“If it is necessary.”
“Quite necessary. To look closely into the unresolved contradictions of his past or to strain too hard to understand those things still hidden is very difficult for the Prince.”
“Yes. I saw it.”
“Master Dassine believed that, even if he failed to pursue his course with the Prince, eventually the memories of the Prince’s life as the man born in this world would return. They might be in differing order, however, or, due to the influence of present-day events or D’Natheil’s life that is also his, they might spur different emotions and interpretations. Such was not my master’s desire. He tried to submerge the Prince in his past by isolating him from everything, anything, that could distract him or burden his senses. And he gave my lord little time to analyze or react to his recovered memories. Master Dassine believed it imperative that nothing prevent the Prince from becoming the person that he was… as you knew him. This is still possible. I bear the knowledge, and there are those in Avonar who have the skill, to complete Master Dassine’s plan. But the terrible events of the past few days and the mission that Master Dassine laid out for the Prince before he died… those must take precedence.”
The sun warmed my face even as a sharp wind gusted off the snow, chilling my back. “I can’t judge the importance of your mission, but I bring news of such significance that I would believe it was my willing it so that brought you here. Yet from what you say I shouldn’t tell Karon… D’Natheil. My news involves him so deeply and is connected with the most painful part of his past… and perhaps with the future as well.”
Why? Why? Why would the Zhid and their masters, the Lords of Zhev’Na, want Gerick? A possible answer had come to me in the long night’s journey, forgotten for a time in the horror of Paulo’s injury, now recaptured in the clarity of the morning.
Bareil’s small face crinkled into a frown. “Would you please consider trusting me with your information? Though we have just met, I feel as if I know you very well. I’ve been privy to all of Master Dassine’s work in these past ten years. My only desire is to complete it and serve the Prince as I may.”
I saw no choice. I could not risk harming Karon with what I knew. And beyond that, Bareil had already impressed me as imminently trustworthy.
“All right, then,” I said, “tell me what would be the result if the Zhid gained possession of a child… a child who is the son of your prince?” I had seen it often, my own king taking hostage the children of his enemies.
“The legitimate son of the Heir of D’Arnath? The eldest living son?”
“Well, yes.” Eldest, youngest… a hostage was a hostage.
The Dulcé did not turn pale, or cry out, or do any of those things we associate with uttermost dismay. He just became absolutely still, the pleasant animation of his exotic features wiped out in an instant. “Madam, if the boy had not yet come of age, it would be a day of such woe for my world and yours that there has been no day to compare with it since the day of the Catastrophe itself. Have you reason to believe such an event has occurred?”
“It’s why you find us in such desperate circumstances,” I said. Then I told him everything.
“The Third lives and has obtained the prize he has always wanted…” he murmured to himself. “Would I had died with my late master before I heard such ill news. A child alive beyond all understanding, the reprieve of a life we mourned, a tale that should bring only rejoicing. And yet- The circumstances are so extraordinary, the father’s soul now living in the Prince’s flesh. But if the Prince and the boy were to pass the test of parentage…”
“No ‘test of parentage’ is needed. I’m certain Gerick is Karon’s child. He can work sorcer-”
“No, no, my lady. I do not doubt you. Don’t you see? Matters are far worse than you believe. If the boy is proven before the Preceptors of Gondai as the legitimate eldest son of the Heir, child of his flesh and spirit-no matter what circumstances have caused it to be true-then that boy will become the Heir’s legitimate successor-the next Heir of D’Arnath.”
Gerick the next Heir…
Bareil shook his head. “You have seen truly. We dare not tell the Prince. Master Dassine’s strictures were clear. Your husband must not know this child is his own until he has relived the path to his own death.”
“Then tell me how I am to convince the Prince that this rescue is of paramount importance, if I can’t tell him the victim is his own son?”
“That will perhaps be easier than you think. Ah”-he glanced up, shaking his head and raising one hand as if to refuse temptation-“I speak too freely. I’m truly sorry that I’m unable to discuss the matter with you further. You must speak with the Prince and decide for yourself what to tell him of the child. Master Dassine had great faith in your judgment.”
“I feel as if I don’t know anything any more.”
When Bareil smiled, it was with all of himself. Master Dassine had a knack of leaving people in impossible situations. “But only because the universe itself is in an impossible situation. He enjoyed doing battle with the universe- the only opponent he ever found challenging. And in you, madam, he was convinced he had found his worthiest ally.”
The Dulcé excused himself, saying he would go in to check on D’Natheil’s progress with the “most excellent boy.” Restless, shaken, I climbed up on a rock that promised a good vantage. Still no sign of Kellea. The crumpled ridges of the Cerran Brae ran southward, their faces still shadowed, a contrast to the bright plains that stretched to the western horizon. The northern prospect was dominated by a single peak, its massive, forested shoulders topped by a snowy crest. Nestled at its feet was a frost-shrouded valley, plumes of pink-tinged mist rising from it as if the fires of the netherworld burned below its veil.
Out of my chaotic thoughts emerged one dreadful comfort. The Lords would want Gerick alive.
After perhaps three quarters of an hour the Dulcé popped out of the cave. “The healing is done. Perhaps we should eat while you speak with the Prince. He will need sustenance, and my guess is that you and your companions would not be averse to a hot meal.” He offered me a hand down from my perch.
“Are you a cook, too, then?” I asked, remembering the first Dulcé I’d met-a charming, pitiful betrayer who thought murder and an ancient sword could have his city.
A shadow crossed his face, quickly smiled away. “Alas, no. Poor foolish Baglos was a chef without peer, even in Avonar where there are many fine cooks. This company will have no such pleasure from me, though I am not immodest to say that the brandy I lay down is considered to be a unique pleasure. We have a bit with us, if you should have need of a drop…”
“Not now. Last night I might have traded my horse for it.” I followed him into the cave.
Paulo slept peacefully next to the snapping fire. His chest rose and fell, slow and deep, and the color in his thin face was a healthy brown. Most incredibly, he had rolled over on one side, his fist tucked under his chin, and his legs- both legs-curled up under his blankets. The bloody rags and splints lay in a pile near his feet.