Victor shook his head stubbornly. "I can't believe that, father. Master Darian loved Queen Felice, and he hated Uncle Charlis for what he did to her. He's the one that took Sion, and he took him into Rayden, not to the Guild here! You know that no branch of the Guild really gives a clipped coin for what happens to another, so long as nothing happens to them! I can't believe that Master Darian would bring Sion up to be as twisted as you think."
"It doesn't matter, son," Rolend sighed. "It really doesn't matter. Once the Church and the Guild here find out he's alive, they'll have him. And once the Church mages have him-the dark ones, anyway-they'll strip his mind bare and put what they want in there."
Now Victor fell silent, and nodded. Reluctantly, but in agreement. He'd seen at first hand what a dark mage could do to someone's mind, when they'd taken back what had once been a faithful guard from those who had captured him. No matter what had been in there before, when the dark mage was done, there was nothing left of the original but the shell.
"I don't like it," he said, finally. "But I can't think what else you could do."
"Do you think I like it?" Rolend burst out. He lurched up out of his chair and began to pace in front of the fire. "I've ordered a murder-I ordered the murder of a child. I sent those agents out when the boy was fourteen-perhaps fifteen! But what else am I to do?" He sat down again, heavily; buried his face in his hands, and confessed to his son what he would not have told another living man, not even his Priest. "I hate what I've done, and I hate myself for ordering it. And sometimes I think that perhaps this is my punishment from God for trying to murder a child. Maybe I deserve to find myself facing Sional across a blade. But what else could I have done?"
"I don't know, Father," Victor whispered. "I don't know."
Rune took her turn at the reins, with everyone else closeted inside the wagon. The capital city of Kingstone loomed ahead of them, a huge place that had long ago spilled out past its walls. She wondered what was going on in Kestrel's mind right now. They were near the end of their goal, and still he had not decided what he wanted to do-
Well, if he has, he hasn't told us.
The elf hadn't lied, or even exaggerated. The people of Birnam were content with King Rolend on the throne, and were secure in the belief that his son would be just as good a ruler as his father.
Nor had the elf made any mistake in the quality of King Rolend's enemies. He had them, but they were all too often the kind of men-and a few women-who made Rune's skin crawl. Selfish, greedy, venial, power-hungry . . . there were some honest folk among them, people who felt that the "rightful King" should be on the throne. Frequently they voiced a legitimate concern: could a man who had ordered the murder of his own brother, for whatever reason, however good, remain uncorrupted himself? How long would it be before he found other reasons to order the deaths of those who opposed him-and how long would it be before merely disagreeing with him became "opposing" him?
Power corrupted; power made it easy to see what you wanted as something that was morally "right." Power made it easy to find excuses. Had King Rolend already fallen victim to the seductive magic that Power sang?
Those who voiced those questions hoped for the "lost prince" to return as someone who had not yet fallen victim to that seductive song. Rune couldn't help noticing that they used the same words in describing this mythical Sional as the Priests used in describing the Sacrificed God. . . .
But behind all these well-meaning and earnest folk, these dreamers and mystics, there were always the others. The powerful who had lost the power they craved, the Priests who had been toppled from thrones of their own, the pampered and indulged who had fallen from grace.
If they found Sional they'd make him over into exactly the image the others craved. The pure innocent.
The pure innocent fool, who'll say whatever they tell him to say. . . .
But there was one possible way that Sional could win back his throne without becoming a puppet. To take it the same way that his uncle had. Except that instead of soldiers, he'd have Bardic magic on his side. Magic that might even make it possible to avoid killing King Rolend and the cousin he vaguely remembered.
And if that was what he truly wanted-well, Rune would back him, and she suspected that Talaysen would, too. They'd had some long, late-night discussions about good government, about the seduction of power. Discussions that reminded her poignantly of the ones she'd had with Tonno.
They'd slipped into more than a dozen meetings of these purported enemies of the King, most of which were held on Church grounds, which somehow hadn't surprised her much. She and Talaysen had gotten fairly adept at rooting out who the malcontents were, convincing them to reveal what they knew with a focused thought and a few hummed phrases of music. They were even more adept at going to the meeting-places cloaked, and persuading the guards with their magic that they were trusted conspirators. Once or twice, they'd even put guards to sleep that way. This magic, though it left them weary, still represented a lot of power, and it was very tempting to use it for more than defense. And it was in one of those discussions of power that Rune had realized with a little shock how easy it was to just use it. Power was as seductive as anything else, and now she could see why others had succumbed to the lure of it, even in the Church. How close had she and the others come to that kind of attitude, where the end was more important than the means, and all that mattered was that the end be theirs?
That was when they'd had other discussions, about the kind of people who were behind the uneasy stirrings of unrest. Unspoken agreement had been reached about the use of magic, then, and the late-night sorties into the camps of the conspirators ended.
She knew that Talaysen was worried. However well-meaning Sion was, how could he stay out of the hands of those people for long once he revealed who and what he was? And if he somehow managed to, against all odds, how long would he be able to hold his throne? How long could he play their game without getting caught at it?
She sighed, and the mules flicked back their ears at the sound.
They'd turn against him eventually-unless he managed to play the Church against the nobles, and vice versa-and use the Guild to keep both sides stirred up.
She shook her head, and rubbed her temple. Her head ached from all the unresolved problems. A man as old as Rolend, and as experienced, could probably do just that. In fact, there were some signs that he had begun to play that very game, now that his country was stable and prosperous. Several of the little cabals they had visited had been very suspicious of outsiders, and not as agents from the King, but as agents from one of the other groups. That must surely be Rolend's work, at least in part.
But could Sional play that kind of game?
I don't know. Talaysen could-but Sional-he's no older than I am. And I don't think I could, not for long.
And there was one final concern-insignificant so far as the fate of a kingdom was concerned, but one that was tearing her heart in two.