“I don’t want to sleep.”
“Yes, lady. It’ll be tedious for you otherwise. And you might make a fuss.”
“You’re not the Storm Lord’s men. Where are you taking me?”
“No questions now, lady. Drink the drink.”
One said behind her, “Or we may have to put you to slumber another way.”
“You were told not to harm me,” she said frigidly, wondering how she could speak at all.
“It won’t harm you. A slight pressure to the side of the throat. But not pleasant. Better to do as we ask.”
She stepped away from him. There was nowhere to run. She allowed the other to give her the cup. It smelled herbal under the wine, nothing more. Poisons surely, did not smell this way? Besides, what choice.
When she had drunk she let the cup fall. A man picked it up. Another picked her up in turn. The drug was imperative and already she was will-less, helpless. She remembered when she had known such a sensation before. She admitted where she must be going, then, and felt a curious shame.
By the time they rested her in the boat, the woman was unconscious. They knew better than to sport with her, though she was alluring, beautiful and young.
They rowed upstream.
When the dawn began to show, they were many miles away.
Raldanash sat quietly, listening.
“Events are but too blatant, Storm Lord.” Vencrek posed. “Guards who claim to have seen nothing—obviously bribed to be elsewhere. The two of your Lordship’s own guard killed and stripped naked, hidden in bushes. Patently their garments were used as disguise for the Xarabian’s men. The tracks of a carriage were found, going up into the hills toward the ruined city—My own men have scoured the area without success—a decoy, perhaps. Others have gone the opposite way, to investigate the roads south into Ommos and Xarabiss.”
Raldanash said, “And your conclusion, Lord Warden?”
Vencrek stared at him. They had known each other as children in Vathcri. For a few seconds, Vencrek was too exasperated to remain suave. “Raldanash—this Vis bitch has made you a laughing-stock—”
Raldanash did not respond. There was nothing to be seen, no jealous fury, no passion, not even embarrassment.
“Pardon me, my lord,” said Vencrek. “Your honor is dear to me. You asked my conclusion. Very well. There can be only one. Your Queen Ulis Anet has adulterously run off with her commander, Iros. It’s widespread knowledge they were lovers prior to her marriage. He boasted of it and raged about her loss through half the wine-shops and brothels of Anackyra.”
The limited number of counselors who had been admitted to this scene murmured gruffly. One, a Vis, said, “Your lordship should solace himself that they’ve nowhere safe to run to, and must be discovered. Dorthar’s antique laws, I’d recommend, should be observed. This Iros to be publicly castrated and then hanged. The woman—”
“Yes,” said Raldanash. “I know the justice given a straying royal wife. Spikes and flames.”
“Leniency would be a mistake,” said Vencrek. “If she were of the race of the goddess—from the countries of your birth, or the Lowlands, maybe then. But she’s Vis.”
The Vis counselors shifted uneasily.
Raldanash said, “You haven’t taken her yet.” The beautiful kingly head was turned. He looked across the chamber at his half-brother. “What do you say, Rarmon?”
“Do you want my agreement or my opinion, my lord?”
“Whichever you think most useful.”
“Storm Lord,” Vencrek broke in, “the Lord Rarmon himself has some questions to answer to the council.”
Rarmon regarded him. “Upon what?”
“Your dialogues with Free Zakorians.”
“Which dialogues are these?”
“Storm Lord,” said Vencrek, “this isn’t the moment—”
“If you’re accusing me of something, Lord Vencrek,” said Rarmon, “any moment will do to make it plain.”
Raldanash came to his feet. They all looked at him.
“Lord Warden, you may convene full council for two hours after noon. Until then, I thank you for your energies on my behalf. Good day, gentlemen.” Then, almost idly from the doorway, “Rarmon. Attend me.”
Presently, in one of the glorious rooms of the palace, the Storm Lord sat down again and pointed Rarmon to another chair.
“And now,” said Raldanash.
“Your lordship has, I believe, taken delivery of the statement I sent him.”
“The Zakorian informer who waylaid you in the Fountain Walk? Yes, I do know him; he purports to be ours. But apparently other things have been going on. Free Zakorian letters brought to you. Signals exchanged in passages. Some spy’s dispatch intercepted, which mentioned, albeit obliquely, yourself.”
“And you think I’d be such a dolt as to do such things here, at your elbow?”
“Perhaps,” said Raldanash. “But I doubt it. Another man, maybe.”
“You continue to trust me,” said Rarmon.
“I sense powerful forces at work against you, in this.”
“Do I have your permission to disorganize them?”
“If you can. But these may not be the powers of men alone.”
Rarmon seemed to hesitate.
He would not let himself reach to the amber ring, to contact the fierce yet painless burning.
Raldanash said softly, “and Ulis Anet?”
Rarmon recollected himself. He said, “The flight of the Xarabian Queen is a little too pat.”
“Yes. It parallels, also, the saga of Raldnor and Astaris.”
“Such an ideal, of course, might have appealed to Iros. But she didn’t want him.”
“She was informed,” said Raldanash, “that she might welcome any man, providing it was done discreetly.”
Raldanash, even in this admission, showed nothing at all. Rarmon gave in, and closed his right hand convulsively around the ring. And wrenched his hand away. Though it did not sear the finger that wore it, the other intruding hand seemed scorched. Raldanash had not missed any of this, but made no comment.
“It’s a fact,” said Rarmon, “everyone knew of Iros’ obsession with your wife. And anyone could have learned of it. Someone has therefore abducted her, probably against her will. While the coincidental disappearance of her commander has been arranged to suggest that he and she have fled together. I imagine his body is feasting carrion birds up in the hills. Or fish in the river.”
“Who would want her so much?”
“There is one man. To my knowledge, he never saw her. But it may have happened. Kesarh Am Karmiss.”
Raldanash made no protest, did not even ask for reasons.
“Then he no longer cares to pretend friendship with Dorthar.”
“Enough to give you another story to believe, should you wish to. Iros took her.”
“I see.”
“I can arrange a private search for Iros’ body, and any evidence left lying about up there. And you could send fast chariots to cut them off. They’ll have used the Okris, I think, to go east. Kesarh must have a ship still standing off from Dorthar, ready to take them aboard. Of course, if you do apprehend his men, you’ll have no choice but to break all ties with Karmiss. He could have foreseen that, too.”
In the hour before sunset, the Anackire Temple swam in a dark golden gloom. The Prince Rarmon had previously come here on two occasions of formal religion, included in the Storm Lord’s party. The ceremonies were Vis, noisy and exotic; even the mystic flamboyance of Ashara had not gone to such lengths. But now the place was hugely stilled, smelling of incense and cibba wood, only the cup of flame burning under the great statue.
Climbing the paved avenues up the forested hill, he had been half reminded of Ankabek. But there was nothing of Ankabek here. Though the more extreme rituals were not’ practiced so close to the palace and sacred prostitution was left to the other fanes of the city, this place was simply impressive in the way of mortal things. The marvelous statue, marble, gold, and precious gems, was taller than the Anackire of Ankabek. It touched the intellect and appetite, not the heart.