Vandaris interrupted before Eltiron could reply. She insisted on examining them both for serious burns, but to Eltiron’s relief she found only a few superficial injuries. Except for her hair, Crystalorn’s condition was only slightly worse than Eltiron’s; her dress’s heavy material and voluminous skirts had kept most of the fire away from her, though the dress itself was ruined.
“Next time, don’t be so quick about trying to get into places that have been hidden so well,” Vandaris said to Crystalorn when the examination was over. “Particularly when magic’s involved. You’re luckier than you deserve.”
Crystalorn nodded. “I know. And we’ve lost that book, whatever it was. I’m sorry.”
“Not at all,” said Amberglas. Eltiron and the others turned to find her standing in the doorway of Terrel’s study. The hem of her skirt was dusted with ashes, and her face wore a satisfied expression. In her hands was a bundle, wrapped in slightly blackened leather. “As I believe I mentioned, Terrel was not a particularly good sorcerer, which is extremely fortunate for us but quite inconvenient for him, or at least it would be if he were still here to be inconvenienced.”
Further questioning produced a somewhat clearer explanation. The spell Terrel had used was usually intended to operate within an extremely limited area, such as the niche in the wall. Terrel, however, had not blocked the open side of the niche, so when the spell was triggered, most of its force exploded outward into the room. This was fortunate for two reasons: it left the bundle within the niche nearly intact, and it dissipated the fire over a larger area, giving Eltiron and Crystalorn time to escape the burning study. When the flames died, Amberglas had simply gone in and removed the contents of the niche.
The leather-wrapped bundle proved to contain a sheaf of papers and a small brown book. After some discussion, these and the rest of Terrel’s papers were divided among Eltiron, Vandaris, Amberglas, and Crystalorn.
Eltiron devoted much of the following day to sorting through his portion. At midafternoon, Amberglas arrived to perform the promised tests for herrilseed poisoning. The tests were shorter than he had expected, but the results were not encouraging. Neither Vandaris nor Crystalorn had shown any signs of receiving herrilseed, treated or untreated, but Eltiron had apparently received at least one dose, and possibly more.
“Not enough to do any physical damage, though of course it’s a bit inconvenient; still, you ought to be able to keep from being controlled, especially since you know about it now, which always makes that sort of thing much more difficult, provided of course that someone tries,” Amberglas told him.
Eltiron did not find this particularly reassuring. To avoid brooding, he plunged back into his study of Terrel’s papers, and by evening he had worked his way through the pile. Next morning, he sent for Amberglas, Crystalorn, and Vandaris to find out what they had discovered.
“Not much,” Crystalorn said. “Most of what I read was boring official things. There were copies of a couple of notes to people in Sevairn, though.” She gave Eltiron a sidelong look. “I don’t think Terrel liked you much.”
Vandaris snorted. “That’s no news. Anything else?”
“Lots of bills for odd things, like lead gloves and snakeskins.”
“Black Sorcery involves so many unpleasant things,” Amberglas murmured. “Though one probably wouldn’t consider them unpleasant if one were a Black Sorcerer.”
“I had better luck, I think,” Vandaris said. She proceeded to outline the deductions she had made from the letters and map regarding Carachel’s strategy. Carachel had apparently intended to unite the Seven Kingdoms against the Hoven-Thalar, and had succeeded in persuading all but Navren and Sevairn. “So it may not have been necessary to send our army south after all,” Vandaris finished.
“I don’t think I would say that,” Amberglas said thoughtfully. “Though doing the right thing for the wrong reason generally makes one feel so very silly, even if it is far better than doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, which seems to be far more common. Still, I suspect all those other armies will be quite unhappy when the Hoven-Thalar don’t arrive, so it may very well be useful to have someone there to stop them.”
Vandaris stared. “Don’t arrive? Amberglas . . .”
“I rather thought you might think so,” Amberglas said vaguely. “But it would have been much worse to let the Matholych eat them, particularly since they did ask, and quite politely. So I expect by now most of them are on the other side of Fenegrik Swamp, which is extremely sensible of them.”
The ensuing silence was broken by a loud pounding on the door. “What is it?” Eltiron called. He felt somewhat annoyed; he’d specifically told the steward to see that this meeting was not interrupted.
But when the door opened, the steward himself was standing outside, panting slightly. “Your pardon, sire, but—Lord Jermain Trevannon has arrived, and desires to see you.”
CHAPTER 20
At a normal pace, and, traveling by day, the ride to Leshiya would have taken almost two and a half days. Jermain and Ranlyn made the trip in a day and a half by riding nights and increasing their speed enough to make significantly better time without letting the horses founder. They reached the city at midmorning, when the number of people outside the gates was large enough to make them inconspicuous; but despite the crowd, Jermain was recognized by one of the guards almost as soon as he entered the city.
The guard seemed unsurprised by Jermain’s reappearance in Leshiya. A few moments of wary conversation revealed the reason: Eltiron had apparently issued a full pardon for Jermain as soon as he became king. Jermain relaxed a little, and when the guard offered to accompany them to the castle, he accepted.
The guard was a fountain of information about the recent odd events at the castle; he spent the entire ride cheerfully recounting various versions of the tale of Marreth’s death, the sudden departure of the Sevairn army, the shocking revelation of Terrel’s sorcery, the missing Barinash ambassador, and Marreth’s funeral. Some of what he said confirmed the story Salentor had told them, but some was plainly the wildest of rumor. By the time they reached the castle, Jermain thought he had a fair idea what had been going on in Leshiya during the past week, though a few tantalizing gaps remained.
At the castle gates, the guard’s announcement of Jermain’s identity produced a gratifying stir, though Ranlyn’s appearance raised a few eyebrows. Jermain knew several of the men, and they spent a few minutes in conversation until the castle steward arrived to conduct Jermain and Ranlyn into the castle.
Inside, the steward ushered them to a small study and asked them to wait while the King was informed of their arrival.
“There is no need to disturb the King right away,” Jermain said. Eltiron would hear of their presence soon enough; at the moment, Amberglas was the one he wanted to see. “For now, it will be enough if you ask the Lady Amberglas to join us; we have a message of some urgency for her.”
“But it’s the same thing,” the steward said in some dismay. “That is, you do mean the Lady Amberglas who arrived with the Princess Crystalorn from Barinash? She’s in council with the King.”
“Then tell them both.”
The steward started to reply, then stopped. “Yes, my lord,” he said after a moment, and bowed and departed.
Jermain stared after him, wondering whether his instinctive response had been wise. He was still reluctant to face Eltiron; whether the new King of Sevairn had actually betrayed him or whether he had misjudged Eltiron’s actions, the meeting was certain to be awkward. But since the night of Salentor’s death he had known that he would have to see Eltiron again. Perhaps he had known even before, when he had prompted Ranlyn to turn toward Leshiya instead of Barinash. Putting it off would only make the encounter more difficult.
His broodings were interrupted by the return of the steward, who requested that they follow him. To Jermain’s surprise, he brought them to Eltiron’s chambers instead of to one of the small meeting rooms where Marreth had usually
held his Councils. The steward knocked, then opened the door. “Your Majesty, Lord Jermain Trevannon and his companion, Ranlyn of the Hoven-Thalar,” he announced, and stepped aside to let Jermain and Ranlyn pass.
Just inside the room, Jermain paused. He felt Ranlyn’s presence beside him and dimly noticed the others waiting around the table, but his eyes and mind were focused on the man seated directly across from him. A corner of his mind noted that Eltiron had changed a good deal in the past seven months; he looked older and more sure of himself than the somewhat diffident boy Jermain remembered. He was thinner, too. “Your Majesty,” Jermain said, bowing.
“Jermain,” Eltiron said. He rose uncertainly to his feet, and for a moment his youth was evident. “Then one of the messengers found you?”
“No, Your Majesty.” Jermain’s tone was harsher than he intended; he saw Eltiron flinch. Then the young man lifted his chin and looked directly at Jermain, and Jermain found himself thinking of Eltiron for the first time as a king, not a boy.
“Then I can deliver my apology in person,” Eltiron said, and Jermain stiffened. Eltiron faltered briefly, then went on, “From what Amberglas has told me, I know you believe I helped Terrel Lassond persuade my father to have you exiled. I cannot deny that my thoughtlessness contributed to his success, but it was not by my design. Terrel used my carelessness for his own ends. He is dead and there is no way I can prove what I say; I wouldn’t be surprised if you refused to believe me. But I swear by Arlayne’s crown that it is true.”
For a long moment, Jermain could not reply. Then he shook his head and said in a voice that seemed suddenly rusty with disuse, “I believe you.”
“A debt of truth is often difficult to see ended,” Ranlyn said from behind Jermain. “And the burden grows like a dune beneath the winter wind when the truth told reveals the wrongs done by the teller. To be a witness to such courage is a privilege and an honor. I owe you a debt.”
Eltiron looked briefly startled; then he bowed. “Both the honor and the debt are mine,” he said formally, and Jermain wondered briefly where he had learned the proper reply.
“As soon as you stone heads are finished being polite, I’d like to find out what brought Trevannon back if he didn’t hear from any of our messengers,” the woman seated beside Eltiron said, looking pointedly at Ranlyn.
“At least one of your messages reached me, Lady Vandaris,” Jermain said, grinning. Marreth’s sister had changed very little. “But since at that time I knew nothing of Marreth’s death, I chose to be cautious.”
“Caution is such an extremely useful thing,” said a familiar voice from the end of the table. Jermain turned his head and saw Amberglas. She looked just as vague as he remembered, but there was something warm and welcoming in her manner that made him feel as though he were returning home.
The sorceress smiled in his general direction and went on, “Though of course it isn’t always necessary. Rather like wearing shoes; one frequently doesn’t need them at all, but what with things like thistles and pins and dogs and so on it’s usually quite wise, and people generally like to be thought wise even if they aren’t, very, which is a good thing for the cobblers under the circumstances. I expect that’s why you’re still standing there.”
“Yes, please join us,” said Crystalorn. She smiled at Jermain from her place beside Amberglas.
Jermain bowed again, feeling a bit light-headed, and looked at Eltiron, who motioned to the place beside Vandaris. Ranlyn remained standing for a moment; then, in a single motion, he went down on one knee before Amberglas. The sorceress tilted her head to one side and regarded the nomad with absentminded curiosity as he began to speak.
“I have seen the power you gave to the good of my people,” Ranlyn said. “And I say to you that I and all the clans of my people owe you a debt that is longer than the length of the wind. We owe you water for your refreshment and your pleasure. We owe you blood for your healing and your renewal. We owe you life for your service and your protection whenever you desire it. Your debts are ours; if you owe a debt of water, we will supply it; if you owe a debt of blood, we will give it; if you owe a debt of life, we will pay it whatever the cost to ourselves. This I swear, for myself and for the clans of the Hoven-Thalar, to be binding for all—”
“No,” Amberglas said.
“Your pardon?” Ranlyn’s face was impassive, but Jermain knew him well enough to hear the anger in his voice.
“I haven’t the least objection to your making oaths and promises for yourself, though of course what you were suggesting does seem a bit extreme. But binding other people for all time is an exceedingly dangerous thing to do, particularly when they aren’t there, no matter how justified it seems, and it frequently has rather unpleasant consequences for everyone. So I’d rather you didn’t, though it’s extremely good of you to offer.”
“As you wish it. But for myself, my oath still stands.”
“That’s very kind of you, though not at all necessary. And I expect it will be quite inconvenient if every Hoven-Thalar I meet insists on repeating it; but then, I don’t generally meet very many, so it may not matter. Hoven-Thalar, I mean. I meet quite a number of other sorts of people, and it would be far more inconvenient if all of them did that whenever I saw them, though I can’t think why they should, since most of them don’t see things quite the way the Hoven-Thalar do. So perhaps you had better sit down and explain.”
Ranlyn rose to his feet and seated himself beside Jermain; when he began to speak again, the undercurrent of anger in his voice had been replaced by a trace of amusement. “Little enough is there to explain. In this time does the Red Plague come northward, and then the Hoven-Thalar must move or be destroyed, as the grass must bend or be broken by the wind. Yet it seemed we had less choice than the grass, for the only road open to us led north, and to move north would bring war. Therefore the clans went to the Lady of the Tower, and asked of her some way to avoid both war and the Red Plague alike. This has she provided, and so I and all who count themselves of the clans of the Hoven-Thalar stand in her debt.”
“I believe I, too, owe Amberglas something,” Jermain said into the silence that followed. “Though in my case it is only my life twice over, not my entire country.”
“That is quite enough of that,” Amberglas said, looking faintly irritated. “Unless of course you wish to be tiresome, which would be rather foolish and not at all like you. At least, I hope it wouldn’t. You might try simply explaining what you’ve been doing instead.”
Jermain grinned and plunged into the story of his past seven months. He stuck to a straightforward recounting of events, leaving out his emotional reactions to Eltiron’s supposed betrayal. When he reached his meeting with Carachel, Vandaris and Eltiron exchanged frowns, but they did not interrupt until he told them of Salentor’s appearance.
“Do you know where he is now?” Eltiron said, leaning forward.
“Trying to explain his life to the Judge of Souls,” Jermain replied. “He was killed trying to steal Blackflame.”
Eltiron’s lips tightened briefly; then he sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but not for his sake; there were some questions we wanted to ask him.”
“I may have a few answers.” Rapidly, Jermain summarized his conversation with Salentor and finished his narrative.
“That fills in a lot of gaps in our information,” Vandaris commented. “I’d been wondering why that map in Lassond’s room showed such strange troop movements. But if Carachel was trying to hold the Hoven-Thalar long enough for the Matholych to eat them, he’d have to keep everyone in the thing’s path, whether it made sense as strategy or not.”
“You seem to know a good deal more than I’d expected, and I heard some rather odd rumors on my way through the city. What’s been happening here?”
Jermain was looking at Vandaris as he spoke, but it was Eltiron who answered. Jermain shifted uneasily, then realized with a slight shock that the idea of talking to Eltiron was making him uncomfortable. He concen
trated on listening, and after a moment found it easy to slip once more into the role of King’s Adviser, weighing every word and every scrap of information.
Though he had guessed the general outline of the story Eltiron told, most of the details were unfamiliar. He was surprised to learn that Terrel had actually dabbled in sorcery. He noticed that Eltiron made a point of mentioning that the plans for his marriage to Crystalorn had not been changed by Marreth’s death. For a moment he thought that Eltiron was remembering Jermain’s long-standing opposition to an alliance between Sevairn and Barinash; then he saw Crystalorn listening intently and realized that Eltiron was being careful not to look in her direction. Jermain made a mental note of the interaction, and turned his attention back to Eltiron’s story.
Eltiron continued by summarizing the investigation of Terrel’s rooms. “That reminds me,” Vandaris interrupted. “You never told us what you found in your batch of Lassond’s papers. Anything interesting?”
“Jermain’s already told you most of the things involving Carachel,” Eltiron said. “Terrel had some things about his own plans, but I don’t think they matter much anymore.”
“Maybe not, but I’d still like to know.”
“All right, then, listen.”
The papers Eltiron had taken included some old letters from Carachel to Terrel, some official documents that belonged in the castle archives, and a number of Terrel’s private papers. These included proof of Terrel’s treachery and Jermain’s innocence, should it be needed. Terrel had been instructed by Carachel to remove Jermain and take his place; sending Morenar to murder him had been Terrel’s own idea, because he’d feared that Jermain would become more useful to Carachel than he himself. Eltiron’s marriage to Crystalorn was also part of Carachel’s plan, though Terrel had apparently had some idea of marrying Crystalorn himself. Vandaris’s reappearance had offered an easier way to power in Sevairn—marry her, poison Marreth, and blame Eltiron for the King’s death, then use the herrilseed love potion to acquire the kingship formally. He’d had the covert support of a fair number of Sevairn nobles, though he had told none of them the full extent of his plans.
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