The Dragon of Despair (41 page)

However, even the most reliable slaves needed to be supervised and directed. For this Melina needed a few agents who were free and who could be convinced to join their cause to her own. From her own experience of politics within Hawk Haven, Melina knew that the best lever in such cases was some private cause or vendetta. Hadn’t her own brother Newell been driven to astonishing extremes by the simple flaw in his personal logic that told him that since he had been an honorary prince he should be an anointed king?

New Kelvinese politics were at least as complex and vigorous as those of Hawk Haven, but Melina hesitated to choose her tools from among one of the political groups anxious to replace the current government. She liked Apheros’s government—indeed had gone to great lengths to secure its actions so they favored herself. Therefore she did not need some ambitious would-be Dragon Speaker for her ally. Nor did she want a foreigner, for there were times she needed counsel from someone who understood the intricacies of New Kelvin from the gut rather than from study.

But Melina did not despair. She put out feelers through the spies she had borrowed from the Healed One’s network, even dropped a few very discreet hints. Therefore, she was alert to opportunity when Idalia, mother of Kistlio, sister of Grateful Peace, begged audience with the Consolor of the Healed One.

Ostensibly, Idalia was seeking a pension to compensate for the financial loss accrued on the death of her son, but the fact that she came to Melina directly rather than going through the usual channels whispered to the Consolor that here was someone who sought a private compensation, something more than mere money or advantage.

Idalia was elegantly formal and fair like her brother. She rather resembled him, Melina thought, but that was hardly remarkable. What made Idalia remarkable was the fierce hatred that burned in her eyes, a hatred so intense that her eyes seemed to lack color or dimension, serving only as hooded caverns to shelter their fire.

At first Melina thought that hatred was directed toward herself. After all, Kistlio had been her clerk, her devoted admirer. He had met his death while defending his mistress from what he perceived as an attack. There was good reason for his mother to blame Melina for her loss.

However, even after Melina had said all the right things and had even employed a touch of her ability to suggest to Idalia that she should accept Melina’s version of events, the inner burning in the other woman’s gaze did not diminish.

Clutching in one hand the silken pouch of coins that Melina had given her, Idalia refused to accept the Consolor’s gentle hints that she should depart. Instead she blurted out,

“Kistlio loved you. He told me he did. I don’t blame you for my son’s death. I think Kistlio would have committed suicide if you had been slain through his inaction.”

Melina nodded gentle understanding she did not feel. In truth she was deeply puzzled, but in Idalia’s words she sensed an intensity that prompted her to stay the hand that had been about to rise in order to ring for a guard.

“My son,” Idalia continued impassioned, “was betrayed not by you, Consolor, but by my brother Grateful Peace. Had Grateful Peace not conducted those thieves into the Granite Tower then there would have been no monster present to slay my son. The wolf’s fangs may have killed my boy, but I don’t even blame the wolf—that dumb beast may have been as innocent as a bow hanging on a wall is innocent until someone takes it down and strings it. I tell you, I blame my brother. Peace was the traitor who carried the bow. His was the hand that loosed the arrow that slew my son.”

Feigning a maternal grief she did not feel, Melina curled an arm around Idalia. She soothed the other woman into a chair, sent Tipi for spiced wine. Then through gentle questions and skillful probing she learned the entire twisted story of Idalia’s resentment of her younger brother’s advancement. Idalia told how she had been forced to take charity from her brother—charity that had led to Kistlio’s death.

Immediately, Melina recognized that the true source of Idalia’s rage at her brother was the woman’s own guilt. Had Idalia and her husband provided better training and opportunities for Kistlio’s advancement the boy would never have taken his uncle’s offer of patronage. Without that patronage, he never would have been in a position to be killed.

Unable to face her own complicity, Idalia had displaced her personal guilt, transforming it into rage at Grateful Peace, a rage all the more ferocious because it was so utterly unreasonable—and because the focus of her rage was out of reach, unable to answer for himself and so all the more easily transformed into a monster.

Melina could have shared her insights with Idalia, but what would have been the use? Idalia might not have believed her, and even if Idalia had she might have been overwhelmed to the point of suicide if she accepted her own role in her son’s death. Better to preserve the woman’s life and through skillful manipulation of the impulses that were already there turn her into Melina’s faithful sycophant.

For this reason Melina mentioned the rumor that Grateful Peace had escaped with his life and was now dwelling in luxury just over the border in Hawk Haven. Idalia had heard some hints of this, news brought to her by well-meaning friends who had thought the information would be a comfort. Hearing confirmation that Peace lived and even thrived sealed Idalia to Melina’s cause, especially when Melina offered her the means to be on hand if and when Grateful Peace returned.

“Be my secret hand, even as your brother was once the Dragon’s Speaker’s watchful Eye,” Melina said. “I am certain his sister shares his talents for organization and alertness.”

“I do, Consolor,” Idalia responded eagerly. “Indeed, I am his better at organization, for Peace was the spoiled youngest while as one of the elder children my place was never easy.”

“Very good,” Melina said, though part of her resented the implication that younger children were spoiled. Surely she hadn’t been! Duchess Pola had been hard on her daughter. After rearing four sons Pola had lost the softer touch.

“I have a husband,” Idalia said eagerly, “and several grown children who could assist me. Will you have me move into Thendulla Lypella?”

“To someplace more interesting than that,” Melina answered teasingly.

She wished to check Idalia’s story before confiding more. Happily, given Idalia’s brother’s prominence, the information should be near at hand. For now Melina urged caution.

“Say nothing of this to anyone,” Melina went on, “not even to your husband or other family members. I shall summon you when a place is made ready.”

“My silence,” Idalia vowed, never realizing how true were her words, “is your wish.”

Melina’s research into Idalia’s history revealed that the other woman had a browbeaten husband and several adult children who were kept snugly under her thumb. Moreover, her resentment of her brother was both well known and long-standing, ruling out that Idalia might have put on the guise of resentment for some reason of her own.

Their pact was made and Melina sealed it with only the lightest touch of her power, for she needed Idalia clear-thinking and capable of initiative. In any case, there was no need to bind Idalia other than by offering trust and feeding her obsessions.

Grateful Peace
, Melina thought,
may have forged the weapon best used against him.

Once Melina was sure of Idalia, she told her of the hidden magical force beneath Thendulla Lypella and relocated the woman and her family to a comfortable residence set up in a large cavern. To those who expressed curiosity, it was given out that Idalia and her immediate family had accepted a compassionate relocation to a town in the far northwestern edge of New Kelvin. However, no one—not even Idalia’s own siblings—seemed to much regret the family’s going.

Indeed, though moons had waxed and waned since their departure no one sought to take advantage of spring moving into summer to make a friendly visit to Idalia’s family, and the contingency plans made for just such a purpose moldered.

With her subterranean coordinator in place and proving herself more and more reliable as time passed, Melina could concentrate on other matters. As her research progressed she gave Idalia hints as to what landmarks might be significant and had her keep the slaves busy by organizing searches. However, never did Melina tell her ally precisely what she sought.

After all, it wouldn’t do to risk frightening Idalia away.

XVI

IN HIS PRIVATE STUDIO
, Toriovico was dancing. He danced very well. Before his elevation to Healed One he had been training to become a member of the Sodality of Dancers and Choreographers. It had been a matter of pride for him to be superb at his chosen occupation so that no one would doubt his eventual elevation from apprentice to master and, maybe, someday to thaumaturge.

If he hadn’t felt such a fierce desire to prove himself, Toriovico could have sought out the Herbalists or the Divinators. Their knowledge was hard to test except by other experts. Even the Artificers and the Smiths could conceal an unskilled apprentice within their ranks, though such an apprentice would never rise to great prominence. So, if the matter was pushed, could most of the other sodalities.

Dancing, however, was something that even the meanest eye could assess, though it might take an expert to judge. Dancing never fully came to life without someone to observe the dance.

From his earliest days toddling around after his sisters Toriovico had desired to possess at least one thing that no one could say he owed to his birth. Dancing became that thing.

If anything, Toriovico’s passion for dancing grew after he became the Healed One. Some of his subjects whispered that he was feeling his way to the heart of the ancient rituals. Toriovico could have told them that there
were
no ancient rituals—at least no more ancient than a few centuries old.

For Toriovico knew what no one but the Healed One ever knew—that the lore of the Healed One and indeed everything upon which New Kelvinese culture was founded was lies. Toriovico often meditated upon this as he danced, his knowledge the undercurrent that made even the most joyful dance subtly sorrowful when he was at its heart.

As he leapt and spun Toriovico remembered the day his father had called for his heir to attend upon his deathbed. Past became present, present past, what had been became more real than the cool marble tiles beneath his feet or the thudding of his heart beneath his breastbone.

“
WE ARE ALONE
, son?” Father asked.

Toriovico looked about, even darted to check behind the curtains hung upon the wall. As always, he felt very young in the old man’s presence, far younger than his twenty-two years. When he was sure, he returned to Father’s side.

“We are alone,” he answered. “Absolutely.”

“Even so…”

Father coughed, cleared his throat, accepted a swallow of water from a cut-crystal goblet, then began again.

“Even so, it is good that illness has so thinned my voice. None but you could hear me, even if they stood directly outside the window.”

Toriovico nodded.

“I am sorry to leave you, Torio,” Father continued. “You have learned many of the duties of the Healed One, yet there is much more for you to learn. Your tutors will continue to work with you. You have a gift for ceremony and I think will learn quickly.”

“Thank you, Father.”

The dying man pulled himself up in the bed, propping himself on the pillow. With one hand he touched the tumor that was sucking away his life.

“Heed me, Toriovico,” Father said, and in that moment he was the Healed One and not Toriovico’s much loved if somewhat distant father, “and swear unto me that you will never repeat what I tell you, not to your dearest friend, sweetest lover, or most trusted confidant. Swear!”

“I swear on the sacred name of the First Healed One!” Toriovico said, twisting his fingers through the appropriate, complicated gesture.

“Even as I did,” Father said, and his expression was both wry and sad. “Now I shall reveal unto you the truth. That first Healed One was a liar and a conniver. Our heritage is as false as the painted mountains on a stage set.”

“What!”

Even as Toriovico uttered his startled exclamation, he glanced at the swelling just visible through the light blankets. Had the tumor driven his father mad?

Father saw his son’s expression and shook his head.

“No, Torio, it is not the illness making me talk this way. You can find the same information written down in a locked and sealed book—a book that will not open for you until you are confirmed as Healed One, a book whose pages will be blank for any but you. Ironically, that book may be the only true magical artifact in all of New Kelvin. It began its life as the First Healed One’s book of spells, but he blotted out the spells and employed it for this purpose instead.

“My last duty as Healed One is to tell you first what you will find there so the shock will not be too great. There have been newly anointed Healed Ones who have learned the truth only from the book. In at least one case the knowledge drove the reader insane.”