But it was ever the same. And he could hear Maundigand-Klimd’s words now echoing in his ears, from that day when they had spoken of what the magus had seen as he pondered the possible consequences of giving Dantirya Sambail back his lost memories: I saw—well—certain ambiguities. A multitude of forking paths.
Yes, Prestimion thought. A multitude of forking paths. And now I must traverse them all.
II. The Book of Seeking
1
“How can I remain at the Castle after this?” Navigorn demanded. His strong-featured face was a study in the most intense anguish. “I am in disgrace, my lord. I can’t bear to look anyone in the eye. You gave me a task, and see how hideously I have bungled it! What else can I do now but withdraw from this place and go into retirement? I beseech you, my lord, permit me to—”
Prestimion held up his hand. “Peace, Navigorn. I don’t doubt that all this has been upsetting for you, but I still need you here beside me. Your request to retire is refused. Calm down and tell me how the escape came about.”
“If only I could be sure, my lord—”
“Well, what do you think happened, then.”
“Yes. As best I can, lordship.”
Navigorn rose from his seat on the bench to Prestimion’s left and began to pace about like some caged beast that has but little space in which to roam.
The meeting was being held not in Prestimion’s official quarters but in the modest and austere throne-room of Lord Stiamot, a curious survival from ancient times situated just at the edge of the zone of majestic and splendid chambers that was the modern Castle’s core. It was a small, stark room, furnished with a simple marble seat in antique style for the Coronal, low benches for his ministers, and a Makroprosopos carpet in subdued colors that supposedly was a reproduction of the one from Lord Stiamot’s time.
But Lord Stiamot’s time was seven thousand years in the past. The throne-chamber he had used had long since been supplanted by a grand throne-room built by Lord Makhario, and that in turn had given way after many centuries to the even more magnificent royal chamber of Lord Confalume, which Prestimion’s predecessor had furnished with a throne of such supreme grandeur that it might seem better befitted for a god than a mere worldly king. Prestimion, though, since his return to the Castle from his travels on the Mount, had taken to using the unostentatious little Stiamot throne-room as his working headquarters, preferring its simplicity to the splendor of his formal office or the impossibly opulent surroundings of Lord Confalume’s throne-chamber. He had been amused to learn that Korsibar had shown the same preference after the first few weeks of his short reign.
Only the innermost members of Prestimion’s circle were at the meeting: Septach Melayn, Gialaurys, Maundigand-Klimd, and Prestimion’s brothers Abrigant and Teotas. Prestimion was aware that it might have been appropriate to invite Vologaz Sar, whom the Pontifex Confalume had lately designated to be the official representative of the Pontificate at the Castle, and also the hierarch Marcatain, as representative for that arm of the government which was headed by the Lady of the Isle. But he was not yet certain how to go about admitting the great deception that he had practiced on the world to his mother the Lady, or to the Pontifex. Especially to the Pontifex. And so, thus far, he had been governing as though he were the sole Power of the Realm, sharing nothing with the two high officials who were in fact senior to him by constitutional rank.
That could not continue much longer. Already, this new crisis over Dantirya Sambail had compelled him to reveal to his astonished brothers the fact of the memory-obliteration. He could trust them to remain silent as long as that was his wish. But he knew that he had no authority to compel silence from his mother, or from Confalume.
Navigorn, without ceasing his pacing, said, “There was bribery involved. Of that I’m certain. Mandralisca, it was—”
“That demon!” Gialaurys exclaimed.
“That demon, yes. The Procurator’s poison-taster, and poisonous is he himself. We had him locked safely away, so we thought, but somehow he began to suborn his guards, promising them—it isn’t clear—vast estates in Zimroel, or something of the kind. Four of them have disappeared, at any rate. Set him free, they did, and slipped away to points unknown.”
“You have their names?” Septach Melayn asked.
“Of course.”
“They’ll be found, no matter where they’ve fled. Duly punished to the limits of the law.” Septach Melayn made quick whicking gestures with his wrist as though flourishing an invisible sword in the air. “Has there ever been such a fountain of iniquity in our world as this vile Mandralisca, I wonder? The very first time I set eyes on him I knew—”
“Yes, I remember,” Prestimion said, with a bleak smile. “It was at the funeral games for the old Pontifex, when you and I had the wager on the baton-dueling, and you bet against Mandralisca just out of sheer loathing for him, though he was the better baton-man. And lost five crowns to me.” The Coronal looked toward Navigorn again. “All right. We return to your story. Mandralisca has succeeded in getting free. How does he manage to make his way to Dantirya Sambail in a different part of the tunnels entirely?”
“Unclear, lordship. More bribery, no doubt.”
“How badly do you pay your men, Navigorn, that they so readily sell their honor to prisoners?” asked Teotas fiercely.
Navigorn whirled on Prestimion’s younger brother as though he had been slapped. Hot fury crackled in his eyes. But Teotas, a slender golden-haired youth who bore a startling resemblance to his royal brother but had a far more fiery temper, met Navigorn’s glare with anger of his own. For a moment it seemed as though they might fight. Then, just as Prestimion was on the verge of signaling Gialaurys to intervene, Navigorn turned away with a look of weariness and defeat on his face and said in a low voice, “Your question does not deserve an answer, boy. But I tell you all the same, I could have given them a hundred royals a week, and it would have made no difference. He took possession of their souls:”
“This is so,” said Septach Melayn, lightly touching his fingertips to Teotas’s chest before the young prince could reply. “Mandralisca deals in demons’ coinage. On the right day he could suborn anyone he chooses. Anyone.”
“Me? You? Prestimion?” snapped Teotas, angrily pushing the hand aside. “Demon or no, he can’t buy everyone. You speak only for yourself here, Septach Melayn!”
“Enough of this,” Prestimion said impatiently. “We’re losing our way.—What do you say, Navigorn? How could Mandralisca have been able to get to his master’s cell?”
“I can’t tell you that. One of the four bribed ones must have helped him, I suppose. I can say to you only that he did get to him, got him loose, led him from the tunnels without anyone trying to stop them. Quite likely he cast some spell that allowed him to cloud the minds of those on duty at the gates, and walked by them as though they were asleep.”
“I never knew this Mandralisca to be versed in sorcery!” said Prestimion, startled.
“Anyone can master a simple spell or two,” Maundigand-Klimd said. “And that one would be simple.”
“For you, perhaps. But he’d have used it the day he first was imprisoned, if he’d known the art of it from the beginning,” Prestimion said. “It must have been brought to him covertly just the other day.”
“By whom?” Gialaurys asked.