Dekkeret had no doubt that the Pontifex’s brother was still displeased. But there could be no pursuing the issue beyond this point. Abrigant forced a smile that showed only a wintry warmth. “Well, then, Prestimion, in that case I have to yield to you, don’t I? Very well, I yield. Carry my love to our mother, if you will, and tell her that my thoughts have been with her from the first moment of this tragedy.”
“That I will do. And your task now will be to comfort the Lady Fiorinda. I leave her in your care.”
Abrigant did not seem to be prepared for that either. He was already upset by his capitulation to Prestimion on the journey to the Isle, and further bewilderment appeared on his face at this latest statement of Prestimion’s. “What? Fiorinda’s going to stay here, then? She won’t be accompanying Varaile on these travels of yours?”
“That would not be a good idea, I think. Varaile will send for her when we have returned to the Labyrinth. Until that time, I prefer to let her remain at Muldemar.” Then—in a gesture that seemed to Dekkeret to be rather more of a display of imperial strength than of fraternal affection—Prestimion held out his arms stiffly toward Abrigant and said, “Come, brother, give me an embrace, and then I must get on with this meeting.”
When Abrigant had gone from the room and they had gone back within, Dekkeret turned to Prestimion and said, by way of breaking the vacuum of uneasy silence that lingered in Abrigant’s wake, “What exactly are these travels of which you were speaking a moment ago, majesty? If I may know.”
“I’ve made no final decision yet.” The sharpness remained in Prestimion’s voice. “But there’s no question but that you and I will be in motion in the months ahead.” He gathered up the helmet, which he had left lying on the table, and poured the soft metal meshes from his right hand to the left one like a hoard of golden coins. “Foh! I never thought I’d be handling this filthy thing again. It was almost the killing of me, once. You remember that, do you?”
“We can never forget it, your majesty,” Dinitak said. “We saw you brought to your knees from the effort of using it, that time when you were sending your spirit all through the world to heal people of the madness.”
Prestimion smiled a pale smile. “So I was. And you said to Dekkeret, ‘Get it off his head,’ as I recall it, and Dekkeret answered that it was forbidden to handle a Coronal in such fashion, and you told him to remove it anyway, or the world would need a new Coronal in a very short while. And so Dekkeret removed it from my head.—I wonder, Dinitak, would you have taken it from me yourself if Dekkeret hadn’t finally been willing to do it?”
Quickly Dekkeret said, not bothering to conceal the annoyance in his voice, “The question’s unfair, Prestimion. Why ask him such a thing? I did take the helmet off you when I saw what it was doing to you.”
But Dinitak turned to Dekkeret and said coolly, “I have no objection to replying to the Pontifex’s question.” And, to Prestimion: “I would have removed it, yes, your majesty. One holds the person of a Coronal sacred, up to a point. But one doesn’t stand idly by while the Coronal’s life is in danger. I understood the power of that helmet better than either of you. You were pouring all your strength into it, majesty, and you had used it long enough. It was placing you in great peril.” Dinitak’s dark face had grown very flushed. “I would not have hesitated to pull it from your brow if Dekkeret found himself unable to do so. And if Dekkeret had tried to prevent me, I would have pushed him aside.”
“Well spoken,” Prestimion said, with a little gesture of applause. “I like the way you said that: ‘I would have pushed him aside.’ You’ve never gone in very much for diplomacy or tact, have you, Dinitak? But you’re certainly an honest man.”
“The only one his family has managed to produce in ten thousand years,” said Dekkeret, and laughed. Dinitak, after a moment, broke into laughter also, with unfeigned heartiness.
Only Prestimion maintained a sober mien. The strange tension that had been settling about him since the first moments of this afternoon’s meeting had heightened after Abrigant’s departure. Now there was a powerful undercurrent of edginess about him, as though he were contending with some explosive inner force that he could barely hold in check.
But his voice was calm enough as he threw the helmet back down on the table and said, “Well, may the Divine preserve me from ever having to don that thing again! I remember its powers only too vividly. A man my age has no business going near it. When we need it again, it’ll be you, Dinitak, who’ll do the work, eh? Not me.” He looked then toward his Coronal.—“And not you either, Dekkeret!”
“The thought had not occurred to me, I assure you,” Dekkeret replied. He wanted very much to return to the theme that Prestimion had so casually brushed aside.—“You said a minute ago, Prestimion, that the two of us would be in motion. Where will you be going, do you think?”
“What I intend to do is something Pontifexes rarely have done. Which is to travel hither and yon about the land, according to no fixed plan. This for the sake of guarding my family against the reach of our friend Mandralisca’s malice.”
Dekkeret nodded. “That seems wise.”
“I’ll go to the Isle first, of course, probably by way of the northern route out of Alaisor: they tell me that the prevailing winds will be better this time of year, going that way. Once I’ve seen to my mother I’ll return to the mainland by way of the southern path, via Stoien or Treymone. Stoien, I think: that would be best. If I choose to go back then to the Labyrinth, that’ll provide the most direct route. But where I go once I reach Alhanroel will depend on the doings of Mandralisca and his five brutish masters, how much trouble they intend to create, how much jeopardy I find myself in.”
“You will find yourself in none, I pray,” said Dekkeret fervently. He studied Prestimion with care. The Pontifex still had that strange look about him. Something was ticking within Prestimion, ticking, ticking.—“And what journeys do you have in mind for me, may I ask?”
“You said yourself, just before the funeral, that you were thinking of going to Zimroel and investigating the situation there yourself,” said Prestimion. “Only time will tell whether a step like that will be necessary. I hope that it won’t: a new Coronal has too much to do at the Castle to be going jaunting off to the other continent. But under the present circumstances you surely should put yourself into a position that will allow you to get yourself out there as swiftly as possible, if need be.”
“The western coast, you mean.”
“Exactly. While I’m sailing to the Isle, you should be following in my tracks, zigzagging across the western lands to Alaisor also.”
“You want me to take the land route, then?”
“Yes. Go by land. Show yourself to the people. It always stirs up good feelings when the Coronal comes to town. Your overt pretext will be that you’re making a kind of processional—not the full thing with all the banqueting and circuses, but only a preliminary sort, the new Coronal making a quick tour of the most important cities of central and western Alhanroel. Take Dinitak with you, I think. You’ll want to monitor events on the other continent very closely, and that helmet of his will allow you to do that. Once you’ve reached Alaisor, start down the coast, finishing up at Stoien, say, where you’ll wait for me to return from visiting my mother. When I’m done at the Isle, I’ll meet you at Stoien or thereabouts, and we’ll confer and evaluate the situation as we see it then. It may be necessary for you to go to Zimroel and bring matters under control there. Or perhaps not. How does this sound to you?”
“In perfect conformity with my own ideas.”