“Planchet,” said Gilthas in a low voice, speaking the human language which few elves spoke, “where is Marshal Medan? I thought I saw him go into the garden.”
“He did, Your Majesty,” his servant replied, answering in the same language, soft and low, not turning around to look at the king lest someone should be watching them. Palthainon’s spies were everywhere.
“That’s unfortunate,” said Gilthas, frowning. “What if he’s still hanging about out there?”
“Your mother noticed and followed after him immediately, Your Majesty. She will keep him occupied.”
“You are right,” said Gilthas with a smile, a smile only a trusted few ever saw. “Medan will not bother us this night. Is everything ready?”
“I have packed food enough for a day’s journeying, Your Majesty. The knapsack is hidden in the grotto.”
“And Kerian? Does she know where to meet me?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I ‘left the message in the usual spot. It was gone the next morning when I went to check. A red rose was in its place.”
“You have done well, as always, Planchet,” Gilthas said. “I do not know what I would do without you. I want that rose, by the way.”
“The rose is with Your Majesty’s knapsack,” said Planchet.
The two ceased talking. They had arrived at the Speaker’s personal chambers. The king’s Kagonesti guards—ostensibly body guards, but in reality, prison guards—saluted as His Majesty approached. Gilthas paid them no heed. The guards were in Palthainon’s pay, they reported every movement the king made to the prefect. Servants waited in the king’s bedroom to assist His Majesty in undressing and preparing for bed.
“His Majesty is not feeling well,” Planchet announced to the servants as he placed the candelabra upon a table. “I will attend him. You have leave to go.”
Gilthas, pale and languishing, dabbed his lips with his lace handkerchief and went immediately to lie down upon his bed, not even bothering to take off his boots. Planchet would see to that for him. The servants, who were accustomed to the king’s ill health and his desire for solitude, had expected nothing else after the rigors of a party. They bowed and departed.
“No one is to disturb His Majesty,” Planchet said, shutting the door and locking it. The guards also had keys, but they rarely used them now. In the past, they had checked upon the young king on a frequent basis. They always found him where he was supposed to be, sick in bed or dreaming over his pen and paper, and at last they’d stopped checking.
Planchet listened at the door a moment, waited to hear the guards relax and return to their games of chance with which they whiled away the long and boring hours. Satisfied, he crossed the room, threw open the doors that led to the balcony, and looked out into the night.
“ All is well, Your Majesty.”
Gilthas jumped from the bed and headed for the window.
“You know what to do?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The pillows are prepared that will take your place in the bed. I am to keep up the pretence that you are in the room. I will not permit anyone to visit you.”
“Very good. You need not worry about Palthainon. He will not put in an appearance until tomorrow morning. He will be too busy signing my name and affixing my seal to important documents.”
Gilthas stood by the balustrade of the balcony. Planchet affixed a rope to the balustrade, held it fast. “A profitable journey, Your Majesty. When do you return?”
“If all goes well, Planchet, I will be back by midnight tomorrow night.”
“ All will go well,” said the elf. He was several years older than Gilthas, hand-picked by Laurana to serve her son. Prefect Palthainon had approved the choice. Had the prefect bothered to check Planchet’s background, which included many years of loyal service to the dark elf Porthios, the prefect might not have.
“Fate smiles upon Your Majesty.”
Gilthas had been looking into the garden, searching for signs of movement. He glanced back quickly. “There was a time I could have argued with that statement, Planchet. I used to believe myself the unluckiest person in this world, snared by my own vanity and conceit, imprisoned by my own fear. There was a time I used to see death as my only escape.”
Impulsively, he reached out and grasped the hand of his servant. “You forced me to look away from the mirror, Planchet. You forced me to stop staring into my own reflection, to turn and look upon the world. When I did, I saw my people suffering, crushed beneath the heel of black boots, living in the shadows of dark wings, facing a future of despair and certain destruction.”
“No longer do they live without hope,” said Planchet, gently withdrawing his hand, embarrassed by the king’s regard. “Your Majesty’s plan will succeed.”
Gilthas sighed. “Let us hope so, Planchet. Let us hope that Fate smiles on more than me. Let us hope she smiles upon our people.”
He descended the rope nimbly, hand over hand, and dropped lightly into the garden. Planchet watched from the balcony until the king had disappeared into the night. Planchet then shut the doors and walked back over to the bed. He placed the pillows on it and arranged the coverlet convincingly about them so that if anyone looked, they would see what appeared to be a body in the bed.
“And now, Your Majesty,” Planchet said loudly, picking up a small harp and running his hands over the strings, “take your sleeping draught and I will play some soft music to lull you into slumber.”
Chapter Fifteen
Tasslehoff, the One and Only
Despite being in pain and extreme discomfort, Sir Gerard was satisfied with the way things were going thus far. He had a throbbing headache from where the elf had kicked him. He was tied to his horse, dangling head down over the saddle. The blood pounded in his temples, his breastplate jabbed into his stomach and constricted his breathing, leather cords cut into his flesh, and he had lost all feeling in his feet. He did not know his captors, he’d been unable to see them in the darkness, and now, blindfolded, he could see nothing at all. They had very nearly killed him. He had the kender to thank for keeping him alive.
Yes, things were going as planned.
They traveled for a considerable distance. The journey seemed endless to Gerard, who began to think after awhile that they had been riding for decades, long enough to have circumnavigated Krynn itself at least six times. He had no idea how the kender was faring, but judging by the occasional indignant squeaks emanating from somewhere behind him Gerard assumed that Tasslehoff was relatively intact. Gerard must have dozed, either that or he’d passed out, for he woke suddenly when the horse came to a halt.
The human was speaking, the human whom Gerard took to be the leader. He was speaking in Elvish, a language Gerard did not understand. But it seemed that they had reached their destination for the elves were cutting loose the bindings holding him on the saddle. One of the elves grabbed him by the back of the breastplate, pulled him off the horse’s back and dumped him on the ground.
“Get up, swine!” the elf said harshly in Common. “We are not going to carry you.” The elf removed the Knight’s blindfold. “Into that cave over there. March.”
They had traveled through the night. The sky was pink with the coming of dawn. Gerard saw no cave, only thick and impenetrable forest, until one of the elves picked up what appeared to be a stand of young trees and moved it. A dark cavern in the side of a rock wall came into view. The elf placed the screen of trees to one side.
Staggering to his feet, Gerard limped forward. The sky was growing brighter, now fiery orange and sea-blue. He looked about for his companion, saw the kender’s feet sticking out of a sack that was a bulky shape on the pony’s back. The human leader stood near the cave entrance, keeping watch. He was cloaked and hooded, but Gerard caught a glimpse of dark robes beneath the cloak, robes such as a magic-user might wear. The Knight was becoming more and more certain that his plan had worked. Now he just had to hope that the elves would not kill him before he had a chance to explain himself.