These creatures do so look to a leader, he thought. One of their few virtues. They actively seek to be controlled and manipulated. He had debated with himself whether he should allow a leader to arise and then control him, or whether he should extinguish any hopefuls before they became aware of their potential. On balance, he decided, the latter was preferable. Let the crowds spend their energies milling about aimlessly. There were too many risks associated with a leader. No matter how well he might be controlled, one misjudge-ment and he could be free, and Dan-Tor knew too bitterly what an inspired leader could bring from the people. It was too dangerous. So much easier to douse the tiny sparks before they flared up into what could become an uncontrollable blaze.
Now, however, he found that he could not escape the feeling that a leader had already emerged. One of cunning and experience; one who knew sufficient of the ways of men to keep himself hidden from view while he built up his strength. Working quietly in the shadows until he felt the time was ripe.
Walking to the window, Dan-Tor looked down at the heart of the city nestling around the Palace walls. The pattern of its streets was distorted by long shadows carved out of the bright rays of the setting sun by countless tiny buildings. Even from this height he could see people walking on the sunnier streets, trailing their own great shadows with them. Is it one of them I fear? he thought consolingly. Tiny people with giants’ shadows?
But the name Hawklan wandered relentlessly into his mind. The man was loose and was by now aware of danger. All that he heard of him in Orthlund indicated he was just a healer, but a man who commanded so much spontaneous affection was a man to be watched; and a man who saw so clearly and who so evaded his traps, aided or no, was a man who could usefully be feared, be he Ethriss or no. He was at least a flickering spark, and it irked Dan-Tor that it was his impetuosity that might have fanned him into life.
And I’m blind, he thought angrily as he watched a small bird land on the windowsill unaware of the man’s brooding presence behind the glass. One of his birds had been bound, and it was the nature of the creature that to bind one part was to bind all. But that required great power, the Old Power. Blind or no, he could now see what that implied. Who could wield the Old Power thus except the Cadwanol? They must indeed still exist. It was a bad omen. Though it seemed they had let Hawklan escape…
He shook off the thought, knowing it would lead only to a fretting labyrinth of confusion. His gaze fell again on the preening bird. To release his own birds he would have to use the Old Power himself, and massively, and He had expressly forbidden that. Hawklan even as Hawklan was proving disruptive, but if Hawklan were Ethriss then such a rending use of the Old Power would awaken him for sure, and Hawklan as Ethriss would be doom itself.
Dan-Tor’s spies now were human-slow, foolish and unreliable. To use them reminded him too much of his own erstwhile humanity. It was a degradation.
The bird on the sill lifted an elegant black and white wing, and its plumed head bobbed to and fro as it preened and shook itself proudly. Dan-Tor watched it for a moment then narrowed his eyes almost impercep-tibly. Without a sound, the bird vanished in a burst of red spray, and a cascade of black and white feathers began a long oscillating journey towards the ground far below. Dan-Tor turned away, a thin smile across his wrinkled brown face. Such a slight use of the Old Power could disturb no one-except the recipient.
Sitting, he stared out of the window again, seeing now only a blank sky blanched almost white in the setting sun. His mind was tempted to flit and fret after the missing Hawklan, but a deeper voice forbade it. Even a pack leader must leave tracks, it said. If he seeks you, you’ll know of his presence when he has your scent, then who will be hunter and who hunted?
He nodded reflectively and bent over the papers spread before him. They drew his mind back to his own chains. Confound Dilrap, buzzing endlessly around like a fit bluebottle. It took a considerable effort not to swat him, but he was useful, valuable almost, for all his irritating mannerisms and shrinking temperament. He knew the minutiae of the Law and of the Court proce-dures that were needed to manipulate events smoothly. Better at this stage to unravel the knots than cut through them. Time enough for that later, and that time would come the sooner if patience were used now.
Strangely, however, Dilrap seemed to be thriving on it. Briefly it occurred to Dan-Tor that, although terrified of him, Dilrap seemed to be deliberately seeking his attention, going out of his way to be helpful. It was out of character surely? Then perhaps Dilrap could feel which way the wind was blowing and was ingratiating himself thoroughly with the leader of the new order that he could see coming.
Still, it was of no matter. He was needed now, and his co-operation was fortuitous whatever its motive. Later, he would not be needed and his motivation would be irrelevant. That the mass of time-consuming paperwork, meetings and petty civic duties-‘For the sake of appearance, Lord’, twitch-was being created by Dilrap to distract him, never occurred to Dan-Tor.
Reluctantly he turned to the latest batch of papers that Dilrap had left for him. The first was a thick document concerning the ‘Rights and Privileges of Honourable Prisoners’.
‘It’s a very long time since any Lords have been arrested, Lord,’ Dilrap had said. ‘But it has happened in the past, and provision has been made within the Law for such a contingency.’ Dan-Tor had looked skyward and Dilrap had quailed.
‘Lord,’ he said, in a great flurry of jerks and twitches, ‘if I know of this, then those looking to the Lords’ interest will know of it. If not now, then soon.’
‘They have no one looking to their interests, Hon-oured Secretary,’ Dan-Tor replied, tight-lipped. ‘Save us. They’re held by Special Edict. They see only their guards, and any of their friends who dare to show their faces see only yourself-or me.’
‘This is true, Lord, but… ’ Dan-Tor drew in a loud breath and stood up very straight. Dilrap babbled out his reservations frantically. ‘Lord. The Special Edict is an Edict of Examination, it relates only to their detention. A trial must be held eventually. They’ll have friends who’ll emerge when that happens, and those friends will be looking at the Law now, with that end in mind. If we’re faulted on small details there’s no telling what it might lead to. The people are… ’
‘The people are what?’ demanded Dan-Tor stonily.
Dilrap cast about, becoming progressively more flustered as Dan-Tor’s eyes looked through him. ‘Uncertain,’ he said at last. ‘Uncertain.’
Dan-Tor did not speak. Dilrap became confidential, shifty almost. Carefully not looking at the Lord, he said, ‘The four Lords… traitors, have many friends and are loved by many of the people, albeit misguidedly. The demand for an early trial will persist-grow, even.’ He lifted his eyes and gazed straight at Dan-Tor. ‘And only a trial will expose the truth of their treachery. We must observe the forms of the Law. If we don’t, then we undermine our case and it will be doomed from the start. You know what these lawyers are like. If then we detain the Lords, who knows what the people might do. And if the Lords are allowed free… ’ He left the implications unstated.
Dan-Tor felt Dilrap’s forked stick pinning him to the ground. The serpent pinned by the worm. But it would be vain to struggle. The Mathidrin could perhaps control rioting within Vakloss and some of the other large towns, but there were too few to control the whole country, and the news of an illegal detention would bring an armed and angry population down on Vakloss like a tidal wave. It was not in his interests to have Fyorlund torn by civil strife. Far better that the people be gradually wooed to him. Let the slow corruption continue. The King’s contribution must be ridden out peacefully.