I could leave now and no one would ever blame me, not even My Lord. But he and I both would always know that I turned tail and ran.
The Patryn bowed. “It is we who would be honored, Your Grace.”
Smiling at him, Jera glanced back at the prince. “We will send word ahead of your coming, Your Highness, in order that all may be in readiness to receive you.”
“You are most kind, Your Grace,” Edmund replied.
Everyone made final polite bows, then the group separated. The duke and duchess returned to their dead army, herded them together (several had wandered away during the talks), prodded them into formation, and headed them back toward Safe Harbor.
Baltazar and the prince reentered the cavern. “A dynast,” the necromancer was saying in grim tones. “The people of the sovereign nation of Kairn Telest are nothing but his subjects! Tell me now, Edmund, that the inhabitants of Necropolis brought disaster to us in ignorance!”
The prince was obviously troubled. His eyes went to the far distant city, barely visible beneath the mass of clouds hanging low over it. “What can I do, Baltazar? What can I do for our people if I don’t go?”
“I’ll tell you. Your Highness! These two”—the necromancer gestured at Haplo and Alfred—“know the location of Death’s Gate. These two came through it!”
The prince gazed at them with wondering, astonished eyes. “Death’s Gate? Did you? Is it possible that—”
Haplo shook his head. “It wouldn’t work, Your Highness. It’s a long, long way from here. You’d need ships, a lot of ships, to transport your people.”
“Ships!” Edmund smiled sadly. “We have no food, and you talk of ships. Tell me,” he added, after a pause. “Do the city people know about... Death’s Gate?”
“How should I know, Your Highness?” Haplo answered, shrugging-“If he’s telling the truth,” hissed Baltazar. “And we can get ships! They have ships!” He nodded his head toward Necropolis.
“And how will we pay for them, Baltazar?”
“Pay, Your Highness! Haven’t we paid already? Haven’t we paid with our lives?” the necromancer demanded, fist clenched. “I say it’s time we take what we want! Don’t go crawling to them, Edmund! Lead us to them! Lead us to war!”
“No! They”—the prince gestured to the departing duke and duchess—“were sympathetic to us. We have no reason to believe the dynast will be less eager to listen and to understand. I will try peaceful means first.”
“ ‘We,’ Your Highness. I’m going with you, of course—”
“No.” Edmund took the necromancer by the hand. “You stay with the people. If anything happens to me, you will be their leader.”
“At last your heart speaks, Your Highness.” Baltazar was bitter, sorrowful.
“I truly believe all will be well. But I would be a poor ruler if I did not provide for contingencies.” Edmund continued to press the man’s hand. “I may rely on you, My Friend? More than friend, mentor... my other father?”
“You may rely on me, Your Highness.” The last part of the necromancer’s sentence was little more than a choked whisper.
Edmund walked back to confer with his people. Baltazar remained behind a moment in the shadows to compose himself.
When the prince was gone, the necromancer raised his head. Ravages of a terrible, heart-wrenching grief had aged the pallid face. The stabbing black-eyed gaze struck Alfred, passed through the trembling body of the Sartan, and bored into Haplo.
I am not an evil man. But I am a desperate one. Haplo heard the necromancer’s words echo in the fire-lighted darkness.
“Yes, My Prince,” Baltazar promised fervently, softly. “You may rely fully on me. Our people will be safe!”
18
“A message, Your Majesty, from Jonathan, the duke of Rift Ridge.”
“Duke of Rift Ridge? Isn’t he dead?”
“The younger, Your Majesty. You recall, Sire, that you sent him and his wife to deal with those invaders on the far shore—”
“Ah, yes. Quite.” The dynast frowned. “This is in regard to the invaders?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Clear the court,” the dynast commanded.
The Lord High Chancellor, knowing that this matter would be dealt with circumspectly, had deliberately spoken in low tones, intended for His Majesty’s ears alone. The order to clear the court came as no surprise, nor did it present difficulty. The Lord High Chancellor had only to meet the eyes of the ever-watchful chamberlain to have the matter accomplished.
A staff banged on the floor. “His Majesty’s audience is ended,” announced the chamberlain.
Those with petitions to present rolled their scrolls up with a snap, tucked them back into scroll cases, made their bows, and backed out of the throne room. Those who were merely court hangerson, who spent as much time near His Dynastic Majesty as possible, hoping for notice from the royal eye, yawned, stretched, and proposed to each other games of rune-bone to ease them through another boring day. The royal cadavers, extremely well preserved and well maintained, escorted the assembly out of the throne room into the vast corridors of the royal palace, shut the doors, and took up positions before them, indicating that His Majesty was in private conference.
When the throne room no longer buzzed with conversation and affected laughter, the dynast commanded, with a wave of his hand, that the Lord High Chancellor was to commence. The Lord High Chancellor did so. Opening a scroll, he began to read.
“His Grace’s most reverent respect—”
“Skip all that.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
It took some moments for the Lord High Chancellor to make his way through compliments showered on the dynast’s person, compliments showered on his illustrious ancestors, compliments showered on the dynast’s just rule, and so forth and so on. The chancellor finally found the heart of the message and delivered it.
“ ‘The invaders come from the outer circle, Your Majesty, a land known as Kairn Telest, the Green Caverns, due to the ... er ... former amount of vegetation grown in that region. Of late, it seems, this region has experienced bad fortune. The magma river has cooled, the people’s water source has dried up.’ The Green Caverns, it seems, Your Majesty,” the Lord High Chancellor added, looking up from his perusal of the message, “could now be called the Bone-Bare[7] Caverns.”
His Majesty said nothing, merely grunted in acknowledgment of the Lord High Chancellor’s wit. The Lord High Chancellor resumed his reading. “ ‘Due to this disaster, the people of Kairn Telest have been forced to flee their land. They have encountered innumerable perils on the journey, including—’ ”
“Yes, yes,” said the dynast impatiently. He fixed his Lord High Chancellor with a shrewd look. “Does the duke mention why these people of the Green Caverns felt it necessary to come here?”
The Lord High Chancellor hastily scanned the message to the end, read it over again to make certain he’d made no mistake—the dynast had a low tolerance for mistakes—then shook his head. “No, Your Majesty. It might almost seem, from the tone, that these people stumbled on Necropolis by accident.”
“Hah!” The dynast’s lips parted in a thin, cunning smile. He shook his head. “They know, Pons. They know! Well, go on. Give us the gist of it. What are their demands?”
“They make no demands, Your Majesty. Their leader, a Prince”—the Lord High Chancellor referred again to the paper to refresh his memory—“Edmund of some unknown house requests the opportunity to pay his respects to Your Dynastic Majesty. The duke adds in a concluding note that the people of Kairn Telest appear to be in a most wretched state. It has occurred to the duke that it is probable we are in some way responsible for the aforesaid disasters and he hopes Your Majesty will meet with the prince at your earliest opportunity”
7
A reference to a move in the game of rune-bone in which an opponent is stripped clean of all his runes. The game of rune-bone is vaguely similar in nature to a game known anciently (preSundering) as mah-jongg.