The Stone of Farewell (51 page)

As Binabik performed his laborious search, Simon looked up at the sky once more. The swarm of black birds still hovered silently, wind-tossed beneath the somber clouds like tattered rags.

The raven strutted on the windowsill, feathers fluffed against the chill air. Others of his kind, grown fat and insolent on gibbet-leavings, crowed raucously in the leafless branches beyond the window. No other sounds drifted up from the silent, deserted courtyard.

Even as it preened its shiny black feathers, the raven kept a bright yellow eye cocked; when the goblet came flying toward it like a sling-stone, it had more than enough time to drop from the sill with a harsh cry, spreading its wings to flutter up and join its kin in the barren treetop. The dented goblet rolled in an uneven circle on the stone floor before lurching to a halt. A thin wisp of steam rose from the dark liquor that had splattered beneath the windowsill.

“I hate their eyes,” King Elias said. He reached for a fresh goblet, but used this one for its proper and intended purpose. “Those damned sneaking yellow eyes.” He wiped his lip. “I think they're spying on me.”

“Spying, Majesty?” Guthwulf said slowly. He did not want to send Elias into one of his thunderstorm rages. “Why would birds spy?”

The high king fixed him with a green stare, then a grin split his pale face. “Oh, Guthwulf, you are so innocent, so undefiled!” He chuckled harshly. “Come, pull that chair closer. It is good to speak with an honest man once more.”

The Earl of Utanyeat did as his king bade him, sliding forward until less than an ell separated his stool from the yellowing mass of the Dragonbone Chair. He kept his eyes averted from the black-scabbarded sword that hung at the High King's side.

“I do not know what you mean by ‘innocent,' Elias,” he said, inwardly cursing the stiffness he heard in his own voice. “God knows, we have both of us labored mightily in the Chapel of Sin in our time. However, if you mean innocent of any treachery toward my king and friend, then I accept the name gladly.” He hoped he sounded more certain than he felt. The very word “treachery” made his heart gallop these days, and the rotting fruit hanging from the distant gibbet was only one reason.

Elias seemed to sense none of Guthwulfs misgivings. “No, old friend, no. I meant the word kindly.” He took another swig of the dark liquid. “There are so few I can trust these days. I have a thousand, thousand enemies.” The king's face took on a brooding cast which only accentuated his pallor, the lines of weariness and strain. “Pryrates is gone to Nabban, as you know,” he said at last. “You may speak freely.”

Guthwulf felt a sudden spark of hope. “Do you suspect
Pryrates
of treachery, sire?”

The spark was quickly extinguished.

“No, Guthwulf, you misunderstand me. I meant that I know you are not comfortable around the priest. That is not surprising: I once found his company difficult as well. But I am a different man, now. A different man.” The king laughed oddly, then raised his voice to a shout. “Hangfish! Bring me more—and be swift, damn you!”

The king's new cupbearer appeared from the next room, a sloshing ewer in his pink hands. Guthwulf watched him sourly. Not only was he positive that this pop-eyed Brother Hengfisk was a spy for Pryrates, but there was something else gravely wrong with him as well. The monk's face seemed forever fixed in an idiot grin, as though he were burning up inside with some splendid joke he could not share. The Earl of Utanyeat had tried to speak to him once in the hallway, but Hengfisk had only stared at him unspeaking, his smile so wide it seemed his face might split in half. With any other servitor but the king's cupbearer, Guthwulf would have struck him for such insolence, but he was uneasy about what Elias might take offense at these days. Also, there was an unpleasant look to the half-witted monk, his skin slightly raw, as though the upper layer had burned and peeled away. Guthwulf was in no hurry to touch him.

As Hengfisk poured the dark liquid into the king's goblet, a few smoking drops spattered onto the monk's hands, but the cupbearer did not flinch. A moment later he scuttled out, still wearing his lunatic grin. Guthwulf restrained a shudder. Insanity! What had the kingdom come to?

Elias had ignored the whole episode, his eyes fixed on something beyond the window. “Pryrates does have ... secrets,” he said at last, slowly, as though carefully considering each word.

The earl forced himself to pay attention.

“But he has none from me,” the king continued, “—whether he realizes it or not. One thing he thinks I do not know is that my brother Josua survived the fall of Naglimund.” He raised a hand to still Guthwulf's exclamation of surprise. “Another secret-that-is-no-secret: he plans to do away with you.”

“Me?” Guthwulf was caught by surprise. “Pryrates plans to kill me?” The anger that welled within him had a core of sudden fear.

The king smiled, lips pulling back from his teeth like the grin of a cornered dog. “I do not know if he plans to kill you, Wolf, but he wishes you out of the way. Pryrates thinks I place too much trust in you when he deserves all my attention.” He laughed, a harsh bark.

“But ... but Elias...” Guthwulf was caught offstride. “What will you do?”

“Me?” The king's gaze was unnervingly calm. “I will do nothing. And neither will you.”

“What!?”

Elias leaned back into his throne, so that for a moment his face vanished in the shadow beneath the great dragon's skull. “You may protect yourself, of course,” he said cheerfully. “I merely mean I cannot allow you to kill Pryrates—assuming you could, which isn't something I'm too certain of. Quite frankly, old friend, at this moment he is more important to me than you are.”

The king's words hung in the air, seeming so much the stuff of madness that for a moment Guthwulf felt sure he was dreaming. As moments passed and the chill room did not waver into some other shape, he had to force himself to speak once more.

“I don't understand.”

“Nor should you. Not yet.” Elias leaned forward, his eyes bright as lamps burning behind thin green glass. “But someday you will, Guthwulf. I hope you live to understand everything. At this time, though, I cannot let you interfere with Pryrates, so if you feel you must leave the castle, I will understand. You are the only friend I have left. Your life is important to me.”

The Earl of Utanyeat wanted to laugh at such a bizarre statement, but the sense of sick unreality would not leave him. “But not as important to you as Pryrates?”

The king's hand leaped out like a striking serpent, fastening on Guthwulf's sleeve. “Don't be a fool!” he rasped. “Pryrates is nothing! It is what Pryrates is helping me to
do
that matters. I told you that there were great things coming! But there will be a time first when things are ... changing.”

Guthwulf stared at the king's feverish face and felt something die within him. “I have sensed some of the changes, Elias,” he said grimly. “I have seen others.”

His old friend looked back at him, then smiled oddly. “Ah. The castle, you mean. Yes, some of the changes are happening right here. But you still do not understand.”

Guthwulf was not practiced in patience. He fought to hold down his rage. “Help me to understand. Tell me what you do!”

The king shook his head. “You could not possibly make sense of it—not now, not this way.” He sat back again, his face sliding into shadow once more, so that it almost seemed as though the great fanged and black-socketed head was his own. A stretching silence followed. Guthwulf listened to the bleak voices of ravens in the courtyard.

“Come here, old friend,” Elias said at last, voice slow and measured. As Guthwulf looked up, the king slid his double-hilted sword part way from its scabbard. The metal gleamed darkly, black and crawling gray like the mottled belly of some ancient reptile. The ravens abruptly fell silent. “Come here,” the king repeated.

The Earl of Utanyeat could not tear his eyes from the sword. The rest of the room became gray and insubstantial; the sword itself seemed to glow without light, to make the very air heavy as stone. “Will you kill me now, Elias?” Guthwulf felt his words grow weighty, each one an effort to use. “Will you save Pryrates his trouble?”

“Touch the sword, Guthwulf,” Elias said. His eyes seemed to shine more brightly as the room darkened. “Come and touch the sword. Then you will understand.”

“No,” Guthwulf said weakly, but watched with horror as his arm moved forward as if by its own will. “I don't want to touch the damned thing...” Now his hand hovered just above the ugly, slow-shimmering blade.

“Damned thing?” Elias laughed, his voice seeming far away. He reached out and took his friend's hand, gentle as a lover. “You can't begin to guess. Do you know what its name is?”

Guthwulf watched his fingers slowly flatten against the bruised surface of the sword. A deadening chill crept up his arm, countless icy needles pricking his flesh. Close behind the cold came a fiery blackness. Elias' voice seemed to be falling away into the distance.

“... Jingizu
is its name ...” the king called. “Its name is Sorrow ...”

 

Slowly he came to himself again—Guthwulf, a man born of woman
—
butstill he fell through blackness. He was terrified.

 

Long after Elias had sheathed the sword, Guthwulf still lay choking on the steps before the Dragonbone Chair, his eyes burning with tears, his fingers helplessly flexing.

“Now can you understand?” The king said, beaming with pleasure as though he had just given his friend a taste of a singularly splendid wine. “Do you understand why I must not fail?”

The Earl of Utanyeat got slowly to his feet. His clothes were soiled and spattered. He turned wordlessly from his liege lord and staggered across the throne room floor, pushing through the door and into the hallway without looking back.

“Do you see?” Elias shouted after him.

A trio of ravens fluttered down to the windowsill. They stood close together, their yellow eyes intent.

“Guthwulf?” Elias was no longer shouting, but still his voice carried through the silent room like a tolling bell. “Come back, old friend.”