“I’m sure they already have, my lord.”
“How do you know that?”
“I said that the Procurator has become very good at eluding our scouts. A magus, I said, who’s casting a cloud of unknowingness around him. But what if it’s not a magus at all? What if it’s this Barjazid? If these devices of his are as powerful as Dekkeret says they are—” Once again Akbalik felt fire in his leg, and hid his shudder of pain from Prestimion . “A lucky thing for us all that the boy did go to Suvrael, eh? And I tried so hard to discourage him. What is your plan, my lord?”
“I’ve already told you, I think, that Septach Melayn and Gialaurys are leading a force of troops down to the Stoienzar from Castle Mount. They’ll go after Dantirya Sambail from the western end of the peninsula. I mean to assemble a second army here in Stoien city that will enter the Stoienzar from the other side. My mother will guide our movements: she thinks she knows a way of employing the arts of the Isle to search him out. Meanwhile, to keep him from escaping from the area as we go toward him, we blockade the ports everywhere along the peninsula, north and south—”
“May I ask you, my lord, who will command the army out of Stoien city?”
Prestimion seemed surprised at that. “Why, I will.”
“I beg you, sir, no.”
“No?”
“You must not go into the Stoienzar jungle. You have no idea how awful a place it is. I don’t just mean the heat and the humidity, or the insects half as long as your arm that buzz in your face all day long. I mean the dangers, my lord, the terrible perils that lie everywhere around. Do you wonder why there are no settlements there? It is one vast sticky marsh, where your boots sink ankle-deep at every step. Beneath you lurk hidden venomous monsters, the swamp-crabs, whose bite is death, unless you’re lucky enough to be bitten by a very small one, as I was. The trees themselves are your enemies: there is one whose seed-pods explode as they ripen, sending long fragments in every direction that strike deep into a man’s flesh like flying daggers. There is another tree, the manganoza palm, it is, whose leaves are as sharp as—”
“I know all this, Akbalik. Nevertheless, the task of leading the troops falls to me, and what of it? Do you think I’m afraid of a little discomfort?”
“Many men will die while marching through those swamps. I’ve seen it happen. I came close to dying there myself. I say that you have no right to risk your life there, my lord.”
Anger flared in Prestimion’s eyes. “No right? No right? You overreach yourself, Akbalik. Not even Prince Seri-thorn’s nephew should venture to instruct the Coronal in what he ought or ought not to do.”
Prestimion’s rebuke struck Akbalik with almost physical force. His face went red; he muttered an apology and offered a hasty starburst. To steady himself he took a long draught of the wine. Some different sort of approach was required. After a moment he said in a low voice, “Can your mother really use her arts to help you in this war, my lord?”
“She believes that she can. She may even be able to counteract the mental powers that Barjazid wields.”
“And so—forgive me again, Lord Prestimion—you mean to take her with you, do you, into the Stoienzar jungles? The Lady of the Isle is to ride at your side as you make your way through those deadly swamps? Do you really intend to place her in that sort of jeopardy?”
He saw at once that he had scored a point. Prestimion looked stunned. Plainly had not been expecting a thrust from that direction. “I need her close beside me as matters unfold. She will have a clearer view than anyone of the Procurator’s movements.”
Akbalik said, “The Lady’s powers work at any distance, do they not? There’s no need to bring her so close. She can stay safe in Stoien while the jungle campaign is mounted. And so can you. You and she can devise strategy together and your wishes can be relayed easily enough to the battle-front.” And quickly added, as Prestimion began to reply: “My lord, I plead with you to listen to me. Perhaps Lord Stiamot may have led his army into battle seven thousand years ago, but such risks on the part of a Coronal are unacceptable today. Remain here in Stoien city and supervise the conflict from a distance with the Lady’s help. Let me lead the imperial troops against the Procurator. You are not expendable. I am. And I’ve already had some experience in dealing with the conditions that the Stoienzar presents. Let me be the one to go.”
“You? No. Never, Akbalik.”
“But my lord—”
“You think you’ve been fooling me, with that leg of yours? I can see how you’re suffering. You’re barely able to walk, let alone go back into that jungle on a new mission. And how can you tell that the infection won’t get worse than it is right now before you start to heal? No, Akbalik. You may be right that it isn’t wise for me to go in there, but you certainly aren’t going to.”
There was a steely note in the Coronal’s voice that told Akbalik it was useless to object. He sat in silence, massaging his throbbing leg just above the wound.
Prestimion went on: “I’ll attempt to direct operations from here, as you suggest, and we’ll see how that works out. But as for you, I relieve you right now from active service. The Lady Varaile is going to leave for the Castle in a few days—she’s pregnant, do you know that, Akbalik?—and I’m assigning you the job of escorting her back to the Mount.”
“My congratulations, sir. But with all respect, my lord, let Dekkeret take her. I should stay here in Stoien city with you and assist you in the campaign. My understanding of the nature of that jungle—”
“Might be useful, yes. But if you lose that leg, what then? It’s idiotic for you to remain in Stoien. This is a provincial backwater. We have the best doctors in the world at the Castle, and they’ll repair you in short order. As for Dekkeret, I need him here with me. He’s the only one who understands anything about how this Barjazid device actually works.”
“I implore you, my lord—”
“I implore you, Akbalik: save your breath. My mind’s made up. I thank you for all you’ve accomplished here in Stoien. Now get yourself to the Castle with my lady Varaile, and have that leg properly taken care of.”
Prestimion stood. Akbalik rose also, with an effort he was unable to conceal. His injured leg did not want to support him. The Coronal seized him around the shoulders, steadying him as he struggled to find his balance.
From outside, far below, came the sudden sound of sirens. People were yelling in the streets. Akbalik glanced toward the window. A new pillar of black smoke was rising in the city’s southern quarter.
“It gets worse and worse,” Prestimion muttered. He turned to go. “Some day, Akbalik, we’ll look back at these times and chuckle, won’t we? But I wish we could do a little more chuckling right now.”
It was late the next afternoon before Akbalik had any opportunity to speak with Dekkeret. The last time he had seen the young man was in a simple mountain tavern in Khyntor, on a night two years before in early spring, as they sat together over flasks of hot golden wine. That was the night Dekkeret had announced his intention to go to Suvrael. “You judge yourself too harshly,” Akbalik had said then. “There’s no sin so foul that it merits a jaunt in Suvrael.” And he had urged Dekkeret to make a pilgrimage to the Isle instead, if he truly felt a need to cleanse his soul of its stain. “Let the blessed Lady heal your spirit,” Akbalik had told him then. It is foolish to interrupt your career at the Castle, he said, for the long absence that the trip to Suvrael would require.