Anne reached out her hand impulsively, took hold of Iridal’s and clasped it fast. “I would go any distance, face any danger to find my child, if she were lost to me! I know how you feel. I understand. But, dear lady, you must listen to reason—”
“Indeed, Lady Iridal,” said Stephen gruffly. “Forgive me if I spoke harshly at first. It is the weight of this burden, bearing down on me—when it seemed that at last all burdens had been lifted from my shoulders—that caused me to lose my temper. You say that you will not go alone.” The king shrugged. “Lady, a legion would not benefit you—”
“I do not want a legion. I want one man, one man who is worth a legion. He is the best. You said so yourself. If I am not mistaken, you scoured the kingdom in search of him. You saved him from the executioner’s block. You know his mettle better than anyone else, for you hired him to do a job dangerous and delicate.”
Stephen was staring at the woman in horror, Trian in troubled perplexity. Anne let loose Iridal’s hand. Stricken with guilt, the queen shrank back in her chair.
Iridal rose to her feet, tall and majestic, proud and imperious.
“You hired this man to kill my son.”
“Gracious ancestors forfend!” cried Stephen hoarsely. “Have you mysteriarchs discovered the power to raise the dead?”
“Not us,” said Iridal softly. “Not us. For which I am grateful. It is a terrible gift.”
For long moments, she was silent, then, sighing, she lifted her head, brisk and business-minded. “Do I have Your Majesty’s permission to try? You have nothing to lose. If I fail, none will be the wiser. I will tell my people I am traveling back to the High Realms. You may tell them that I died there. No blame will come to you. Grant me a fortnight, Your Majesty.” Stephen stood up, clasped his hands behind his back, began to pace the room. He paused, glanced at Trian. “Well, what say you, Magicka? Is there no other way?”
“None that has half the chance of succeeding, slim though this chance might be. The Lady Iridal speaks truly, sire. We have nothing to lose and much to gain. If she is willing to take the risk?...”
“I am, Your Majesty,” said Iridal.
“Then I say, yes, sire,” said Trian.
“My queen?” Stephen looked to his wife. “What do you say?”
“We have no choice,” said Anne, her head bowed. “We have no choice. And after what we did...” She covered her eyes with her hand.
“If you refer to hiring an assassin to kill the boy, we did that because we had no choice,” said Stephen, grim and stern. “Very well, Lady Iridal. I grant you a fortnight. At the end of that time, we meet with Prince Rees’ahn at Seven Fields, there to make final plans for the alliance of our three armies and the eventual overthrow of the Tribus empire. If Bane is still in elven hands by that time...”
He sighed, shook his head.
“Do not worry, Your Majesty!” said Iridal. “I will not fail you. This time, I will not fail my son.” She made a low reverence, to both king and queen.
“I will escort you out, my lady,” offered Trian. “It would be best if you left the way you entered. The fewer who know you were here, the better. If Your Majesties—”
“Yes, yes. Dismissed.” Stephen waved his hand abruptly. He cast a meaningful glance at the magus as Trian left. Trian lowered his eyes, indicating he understood.
Magus and mysteriarch left the room. Stephen sat down to await his wizard’s return.
The Lords of Night spread their cloaks over the sky. The glitter of the Firmament faded. The room in which king and queen waited together, silent and unmoving, grew dark. Neither moved to strike a light. Their dark thoughts were suited to night’s shadows.
A door opened softly—not the door by which the magus and Lady Iridal had left but another door, a secret door, located in the back of the study and concealed by a wall painting. Trian emerged, carrying an iron glowlamp to light his way.
Stephen blinked in the light, lifted his hand to shield his eyes. “Douse that thing,” he ordered.
Trian did as he was told.
“She told us herself Hugh the Hand was dead. She described his death to us.”
“Obviously, she lied, sire. Either that, or she is insane. And I do not believe she is insane. I think rather she foresaw the day when this knowledge would be of use to her.”
Stephen grunted, was silent again. Then he said, slowly, heavily, “You know what must be done. I presume that was why you brought her here.”
“Yes, sire. Although I must confess I had not dreamed she would offer to go fetch the child herself. I had hoped only that she might establish contact with him. This makes matters much simpler, of course.”
Queen Anne rose to her feet. “Is that necessary, Stephen? Couldn’t we let her try?...”
“So long as that boy lives—whether in High Realm, Low Realm, this realm, any realm—he is a danger to us... and to our daughter.”
Anne lowered her head, said nothing more. Stephen looked at Trian, nodded. The magus bowed, glided out of the room, leaving by the secret door. King and queen waited a moment longer in the darkness to compose themselves, to put on the false smiles, to summon carefree laughter, to play at plotting and at intrigue, while, beneath the supper table, where no one could see, their cold hands would join, clasp together tightly.
22
The sharp lines of granite walls that formed the Kir Monastery stood out, stark and black, against the shimmering, lambent light given off by the coralite of the hills surrounding it. The monastery itself was dark and silent; no light shone within, no sound came from within. A single, solitary glow-lamp burning feebly over the entrance—a signal to those in need—was the only evidence that anyone lived here.
Iridal dismounted from her dragon, stroked its neck, spent a few moments calming it. The creature was nervous, restive, and would not respond immediately to the sleep spell she tried to cast upon it. Riders always caused their dragons to sleep after flight. Not only did the spell provide the dragon needed rest, but also the enforced slumber rendered the creature harmless, so that it would not take it into its head to raid the countryside during the mysteriarch’s absence.
But this dragon refused to be enchanted. It jerked its head away, tugged at its harness, lashed its tail this way and that. Had Iridal been an experienced dragon-rider, she would have recognized these signs as indicative of another dragon somewhere near.
Dragons are very companionable creatures, fond of their own kind, and this dragon of Iridal’s was much more inclined for a friendly chat than sleep.[49] The dragon was too well trained to call out (they are taught to keep silent, lest a cry give away their position to an enemy). But the creature had no need to vocalize; it could sense a companion in many other ways: smell and hearing, among other, more subtle means.
If the other dragon in the area had responded, Iridal would have been forced to resort to firm measures in order to subdue her mount. As it was, the other dragon refused to acknowledge in any way its fellow’s presence. Iridal’s borrowed dragon—a mild creature, not exceptionally quick-witted—was hurt, but was too stupid to be deeply offended. Tired from the long journey, the dragon finally relaxed and listened to Iridal’s soothing words.
Seeing its eyelids droop and noting the tail begin to curl about the feet, the claws to dig more firmly in the ground to gain steady purchase, Iridal quickly intoned the spell. Her dragon soon slept deeply. Never thinking to wonder why it had been restive, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of this coming meeting that she knew would not be at all a pleasant one, Iridal forgot about the odd behavior of the dragon and set out to walk the short distance between herself and the monastery.
49
A note on dragons. The creatures who live permanently on Arianus are true dragons, an advanced species of reptile, who possess varying degrees of magical power, depending on each creature’s own intelligence and a variety of other factors. The dragons on Arianus are not to be confused with those who occasionally appear in the guise of dragons—such as the serpent-elf Sang-drax or the dragon-serpents of Chelestra.