“People who don’t expect to be caught frequently do things that are quite foolish,” Amberglas said absently. “Putting salt in the honey jar, for instance, and stealing the crown jewels of Bar-Zienar. And writing down things so that people will know how clever they’ve been, which really shows the exact opposite most of the time.”
“You mean Terrel left something in those papers?” Eltiron gestured toward the table.
“Not at all. But of course I haven’t had time to check all the rest of them, what with dismantling the warding spell and so on, which really took far more time than it should have. So I’m afraid I don’t know.”
After a few more minutes, Eltiron ended the discussion by setting everyone to look through the rooms for documents of potential importance. The hunt went smoothly, and soon an untidy pile of letters, notes, and other papers began to grow at one end of the table. Eltiron was just beginning to sort through them when a loud crash, closely followed by a startled shout, sent him running into the small room that had served as Terrel’s study. Vandaris was close behind him.
Crystalorn looked up, coughing, as they came in. She was squatting beside the remains of a tall, heavy cabinet that had apparently toppled over, filling the room with dust and revealing a large square hole in the wall behind it. “What happened?” Eltiron demanded.
“I was trying to move it and it fell over,” Crystalorn said between coughs. “I’m afraid I ruined it; I’m sorry. But look what was behind it!”
“So Lassond spent his spare time chopping holes in the castle,” Vandaris said. “Can’t say I think much of the idea.”
“But there’s something inside! And it feels like magic.”
“I don’t see anything,” Eltiron said, trying to peer over the debris. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! Just look.” Crystalorn leaned forward and reached for the hole. As her hand passed through the opening, there was a loud popping noise. An instant later, flames flared through the entire room, and Crystalorn screamed. Eltiron plunged forward into the burning room, trying to picture Crystalorn’s position.
Heat washed over him and flames roared in his ears. He flung a hand out to where Crystalorn ought to be, and felt a moment’s panic when he found nothing but the stone floor. He moved and almost immediately found an arm. She grabbed at him as he hauled her to her feet and started back toward the doorway. Just as they reached it, something dark and heavy dropped over his head. He fought it for a moment; then he heard Vandaris beside him shouting, “You’re on fire! Stop fighting, crack skull!”
Eltiron stopped resisting. Someone, presumably Vandaris, knocked him to the floor, where he was rolled and pounded on for a few confusing moments. Then he heard Vandaris say, “There, that’s finished it.” The pounding ceased, and he was allowed to climb to his feet and look around.
He stood just outside the doorway to Terrel’s study. The flames inside were already dying; with a slight shock, Eltiron realized how little time had passed. The heavy weight that had smothered his burning clothes was one of the rugs from just inside the door of the main room. Crystalorn stood beside him. A good part of her hair and eyebrows was gone. She was wrapped in the other rug, and water was dripping from her singed hair onto the withered flowers scattered around her feet. Eltiron’s face must have shown his surprise; Crystalorn flushed slightly and said, “Tarilane dumped the flower bowl over me. You were—I mean, thank you. Very much. I think you saved my life.”
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
A
t 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.”