“My Liege, please, do not interrupt,” Tretar admonished gently.
“Hugh the Hand traveled to the High Realms. He murdered my father, Your Imperial Majesty, and was going to murder me, but, before he died, my father managed to fatally wound the assassin first. But then I was captured by an elven captain named Bothar’el. He’s in league with the rebels, I think.” Agah’ran glanced again at Tretar, who confirmed this with a nod.
“Bothar’el took me back to Volkaran. He figured that Stephen would pay to have me back safely.” Bane’s lip curled. “Stephen paid to have me out of the way. Bothar’el sent me to the Gegs, paid them to keep me prisoner.”
“Your Radiance will recall,” Tretar struck in, “that around this time, Stephen let it be known among the humans that the prince had been taken prisoner and murdered by elves. The story stirred up the humans against us.”
“But tell me, Count, why didn’t Stephen simply do away with the child?” Agah’ran asked, regarding Bane as if he were some sort of exotic animal, let loose from its cage.
“Because the mysteriarchs had, by this time, been forced to flee the High Realm, which, our spies tell us, has become untenable for their kind. They moved onto Volkaran and told Stephen it would be as much as his life was worth to harm the son of Sinistrad, who had been a powerful leader among them.”
“Yet the queen permits her child to remain a prisoner. Why would your mother allow such a thing?” Agah’ran asked Bane.
“Because if the people found out she’d been whoring with one of the mysteriarchs, they would have burned her for a witch,” said Bane, with an air of innocence that made his use of the crude, if descriptive, verb quite charming.
The count gave a deprecating cough. “I believe there is more to it than that, Your Imperial Majesty. Our spies report that Queen Anne wants to gain the throne herself. She intended to do so, in league with this mysteriarch, Sinistrad—the boy’s father. But he died, and now neither she nor the surviving wizards are powerful enough to overthrow Stephen and take control of Volkaran themselves.”
“But I am, My Liege,” Bane said, ingenuously.
Agah’ran appeared highly diverted. He actually removed the pomander in order to get a better look. “You are, boy?”
“Yes, O Radiant One,” said Bane. “I’ve been thinking this all out. What if I turned up suddenly, safe and sound, on Volkaran? I’d say publicly that you elves kidnapped me, but I had managed to escape. The people love me. I’d be a hero. Stephen and Anne would have no choice but to claim me, take me back.”
“But Stephen would only get rid of you again,” said Agah’ran, yawning and passing a fatigued hand over his brow. It was past nap time. “And, though it might gain you something, we fail to see what this would gain us.”
“A lot, My Liege,” said Bane coolly. “If the king and queen were to both suddenly die, I’d be heir to the throne.”
“My, my,” murmured Agah’ran, eyes opening so wide that the paint on the lids cracked.
“Valet, summon the guards,” ordered Tretar, reading the signs. “Remove the boy.”
Bane flared. “You, sir, are speaking to a prince of Volkaran!” Tretar glanced at the emperor, saw the painted eyelids flicker in amusement. The count bowed to the prince.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness. His Imperial Majesty has greatly enjoyed this interview, but he now grows weary.”
“We suffer from the headache,” said Agah’ran, pressing polished fingernails to his temple.
“I am sorry His Majesty is indisposed,” said Bane, with dignity. “I will withdraw.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” said Tretar, making a gallant effort to keep from laughing. “Guards, please escort His Royal Highness back to his quarters.” The guards marched in, marched Bane out. Bane cast a secret, inquiring glance at Tretar. The count smiled, indicated that all was well. Bane appeared pleased, walked away between his guards with a grace and elegance not seen in many elven children.
“Remarkable,” Agah’ran said, having recourse, once again, to the smelling salts.
“I trust I have no need to remind Your Majesty that we are dealing with humans and must not allow ourselves to be shocked by their barbaric ways.”
“All very well for you to say so, Count, but we are convinced that this nauseating tale of assassins and whores has quite destroyed our inclination for lunch. We have an extremely delicate digestive system, Tretar.”
“I am sadly aware of the fact, Your Majesty, and for that I do deeply apologize.”
“Still,” the emperor mused, “if the boy were to succeed to the throne of Volkaran, he would have reason to be extremely grateful to us.”
“Indeed, O Exalted One,” said Tretar. “At the very least he would refuse to ally with Prince Rees’ahn, leave the rebels to shift for themselves, might even be persuaded to declare war on them. I further suggest that Your Imperial Majesty offer to serve in the capacity of protectorate to the young king Bane. We could send in an occupation force to keep peace among the warring factions of humans. For their own good, of course.”
Agah’ran’s lid-painted eyes glittered. “You mean, Tretar, that this boy would simply hand us Volkaran.”
“I do, indeed, My Liege. In return for rich reward, naturally.”
“And what of these wizards, these ‘mysteriarchs’?” The emperor grimaced at being forced to speak the human word.
The count shrugged. “They are dying out, Your Imperial Majesty. They’re arrogant, willful, disliked and distrusted even by those of their own race. I doubt if they will trouble us. If they do, the boy will keep them in line.”
“And the Kenkari? What of our wizards?”
“Let them do what they will, My Liege. Once the humans are conquered and subdued, you will be able to concentrate your forces on destroying the rebels. That accomplished, you wipe out the Gegs in Drevlin and take over the Kicksey-winsey. You will then have no more need for the souls of the dead, O Exalted One. Not when you have at your command the souls of all the living in Arianus.”
“Most ingenious, Count Tretar. We commend you.”
“Thank you, My Liege.” The count bowed deeply.
“But this will take time.”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“And what are we to do about these wretched Gegs? Shutting the machine down, cutting off our water!”
“Captain Sang-drax—an excellent officer, by the way, I draw Your Imperial Majesty’s attention to him—has brought us a Geg prisoner.”
“So we heard.” The emperor held the pomander to his nose, as though the stench had somehow managed to seep into his half of the palace. “We fail to see why. We have a pair for the royal zoo, don’t we?”
“Your Imperial Majesty is in good humor this day,” Tretar said, adding the laugh he knew was expected.
“We aren’t,” Agah’ran stated petulantly. “Nothing is going right. But we assume that this Geg is of some importance to you?”
“As a hostage, My Liege. I suggest that we offer the Gegs an ultimatum; they either start the Kicksey-winsey or what is left of this Geg female will be returned to them in several small boxes.”
“And what is one Geg more or less, Tretar? They breed like rats. I fail to see—”
“Begging Your Radiance’s pardon, but the Gegs are quite a close-knit race. They have a rather quaint belief that what happens to one Geg happens to all. I think this threat should be sufficient inducement for them to do our bidding.”
“If you think so, Count, then such will be our command.”
“Thank you, My Liege. And now, as Your Radiance appears fatigued—”
“We are, Tretar. We admit it. The pressures of state, dear count, the pressures of state... However, one thought occurs to us.”
“Yes, O Exalted One?”
“How do we return the boy to Volkaran without rousing the humans’ suspicions? And what’s to keep King Stephen from simply doing away with him quietly if we do send him back?” Agah’ran shook his head, wearied himself greatly with the effort. “We see too many difficulties—”