Queen of Airtha, the intermediary of the gods. It is for me to say what will happen to you at the end of this year- to you and those of your fellow-conspirators who may still be left. Sencho, of course, is no longer a problem."
"Conspirators? And pray, esta-saiyett, were you not also a conspirator, since that's the word you've chosen?"
"Did you come here to waste my time playing stupid games with words?" answered the queen. "Well, I'm not altogether surprised: that's about all you've ever been fit for these past seven or eight years. Still, it's as well you did come, since it enables me to tell you what's going to be done and what part you'll play. At the end of this year, you will abdicate as High Baro-"
Durakkon bowed coldly. "I'll leave you, esta-saiyett: you're plainly not yourself. Kindly think over what I've said and let me know when you're ready to talk with me again. For the time being-"
Suddenly Fornis took a step towards him, so that they were nearly touching each other. Durakkon almost threw up a hand to defend himself. When she spoke, it was in a hissing whisper.
"If regard is not paid to what I say, innocent people are going to suffer."
"Esta-saiyett," said Durakkon, with all the force at his command, "I rule here. I am sorry to be obliged to remind you of it."
"And you know, of course, that half the Council want to get rid of you?" she asked. Turning on her heel, she walked away from him towards a cabinet on the opposite side of the room. "You can hardly blame them, after all. The empire's full of disaffection as things are, and it hardly helps when the High Baron's universally known to be an ineffective dupe who commands no respect whatever."
"It will do you no good to talk in this way, esta-saiyett," said Durakkon. "Remember, too, that if you compel me to take action against you, it will be in neither your interest not the public interest."
"The public interest?" cried Fornis, her eyes for the first time bright with anger. "Oh, yes, you've always had the public interest so much at heart, haven't you? You were going to do so much for the empire, weren't you? So much for the common people!" She fixed on him a look of such evil malevolence that he stared back at her appalled. "You really make me laugh! Why, the peasants-yes, the very
beggars, too-they curse your name! You want proof? Do you seriously believe you'd be safe in any province of the empire without a guard? And as for the lower city, why don't you try walking by yourself as far as the Tower of Leaves one nice, dark evening? Do you really think you'd get there and back alive?"
"Silence, esta-saiyett!" cried Durakkon. But she had touched him on the raw, and the very fact that he spoke again showed it. "I have more support as High Baron than you as Sacred Queen, and that I may have to prove to you."
"Oh!" she answered. "Oh, I see! Yes, really, what a lot they all think of the High Baron and his wonderful family! You did say 'Silence,' didn't you? That will be quite convenient, since I've something to show you, and I can keep quiet while you read it instead of talking nonsense to me."
She unlocked a drawer in the cabinet and, without the least hesitation or searching, took out a sheet of written parchment, which she put into his hand.
"Of course, that's only a copy," she said, "but I'm sure the Lord General will show you the original if you ask him."
"What is this, esta-saiyett?" said Durakkon. "I don't wish-"
"Well, if you read it you'll know, won't you?" she said, and sat down in the window-seat.
He was about to give it back to her when his eye caught, written on the sheet, the name of his younger son. Startled, he read on.
"-embarrassing and extremely awkward if we were obliged to tell the High Baron in so many words that this young man is a grave liability as an officer. Yet he-" Here Durakkon came to the foot of the page. He hesitated a moment, then turned it and read on: Fornis watched him as he did so.
"Yet he has twice, now, shown himself unfit for action and you will understand that merely in the interests of discipline-to say nothing of the safety of others-I cannot retain him in his present command. I suggest that in the circumstances perhaps the most advisable and discreet course would be a transfer, with promotion, to the fortress at Dari-Paltesh-"
The letter, being a copy, was unsealed, but Durakkon could feel no doubt that it was authentic and that the writer
was Sendekar. Naturally, he remembered very well his son's promotion and appointment to the staff of the fortress about eighteen months earlier. Kembri had congratulated him on the lad having been selected for so honorable a post. "Now he's proved himself in the field, we feel he's exactly the sort of young man we need at Dari. It's a responsible position-"
How many people knew this shameful truth? Was it common knowledge throughout the army? How many other lies had been told to him? He could hardly keep tears from his eyes, for he had always greatly loved his younger son- a gentle, kindly young man-and felt proud of him. Clutching the parchment between trembling fingers, he looked up at the woman who had thus deliberately wounded him to the heart and now sat enjoying his misery.
"This document, esta-saiyett; it-it's no business of yours. It doesn't concern you in any way. How did you-?"
"Oh, do keep it," she said lightly. "You're welcome: I don't particularly want it. I'm sure it's of more use to you than to me."
She was still sitting by the window. Silently, he laid the parchment beside her and was about to go when she spoke again.
"Would you care to see a note which your wife wrote to Spelta-Narthe?"
"Spelta-Narthe?" he said. "Who is Spelta-Narthe?"
"Oh, no one at all. He's a slave: Elvair-ka-Virrion's huntsman. But he's very-er, accomplished and well-liked by a number of ladies, I understand. It's rather surprising that he can read, don't you think?-or perhaps not, all things considered."
Without another word Durakkon left the room. Outside, one of the queen's waiting-women-dark and middle-aged, with the high coloring of a Palteshi-raised her palm to her forehead. After a moment he realized that she must have asked him some question.
"What?" said Durakkon. "What did you say?"
"Your escort, my lord. Are you leaving her Sacred Majesty now? Do you wish me to summon your escort?"
"Oh-thank you," answered Durakkon abstractedly. However, it had slipped his mind that he had already dismissed his escort some time ago, since before arriving he had accepted an invitation to supper with the Sacred Queen.
He waited nearly half an hour alone in an ante-room while a runner was sent to recall them.
67: SUPPER WITH MILVUSHINA
The summer advanced. Pink water-lilies and beds of tiny-flowered, yellow meleda came into bloom along the shallows of the Barb, while the flocks of cranes which frequented it every spring departed in their thousands for the north, leaving the lake to ibis, egret and heron. Dragonflies, bronze and green, hovered in the sunny gardens and the bullocks grazing on Crandor's lower slopes could often be seen tossing their heads or suddenly leaping, tormented by gnats and clegs. In the middle of the day the only birds to be heard were the blue-finch and the little damazin, whose monotonous "Treachree, tfeachree, treachree!," from his high song-post among the zoans, seemed the very sound of the still, hot sunlight. The bright flowers of the melikon tree-"False Lasses," as the peasants called it- shed their petals and began to turn to the glinting, golden berries which, though they looked so fine, were of no use to man or beast.
To and from the upper city, rich men came and went on profitable journeys-to their farm-lands in the provinces, to the timber forests of Tonilda, the silk and jewel markets of Ikat Yeldashay or the iron foundries of Gelt. Shearnas entertained and made money. Wealthy wives, alone with time on their hands, spent their days gossiping and over-eating, spending long hours in the cool bath or naked on the massage-couch, fancying themselves in love with others' husbands, or covertly visiting supposedly secret places of assignation well-known to every winking slave in their households. The Monju brook shrunk in its bed. Daily, messengers brought news from the frontiers and the Counc
il deliberated in the Barons' Palace on the Leopard Hill.
In the lower city, droves of cattle and of slaves arrived in dusty clouds, both by way of the Gate of Lilies and the Blue Gate: wounded soldiers returned from the fronts and companies of recruits marched out under veteran tryzatts. Fleitil and his men put the last, finishing touches to the great statue of Airtha in the temple precinct. The beggars
and cripples sat scratching themselves in the shade, ragged children pilfered from the stalls and the pilgrims murmured their prayers and made their offerings before the Tamarrik Gate. Lalloc, who had replaced Zuno with Megdon from the Puhra depot, ordered him to sort out the prettiest girls from among the provincial consignments and prepare them for private sale in the upper city. In reply to his inquiries as to the present whereabouts of Genshed-for Occula had been insistent to learn what might have become of him following his flight-Megdon could tell nothing except that he had said he meant to clear out of the empire altogether and try his luck in Terekenalt. The old woman's sweet-shop was in new hands, repainted and smartened up. The gold and silversmiths were enjoying an excellent season, while the Street of the Armourers had more business up and down its steep length than the oldest could recall. No traveler from a distant land could have discerned that this was the heart of a realm where rebellion and civil war lay germinating behind the fac.ade of mercantile prosperity.
Maia, still unable in her heart to feel any inclination for a lover, was nevertheless finding refusal even harder than before. The story of her auction had spread through the provinces, and although most, perhaps, of the wealthy visitors to the upper city were content-or at any rate appeased-merely to see the fabled Serrelinda, there were always some who (especially after they had caught a glimpse of her: for she was hanged if she was going to live the life of an anchorite) could not resist trying their luck.
There were many callers at her house by the Barb, and although no one offered her nine thousand meld (no one having nine thousand meld to offer), several men, sending passionate letters through Ogma or Jarvil, promised large sums in return for no more than an hour of her time. One young Belishban nobleman, who had been most persistent, at last stabbed himself one night outside her gate, but fortunately was picked up by his friends and taken home to recover. Gifts and flowers Maia accepted, although, remembering Milvushina's warning, she never ate sweetmeats or anything which had not been bought and prepared by Ogma. Letters she ignored and money her servants had orders to refuse. After a few weeks her attendant soldiers, at her own request, were increased to three, the third being necessary to protect her from spontaneous demonstrations
like that of Selperron, some of which were of a less acceptable nature.
She began to go about more and accepted a number of invitations, mostly to small supper-parties and the like given by Nennaunir, Otavis, Dyphna and other reputable shear-nas eager to show themselves her friends. Yet on such occasions she always asked her hostess to make it clear beforehand to the male guests that her favors were not available and that in this respect she would be displeased not to be taken at her word.
The upper city, of course, was sadly denuded of young men by the wars. Sarget the wine-merchant, however, at whose party in the Barons' Palace she had danced the senguela, became a good friend, perceiving and appreciating as he did her sincere love of music. On several evenings Maia found herself one of no more than four or five guests whom this quiet, unassuming man had invited to listen to Fordil and his players until a late hour. In this way she learned much, for Sarget would ask Fordil not only to play but to talk about his art, or perhaps to explain the intricacies of some composition-his own or another's. She never danced, however, at these supper-parties-only at her shearna friends'-for as often as not Sarget would have invited one or two members of the Thlela, and she knew well enough the difference between such natural grace and vivacity as she possessed and the life-long discipline and skill of dedicated professionals.
Yet with all these distractions, the recollection of Zen-Kurel never left her. That is to say, the conviction that Zen-Kurel was her lover refused to be relegated to the past. She could not think of him as gone, as nothing but a memory. Often she recalled what Occula had said to her in Sencho's house about work and pleasure. Poor Maia! she thought one day, in one of her rare indulgences of self-pity: reckon there's been a lot more on the work side than what there has on t'other. To only two men had she ever given her heart together with her body, and one of those had been no more than a green girl's introduction. To have loved Tharrin was hardly matter for poignant reminiscence: left to herself at home she'd have grown out of him-oh, yes-soon enough. Ah, that was just nature, she thought: any girl begins by feeling herself in love with the man who takes her virginity. That was why she still wept for him, why he still visited her dreams with his livid
throat and his poor, staring eyes. But of course there had never been-never could have been-any notion of partnership or marriage between herself and Tharrin.
But her tears flowed also when she dwelt upon the brief hours which she and Zen-Kurd had spent together. She had fallen into a habit of recalling, of dwelling upon every least detail-things of no moment whatever; how in explanation she had tapped out a dance-rhythm with her fingers on his chest; how she had dropped one of the daggers and he had picked it up; the healed scar on his forearm which she had meant to ask him about and then forgotten-for all the world like some old man, with little left now to occupy his time, continually handling the petty treasures and souvenirs hoarded in his room. Yet this preoccupation was not of her own wisli-or not entirely. There were plenty of times when she reminded herself of everything which common sense so cogently suggested. Why not forget? She was a public figure in a realm hostile to Katria. Zen-Kurel might already have put her out of his thoughts. And even setting that aside, on grounds of sheer probability it seemed all the world to nothing that she and he would never meet again. He might even be dead. Wasn't she as lucky as she could well be, the Ser-relinda? It was open to her to pick and choose where she would. She could marry a powerful Beklan noble and live secure for the rest of her hfe.
And yet-and yet, she could not tell why, but she felt certain that Zen-Kurel was not dead. And with Maia, who no more weighed rational probabilities or assessed likelihood than any other girl in the half-civilized and superstition-dominated empire, intuitive certainty differed little from informed knowledge. And she was equally sure that he had not forgotten her, for if she knew how she felt, then she knew how he felt. "And I'm no enemy of Katria, nor yet of Terekenalt," she used to say to herself. "I'm a Suban marsh-frog!" This, of course, was pure quibbling, for originally Suba had been bitterly hostile to annexation by King Karnat. But after the initial shock of what poor Tharrin had revealed to her Maia had first absorbed, then accepted and finally come to cherish as a delicious secret her exotic origins in that remote marshland whither she had actually been and hardly anyone else in Bekla had. Naturally, she also cherished the thought of Nokomis, just as anyone throughout the entire human race feels proud of
a famous and distinguished forebear. No, she was no Ton-ildan and no Beklan either; and therefore no enemy of K.atria.
Reason as she would, she remained convinced that she and Zen-Kurel were fated to meet again, though when and where she could not imagine. So persistently did this notion haunt her that one bright noonday, when the city walls seemed wavering in the heat and most of its people dozing in the shade, she went down to the temple and asked-as did many on occasion-for a seer to read the omens for her.
The man to whom she was conducted was a handsome young priest-no eunuch, but on the contrary possessed of a warm, reassuring manner; so that she found herself liking and (rather to her surprise) trusting him. He began by asking her to tell him, in confidence and without reservation, the entire matter on her mind, but this she felt unable to do.
"There's someone I hope to meet again," she said. "I believe I shall, but I want to know when and how."
"A man or a w
oman?" he asked, smiling.
"Well-a man."
"Where is he?"
She shrugged. "I wish I knew. Far away."
"So is there no ordinary, day-to-day likelihood of your paths crossing?"
She paused, troubled by the question. Yet there could be only one answer. "No."
"Do you believe that he will seek you out?"
"He would, but it's not in his power. He won't have forgotten me, I know that."
"Saiyett, if the god and I are to help you, you must make the effort to be frank. Do you love this man? Who is he?"
She shook her head. "I can't tell you no more. Here's the money. If you can help me, I shall be grateful: else we'll have to leave it."
He nodded equably, accepting her at her word, and proceeded to the usual astrological questions about her age and the approximate dates of her first menstruation and loss of virginity. This done, he asked her to throw a handful of brightly-colored sticks-red, blue and green- into a basin of sand; then to look at a sheet of gnarled bark and tell him what likenesses she perceived on its
surface. At length he left her, retreating into a little alcove where he stood for several minutes in silence.
"This is all the god vouchsafes," he said at last, returning to where she sat waiting. "It's little enough, but then you have told me so little, saiyett. You will meet this man again if you yourself seek him; and else not. Also the god says, 'Opportunity is all.' "
" 'Opportunity is all'?" she repeated, looking up at him in perplexity.
He bowed. "I wish you well, saiyett. Believe me, I have done my best for you."
Anyone might have said as much, she thought, going over it in her mind while Ogma prepared a coot bath and laid out for her two or three robes from which to choose for the evening. She had been invited to supper by Mil-vushina and, since she had been expressly told that no one ehse would be there, was naturally curious to know what she was to hear-or to be asked.
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