The ashes swirled, and then seemed almost relieved to settle down again.
21
Arrivals and Departures in Violence
The old lady sighed. "I can see why it is that Aglirta is truly the Kingless Land."
Flaeros cast a quick glance at the closest guard, one of an impassive pair by the doors, and hissed, "Lady, this may not be our King, but he is still a King! Insult him not so!"
Lady Natha Orele sighed again, and turned to face the other young man sitting before her-the one who was wearing a crown. "I do not insult Your Majesty," she said firmly, "I do Your Majesty the courtesy of speaking truth-something your courtiers seem to have in very short supply, I might add."
" 'Tis a disease at court, Lady," King Castlecloaks replied gravely. "Yet tell me: Why think you Aglirta is truly kingless?"
"With Snowsar and with you, 'tis always rush to fight this and strain to withstand that-and never to snatch time enough to make the little decisions that shape life in the realm, assuming you do win your ways and there is still an Aglirta on the morrow. In short, you play warcaptain, and have time for little else… and so do not rule, and so enjoy not the trust and loyalty of your people. Without that, you are nothing, no matter how many crowns, coins, and lances you command. Of course the task before you is-as it has been too often these past few seasons-to rid Aglirta of the Serpents. But have you given any thought to after that?"
"Why, uh"-the king coughed-"no."
"Ah. Thank you. Some truth handed back to me. Very good," the aged Lady of Chambers said briskly. "Now I'll pass from truth to my opinion.
Hear it, think on it, but follow it not if you think I'm wrong-and believe me, I can be very wrong. If I were King…"
"Yes?" Raulin reached up as if to take the crown from his head and hand it to her.
"Don't," she said sharply. "I would do a poor job, and Aglirtans would never accept me-some old, wrinkled, outlander woman? Really! But hearken, King Castlecloaks: Were I you, I'd do away with all barons. Keep the rank of tersept, and yourself move often and-this is crucial-unpredictably from castle to castle, up and down the Vale. Meet your subjects directly, see to their needs, and work with the clergy of the Three to keep worship of the Serpent outlawed henceforth. Make sure each and every person sees some reward, and complaints are answered, and so on. The people will see that you serve them, and you reward them-rather than regarding you as some distant, decadent figure who ignores them while their local baron struts and exploits and oppresses and occasionally rewards. In short, they'll see you as needful, and as theirs."
Raulin Castlecloaks regarded her with shining eyes. "Before the Three, I swear to do so! As soon as the realm is rid of the plague and the Serpents!"
"Mind you do," the old woman told him sharply. "Darsar is full of rulers who will do great things and keep high promises as soon as some-thing else is taken care of. But they do lots of taking care, and yet there's always a something else in their laps preventing them from rising to seize those great things they promise."
Raulin sighed, and nodded. "I can see how easy 'twould be to fall into such ways. Flaeros, you must be my reminder, and hold me to all my promises."
The bard lifted his eyebrows. "Me, Your Majesty? You really think any one man can do all that?"
There was a moment of startled silence, and then Raulin and Orele both burst out laughing. The guards turned their heads, surprised, as the king and the two Ragalan outlanders chorded and guffawed together like younglings at a revel. Then the armsmen hastily resumed their expressionless, statuelike poses as the three rose and parted, the old woman withdrawing to her inner chambers and the two young men striding toward them.
"Bed for me," Raulin was saying, as the guards flung the door wide for them.
Macros nodded. "A good idea. My bit of floor calls to me." The guards followed the two, exchanging looks that were not-quite-smiles. Since his arrival, the bard had been sleeping with the guards who stood watch and slumbered across the door to the king's chamber, to prevent any more attempted regicides.
Despite their brisk pace, both young men yawned more than once on their walk through the passages. Neither they nor their guards glanced into every dark alcove they passed.
Most of those spaces were empty, but in one of them the eldest Overduke of Aglirta stood with his hand solemnly clapped over the mouth of a buxom chambermaid-to still the gasps she'd made as his other hand wandered beneath the unlaced, hip-high sideslit of her gown.
When the guards were past, she bit one of his fingers gently, and purred, "Ah, but 'tis good to have you back to your old self, Griffon. Now play fair; let me do a little… exploring with my fingers, too."
"Gladly," Blackgult muttered. "The battlements, Indalue, or somewhere warmer?"
"Your bedchamber, I think," she whispered, before running her tongue along the edge of his hand. "You thrust me back against far too much cold, hard stone last time. Besides, I've thought of a new use for bedposts."
"O-ho? If 'tis truly new, 'twill be worth seeing," the man once considered the most handsome-and lusty-lord in all the kingdom murmured, as he glanced out of the alcove.
The passage was deserted, and he let Indalue lead him out into it toward his bedchamber. They went quickly, hand-in-hand, chuckling like younglings.
Craer came awake suddenly. Something was wrong. Tshamarra was writhing beside him, moaning in dismay and pain. Before he could raise a hand she rolled over atop him. She was slick with sweat, her smooth skin drenched.
"Tash! I'm here! What's wrong?"
The Lady Talasorn sobbed and clawed at him. "Craer! Help me!" "I'm here, Lady! What is it? What were you dreaming?" The sorceress shook her head wildly. "No dream… I never dream unless spells lie on my mind… and I've none left." She convulsed in his arms, so violently that he was almost thrust from the bed.
"I'm burning up," she gasped. "Flames, flames everywhere!" Craer held her, trying to comfort her by murmuring empty reassurances and stroking her shoulder, but she swore at him, trembling and panting, and turned in his arms to hiss furiously, "I'm not dream-addled, my lord! I'm… I'm…"
"Pleased to see me," Craer suggested, kissing her. She tried to protest, tried to pull her head away, but his hands were busy, and in a few moments she was pulling at him hungrily. Craer chuckled inwardly; the old distractions were the sure ones.
And then, as his lady arched atop him in their shared passion, his inward laughter chilled in an instant. Above him in the darkness, a tiny wisp of flame had darted out of her gasping mouth.
"So what," Blackgult asked, as Indalue bit his shoulder again, "is all this about bedposts? Hey?"
"Not… yet…" the woman beneath him growled-and then he felt a sudden burning across his back. It came again, and he heard the whirring that brought it this time. The Golden Griffon thrust out a hand in the darkness, caught the knotted rope-cord she wore as a belt around his palm, and jerked, pulling her into a tangled ball ere he broke her grip on it.
"So," he murmured triumphantly, "we flog our horse onward, do we?"
He sat up and gently flicked the tasseled end of her cord down across the breasts he could not quite see. Indalue hissed and arched under him.
"Yes," she whispered, " 'tis almost time for the bedposts." The cord fell again, and she twisted and bit at his knee. He brought the cord down harder, and she growled, "Yesss!"
And then she screamed.
"What-?" Blackgult asked sharply, hearing the horror in her cry.
"Move, Lord!" she cried, thrusting upward so furiously she almost bucked him off the bed. "Behind you!"
Blackgult threw himself forward into the darkness, over the side of the bed and into a scrabbling, skidding landing on the floor. His sword…