Текст книги " The White Gryphon"

Автор книги: Mercedes Lackey

Соавторы: Ларри Диксон
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

"And Silver Veil?" she asked. "How does she fit into this pattern of change and denying change?"

"Silver Veil is change itself, but hiding within a changeless package." He was rather proud of himself for such a poetic simile, but she made a face and splashed water at him.

He shook the drops out of his eyes, ducked under the surface to rinse his hair, then came up with a new thought.

"I'd like to keep the real identities and purpose of our new 'diplomats' secret even to the Emperor," he continued, combing his clean hair with his fingers. "The only outsider I want to tell is Leyuet—since he's in charge of the Spears, we'll need him to cooperate with Judeth, and he'll have no reason to do that unless we tell him what she is."

Winterhart just shook her head and shrugged helplessly. "Whatever you and Skan decide is fine with me," she told him. "I'm out of my depth with all this skulking-about talk. The best I can do is keep up my part of the deception. You just tell me what you want me to say and do, and I will."

Good gods, am I becoming a leader? Surely not.

"Exactly as you have been doing." He tilted his head back in open invitation, and she leaned down and planted a warm and lingering kiss, sweet and bitter at the same time, on his lips. "I wonder if you know how remarkable you are," he breathed to her, as her lips left his.

"Oh, I know," she said, with a smile. "But only if you keep telling me."

"In that case," he said, as she reached down to him, ignoring the danger to her robe, and despite the fact that he was soaking wet, "I shall never stop."

They were all together in the gryphons' garden when Leyuet walked in on them with the stiff expression and gray cast around the lips that they had all come to associate with very bad news. This time, at least, he did not bring the Spears with him, but his face betrayed his thoughts, and they were as dark as his skin.

They stared at him in shocked silence for a moment. The sound of falling water seemed unnaturally loud.

Only one thing can have put that particular expression on his face.

"Oh, gods—" Amberdrake exclaimed. "Not another—"

He did not have to say anything more. Leyuet nodded grimly, and sat down in a carved wooden seat as if he were exhausted.

He probably is. This is very, very hard on him.

"We discovered it not long ago, but it happened last night, and I'm certain there will be more folk than I who will recall that Skandranon was flying at the time," the Truthsayer said through clenched teeth. "This is the insidious part; whoever is behind this must know where the two of you are at all times now, and makes the murder appear to be the work of the one without an alibi at that time. He must be learning from his mistake the first time."

"I would be surprised if he were not," Amberdrake said, and ran a hand through his hair. "Can I assume that our killer left evidence pointing to Skan?"

"Are marks of a gryphon's claw enough?" Leyuet countered, but now with an odd and ironic air of triumph. "This victim appeared to have been clawed to death by something that came in by way of the open door of the balcony."

He's holding back something,Amberdrake realized—but also realized that he should allow the man to reveal whatever it was in his own good time. One does not force the conjurer's hand. It isn't polite, and it spoils the trick for everyone, especially the conjurer.

"And Palisar isn't beating down our door?" Skan said in surprise—obviously the gryphon hadn't seen what Amberdrake had. "I am astonished! How have you kept him muzzled?"

"He kept himself muzzled," Leyuet told them, and fished in the capacious sleeve of his robe for something, the sleeves that every Haighlei seemed to use instead of pockets or pouches.

Ah. Now we have the moment of revelation.

He found whatever it was he was looking for, and held out a silk-wrapped trifle in triumph. Whatever it was, it was about the size of a human finger under the wrapping of black silk.

No one touched it, and Leyuet carefully undid the folds of silk from around it. The last fold fell away, revealing a bit of wood.

Very hard, dark wood from the look of it—and very skillfully carved into the shape of a gryphon's talon. By the rough bit ending the third "knuckle," there had been a weakness in the wood the carver hadn't noticed, and it had broken off.

"Well!" Amberdrake said, picking the thing up with a bit of silk between it and his fingers, and holding it up to the light. If there were any traces of the carver's identity still on it after contact with so much blood and pain, he didn't want to muddle them by leaving his own traces. "So Palisar is finally convinced?"

Odd. Something about the carving seemed familiar, but he just couldn't place it.

"He couldn't explain thataway," Leyuet countered, with a grim smile. "He's had temple mages on it, and so far they've found nothing, but he thinks the problem is with them and not the claw; you know how magic is these days. By evening their spells could suddenly go right again."

"Hmm." Amberdrake put the claw back in Leyuet's hand, wrapped again in the insulating silk. "Does anyone else know?"

Leyuet shook his head, and tucked the betraying bit of evidence away again. "Not even the temple mages; Palisar told them nothing. Only the King, the Advisors, and now you know where it was found."

This is important. This might be just what we've been hoping for."Suppress it," Amberdrake decided instantly. "Let it leak that the victim was clawed to death by something like a huge lion. It isn't going to hurt anything at this stage if Skan goes back on the list of suspects, and if he doesn't—then a rumor just might spread that I'm a mighty mage and can call up demonic creatures to murder my enemies at a distance." He smiled grimly himself. "The latter rumor might help keep me in one piece. If people think I can call up demons, they may think twice about attacking me on their own."

Leyuet nodded; Skan must have told him about the arrow at Morning Court. "The King is coming here to discuss this in a moment, as soon as he can free himself from his guards. Technically, he is coming to have a private moment with Winterhart—"

"Which is an excellent excuse for conferring with all of you," said the King from the door into the gryphons' garden. "No one will dare intrude on the Emperor and his affianced."

Shalaman's baritone voice and steps were full of the vigor and energy of a man many years his junior, and he had donned robes this morning that were a complement, in their color scheme of deep brown, amber, and gold, to Winterhart's. He took a seat beside Amberdrake with the ease of a long-time friend.

"We'd counted on that, Serenity," Amberdrake replied, pleased by the King's casual manner, especially around him.It said a great deal—

It tells me also that Shalaman was not exactly in love with Winterhart; he was in love– or at least desired– what she represented. That's rather different from being in love with the person, and easier to get over.Evidently Shalaman had gotten over both his desire for Winterhart and his disappointment in a remarkably short time. That is an old lesson of the kestra'chern; often, one can be in love with who they think someone is, while being blinded by their own desires. And just as often, instead of being in love with a lover, one is in love with love.

"Another murder—" Shalaman shook his head, grimacing, but as if he were discussing the death of a complete stranger. Perhaps he was—his Court was enormous, and there was no reason to assume he knew everyone in it personally. "It is interesting that all of the victims have been rather outspoken people with both powerful and disagreeable personalities. They all had—or had at one time—considerable influence, they all had great wealth and personal power, and they all collected many enemies. And—this is not the sort of thing that one wishes an ally to know, but I fear that assassination has been something of a way of life in the Haighlei Courts of the past. Not in myCourt, or not until this moment, but it still happens in the Courts of some of the other Emperors. If all the signs did not point so forcefully to you foreigners, it might have been accepted as the result of acquiring too many enemies."

"In the case of at least two, there is very little mourning in the gardens of the women," Leyuet said dryly, regaining some of his composure. "They were hardly popular. If the rumors were that one of their enemies had rid the world of their presence, I think this might have been little more than a matter for quiet investigation. One simply cannot have this sort of thing go on in a civilized Court."

Amberdrake suppressed the urge to laugh at the prim look to Leyuet's mouth as he made that last statement. Shalaman caught his eye at that moment, and the two of them exchanged a look of private amusement that flashed between them like a signal between two mischievous small boys.

"Nevertheless, because the evidence points to the foreigners, it now becomes a case of Haighlei against the wicked outsiders," Shalaman said, as his expression sobered. "How did the last die?"

"Clawed to death, it would seem—but look here!" Once again Leyuet displayed his bit of carved wood. The King bent over his outstretched hand with interest, but did not offer to touch the thing. "This was found in one of the wounds. Now we have proof that someone is trying to force us to take action against the folk of White Gryphon."

"But I want this kept secret," Amberdrake interjected. "For now, at least."

Shalaman straightened, and his mouth twitched with distaste. "I do not like this idea, my friend," he said. "It greatly troubles me. How can I keep you safe when the hand of every person in my court is against you?"

Amberdrake licked his lips and chose his words with care. "We have an enemy, Serenity," he said. "This enemy is very clever, very cunning. He is intelligent enough to learn from his mistakes—so we must not let him know that he has made any. At the moment, the evidence is only that the victim was clawed to death, and any number of supernatural horrors could have been called up or created, or even imported, to have done this thing." Shalaman pondered Amberdrake's statement, as the sounds of the garden provided an ironically soothing background.

"But magic is no longer functioning—" Leyuet protested. "All men know this."

"Someone could have found a live makaar somewhere," Skandranon pointed out suddenly. "It doesn't take much magic to coerce them. They fly, they're intelligent enough to obey orders, they have claws and fight with them, and they're absolutely vicious. If I hadn't seen that bit of wood, that's the first thing I'd have thought of. In fact, when you bring an accusation against me, that's what I'm going to claim—that Ma'ar must have had an agent with a flock of makaar lurking down here, and now he's using them to make me look like a murderer."

"That will sound contrived," the King replied doubtfully, shaking his head. "Surely you see that."

Skan shrugged, his feathers rustling. "Can't be helped, and it's a good enough suggestion that some people might think about it a little before they jump to any conclusions."

"What I am trying to say, is that it is absolutely vital that we make this enemy of ours think that everything is going well, so he has no reason to alter his methods," Amberdrake said, bringing the discussion back to his original point. "If our enemies are convinced that there are no flaws in their scheme, that we are all falling into their trap, they will have no reason to alter the way they have been working. If we make them overconfident, they may become careless, and make an even bigger mistake than the one that left behind that claw—and a large enough mistake will be fatal for them."

Shalaman leaned forward to concentrate on Amberdrake's words, and he nodded, though reluctantly. "My concern is this; as I pointed out, although there have been no wars-of-assassination within my Court in my reign, the Haighlei are inclined to such things. I do not want your blood on my hands, because relatives wanted vengeance and were not willing to wait for the Spears to bring it to them."

"I understand," Amberdrake said, feeling Shalaman's very real concern and anxiety for him. He was touched by it; Shalaman had made one of those abrupt internal decisions of many men of great passion and high power—he had decided that Amberdrake was his friend in the moment that Amberdrake forgave him. It was not the first time that Amberdrake had seen such a change of heart in a man of this type, but it was always a little startling when it happened to him personally. "I suggested to Skan in jest that perhaps we should encourage the rumors to spread that one of us is doing this by magic—at least people would think twice about trying to attack one of us, then."

"There is another problem," Leyuet interjected, "One that we had not needed to consider until this latest killing, which points so clearly to Skandranon. We are nearing the Eclipse Ceremony, and we simply cannot make a public decision then on your status as allies while there is such a specter of guilt hovering over you!"

The King nodded. "Now that is true. We cannot make a decision without either declaring your innocence as determined by the Truthsayer, or finding the real killer."

Amberdrake shrugged. "Surely it can wait a little longer than the ceremony—"

"Oh, no," Shalaman said forcefully. "And if we do not make the decision then, we cannotdo so until the next ceremony. Everything mustbe resolved by the Eclipse itself, or—well, at the very best, you will all have to remain here as virtual prisoners until we catch the real murderer, and then return to your city, and wewill have to make at least a token effort at evicting you."

Skan sat up straight at that. "What? No one ever said anything about that! How token?" he asked.

Shalaman's expression was not encouraging. "Blood spilled on both sides, to satisfy honor," he said. "Deaths, perhaps. Obviously, I cannot now wed Winterhart to make you my allies without the declaration; that was the only way the question could have been resolved. As you would not be allies, and would be occupying our land without permission, you would have to pay for your presumption in personal currency. I am sorry, but unless we have instituted a change, we must uphold the old ways. If I do not do this, I have no doubt that some of my courtiers will take their own private armies and do it themselves. We are not a peaceful people by nature; it is only our law that makes us so. Every chance to make war within the law is eagerly seized upon."

Amberdrake groaned and buried his head in his hands, his heart sinking. In all of his worst nightmares, he had not thought that the Haighlei would react this way! It wasn't logical!

Then again, our logic and these people seem to have very little in common. Now I understand why Leyuet and Silver Veil kept emphasizing the Ceremony. I hadn't realized that it was quite such an imperative....

Oh, well. I work better under pressure, or at least I can look that way. Calmness in a crisis fosters trust, even if only by contrast.

He raised his head from his hands, and saw that everyone in the garden looked as discouraged as he felt.

He took a deep breath and rearranged his own expression. If Winterhart could pretend convincingly to be estranged from him, he could pretend convincingly to be optimistic.

"We'll worry about that after the Ceremony," he said, firmly. "Unless we concentrate on one thing at a time, we're bound to feel overwhelmed. Right now, the thing to concentrate on is catching this fiend!"

Leyuet's gloomy face brightened as he projected a cheer he did not feel. The King slapped his shoulders heartily, and Skan cocked his head to one side, as if he was holding back a question he'd decided not to ask.

Like whether or not I'm still sane. Or whether I know something I'm not telling all of them.

Perhaps he wasn't sane—but he knew he was right in this. They had to keep their minds focused on catching the murderer, and worrying about the approaching Ceremony would only distract them from that purpose.

"Like any good commander, you see to the heart of the matter and work from there, Amberdrake," Shalaman said, his cheer restored. "So—let us plan our next actions, so as to bring this villain to his knees the sooner!"

Hadanelith leaned forward, threw the wooden claw on the kitchen fire, and chuckled as it burned. Noyoki had mentioned this morning when they all met at breakfast that his magics were coming to him with greater ease now—and perhaps that had been in an effort to compliment Hadanelith for his work in creating as much blood-born power as he had. But the explanation might also be that enough time had passed since the last mage-storm that magic power was resuming some of its old pathways, and if thatwas the case, the Haighlei mages would soon be discovering that fact. While Hadanelith was no mage himself, he had made it his job to find out as much as he could about the spells that "lawkeepers" used to hunt down criminals. No amount of scrubbing would get blood-contamination off a murder weapon; only burning would break the link between it and the last victim.

So that lovely carving must go, consigned to the flames along with every other souvenir that Hadanelith still had in his personal possession. There was that other carving, of course, but that was not his problem. If Kanshin didn't take the proper precautions, that was Kanshin's lookout.

The cheerful bonfire fit in with his feeling of celebration, though, and did not invoke any kind of sense of loss. Everything was going so well!

He sat back in the cook's favorite chair and watched the flames crackle merrily. The cook and all of her underlings pointedly ignored him, but he didn't mind. They weren't worth bothering about, and they were all Kanshin's slaves, so they wouldn't go running off to tell someone what he'd done. Even if they told Kanshin, the thief wouldn't care.

But oh, the pure pleasure he got from hearing the latest news from the court, straight from Noyoki's own lips!

Elation made him hungry; he barked an order for fruit into the air, and a slave brought sliced fruit to him directly from the shaking hands of the cook. They might pretend to ignore him, but they didn't dare ignore a direct order. And they feared him; he knew that, and he reveled in it.

He stayed in the kitchen, making the slaves nervous, and eating fruit, until the last of the contaminated objects had been reduced to nothing but ashes in the heat of the bake-oven. Then he stood up and left, overturning the cook's chair with his foot and scattering rinds and cores carelessly before he walked off.

That would teach them not to ignore him!

But the morning's news was too good for a little insubordination to ruin his mood. He strolled back to his rooms, whistling a little, as he contemplated the results of his own genius.

Amberdrake was in the deepest disgrace, of course, and rumor held he was under house arrest. Now most people believed that Amberdrake and Skandranon between them had contrived the murders of their most outspoken foes in the Court, even though the evidence linking them to the deaths was tenuous at best.

So Amberdrake is suffering because he is a murder suspect, and suffering twice because his dear gryphon friend is as much a suspect as he is. He may even be suffering three times over, thinking that the stupid beastmight have decided to do away with some of their opponents in a more direct fashion than simply arguing them down!

He giggled, for that in itself was a sheer delight. But there was more, much more.

Winterhart had broken off publicly with the kestra'chern, declaring that she could not remain bound to one who was tainted with the suspicion of murder. According to Noyoki, her speech before the Court had been short, but passionate, and had taken everyone by surprise. It didn't take himby surprise; Winterhart was a rigid bitch, and proud to boot. She would never stand for even a hint of impropriety, and her own pride would not tolerate a fall in status. He could have predicted this, although he would have thought it would not happen quite this soon.

But once he learned she had made her break, he knew what Noyoki's next revelation would be. She would either find someone of higher rank than Amberdrake to attach herself to, like any other parasitic, leeching female, or she would turn around and go back to the city.

So he wasn't particularly shocked when Noyoki revealed that the King had declared she had accepted his offer of marriage. It had simply fit in with Winterhart's personality.

It had delighted him, though. Amberdrake must have been shattered; Noyoki didn't know his reaction because he hadn't emerged from his suite. Shehad moved out, though, into private apartments, which put the stamp of finality on the rift between them.

He giggled again, as he flung open the door to his room and glided inside, with a grace even Amberdrake couldn't replicate. Oh, Amberdrake must be reduced to emotional shards, now—for there was nothing he could do to get Winterhart back! Not even if against all odds he proved himself innocent could he get her back! She would never, ever choose to return to someone like him, when she was to be the wife of a King!

The greedy little status hunter was probably rolling on her solitary bed right now in an ecstasy of pleasure over her coup and her good fortune.

He would have to find a way to bring her down, too, but without bringing her back to Amberdrake. That would make him suffer even more.

Now– how to go about that? And what to do to her, I wonder?

He sat himself down in hisfavorite chair, the one built into a replica of the little throne he had in his special room back in the settlement. The one with all the delightful surprises built into it....

But before he could settle himself into a good planning session, there was a knock at the door. Frowning, he started to rise, but the door opened before he could get to it, and Noyoki and Kanshin strolled in as though they belonged there.

He glared at them in outrage, and they ignored the glare to appropriate two of the best chairs in the room for themselves. They sat down without even asking if he minded!

Anger held him breathless, which in rum made him speechless.

"You've done exactly as we wanted so far, Hadanelith," Noyoki said, in that supercilious, ever-so-superior tone he always adopted when he spoke to Hadanelith. "The results have been excellent, and Kanshin and I are agreed that you have passed all the tests we set for you."

Tests? Tests? These weren't tests! What is he talking about? The overfed, obnoxious base-born bastard! What does he think he's doing? Who does he think he's dealing with?

"We've selected your next target, Hadanelith," Kanshin said—nervously though. Very nervously. Hadanelith quieted his rage and set it aside. This was odd; he'd never seen the scrawny little thief nervous about any assignment ever before. What could be so difficult about this one?

"Your next victim will be Shalaman," Noyoki said with such careless casualness that it had to be an act.

"Shalaman? The Emperor?" Hadanelith was incredulous, and even angrier than before. He jumped to his feet and faced them both with his fists clenched at his side.

"What have you been drinking? You knowI won't handle a man, I have no interest in them!"

He felt his face flush with fury and outrage. Just who did these two think they were? He'd told them he wouldn't target males—not for that, anyway! There was only one man he'd ever be willing to kill, and only after he'd made Amberdrake suffer a great deal more than he had so far! It would take years, decades, to inflict all the misery he'd planned on Amberdrake's soul!

"Now, Hadanelith, we know it's going to be dangerous," Kanshin said in a wheedling voice, as if he were a recalcitrant child. "We're prepared to take care of that. Haven't we always?"

Hadanelith shook his head violently in disgust, his vision turning red around the edges, he was so angry with them. What was the matter with them? Danger didn't worry him, and they knew it—danger was only a spice!

"I am nottargeting a male!" he spat. "I told you that before, and I'm not changing my mind just because you think you have a way to kill the Emperor and get away with it!"

"Well, if you're afraid—" Noyoki began.

Hadanelith spat on the floor at his feet in a deliberate insult. "Hardly! Why should I fear one fat old man? I won'ttake him as a target, that's all! That was our bargain—I get targets I like!" He narrowed his eyes, and the red of thwarted rage suffused his entire field of vision. "You're trying to cheat me!"

"Not cheat you—offering you a challenge to your talents!" Noyoki replied, in a coaxing tone of voice. "We know you're brilliant, we planned to give you something with more spice to it than that last target." He gave Hadanelith a sly, sideways look. "How can you resist a chance to assassinate Shalaman at the height of the Eclipse Ceremony?"

Anger vanished, collapsing into itself like a deflated bladder. He gaped at the two of them, certain now that they hadgone mad—or else that they had been drinking or otherwise ingesting something that had turned their brains to mush in the past few hours.

Assassinate the King? In public?

"You're both mad," he repeated flatly, a chill creeping up his spine. "Completely mad. You only think I'mmad; you two ought to be locked away for your own good."

Neither of them changed their expressions, or even said anything. They just watched him.

"What could you possibly tell me that would make me think you weren't mad?" he challenged, beginning to wonder himself. "Killing Shalaman—that's nothing more than suicidal! I'm not stupid, you know! And you're going to have a fine time dragging me up to the Emperor, strapping a knife into my hand, and throwing me at him, because that's the only way it's going to happen!"

In spite of himself, he felt a tiny bit of intrigue as they continued to watch him narrowly but did not reply. They must have somethingup their capacious sleeves to make this idea possible!

Something besides making the sacrificial lamb out of me, anyway.

It was enough to pique even his curiosity. He wanted to know—but he still had no intention of doing anything about it.

Letthem do it, if it's such a good scheme.And besides, they still hadn't overcome his basic objection. Shalaman was male. They had given him no reason whatsoever for him to target a male. Males were males, they were not inherently tainted like females were. There would be no thrill in it, and without the thrill, why bother?

"We have an absolutely foolproof scheme," Noyoki said with confidence. "We can get you right next to the King, you can kill him, and we can get you away before he drops to the ground."

Fine. There's still no thrill.His mood turned again, back to anger, this time a sullen anger. What did they think he was, some sort of automaton, a killing machine like a makaar, something that could be sent out on a whim and didn't care what it killed?

"No," he said flatly, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't care how well you planned this, or how foolproof it is. Shalaman's male. Our bargains never included males."

"They didn't include Winterhart, either," Noyoki said, off-handedly.

Hadanelith went cold, then hot, then cold again. His groin flared with excitement, and he fought to get himself back under control before there were any visible signs of his interest. "Winterhart?" he said, lightly, and laughed. "And just how does she enter into this?"

If I could take Winterhart– better if I could have her, mold her– but I'll never get her away from Shalaman. Death would be better; I could hold her in death forever. To be the last thing she saw as she died– to fill her mind and soul with my power to bring her down—

That would make her his forever. He would mark her, brand her as his, and take her away from Amberdrake at the same time.

"She'll be at the ceremony at Shalaman's side," Noyoki told him. "And it fits our plans very well for you to get both of them at once. Unless, of course, you don't think you have the strength and skill to kill the King." He frowned. "I wouldn't have thought that of you. Or is it that you haven't the stomach or the courage?"

"I have all of those," Hadanelith snapped. "It's that I'm not—there's no—I'm not interested in men!"

Noyoki's eyes flashed for a moment, as if something had just come clear to him. Hadanelith ignored his expression; this was a quandary, and no mistake about it. Was it worth wasting time on the King to get Winterhart?

I've done it before; gone through men to get to their women. Back in the camp, it was... and here, too. Thereis a thrill to that– actually—

When the women saw their protectors going down under Hadanelith's skilled blade, when they realized that there was no one left to defend them—there was a real thrill in that. Could he possibly manage that in this case?

"We can get you all the time of the full Eclipse to do what you want," Kanshin said persuasively. "Think of it—coming in out of the dark like a demon, striking and bringing fear as well as death! Besides, we haven't told you the best part yet!"

The best part? There's something more?

He felt his interest rising, and gave up trying to pretend otherwise. They had him, at least for the moment. He might just as well hear them out.

But he was going to do so in comfort.

He sat down again, assumed an expression of total boredom, and yawned. "All right," he drawled, picking a tone of voice sure to infuriate both of them. "I can't get rid of you until you get done trying to persuade me that you both aren't fit only to be locked away, so you might just as well speak your piece."

But they were neither infuriated nor offended, at least not openly, and Noyoki leaned forward in his chair with an eagerness that made Hadanelith think of a night-heron about to spear a fish.