“Ah, yes. Yl uses it as a punishment for malefactors. The jungle resists every inch of the way. In ten years, only ten miles of road were secured. Even then, to keep it open, the slave gangs work day and night, or the forest would swallow it again.”
“Outposts of Vardian Zakoris have sighted smoke and burning forest,” said Raldanash’s aide. He waited to be stopped, was not, continued: “They look for rainy weather, and then fire the trees. The rain prevents it from spreading. But it clears the ground remarkably well.”
Kesarh’s face was blank. Looking at him, Rarmon read the blankness: Prior knowledge, obviously.
Kesarh said, “Your highness understands that Karmiss, one of your nearer neighbors and your devoted vassal, would move instantly to take Dorthar’s part.”
“Dorthar thanks you,” said Raldanash.
“And with Karmiss,” Kesarh said gently, “you may anticipate the support of Lan and Elyr.”
There was a lapse. Raldanash’s aide looked to his lord, then said, rather too loudly, “Lan keeps no army. Elyr is a wilderness.”
“There are, however,” said Kesarh, “young men in Lan and Elyr both able and eager to assume arms. A war-force will be levied.”
“The Lannic King has informed you of this?” said Raldanash.
“The Lannic King has accepted my brotherly advice,” said Kesarh. The stillness in the tent seemed to press hard against its walls of owar hide, even against the open wall of air. Kesarh drank from his cup, then nodded to the Istrian aide.
“The Lannic King,” said the Istrian, “feared incursion from Free Zakoris, and begged succor. Fifty-four days after the route of the Zakorian ships, my Lord Kesarh sent such generous help as he might spare.”
The lapse came again.
Suddenly Raldanash’s seated aide sprang to his feet. He was a mix, darker than his fellow, a good three quarters Dortharian. He glared straight at Kesarh and said hoarsely, “Storm Lord—he’s saying Karmiss has occupied Lan.”
“Sit down,” said Raldanash. He had not changed.
The aide sat. His hands were shaking.
Kesarh offered Raldanash the wine flagon. Raldanash moved his cup aside. He said, “Lord Kesarh, whatever you are saying, we would like it more plainly.”
Kesarh’s profile, as Rarmon studied it, was faultlessly composed. He might have been some merchant-prince debating trade.
“Very well, Storm Lord. I am, patently, your servant.” They all hung in the silence, and he let them hang. He said, “I was asked by Lan, who irrationally possesses no means to defend herself, to provide that defense. My ships now patrol her coastline to protect her from attack by sea. I have deployed men inland in case the naval cordon should founder.”
“How many men, my lord?”
Kesarh smiled at last.
“Enough.”
“Then Lan is invaded,” said Raldanash.
“No, Storm Lord. I was invited to enter. I intend that Lan herself will now form her own army. When she’s secure, Karmiss can withdraw her strengthening arm.”
Nobody laughed.
“It was done,” Kesarh went on, “without subterfuge. Karmian maneuvers might at any time have been observed. Possibly the defensive naval patrols which were inaugurated, following the horror at Ankabek, confused any watchers there were. The onset of the mercy mission to Lan may have been misconstrued as only more of these. Deception is not, however, my aim. Even before rumor reached you, my lord, I’ve rendered the story in person.”
“Well?” Raldanash said.
Rarmon demurred. “It turns out you hardly need my judgment.”
Chariots moved across the slope. The sun had grown heavier and swung low.
“No, I don’t need your judgment. But perhaps I should be interested.”
“He’s played the game so long, it’s in his blood—acquisition, conquest. He wanted Karmiss and got it. Now he wants more. He enjoys the getting. And he’s good at it.” Rarmon had never spoken so freely of his former master. He had no basic loyalty to Raldanash, and questioned himself, to see it there might still remain some tug toward Raldanash.
“What is it that he wants?” said Raldanash.
“The world, one mouthful at a time. But that’s the future. For now he’s dangerous because he has two roads to choose from.”
“Dorthar and, the Middle Lands,” said Raldanash. “Or Zakoris.”
“Yes, my lord. Exactly. He can ally with you, or send offers to Yl. He has the weight now to tip the balance. Dorthar caught between Free Zakoris and a Karmian Lan could grow uncomfortable. He’s shown you his hand. He concluded you’ll have scanned it correctly and will make a bid for him.”
“Yes.”
“Your advantage is that Zakoris has, at the moment, little to tempt him with.”
“Yl has a new counselor in Thaddra, a manipulator and strategist. They may find something to offer Kesarh. Aside of course from the ultimate partnering force whereby to take the world.”
“Yes, they can always offer that.”
“You reckon him so hungry?”
Rarmon said, “He was hungry all his youth. Suthamun threw him crusts and bones as if to a dog. It’s a disease now, the hunger. It’ll take a world to stop it.”
“You speak of him with great sureness,” said Raldanash. “As I supposed.”
“You knew he’d be here today, and not some minor prince.”
“It had occurred to me.”
“No, my lord,” Rarmon said. “You knew.”
The King’s charioteer shook the reins, and Raldanash’s chariot moved to join a black vehicle which stood against the stormy sun.
There were more of Kesarh’s men about than formerly. They must have been off on the farther hills. Even so, to stay here, negligent and at ease—that was an ominous display. They would not dare lay a finger on the Lord Kesarh, not even poison him at the sumptuous bucolic supper to which he had been invited, regal friend of Dorthar that he was. The very carelessness of his demeanor told them that his plans were properly shored up beyond any haphazard villainy one evening could see to.
The thunder began as they rode over the first hilltop.
It was not until the storm broke and the rain lashed down that Rarmon’s thoughts flung before him one extra facet. He wondered then as the chariot tore through sheets of water, if he should somehow warn Raldanash. There was, he noted, even a fleeting impulse to inform Kesarh.
Rarmon let both stimuli fade with a sense of conscious divorce.
Eight and a half years were gone. It might anyway mean nothing now, Val Nardia’s red-haired double seated before Kesarh at a banquet table.
Long after sunset, the rain swept down on the splendid little makeshift camp by the river.
In the King’s pavilion, fifty-six dishes were presented. There were even dancing girls from Dorthar, and Kumaian girls to serve the wine. But the officers had not brought their ladies, and the Storm Lord’s minor consort was also absent.
His message had come with the lighting of the lamps. Raldanash politely commanded her to avoid the pavilion. The occasion was festive but no longer social.
By the time the first concordance of dishes was carried out empty and the next relay gone into the great tent, loud with music and lights, she had heard the talk, Raldanash’s aides having been unable to contain it. Unbridled gossip scarcely counted. All Dorthar must presently learn.
Politics did not interest Ulis Anet, since she was required to play such a cursory role in them. She had felt no curiosity. Kesarh Am Karmiss was a name. That it promised to be the name of a tyrant and foe made her the more averse to contact with him, but even that merely in a desultory way.
Yet she was restless, and the confining tent, from which she had dismissed her women, did not please her.