Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (44 page)

Although
the room was not crowded with courtiers, Jeff estimated there had to be
twenty-five or thirty present. He couldn’t help wondering how many would like
to see him dead or run out of town. Whatever, he decided, from their
expressions they sure as hell don’t know what to make of us.

Stopping
beside Ethbar, Jeff bowed. “Your servant, Majesty.”

Imogo
sat up straighter and studied Jeff with considerable interest before speaking
in a high, piping voice. “We are pleased to welcome you, Jeffrey Friedrick.
Newly returned as you are from southern lands, we anticipate fuller
conversation with you and your companion. Now we would wish for you to be
introduced to the members of our court.” Signaling for Ethbar to do the honors,
Imogo left the audience room.

Positioning
himself between Carl and Jeff, Ethbar guided them toward the largest group of
courtiers. As they approached, six or seven pointedly turned their backs and
strolled in the opposite direction.

Carl
wasn’t about to let them off so easily. Jeff couldn’t take the risk of being
snubbed in public, but he could. Time to get some information. Carl squeezed
Ethbar’s arm and gestured with his head at the retreating backs. Ethbar nodded
and they set off in pursuit, leaving Jeff to his own devices.

Surrounded
by courtiers, Jeff caught Carl’s move and thought, Right on, man. Go for it.

Casually
moving away from Carl’s theater of operation, Jeff fielded a number of
questions. Although the questions were general in nature, Jeff carefully
selected his words to avoid revealing the Salchek presence before Imogo was
fully informed. That, he concluded, would be a fatal mistake, perhaps
literally.

Taking
the initiative, he described Khorgan in detail. The topic proved so exciting to
his circle that he never was pushed into the realm of politics. Ethbar and Carl
returned unobtrusively and they bowed their way out of the chamber.

Their
footsteps echoed loudly in deserted hallways as Ethbar penetrated deep inside
the palace. Stopping at an unremarkable door, he rapped lightly on its panels
and entered. Unpretentious and small, the room was comfortably furnished with
soft chairs, a table, and thick carpets.

They
found Imogo with his feet resting on a stool, robes cast aside and sipping on a
glass of wine. Seated next to Imogo was a young man of perhaps eighteen years.
Must be his son, Torget, Jeff decided.

With
an informal wave toward empty chairs, Imogo indicated they were to sit. “If you
would, Jeffrey, please relate what you observed in the South.”

The
setting was casual, but Jeff was under no illusion that the circumstances were.
Passing over the trip south with only a few words, he described the situation
in Khorgan and what he had concluded. When he related the amount of tribute
Khorgan was being forced to pay, Imogo’s face went blank with disbelief.

“You
are quite certain of the amount, Jeffrey?”

“Yes,
your Majesty. Four hundred weight of gold each month. I must say we were all
nearly overcome. Such an amount went far to explain the crushing taxation
imposed by the city council.”

Their
trip to Tradertown in search of confirmation was received with an appreciative
nod.

“A
wise decision. One must never base conclusions on supposition only. Now this
Tradertown. A most interesting name. Please continue.”

Jeff
proceeded to describe everything he had observed and experienced. At the last
minute he included Carl and Zimma’s rescue. As he had earlier, Jeff concluded
with the traders’ evacuation to Astholf and decision to trek north to Rugen.

The
room was quiet for some time. “The rescue of Carl and your Zimma—you effected
their escape unassisted?”

Considering
the circumstances surrounding the rescue, Imogo’s question was not unexpected.

“Your
majesty is most astute. Their rescue would not have been successful against
such odds without this.”

Experiencing
a sense of deja vu, Jeff removed the Colt from under his doublet. Popping the
cylinder open, he tilted the pistol up and caught the cartridges as they fell
out. Not willing to risk damage, Jeff closed the cylinder and set the weapon
and cartridges on the table.

Showing
more daring than Belstan and Rogelf, Imogo picked it up. Turning the Colt over
in his hands, he marveled at the workmanship.

“Silver
steel with no hint of rust,” he murmured in a wondering tone of voice. He set
it down with the care usually afforded a delicate object. Imogo gazed at Jeff
with a new level of intensity, all the while stroking the metal with a finger.
“There is another story here, it would seem. Would you be so kind?”

“I
am not of this world, nor is my companion. We have been brought to this land by
my ancestors in defense of the yellow-hairs and Rugen.” He let it drop there.

Imogo
didn’t blink an eye. “The Redhairs of legend.”

“Yes,
your Majesty.”

“We
must admit to being captivated, Jeffrey, and are quite willing to accept your
alien origin.”

Lost
in reflection, Imogo gazed into the middle distance. The silence that ensued
was not uncomfortable, for it was as if they had ceased to exist. Quite
abruptly, Imogo’s eyes refocused. In a series of deft motions, he picked up the
Colt, released the lock, swung the cylinder out and plucked a cartridge from
the table.

Although
taken by surprise, there was no way Jeff would allow the cylinder to be shut
with a cartridge in it. Holding the cartridge up to catch the light, Imogo
nodded and slipped it into the cylinder. Before Jeff could react, he tipped the
revolver up and caught the cartridge in his hand.

“We
must assume this smaller device is the actual instrument of death.”

Primed
to explode into action, Jeff forced a calm reply. “Yes, your Majesty, it is.”

Imogo
nodded gravely. “Never have we imagined such craftsmanship, or experienced the
imminence of death so closely.” Setting the cartridge and pistol down on the
table, Imogo let his breath out in a long sigh. “Very well. Let us examine
matters more closely.”

The
rest of the afternoon was spent answering questions from Imogo, each one
penetrating deeper into southern affairs. It wasn’t long before Jeff understood
what it was like to be cross-examined by an expert. He was also walking a
razor’s edge. Molding each answer to document the need for preparation carried
a big risk. Kings did not like to be manipulated, and this, Jeff decided, was
one smart king. Several hours later, large sweat circles were visible under his
arms. He was outlining plans for the winter when Imogo smiled dryly and broke
in.

“Nobly
have you withstood this day, Jeffrey. We have learned over the years to discern
honesty as well as deceit. That you are honest we have no question. That you
are a man of valor and honor we have come to understand. We must dwell on all
that you have conveyed.” Everyone jumped to their feet as Imogo rose and left
the room, closely followed by his son.

On
the way back to his home, Ethbar muttered to himself off and on, “Well, well.
Yes; well, well!” He offered no explanations until the evening meal had been
consumed.

Gathered
near the fire once again, Ethbar finally enlightened them after filling Rengeld
in on the day’s events.

“You
must know that Imogo surprised me today. It was a most refreshing experience.
He has never been one to cherish deceit, and can be quite harsh to those in
whom it is perceived. Today he found no deceit in spite of dogged effort.”

“What
surprised you?”

“The
full acuity of mind he was forced to employ, Jeffrey. I have not seen it
before.”

“He’s
an intelligent man. I have never experienced such intense scrutiny.”

“The
opposite also being true in the form of your answers. I have rarely enjoyed
such a meeting of the minds.”

“It
was a battlefield of a different sort, all right,” Jeff said with a relieved
expression. “Glad it’s over.”

“You
did most well, moving carefully between pitfalls astutely put in your path by
our Imogo to test your veracity. I believe you have succeeded. It will be most
difficult for Imogo to remain uncommitted. Yes, yes! Very difficult!”

“Hopefully,
but those courtiers who walked away aren’t going to give up without a fight. Am
I correct in assuming they’re the troublemakers?”

“You
have judged them correctly,” Ethbar replied with a droll expression, “although
it is likely I would have employed a much stronger descriptive term. I look
forward to hearing Carl’s impressions. It is always helpful to obtain a fresh
view.” Ethbar winked at Carl and called for the household steward. “A fresh
consignment of Makla beans arrived earlier this day. I am told they are a new
variety that holds much promise. Let us discover the truth of the matter.”

Thankful
for the reprieve Ethbar had given him, Carl began ordering his thoughts. The
conclusions he had reached were not going to be easy to express.

The
Makla arrived freshly brewed and was so good that Carl gained an additional
period of time while its qualities were debated. Stout without being bitter, it
was reminiscent of Colombian Supremo coffee with a spicy taste all its own.
Ethbar gestured for Carl to speak when the chatter died down.

“I
don’t know what I was expecting, but what I heard and observed confirms my
belief that some folks will promote their narrow self-interest and selfish
ambitions until the sword is dropping on their necks, not to mention everyone
else’s as well.”

“You
could be describing the councilors in Khorgan.”

“A
lot like them, Jeff,” Carl replied with a quick nod. “The councilors had it all
and were willing to sacrifice their city and people in an attempt to keep it.
This bunch dreams of obtaining such wealth and power and are equally willing to
make the same sacrifices to that end. And that attitude, it seems to me, is
where the real danger lies. I may be wrong, but I think they know the Salchek
are coming.”

“Collaborators,”
Jeff growled, “the worst possible kind of trash.”

“Maybe.
Please remember that what I’m saying is the rawest form of speculation. There
was just something about the way they reacted when we discussed the situation
down south. Sort of a smug cocksureness and a ‘go screw yourself and tell us
something we don’t already know’ attitude.” Carl said to Ethbar, “Please
disabuse me of this opinion. It is a terrible thing to believe of anyone.”

Ethbar
was impressed with Carl’s analysis. “I cannot. Rengeld’s agents have carefully
documented every aspect of their lives for some months now. They are not only
traitors, but relatively stupid traitors.” Ethbar raised his eyebrows and
smiled ever so slightly. “But then, I suspect this is usually the case and
represents a marriage of convenience.”

“Right
on! I mean, yes, I think that sums it up in one neat package. Oh, hell!”

Ethbar
caught the drift and smiled benignly at Carl before turning a more serious
expression in Jeff’s direction.

“While
we discerned some time ago that this group of courtiers was plotting to
overthrow Imogo, the full extent of their treason was not revealed. The
knowledge you and Carl brought goes far to explain clandestine travel to the
south by their agents. Little doubt remains they are collaborating with the
Salchek. We cannot move openly, since I judge Imogo unwilling to believe that
his cousins would betray not only Rugen but also their own family. Still, you
may rest assured they will die quickly and silently when it becomes necessary.”

“Imogo’s
cousins. Should have suspected something like that from the beginning. May I
assume they savor thoughts of the crown under Salchek rule?”

“Savor
such thoughts, indeed, and quarrel among themselves over who shall wear it,”
Rengeld replied with a disdainful snort. “Their kingdom will be less elevated
and quite dark.”

The
following morning, Jeff took Carl out to explore Rugen. He also had to purchase
clothing and they spent the greater part of the day poking around in one shop
or another. They were making their way home when Carl jumped out of the saddle
with an exclamation and darted into a shop, leaving Sam free to roam.

Jeff
had to capture Sam before he could find out what was so intriguing about the
shop. Once inside, he found Carl in animated conversation with the store’s
proprietor. The men were surrounded on all sides by an intricate cat’s cradle
of tubing and retorts, some bubbling ominously.

“What
a find!” Carl said to Jeff with an excited grin. “This place is a treasure trove.
A bona fide alchemy! These guys spend their lives trying to convert base metals
like lead to gold, and often blow themselves to shreds in the process. In
earth’s history at least, they also stumbled across a wide range of potent
chemicals but never realized the full worth of what they had. Man, am I going
to have fun in here!”

“Would
you mind telling me what it was they had?”

“Can’t
say for sure at this point. I’ll tell you one thing, though—by the time you get
back in the spring I will, and I think it’ll really be dynamite!”