. The guard's second effort threw the tottering figure onto the bricks.
Arkad did not move, and blood began to pool on the stained yellow floor bricks. Then the ancient figure twitched once and was still. Anna knew he was dead.
After a moment, Anna looked at the gash on the side of her palm. ”Good thing you brought the alcohol,”
she murmured to herself.
”I am sorry, Regent.” Fhurgen's voice almost broke.
”It wasn't your fault Fhurgen. I was careless.” She shook her head. Sorcery doesn't protect you if you don't use it... or if someone's so twisted and mad that the spell has no effect... or if you're seeing double and don't react.
”There's a bottle wrapped in green cloth in my saddlebags. Would you send someone for it?” She looked back down on the emaciated white-haired figure in the stained maroon tunic lying in already-drying blood.
Fhurgen nodded to the blond armsman behind him. ”You heard the regent, Rickel.”
Jecks looked to Anna.
”I'll be all right. It's not much more than a scratch.” She shook her head. ”What a mess. What a f.u.c.king, dissonant mess.”
24.
DUMARIA, DUMAR.
Ehara swings into the saddle of the roan, glancing from the stable back at the white limestone of the palace, then urges his mount toward the parklike preserve that stretches from behind the white stone building to the top of the bluffs overlooking the Falche River three deks to the east and to the north gate little more than a dek away, where the road winds down the steep hill past the mansions of the wealthy traders.
The gray-haired lancer officer spurs his mount to catch up with the Lord of Dumar.
”You're a lancer, Overcaptain Keasil. It took you long enough to catch me.” Ehara' s voice booms across the turf that leads to the woods.
”You are known as an excellent horseman, sire.” Keasil's voice is lower than Ehara's as he settles his mount into a walk beside Ehara. ”You asked me to accompany you?”
”Away from the palace and the ever-listening ears. I'm sure you understand.” Ehara urges his mount into a trot.
Keasil manages to react quickly, and the two men ride side by side toward the tended woods.
”Keasil...” Ehara turns in his saddle and grins. ”Send a token of our appreciation to Lord Sargol in Suhl.
You can select something from the chest, a diamond or two, I think, when you come to my study later.
Siobion prefers the pearls and rubies. I will have a scroll ready for you shortly after I return to my study.
I'll send for you.
”Lord Sargol? Not Lord Dencer?” Keasil's bushy gray eyebrows lift in inquiry.
”Lord Dencer would be our agent. He has made it quite clear how he would be both agent and overlord in southem Defalk.” Ehara shakes his head, in mock sadness. ”That is why Captain Gortin rode to Stromwer.
He looks younger than his years, and that was not by accident. I am not fond of agents. They place their interests above mine.”
”That can be so.”
”It is so. Remember that.”
”Yes, sire.” Keasil frowns as he guides his mount clear of the marble walled fountain that sits alone in the gra.s.s.
”You look displeased.”
”Oh, no, sire. It is just that...” He pauses and guides his mount closer to Ehara's. ”Your pardon, lord, but if I am to act properly...”
”Yes?”
”Would it not be wise if I had a general idea of what message I am to convey?”
”A scroll to Lord Sargol.” Ehara reins up short of the first line of trees.
The officer inclines his head to Ehara. ”I will do my best, ser.''
”I will probably convey my felicitations. A good word, felicitations. My felicitations about the situation in which he has been placed. I might suggest I sympathize with his uncertain condition, mentioning in pa.s.sing a sorceress unfamiliar with his particular situation as a regent for a boy whose forebears were scarcely distinguished. That might be viewed as unsettling, even without having neighboring lords with loyalties regarded as close to rebellious by such a regent. And I will offer him friends.h.i.+p.”
”That is all?”
”That is what you need to know, Keasil.” Ehara smiles. ”The scroll will be spelled. Don't try to read it.”
”Yes, ser. No, ser. I won't, I mean.''
”I know what you meant.” Ehara smiles. ”No more talk of scrolls and messages. Let us ride.”
25.