The Dragon of Despair (50 page)

“Come this way, Honored One,” Columi said, gesturing to a room deeper in the tower. “I’ve some apricot nectar on ice that would taste just fine right now.”

The room into which they settled had been furnished like a cozy little parlor, complete with a sleeping sofa tucked along one wall. Toriovico accepted a seat in a comfortable armchair rather like the one in which he’d caught Columi dozing.

“Sometimes it just seems too much effort to go all the way back to the Hall of Minerals,” Columi said by way of explanation for the informal decor. “Then I stay here. Now, Toriovico, about what do you wish to consult me? I’d word it more prettily, but you might not have all day.”

Toriovico nodded. It was a relief to be able to shed some of the cumbersome formalities. He set the package containing the soiled robe on the table alongside his chair.

“It is this robe,” he said, “or more specifically, the stain on the hem. I wish to have it identified. Quietly, without a fuss, preferably without anyone but you and me knowing either my request or your conclusions.”

Columi hadn’t spent years as a member of the Primes without knowing how to keep his mouth shut. He accepted the charge without comment and reached for the robe, carefully not disturbing the stain.

He raised the hem to his nose and gave a sniff.

“Hm. A trace of sewer filth. A touch of sulphur. Quite a bit more there though. The old nose is still pretty good, but it can’t do the job alone.”

The glance Columi gave Toriovico was sharp and canny, worlds away from the doddering old fellow he’d seemed when first awakened.

“Mind if I take some samples? A precipitant would tell me a good deal. Separate the material into component elements, all that.”

Toriovico nodded his permission.

“Do whatever you wish. Destroy the entire robe if you must. What is important is that no one knows what you are studying. Will this be possible or will you need an assistant?”

Columi considered.

“I might need an assistant for collecting samples, but he won’t need to know why I want those samples. Research is reason enough, especially for someone with my seniority. Age helps, you know. Half the time you get dismissed as a bit daft anyhow. Might as well use it to your advantage.”

“Indeed,” Toriovico forced a grin, wondering if he himself had fallen for an act a bit earlier. “I shall remember that…when I’m older, of course, and it will be useful to me.”

“Do,” Columi said companionably. “Be my guest.”

He was holding up the robe now, inspecting it minutely, perhaps for other stains. Perhaps not.

“Tell no one,” he said, looking quizzically at Toriovico, then back at the robe, “not even the Honored One’s bride?”

“No one,” Torio replied, though his stomach fluttered as he said the words.

“That’s all right then,” Columi answered. “That’s quite all right.”

“
NO, FIREKEEPER
,” Derian said firmly. “We cannot leave right away.”

The redhead folded his arms across his chest and accepted the wolf-woman’s glowering unhappiness with a greater appearance of equanimity than he felt. It wasn’t easy to defy Firekeeper after seeing her cold fury at Judge Ulia’s decision. He had really believed she would start killing people if anyone had moved to harm Blind Seer.

He still believed she would have, but it would do no one any good to let Firekeeper know how easily she could terrify even those closest to her. Such a way of sorting out power might work in wolf society, but it would not work among humans.

At least,
Derian thought a trace sardonically,
not among humans who possess less power than do kings and queens.

“Why we not go?” Firekeeper argued. “Is much hours in the day yet, much light in the sky.”

“There may well be,” Derian agreed, “but there won’t be after we’ve packed all our gear, topped off our supplies, and all the rest. We’d barely make it a few feet down the turnpike.”

“Good! Even a small way is better than no,” Firekeeper said. “I hate this place.”

“You shouldn’t,” Derian countered. “It’s probably the only place in New Kelvin where Blind Seer is perfectly safe.”

Derian left Firekeeper to chew over that, and went to dicker with the stable manager for oats. It was familiar work and he was comforted by the odors of hay, manure, and horse sweat.

Derian needed comforting. Not only was Firekeeper agitating to leave, Edlin was in a funk over the planned destruction of the fighting dogs. He would have tried to buy them and take them with him if Firekeeper had not flatly promised to kill them herself. Edlin might be infatuated with his adopted sister, but he wasn’t fool enough not to believe the sincerity of her threat.

Inside the Mushroom Stanza, Derian knew there would be the chaos associated with hurried packing. Doubtless Citrine would be whining, for it had been decided that lest she give the secrets away she spend much of the last several days “in bed” with a summer ague. At first the girl had enjoyed being pampered, but now that the danger was assumed to be ended she wanted to be up and about.

Thank the ancestors for Wendee!
Derian thought.
None of us would have the least idea how to deal with a cranky child.

After a long and leisurely haggle with the stable manager, Derian went back to the inn. Edlin and Doc were seated at a corner table in the public room near the door. Even as they waved Derian over, Elise descended from the stairway and came to join them.

“Wendee is with Citrine,” she reported. “Jalarios is lying low. Any idea where Firekeeper is?”

“Probably somewhere with Blind Seer,” Derian said. “She’s miffed that we aren’t moving on already.”

“Well, if she hadn’t been so impulsive,” Elise said with a supreme lack of sympathy, “we wouldn’t have been delayed at all.”

A serving maid came over with tankards of ale for Edlin and Doc. Elise ordered some of the local wine. Derian vacillated, then went with the ale.

“I seem to recall that Dragon’s Breath favors wine over ale,” he said by way of explanation.

“It does indeed,” a new voice commented, “though beer and ale can be found if one knows where to shop. Shall I give you an address of a reputable brewer?”

Derian looked over his shoulder to find that the mysterious judge from earlier that day had just entered the public room. He rose and gestured the man toward a seat. The judge accepted readily enough.

“Certainly we’d enjoy knowing about a reputable brewer,” Derian said, “but we’re already in your debt. Your arrival was fortuitous to say the least.”

The man smiled.

“I am Xarxius,” he said, “an official involved with trade. When I heard that there were foreigners staying at the Mushroom Stanza and that they had come into difficulty with the local law, I decided to interrupt my journey to Zodara. As you say, my arrival was fortuitous for us all.”

Derian decided to leave that last hanging, wondering if Xarxius was referring to Firekeeper’s potential for violence or hinting that he hoped for some trade concessions.

“Whatever,” he said, “the least we can do is buy you a drink.”

Xarxius ordered a goblet of the same wine Elise was drinking, and for a time the conversation centered on the local grape harvest and the promising earlier vintages that were just now being sampled.

“Are you planning to trade in wine?” Xarxius asked. “I perceive that Lady Archer has good taste and that Sir Jared is quite knowledgeable in such matters.”

“Perhaps,” Elise replied evasively, “in the future. Our immediate interest is in the more exotic goods for which New Kelvin is famous.”

“The bane and the blessing of our trade,” Xarxius said with a laugh. “Everyone wants silk, rare herbs, and colored glass. A few are interested in our art and cosmetics. Fewer, however, look to our other riches. I was hoping that you young people would have a wider view.”

Elise raised her brows.

“Edlin and I are only agents for our parents’ interests,” she informed him. “However, if you can convince us to look into some of these other assets, perhaps we can influence the ones with the money.”

Derian was tickled to see this evidence of practical manipulation on Elise’s part. He wondered if it was an old skill or one she had acquired more recently.

Xarxius took Elise’s words as a challenge and began what was obviously a practiced spiel. Derian listened attentively, but given his role as an advisor rather than a actual purchaser he restricted his contributions to questions about transportation and how it might add to cost.

Eventually, Xarxius thanked them for the pleasure of their time and for the wine. He invited them to look him up in Dragon’s Breath, saying that the Hawk Haven ambassador could direct them to his offices. He departed, leaving Derian with a comfortable, relaxed feeling that was not entirely due to the ale he had consumed.

“Nice fellow,” he said. Then he caught the guarded expression on Elise’s face, so unlike her enthusiasm of a moment before.

“Maybe,” she said. Then she explained what Peace had told her at the end of the trial.

“Therefore, I’m not surprised,” Elise went on, “that Xarxius stopped to talk. What I wonder at is that he didn’t let us know exactly who he is. After all, his importance couldn’t help but influence our decisions, especially when we were talking possible price concessions and such.”

“Xarxius told us his name, what?” said Edlin, obviously trying to calm his own uneasiness. “I mean, King Tedric doesn’t need to say ‘I’m the king, don’t you know.’ Maybe this Xarxius thought we did know who he is.”

“Maybe,” Elise said. “Maybe. Nevertheless, I’m looking forward to asking Peace a few questions.”

HART BROUGHT THE WORD
to New Bardenville, running through the gates as if all the wild wolves of the wild wood were at his soft-booted heels.

Ewen Brooks, standing guard at that gate, swung open the heavy iron-bound wooden structure to let the youth through, slamming the gate shut and swinging home the heavy wooden bolt in one practiced motion. Only then did Ewen look out through one of the many spy holes in the wall, expecting to see nothing.

They never saw anything of their enemies. This was one of the terrifying things about the not quite siege under which they had been living since Bear Moon was a slim sliver against the night.

The trouble had started soon after—though Ewen didn’t like to think on it—that fellow Derian Carter and his Lady Blysse had left for back east.

Ewen didn’t like to think about the possible connection between the two events, because he was one of those men who throve on being in control of his environment. It was bad enough that his settlement was under attack. It was worse that they were slowly losing the war to those unseen forces. Worse yet to believe that someone—Lady Blysse, perhaps—had such control over what Ewen thought of as
his
land that she could turn it against him.

So Ewen looked out through the spy hole, expecting to see nothing, and nearly shouted aloud at what he did see. He looked again for good measure, all the while listening to what Hart was saying.

“I was checkin’ my snares, Ewen,” Hart babbled, transformed into a scared green boy from the solid young man he’d been when he left the settlement that morning. “I was checkin’ them just like always, and what do I see but a file of soldiers, soldiers on horses with bows and swords, armor and everything!”

Ewen turned. He had himself under control now. Control was important. Control was everything. Without control he might think. He might remember.

“I have two good eyes, Hart,” Ewen said coolly. “Tell me something I can’t see. Did these men come through the gap?”

Hart nodded, then he whitened. Ewen had forbidden any of his people to go near the gap. Too easy to slip away to the safer civilized lands. So tempting, too, with the gap only a day’s travel away.

“The squirrel I was hunting darted that way,” Hart said lamely, “and then it scared up a bunch of ducks. I thought to myself…”

Ewen made an impatient silencing gesture. The file of men on horseback was close enough now that he could make out the device on the shield of the man in the lead.

Yellow field with a black border that was squared off and indented, like castle battlements. In the middle of the yellow field there was a hand, palm outward, also painted in black.