“General Joss!”
“My Lord?”
“What of your spies in the trading houses? Why wasn’t I informed she was being held in the house of Ognadzu?” The King’s face was very red.
Joss’ eyes widened as the King grabbed his sleeve, but that was the only acknowledgment of his fear. He, too, spoke quietly. “It was a carefully guarded secret, my Lord. It must be admitted that when it comes to keeping secrets, we are no match for the merchants. Secrets are their stock-in-trade—”
“I don’t need a lecture from my head of intelligence!”
Talith bellowed. “And if you want to keep not only your headship but your head, General, you had best begin producing!” The exchequer broke in again. “She wasn’t being kept in the local house, my Lord, or we could have stopped them. The girl was being held at Pezi’s own estate, on the edge of Dragonsgate.”
“And how did she get there?
Exchequer? General? I take it you don’t know.” The King’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“We know this,” Joss began. “We know that when she was taken she was in the presence of your mistress—and that only a denizen of the palace could have spirited her past our watch.” The General set his jaw and stared at his King.
Though Joss was a cruel man, he did not lack for bravery.
“You are accusing Ligne?” Talith crooned menacingly.
“I accuse no one, my Lord,” answered the General. “I share only what I know.”
“Perhaps you should know, my Lord,” the exchequer interrupted again, “that among those Pezi was carrying to Lamath was a certain Pelmen the player.”
“Pelmen!” the King exploded. “Is he involved in this?”
“There could be no proof of that,” Joss began, but the King cut him off.
“Pelmen! Of course. He’s behind this. He has masterminded this whole scheme to get back at me!”
“I hardly think—”
Joss began again.
Talith interrupted. “That’s right, you hardly do!” He turned his back on his Chief of Security.
Joss closed his mouth and looked at the exchequer, who seemed even more nervous tonight than usual. The exchequer avoided his eyes, and spoke earnestly to the King. “He is a most clever adversary, my Lord. And you did deal rather brusquely with him when you sold him to Pezi. This stealth seems so unlike the fat merchant—could it be that Pezi and Pelmen plotted this together?”
“Of course,” growled King Talith. “It must be.” Joss snorted, and the King turned to look angrily at him.
“Pardon, my Lord,” Joss said. “I share your lack of affection for Pelmen. He shows by these plays of his that he is dangerously well informed. But Pezi would not collaborate with a traveling performer. If you wish to know who has masterminded this capture of our Princess, look to the elders of the house of Ognadzu.”
“They’re all in Lamath!” the King snapped.
“So, we believe, is Bronwynn,” Joss said quietly, and then paused while the King mulled over his words.
The King did not think long, but his reaction was decisive. “Get me Jagd of the house of Uda. And arrest all who wear the blue and lime of Ognadzu.” For the first time since the interview began. Joss smiled. “Jagd is waiting outside, my Lord. I felt you might wish to see him, so I sent for him earlier. As for the arrests—they were all made this afternoon. The family of Ognadzu is having a reunion tonight in the dungeon.”
“Send me Jagd!” the King bellowed, and a guard at the chamber door stamped the butt of his pike on the marble floor and announced as the double doors opened: “Jagd of Uda, to see the Golden King.” A wizened little man in rich robes of red and purple stepped briskly into the room, and he and the King were soon deep in a heated private discussion. As Joss stepped out of the way, he noticed once again Kherda, the exchequer. The man stood in a comer of the chamber, forgotten now, his face inscribed with anxiety and self-doubt. Joss watched him, and marked that expression well.
As soon as he cleared the west mouth of Dragonsgate, Pelmen turned south. To go straight meant to run directly into lands controlled by the trading houses. Though they would not be expecting him, the guards on those lands held by the Ognadzu family would surely be suspicious of a man in rags carrying a girl in golden robes, mounted on a horse that wore the blue and lime. Pelmen would take no chance. Instead he would travel along the high southwestern rim of the Spinal Range until he could turn west under the shelter of the Great South Fir.
Though he guessed that Pezi would not follow, he kept a cautious watch behind them as they rode through the green-cloaked foothills. He also watched the valley below, for any unusual troop movements across the lands of the merchant league. There was little danger yet, but Pelmen knew that certain of the larger houses had discovered ways of transmitting messages many miles without the use of a blue flyer. Pelmen assumed that in the next day or two, after Pezi reached Lamath, these hills would be covered with merchant riders. They would not allow so precious a prize as the Lady Bronwynn to be stolen away so easily.
Pelmen also glanced frequently to the sky, watching for the massive shadow of the dragon moving overhead. He urged the horse to move faster, and soon they were galloping full speed across the hillside. The more ground put between them and Dragonsgate, the safer Pelmen would feel.
Bronwynn, too, was watching, but with wonder rather than caution. Her homeland of Chaomonous was flat and fertile, a country of great rivers and vast fields. What few mountains she had seen were the short, round-top hills of the southern sector of that land. Never before had she seen mountains so tall and steep and of such stark beauty, nor valleys so wildly green. To her left, the sheer face of the Spinal Range climbed up and out of sight. To her right, the craggy highlands of fabled Ngandib-Mar unrolled as far as she could see. Every majestic mountain peak rose out of its own deliciously green little valley. It all seemed so close and immediate that Bronwynn felt she could reach out and touch it. Yet when she dropped her eyes to the vast plain below them, plaidlike from the crisscross pattern of furrowed fields and fences, she realized those hills and valleys that looked so near were really miles away. Still, somehow she had the sensation of being in an intimate land, a manageable land, a warm, familiar, closeknit land. Her feelings frightened her. To experience such exultation at the mere sight of this foreign place—this hereditary enemy of her homeland—seemed somehow treasonous. This was the homeplace of squat blond slaves, she reminded herself—a land of cannibals and witchcraft. But those craggy mountains across the valley stole her heart with their simple, powerful beauty. It was a jolting experience, one not entirely pleasant. Unexplained melancholy seized her; and though she had not cried once throughout the ordeal of her abduction, a stupid, senseless tear now trickled down her cheek. She brushed it away, and closed her eyes against the splendor of the world below her.
Their horse was tiring, but it proudly carried them on, up a small rise toward a grove of wild green apple trees. Here a stream found its way out of the mountains and dropped gaily toward the valley in a series of stepped waterfalls and rapids. Pelmen was sensitive to the horse’s weariness and stopped. His own bottom felt weary as well. He reined in under an apple tree and hopped off, bending to stretch and relax his legs before reaching up to lift Bronwynn down from the saddle. They had said nothing to one another since they left the pass, and Pelmen was not really inclined toward conversation now. He pulled an apple from the tree and tossed it to her, then went to tend to the horse’s needs.