Or rather because he’d had no choice left, Jermain thought. It occurred to him that two nights ago Carachel’s ring had become hot, and he and Ranlyn had seen the Matholych in its glow. There was almost certainly a connection. Jermain leaned forward. “And have you attempted to reach Carachel again since you left Leshiya?”
“Uh, yes, I did try once or twice, but he never replied. The spell didn’t seem to be working very well; I think the medallion may have been damaged.”
“I am not surprised, after what you have been through,” Jermain said diplomatically. Salentor’s manner made him certain that the man was lying. “If there is some other problem, no doubt Carachel will explain in more detail when he arrives. For now, I suggest you rest; Ranlyn and I will split the watches tonight, as you are clearly exhausted.”
Salentor nodded, apparently pleased by this consideration. Jermain smiled inwardly; he did not trust Salentor to stand watch. Salentor settled himself by the fire, and in a few moments was, to all appearances, fast asleep.
Ranlyn looked at Jermain. “And now what wish is yours?”
“None. You sleep; I’ll take the first watch. Lord Parel has given me much to think on.”
Ranlyn nodded, smiling slightly, and his eyes rested briefly on Salentor’s recumbent form. Jermain needed no further hint to be certain that Ranlyn believed no more than he that Salentor slept. “Ponder well, then,” Ranlyn said. He crossed to the shadows on the opposite side of the fire from Salentor, rolled himself in his cloak, and lay down.
Jermain felt a momentary twinge of conscience as he realized that Ranlyn still carried the serpent ring somewhere in the folds of his robes. Still, they certainly could not leave the package out where Salentor might see it. Finally Jermain put the matter out of his mind. He had more than enough to think about without worrying over what he could not change.
Salentor’s information had shaken Jermain thoroughly. He coldly reviewed everything he had learned, acknowledging his mistakes and trying to fit more of the puzzle in place. It was a humbling exercise. Very few things, apparently, were as he had believed them to be. He seemed to have done Marreth an injustice, believing that it was the King who wished to be rid of a troublesome ex-adviser, and he had badly underestimated Terrel’s influence and ability. From what Salentor had said, Terrel had been working for Carachel for nearly a year. It was therefore fairly likely that Carachel had been involved in Jermain’s dismissal from the Sevairn court, though he probably had not ordered the subsequent attempt to kill him. For one thing, the Wizard-King had taken Jermain into his service barely five days after the attack, which was not the action of a man who wanted to be rid of him. Besides, it was fairly clear that Terrel had his own plans; murdering Jermain could easily be one of them.
Slowly, Jermain worked his way down a mental list of the notables of the Sevairn court, trying to decide which of them were in league with Terrel and Carachel and which were not. Several times he thought of Eltiron, but each time he shoved the thought away. It kept returning, and finally he grew uncomfortable enough to face it squarely. Had he misjudged Eltiron as he had so many others?
Reluctantly, Jermain forced his memory back to his last day in Leshiya, the day of his trial and exile.
The Tower of Judgment loomed above him as the guards escorted him across the courtyard. There was no one else in sight, and Jermain felt a twinge of misgiving. Surely Marreth had realized by now how ridiculous the charges really were? But the courtyard would not be empty at this hour of the morning unless Marreth had ordered it, and such orders were given only when the most dangerous of criminals were being brought to trial.
His fears were confirmed when he reached the second floor of the tower. There were only three people waiting in the trial room: Marreth, Acrol Corteslan, and Terrel Lassond. It would be a private trial, then, the sort given when the accused was clearly guilty of treason. But how could Marreth truly believe that? Terrel might have fabricated some “proof” to support his claims, but Marreth was unlikely to accept it without support from some other quarter.
Jermain bowed deeply to the King. He wondered briefly why Eltiron was not present; as prince, the boy had the right to attend even a private trial if he wished, and Jermain would have expected him to come, if only to show support for a friend. But perhaps Marreth had deliberately not informed his son of the time.
Marreth motioned, and the guards left. As the door closed behind them, he cleared his throat. “Let’s get this over with. Jermain, you’re charged with treason against the throne of Sevairn. I assume you deny it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“All right.” He turned to the two courtiers to start the debate. “Corteslan, Lassond, you were both at the Council meeting. What’re your opinions?”
“There are many ways of interpreting Lord Trevannon’s actions,” Acrol began doubtfully. “And the Hoven-Thalar invasion is something that should certainly have been brought to Your Majesty’s attention.”
“Assuming, of course, that there will in fact be a Hoven-Thalar invasion,” Terrel said. “No one else has heard a whisper of such a move.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And Lord Trevannon did refuse to say just how this news came to him, and to him only,” Terrel went on smoothly. “But perhaps now he will explain?”
Jermain did not reply. Once the debate started, the accused was allowed to participate, but he would not play into Terrel’s hands by trying to answer such an obviously slanted question. Better to remain silent.
“He certainly should have told Your Majesty how he knew of this supposed invasion,” Acrol said, turning to Marreth.
“It seems a little convenient, does it not?” Terrel said. “Perhaps Lord Trevannon used his influence among the Hoven-Thalar to arrange—”
“What influence?” Jermain demanded. “Whoever told you that lied!”
“You accuse my son of lying?” Marreth rumbled.
“Prince Eltiron?” Jermain stared, stunned. Despite his youth, Eltiron was among the few members of the court whom Jermain both liked and trusted unreservedly. Eltiron would not have joined in Terrel’s accusations. Would he?
“I believe you’d already left the Council when the Prince mentioned it,” Acrol said.
“And what, exactly, did His Royal Highness say?”
“He told us about your visits to the Hoven-Thalar caravan,” Marreth answered. “And that spy you met there. So there’s not much point in dragging this out any longer. Unless you have something to add?”
“Prince Eltiron’s evidence was most helpful,” Terrel murmured.
Anger swept over Jermain. So Eltiron had been spying on him! How else would he have learned of Jermain’s trips to see Ranlyn? And he had not even had the honor to make his accusations to Jermain’s face; he had waited until Jermain had left the Council before he spoke. It must have been Eltiron’s support that had persuaded Marreth to take Terrel’s accusations seriously.
Jermain looked at Marreth. He could see from the expression on the King’s face that Marreth’s mind was made up, but he tried to argue anyway. It did him no good. With brutal swiftness, the trial proceeded to conviction and sentencing, and Jermain was stripped of position, title, goods, and country. . . .
A stick fell in the center of the fire, sending up a shower of sparks and bringing Jermain’s mind back to the present. He frowned, trying to sift the facts from his memories. Clearly, Eltiron was the one who had told the Council of Jermain’s visits to the Hoven-Thalar; Marreth, Acrol, and Terrel had all said as much. But if Eltiron had been part of Terrel’s plot to discredit Jermain, why hadn’t he attended Jermain’s trial?
The fire burned low while Jermain fought to separate the truth from his own assumptions. Finally he gave up. He could not say that Eltiron was blameless, but there was at least a slim chance that the Prince had not deliberately betrayed him. With that conclusion he would have to be content, at least until he had more information.
He rose stiffly and added
wood to the fire, noting with surprise how much time had passed. When the fire was burning well once more, he shook Ranlyn awake and they exchanged places. He was more tired than he had realized, for despite his emotional turmoil, he slept almost at once.
A horse’s shrill scream brought Jermain to his feet almost before he was fully awake. The scene before him drove every other thought from his mind. On the opposite side of the campfire’s remains, Blackflame was rearing and pawing the air. In front of the angry horse, Salentor dodged and backed away to the full length of the reins he had wrapped around his left arm. As Blackflame descended, Salentor jerked viciously at the reins, causing the horse to stumble.
Jermain shouted and started forward, drawing his dagger as he ran. The cry distracted Salentor; he looked over his shoulder and saw Jermain just as Blackflame reared again. The reins tightened, jerking Salentor forward. He had time for one terrified scream before Blackflame’s iron-shod hooves descended on his head and he collapsed to the ground. Blackflame stepped fastidiously away and stood waiting for Jermain.
Jermain inspected Salentor just closely enough to be sure he was dead, then unwound Blackflame’s reins from Salentor’s arm. The horse tossed his head and moved a little farther away, and Jermain looked around for Ranlyn. After a moment, he located a crumpled heap in the shadows near the dead fire, and he went over and knelt beside it. Ranlyn appeared to be alive and unharmed, but nothing Jermain did could wake him, and his skin was cold and damp. Finally, Jermain gave up. He spread his cloak over the unconscious nomad and went back to examine Salentor’s body in hopes of finding some explanation for Ranlyn’s condition.
The Barinash nobleman lay facedown, one side of his head crushed by Blackflame’s hooves. When Jermain turned him over, the first thing that caught his eye was the large gold medallion Salentor was wearing. Jermain reached for it, then paused. Even through the layer of dirt that covered it, he could see the stone at the medallion’s center glowing faintly. He shoved the medallion to one side with a short stick from the stack of unused firewood and continued searching.
Nothing else was immediately obvious, but when he touched Salentor’s belt pouch, he found that it was warm. Cautiously, he opened it and dumped its contents on the ground. He was hardly surprised to find the little package of cloth that contained the serpent ring among the rest of Salentor’s odds and ends. A faint glow was visible through the wrapping. He cupped his hand above it without touching it and felt the heat radiating through the cloth; then he sat back, thinking.
The medallion was the basis of Salentor’s spell for contacting Carachel. Somehow, Salentor must have used it to reach Carachel and learn of the true state of affairs between Jermain and the Wizard-King; that would explain how Salentor had found out about the serpent ring and why he’d been trying to escape with it. Carachel must have thrown a spell on Ranlyn, or Salentor would never have been able to take the ring from him. But surely Carachel would have cast his spell before if he could have done so; either he was much closer than Jermain and Ranlyn had thought, or . . .
Jermain looked from the cloth-wrapped serpent ring to the dirt-covered medallion. Both were still glowing; presumably both were necessary to whatever spell Carachel was using. And hadn’t Salentor implied that damage to the medallion would keep it from working? Jermain picked up a rock, then looked back at Ranlyn and hesitated. What if destroying the medallion didn’t break the spell, or made it worse? But he could think of nothing else to try, and he could not afford to wait long if Carachel was getting closer. He brought the rock down, then pounded on the medallion until the central stone was cracked and the gold was bent and twisted.
When he finished, he looked at the ruins of the medallion for a moment. There was no trace of a glow. He stretched a hand toward the package that held the serpent ring and felt no warmth from it. Sure that he had accomplished something, but uncertain as to what, Jermain turned back to Ranlyn. This time he had no difficulty in rousing the nomad, and he explained quickly what had happened.
When he finished, Ranlyn shook his head. “I might have guessed some ruse when he who lies dead there went privately to give his water back to the land. What he did was done then, for I have memory of little after it.”
“It was Carachel’s ring that knocked you out, then?”
“It was the ring.”
“That thing’s been nothing but trouble; for a wooden half-pence, I’d leave it sitting there.”
Ranlyn looked at him with concern. “You would return it to its wearer, and with it the greater portion of his power? There is little wisdom in this.”
“I know, I know; we don’t have much choice. I just hope Amberglas will know what to do with it when we get to Leshiya.”
“As you say. And the matter grows more urgent.”
“That’s obvious,” Jermain said. “Salentor would have gotten away completely if he hadn’t been stupid enough to try to steal Blackflame, and if Carachel is close enough to cast spells . . .”
“Distance can mean less to a sorcerer than to the wind. Yet while we have his ring, it is the only barrier we can depend on.”
“Then we’d better make it as big a barrier as we can,” Jermain said grimly. “Blackflame’s saddled and the fire’s out; I can check the rest of Salentor’s gear while you get ready. Night travel has never been one of my favorite pastimes, but I think we have to try it.”
Ranlyn nodded and the two men rose. Jermain dragged Salentor’s body into the bushes while Ranlyn saddled his horse, and in a few minutes they were ready to leave. Jermain untied Salentor’s horse and set it free, then swung into his saddle. Without looking back, the two men rode into the darkness, heading in the direction of Leshiya.
CHAPTER 19
Eltiron stared at the box in Vandaris’s hand. “I don’t understand! Salentor couldn’t have poisoned Father; Amberglas said it’s been going on for months, and Salentor’s only been in Leshiya for two and a half weeks or so.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, slow top. He could have hired someone months ago to start the job, or he may just have been supplying it to someone else. One thing’s sure, though; Salentor Parel was involved somehow. Herrilseed isn’t exactly the sort of thing someone keeps around to cure headaches.”
“Are you going to announce this to the court tonight?” Crystalorn asked. She looked a little white, and she seemed to be deliberately avoiding Eltiron’s eyes.
“Storm and starfire, no!” Vandaris said. “Things are confused enough already. If we give away all our information, we’ll never get this mess unraveled. Unless you want to tell them,” she added, turning belatedly to Eltiron. “After all, they’re your court.”
“I don’t think we should tell anyone but Amberglas right now,” Eltiron said promptly, and was rewarded with an approving nod from Vandaris and a shaky smile from Crystalorn.
“Then let’s see what else we can find.” And Vandaris went back to her search. She found nothing else of interest, and finally she called a halt. She locked the room once more, then went with Tarilane to inform Amberglas of their discovery. Eltiron, after a brief and highly unsuccessful attempt to converse with Crystalorn, returned to his duties.
Marreth’s funeral occupied most of the following day, due in large measure to the number of speeches. Each of the other six kingdoms had sent a representative to Sevairn for Eltiron’s wedding, and all of them had to be allowed to deliver their condolences publicly. To do otherwise would be to risk offending both the ambassador and the ruler he represented. By the time the last of them finished, Eltiron thought he was beginning to understand why his father had been out of temper so frequently.
The day ended with a feast, but Eltiron did not enjoy it. Crystalorn had been avoiding him all day, and he spent most of the evening trying to find out what was bothering her. The Princess of Barinash looked a little more flushed than the warmth of the room would justify, and she seemed uncomfortable. Unfortunately, a formal banquet was a difficult place to hold a private conversation even
when both parties were cooperating; when one of them appeared to be actively attempting to prevent such a conversation, it became impossible. Crystalorn could not avoid Eltiron completely, since she was seated beside him as his promised bride, but she could keep up an animated conversation with the ambassador from Vircheta on her other side.
Finally, Eltiron stopped trying to talk to Crystalorn and concentrated on watching her. By the time he left the feast, he was profoundly disturbed. It was not merely Crystalorn’s uneasiness; he had also noticed the sidelong looks and furtive whispers of the lords and ladies of Sevairn when they glanced in Crystalorn’s direction. He wondered how they would have behaved if they had known that the Barinash ambassador had kept a box of herrilseed in his rooms. It was not a comforting thought.
He was still worrying when Vandaris arrived the following morning. She wasted no time but went right to the point of her visit. Lord Reistron had cornered her at the end of the feast the night before. “He wants you to call off your marriage to Crystalorn,” Vandaris said.
“I can’t do that! We’d have the Barinash army on the border in less than a month if we insulted them so badly.”
“Reistron doesn’t think so. Besides, he’s not suggesting sending her home right away, just delaying the wedding a few times until the situation becomes obvious to everyone.”
Eltiron stared at Vandaris. “He told you that?”
“Not in so many words, but his meaning was clear enough. He’s not the only one, either; everyone knows you didn’t have much hand in picking your bride, and there are plenty of people who don’t like the idea of an alliance with Barinash.”
Eltiron looked at her a moment longer, then turned away and began pacing angrily up and down the room. He was nearly as annoyed with himself as with Reistron. He had never even thought about what effect Marreth’s death and Salentor’s flight might have on Crystalorn’s position in Sevairn, and he’d seen little of her in the days preceding the funeral. No doubt that had been additional fuel for the gossips. And there had certainly been gossip; if Reistron was willing to approach Vandaris about canceling the wedding, half the court must be speculating about the possibility. Crystalorn herself must be aware of it; it would explain at least some of her behavior at the feast.
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