"Show me the ring," he commanded. The eel was perhaps too literal, and his jaws snipped Petod's hand off and brought it near. The monarch regarded the offending appendage and threw it to the side.
"Is there no end to this infamy? The rumors you reported are true! Raids on some of our greatest nobles have revealed links to our shark of a wife. Now an assassin outside our very throne room? Why do they plot against me?" he cried, no longer using the royal plural. He collapsed back into the throne, and the ambassador could feel energy pulsing back into the monarch from the palace.
"Perhaps war is the only answer," a hesitant officer said, looking for support from his fellows. "The queen's forces are not so superior. Surely a surprise attack would put an end to these conspiracies."
The emperor looked up wanly. Laquatus spoke quickly to squash the idea. Open warfare would bring the emperor's interest back to the martial devices buried beneath his palace.
"My Emperor," he stated, striving for statesmanship, "the queen and her alliances make open warfare too dangerous for you both. Her air- breathing allies and the creatures of the deep would surely come to her aid. As deadly as these conspiracies are, they represent the limits of her reach. Her assassin was incompetent. Better security inside the palace is the answer. Llawan dares not attack openly and must strike through traitors and other toils." Laquatus wanted Aboshan consumed by internal problems.
"Moreover," the ambassador continued, "open warfare would drag guards to the battle lines, weakening your security in the palace. We must root out conspiracies and make our own overtures to Llawan's allies. If we isolate her, then we can attack with impunity."
"We are so very tired," the emperor muttered, lying back as more magic whispered into his frame. "Our wife will fall, but our wrath must wait. We shall strip her of allies here and abroad." His eyes focused on Laquatus, decision swimming weakly into his gaze.
"You will consult with our officers on crushing those who plot against us," he stated. He rose and began to swim for his private quarters. "You have our warrant to do all that is necessary to guard our throne."
The officers and ambassador lowered their heads as the monarch passed.
Carte blanche! Laquatus exulted. Current and former rivals for power in the court would sink very soon, the ambassador promised himself. Still, perhaps he should begin reducing the perceived threat lest the emperor strike out in panic against his wife. War would reduce his ability to control the situation and give too much power to the generals.
Laquatus looked at the attentive faces surrounding him and knew hatred and envy must fill their hearts. He had displaced many on his rise to power, and now his enemies grew daily in number. If only Fulla would find the orb. With such an item of power, he might stop serving others' will and fully satisfy his own desires. He drew the officers to him, wondering how much longer he must reign himself in.
CHAPTER 22
Kamahl peered down at the sea. The wooded hillside overlooked the coastal town of Borben on the continent's edge. The town sat at the end of a major trade road, the last habitation before the open ocean. A long peninsula jogged out for the mainland creating a protected bay. Like a single finger of hills, it beckoned to ships searching for port. Waterfowl and a few seals sunning themselves populated the last spit of land.
The barbarian walked to the hilltop along an overgrown trail, soaring above the main road. The joint caravans of the Cabal and the Mer Empire broke apart many miles behind him. The animals went south, and a few of the wagons continued on to Borben. Kamahl had parted ways with Emerald some days before, leaving the barbarian alone to walk into the town.
A few small ships lay anchored in the bay, with only one pier stretching out into the water for the transfer of freight from small vessels. Out on the water, a single lighter accepted a net of cargo from a larger ship. Oars started to row the boat back to the docks and warehouses.
Well back from town, nearly in the surrounding hills, sat a small arena. Nearly oval in shape, it was constructed out of wood, the large logs and rough-cut timbers whitewashed in the sun. It pressed against an outcropping of rock, the interior looking muddy from a distance. Sand was piled outside the fighting ring. The color told the barbarian it was hauled up from the shore.
The arena stood deserted now, but the mountain mage knew it would be crowded during market days and festivals. The best source of information regarding the ambassador and his stolen prize would undoubtedly be the bars around the docks and the arena. He was no seaman, and he resolved to try the inns close to the fighting ring, knowing he could mix with the jacks.
The town looked still now, but when the fishermen returned to port the docks would teem. He wondered when the bouts would start in the arena, so he could interact with familiar types of people. He considered his own appearance as he thought about poking around for information regarding the troubles in the east. The Order would distribute descriptions, and the ambassador might have left word of him as well.
He wore a gray cloak now, the elen garment gradually shrinking to fit him as he plied needle and dagger. The metal-hued races were uncommon but by no means unknown on the continent. Only two things were uniquely his own: his name and his sword. He drew the weapon, holding it in his open palms as he considered it. Long as he was tall, the massive blade showed little sign of wear. Rings rattled softly on the blade as he rotated it. Ever since procuring it during his quests as a young man, he had carried it. The steel and fire evoked from the mystic metal had cut many an enemy low. But in the mountains, the sword had gained its own reputation, as fulsome as Kamahl's, and was more unique in appearance. Regretfully, he decided that the weapon must rest here, above the town, to await his return.
He walked to a tree, its roots wrapping around a boulder, as if holding it to the ground. He looked at his sword and called power. It flowed into the steel, the energy streaming fluidly throughout the weapon. He set the nearly flat point against the rock, the shallow edge still cutting the stone. His muscles ached as he pushed. Gradually the metal burrowed its way through the rock. Kamahl strained until the hilt began to disappear. He exhausted more of his strength as he picked up a stone and set it against the hilt. The weapon's advance continued as his hands held rock rather than the familiar leather wrapped hilt. Stone touched stone, and he closed the final inches. The smell of hot metal ceased as his granite pad disappeared into the rocky anvil.
Kamahl walked to his gear. Looking at the pack and several bags, he realized he had grown too dependent on steeds. He separated out the essential from the merely convenient and laid out tarps to encase the saddle and gear too heavy to carry into town. He opened a bag he intended to cache by the boulder holding his sword. Arms picked up during his travels rattled as he searched. Near the bottom he withdrew a weapon found just days before.
Roving bands of Order knights swept the roads looking for signs of Kamahl and the animals whose attacks had been so disruptive. The soldiers also inspected wagons for forbidden objects. News of the disastrous spell in the Citadel drove the knights to new heights in destroying past evils. The mercenaries driving caravans of excavated treasures lacked the will to fight the Order. During his trek here, the barbarian had come across a few of their abandoned wagons.
He drew forth a massive hammer. The head was black iron. Magic reinforced the metal and the haft. The long handle was white ivory, perhaps from some fallen mammoth or other such beast. The dense grip and over-sized head made it a weapon for a giant rather than someone the size of a man. His muscles bunched as he hefted it. He remembered Emerald's look of momentary outrage when he loaded the hammer. He had found it lying in the open near another cache of weapons. Knowing it abandoned, he had still dropped most of his money in the resting place. Whoever came looking for it would be disappointed but surprised at the consideration of the person who rescued it from destruction by the Order. Perhaps the Cabal or a corrupt bird warrior had his money even now, but it would have felt wrong to take it without any attempt at compensation.