They hustled Sikander out the door. Prester John said to the two courtiers who had brought Sikander, “You may go. I must have speech with my son.”
The prince paled.
The two courtiers bowed and backed away through the doorway. There they turned on their heels and, filling each other's head with wild guesses about Sikander's fate, went quickly to find their companions.
They found them in the courtiers' common room, a chamber high-ceilinged and spacious, floored with Persian carpets and walled by frescoes. Some nobles were in chairs, others were among the islands of cushions on the floor, all talking breathlessly of the events of the morning. When they saw the two men approach, all rose and fell upon them, demanding news.
“The king sets no blame on Prince Tashih,” said the first.
A murmur of surprise passed through the assemblage, although a few had known the king would be very slow to attach any real blame to his son.
Corundel bit her lip and clenched her hands, stifling her own question, hoping someone else would ask it—and several did. “What of Sikander?”
“He confessed,” said the second courtier, “but the king knows he had a confederate. Sikander will not tell the name, though.”
Corundel almost went limp with relief.
“The king has clapped him in irons and bid the jailers starve him until he tells,” said the first, “but I think that if he does not speak by dawn, the king will hand him over to the torturers.”
Corundel pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, but not tightly enough—a moan of dread escaped. Another lady turned to her with a look of sympathy. “Aye, you had become close to him, had you not, dear?”
But another lady smiled with malicious delight and crowed, “Close to him indeed, and the fear is for herself, not for him! I think we have found Sikander's confederate!”
Several others of Corundel's rivals cried out with glee and pounced on her, pinioning her arms.
One of the princess' ladies came forward, eyes narrowing. “You served in the princess' bedchamber last night, did you not?”
“That was a favor to Chrynsis!” Corundel protested.
“It was indeed,” Chrynsis cried, pushing her way through the throng. “I… did not feel well.”
“You felt more than well, when I saw you creeping back to your chamber in the dead of night,” an older woman said spitefully, “though I doubt not you may be sick of mornings in a month or so.”
Chrynsis stared at her, paling. Then her hand flashed out in a slap, but the older lady caught it with a vindictive laugh. “Take her also, gentlemen! If there were one accomplice, why not two?”
Chrynsis cried out in alarm, but heavy hands fell on her arms and courtiers bundled her away with Corundel.
Prester John, however, knew an innocent and hot-blooded dupe when he saw one. He sent Chrynsis back to her friends, but sent Corundel to a cell, to meditate on the errors of her ways, with no food and little water. Trembling with fear, she told him the name of the shaman, and for that he granted her a bowl of rice a day. Injustice, he accorded the same ration to Sikander, now that his secret was known. Then he dispatched Prince Tashih with a guard of twenty soldiers to arrest the apothecary.
“They found the shop closed and locked, and the man fled, of course,” he told Matt, shoulders slumping with defeat. “Tashih went there as quickly as he could, but he was too late.”
“I suspect it was too late by dawn,” Matt said in as reassuring a tone as he could manage. “The sorcerer had struck a blow for his people that more than justified his stay in Mara-canda. Why should he stick around?”
“Why, to be caught.” Prester John gave him a wry smile. “I thank you, Lord Wizard. Indeed, my niece was gone before any of us wakened, and the sorcerer gone an hour later, belike.”
“Likely indeed,” Matt agreed, “not that you were about to stop looking, of course.”
“Indeed not! I sent for you straightaway, for I knew that you were at least as well acquainted with Balkis as I, having traveled through hazardous realms and faced many perils with her. I know something of battle, Lord Wizard, and of the kinship engendered by undergoing hardships together and standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the face of danger. Then, too, you were her teacher, and I presume that her learning your methods and techniques has engendered in you a magical affinity for her.”
“I'd say there's something of a bond there, yes.” Matt didn't mention that watching Balkis in spellcasting action had probably given him a greater understanding of the workings of her mind than an endless succession of banquet conversations. “You didn't wait for me before you started hunting, did you?”
“Indeed not! My wizards have searched the ether night and day for a trace of her. I have joined them whenever I could spare the time, but there is no sign of her upon this earth.”
Matt nodded, knowing that John was a more powerful wizard than any other in Central Asia. “But you didn't find anything?”
“Not even the most vagrant and fleeting fragrance,” Prester John said, chagrined. “While we have searched with magic, though, I have assembled a force often thousand men and a dozen wizards, though it has taken two more days to equip them and see them ready to march. Tashih shall lead them through the length and the breadth of the land, wherever the wizards find the slightest hint of Balkis' presence!”
Again Matt bit back the urge to ask if the wizards were any more apt to trace Balkis on the road than here, where she had been cat-napped. However, he did say with as much delicacy as possible, “I am sure Prince Tashih is quite skilled at leadership, Your Majesty, but perhaps it is less than wise to put him in charge of the princess' recovery.”
Prester John frowned, storm clouds gathering around him almost visibly, the sheer power of his personality suddenly visible. “He must have an opportunity to prove his loyalty and his willingness to reconcile with her, Lord Wizard!”
“If you say so,” Matt sighed. “However, I can't help but wonder if that is the wisest idea, since Sikander seems to have thought Prince Tashih intended the kidnapping. Certainly he stood to gain by Balkis' absence, at least in his own mind.”
“In Sikander's, you mean! My apologies, Lord Wizard, but an accusation is not a verdict. I cannot suspect a man who reported the abduction to me as soon as he learned of it.”
“I hope you're right,” Matt said wearily.
“I trust my son implicitly.”
Matt reflected that Caesar would have said the same about Brutus, but also realized the wisdom of keeping his mouth shut. “Still, I might point out that ten thousand men marching down a highway isn't exactly the most subtle of approaches. Anyone who does know anything about Balkis would be apt to run for cover as soon as he saw them coming.”
“There is something in that,” Prester John said with a frown, “but surely that is the minimum number necessary to guard a prince.”
“He won't find out much, with that kind of ruckus announcing his presence. I must admit, though, that if Prince Tashih is leading a couple of armies through the northern provinces, anyone hiding her in the south is apt to breathe a sigh of relief and stop trying so hard to be invisible—and might not notice a lone traveler nosing around.”
Prester John's frown turned meditative. “There is some merit in what you say. You, I assume, would be that lone traveler?”
“Well, almost alone.” Matt could see Prester John's over-protective instincts swelling and hastened to reassure him. “I'll take my dragon friend along, of course. He'll stay hidden but near at hand, except when I need to travel from one city to another.”