Pons gestured to a servant, who gestured to a guard, who disappeared out a door and, after several moments, entered with a retinue of guards, marching the two prisoners into the royal presence. The prince entered with a proud, defiant air, anger smoldering like boiling lava beneath the cool surface of royal etiquette. One side of his face was bruised, he had a swollen lip, and his clothes were torn, his hair disheveled.
“Allow me to present, Sire, Prince Edmund of Kairn Telest,” introduced Pons.
The prince inclined his head slightly. He did not bow. The dynast paused in setting up his game board, stared at the young man, eyebrows raised.
“On your knees to His Most Royal Majesty!” the scandalized chancellor hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
“He is not my king,” said Prince Edmund, standing tall, head back. “As the ruler of Kairn Necros, I bid him greeting and do him honor.” The prince inclined his head again, the gesture graceful and proud.
A smile played about the dynast’s lips. He moved a bone into position.
“As I trust His Majesty does me honor,” pursued Edmund, his face flushed, his brows contracting, “as prince of a land that has now admittedly fallen on evil times but was once beautiful, rich, and strong.”
“Yes, yes,” said the dynast, holding a rune-marked bone in his hand, rubbing it thoughtfully across his lips. “All honor to the Prince of Kairn Telest. And now, Chancellor”—the eyes, hidden in the shadow of the black cowl trimmed in purple and in gold, turned toward Haplo—“what is the name of this stranger to our royal presence?”
The prince sucked in an angry breath, but kept his temper, perhaps mindful of his people, who were, according to reports, starving in a cave. The other man, the one with the rune-marked skin, stood quietly, unabashed, unimpressed, one might say almost uninterested in what was going on around him except for the eyes that saw everything without betraying that they’d seen anything.
“He calls himself Haplo, Sire,” said Pons, bowing low. A dangerous man, the chancellor might have added aloud. A man who lost control once, but who won’t be goaded into losing it again. A man who kept to the shadows, not furtively, but instinctively, as if he’d learned long ago that to draw attention to himself was to make himself a target.
The dynast leaned back in his chair. He gazed at Haplo through eyes that were slits only. Kleitus appeared bored, lethargic. Pons shivered. His Majesty was at his most dangerous when he was in this mood.
“You do not bow before us. We suppose you’re going to tell us that we’re not your king either,” he remarked.
Haplo shrugged, smiled. “No offense.”
His Majesty covered twitching lips with a delicate hand, cleared his throat. “None taken.. . from either of you. In time, perhaps, we will come to an understanding.”
He sat silent, brooding. Prince Edmund began to fidget with impatience. His Majesty glanced swiftly at him and raised his languid hand, gesturing at the table.
“Do you game, Your Highness?”
Edmund was taken aback. “Yes . . . Sire. But it has been a long time since I played. I have had little leisure for frivolous activities,” he added bitterly.
The dynast waved such considerations aside. “We had thought to give up our game tonight, but we see no reason to do so now. Perhaps we can come to an understanding over the game board. Will you join us, sir? Forgive me, but are you a prince ... or ... or any sort of royalty that we should acknowledge?”
“No,” said Haplo, and volunteered nothing else.
“No, you won’t join us, or no, you are not a prince, or no, in general?” the dynast inquired.
“I’d say that pretty well describes the situation, Sire.” Haplo’s gaze was fixed on the gaming pieces, a fact that did not go unnoticed by His Majesty.
The dynast permitted himself an indulgent laugh. “Come, sit with us. The game is complex in its subtleties, but it is not difficult to learn. We will teach you. Pons, you will make up a fourth, of course.”
“With pleasure, Sire,” said the chancellor.
An inept rune-bone player at best, Pons was rarely called on to game with his dynast, who had little patience with the unskilled. But the true game tonight would be played on a far different level, one with which the Lord High Chancellor was vastly familiar.
Prince Edmund hesitated. Pons knew what the young man was thinking. Might such an activity reduce his dignity and dilute the seriousness of his cause? Or would it be politically expedient to give in to this royal whim? The chancellor could have assured the young man it didn’t matter, his doom was sealed no matter what he chose to do.
The Lord High Chancellor felt sorry for this prince for a brief moment. Edmund was a young man with heavy burdens, who took his responsibilities seriously, who was obviously sincere in his desire to help his people. A pity that he couldn’t see he was just another game piece, to be moved where it suited His Majesty, or removed ... if it suited His Majesty.
The prince’s well-bred courtesy won out. He walked over to the gaming table, sat down opposite the dynast, and began arranging the bones in the starting position, which required that they be lined up to resemble the walls of a fortress.
Haplo hesitated, as well, but his reluctance to move was perhaps nothing more than a reluctance to leave the shadow and venture into the strong light. He did so, at last, walking forward slowly to take his place at the table. He kept his hands beneath the table, lounged back in his chair. Pons seated himself opposite.
“You begin, sir,” said the chancellor, acting on a cue from the dynast’s upraised eyebrow, “by arranging the pieces thusly. Those marked with the blue runes are the base. Those with the red are stacked on top of the blue and those with both blue and red markings form the battlements.”
The dynast had completed building his wall. The prince, frustrated and angry, was halfheartedly constructing his. Pons affected to be interested in putting his together, but his gaze crept to the man opposite. Haplo moved his right hand out from beneath the table, lifted a rune-bone, and slid it into place.
“Remarkable,” said the dynast.
All movement at the gaming table ceased, all eyes were fixed on Haplo’s hand.
There could be no doubt. The runes on the bones were far cruder in nature than the runes tattooed on the man’s skin—a child’s scrawl compared to the flowing script of a grown man—but they were the same.
The prince, after a moment’s involuntary fascination, wrenched his glance away and continued to work on his wall. Kleitus reached out his hand to Haplo’s, intending to seize it and study it closer.
“I wouldn’t do that, Sire.” Haplo said quietly, not moving his hand. He wasn’t making an overt threat, but a quality in the voice caused the dynast to pause. “Perhaps your man there told you.” Eyes flicked to Pons. “I don’t like to be touched.”
“He said that when you attacked the guard the marks on your skin glowed. By the way, may we apologize for that tragic incident? It is one that we deeply regret. We had no intention of harming your pet. The dead tend to ... overreact.”
Pons, watching closely, saw Haplo’s jaw muscle twitch, the lips tighten. Otherwise, the face remained impassive.
His Majesty was continuing, “You attacked a soldier, he said, without a weapon in your hands, and yet you seemed confident of your ability to fight one armed with a sword. But you didn’t intend battling with bare hands, did you, sir? These marks”—the dynast did not touch, but pointed—“these sigla are magic. Magic was your intended weapon. I am certain you can understand that we are fascinated. Where did you come by these runes? How do they work?”
Haplo lifted another rune-bone, placed it beside the one he moved into position. Lifting another, he set it next to the first.
“We asked you a question,” said the dynast.
“We heard you,” replied Haplo, lips twisting in a smile.