“I say we move ahead,” said Kellea, turning her back on the window. “It sounds as if we can’t count on the Prince to be of any use. If he can, then all to the good, but we can’t wait to find out. We must go after the boy now-on our own, if that’s the only way.”
Kellea was right. The Prince-Karon-was on his own. I had to put aside fear and anger, to crush and bind the emotions that had been driving me to lash out so thoughtlessly. Our opponents were sorcerers whose powers I could not imagine. I would fight for my son, but I doubted this battle would be fought with swords and troops. “How long until the results of the Prince’s examination are known?”
Bareil settled on the stool by the fire. “Days, certainly. More likely many weeks. In such a state as he is in…”
“Then, as Kellea says, we must prepare to do this ourselves,” I said. “But I’ll not risk Gerick’s life by acting without thought. You’ve said they’ll want to teach Gerick… train him… raise him in their ways… is that right?”
“That is the only plan that seems likely, though, of course, I cannot say-”
“That will take time. So we must take advantage of it. We have to find aid we can trust, and a plan that will work. We must learn how to live in this world: the customs, the language, the geography, whatever else Bareil can teach us of the Lords, the Zhid, and Zhev’Na. We’ll need clothing that will not be remarked. If it means six weeks instead of six days until we’re ready, then that’s the way it must be. Proceeding rashly could cost us everything. Will you help us, Bareil?”
The Dulcé bowed to me. “It will be my pleasure to share all I can bring forth. The Prince commanded me to be of service to you during his absence.”
My anger threatened to break loose again. “Do you mean he told you he was going to go through with this? Knowing the risk, you let him go without waking me?”
“He saw no alternatives and no benefit in further discussion. Though he did not understand Master Dassine’s reasoning, he said he sincerely hoped it did not involve the Preceptors putting a knife in him and trading him for the boy, for such was the only rational plan he had heard.” The Dulcé buried his grief in his sweet smile. “It was a jest, my lady, and he did not forbid me to tell you of it.”
CHAPTER 20
Gerick
The sun on my face was bright and hot. I pushed back the blanket, only to pull it right back up again when I realized I was naked. I sat up instead. The bed was huge and high off the floor, but hard, more like a table than Mama’s bed with its piles of pillows. The bedchamber was as big as Papa’s room at Comigor, though this one looked even bigger because it didn’t have much furnishing: a few tables, a giant hearth, some straight chairs of light-colored wood, and a few lamp-stands with copper oil lamps hung from them. Along one side of the room were the tall window openings where the sun shone in so fiercely.
I didn’t remember coming here. Darzid had taken me off the horse and carried me through a doorway in a rock, but that was the last thing I knew.
Clothes that looked my size were laid out on the end of the bed. As I couldn’t see any of my own things, I assumed these were meant for me. I pulled on a linen singlet and underdrawers, and then climbed out of the bed so I could look around. Some of the windows were actually doors opening onto a balcony that looked out over courtyards, lower buildings, and walls. Beyond the walls lay desert- red cliffs and dirt all the way to the horizon, smoke and dust hanging in the air. The sun that was still low on the horizon was red, too.
I had never seen true desert country. Papa had taken me to eastern Leire once to visit his favorite swordmaker. The land there was dry and flat and ugly, but Papa had said that true deserts were beautiful, with fine colors, and their own kind of odd plants and interesting animals, and mysterious water holes where everything lived together. As far as I could see, nothing grew in this place, and nothing was at all beautiful.
I turned back to the room. The bedchamber didn’t have long solid walls like the rooms at Comigor. The rooms were divided by ranks of thin pillars forming arches. Metal grill-work holding candles sat in some of the arches. Strips of woven cord hung in others, moving in the hot air coming in from the balcony. Each wall had one archway that was wider than the others and didn’t have anything else in it. These were the “doors,” I supposed.
Beyond one of the doorway arches was a room entirely filled with clothes and boots. At Comigor I had a clothes chest where my things were folded and put away, and Mama had a huge clothes chest and a carved wardrobe taller than Papa to hang her dresses in. I had never seen so many garments at once, and they were clearly for one person, as they were all the same size. Shirts and tunics were hung up one after the other from long poles. Leggings, hose, breeches, and singlets were folded on shelves that extended higher than I could reach. Short and long cloaks hung on hooks. And rows of shoes stood under the hanging shirts-riding and walking boots of every cut and soft shoes to wear indoors. The clothes were not colored silk or ruffled, embroidered things like Mama had made for me. Most seemed to be plain, sturdy shirts and breeches and tunics like Papa wore when he went to war. On one shelf was a wooden case that held buckles and belts, and some jewelry-a man’s jewelry. I didn’t touch any of it.
Through another archway I found a bathing room. The floor and outer walls were covered with painted tiles of dark blue and green, and a deep pool was built right into the floor. I touched an ivory handle and steaming water gushed out of a gold pipe that was shaped like a screaming man. I’d never seen anything like it. When I pulled my hand away, the water stopped.
Other archways led to a sitting room with more tall window openings and another hearth. In front of the hearth was a table big enough to eat on and a number of straight wood chairs. Across that room, beyond another arched opening, was a wide staircase that curved downward. I thought I’d better get some clothes on before going downstairs, so I returned to the bedchamber and put on the clothes that lay on the bed: a gray linen shirt, black breeches and tunic, gray leggings and black leather boots that reached over my calves.
Laid out right next to the clothes were a sword belt and a knife sheath. They were wonderful. The knife was polished like a looking glass, and so sharp it took a sliver of wood off the edge of the table as easy as cutting a peach. The hilt was engraved with all manner of strange beasts, and fit my hand perfectly. The sword was a real rapier, every bit as fine as the knife. Even Papa would have approved the point and the finish. Best of all, the length was perfect for my height. My fencing master at Comigor, Swordmaster Fenotte, had insisted I use wooden weapons or old brittle swords that had been cut off short, so dull and nicked and blunt that you couldn’t stick a hunk of bread with them. If the clothes were meant for me, then surely the weapons must be intended for me, too, or else they wouldn’t be next to the clothes. Just at that moment, I heard footsteps on the tile floor behind me. I spun about, dropping the sword belt with a loud clatter.
Captain Darzid walked in through the archway that led to the sitting room and the stairs. He was followed by a man wearing almost nothing. “No, no, Your Grace,” said Captain Darzid, smiling and waggling his finger at the sword belt. “The weapons are certainly yours, just as you guessed. Wear them as a young duke should. In Zhev’Na, a noble with a sworn blood debt is not treated as a child, but given his proper respect. You’ll find life here very different than in a household run by women.”
“Is Zhev’Na the name of this country?” I said. I didn’t want to tell him that I couldn’t even remember how we got here. A duke with a sworn blood oath shouldn’t be stupid enough to lose track of himself the way I had.
“This land is called Ce Uroth, which in the local language means ‘the Barrens.’” Darzid stepped to the windows.
“And it is indeed a barren land-stripped of softness and frivolous decoration, its power exposed for all to see. If he wants to accomplish his purposes, a soldier must be hard like this land, not decked out in a whore’s finery, or wallowing in weakness or sentimentality.”