"What do you want from me?"
"To adopt the twins as your heirs. They will grow up with the amenities of landed gentry, and it will not seem unusual when they are provided with special education and training. I will send one of the men I spoke of earlier to look after them, and teach them what they will need to know. Raise them well, and our pact will be fulfilled. You need not actually leave the estate to them, if that is disagreeable to you, nor do you need to cater to us royalists in commerce or military dealings. For this you will receive the pearl, which as you can see is worth as much as your entire hold, and a generous yearly stipend."
Dran stroked the pearl. "Surely you realize that I could never convert this into cash?"
"It is a token, Lord Dran. If I thought you could be bought, I would never have made this offer. You would be just as likely to sell me out to Gloroc."
"That is true. At the same time, by helping you I am opening myself up to the Dragon's retribution."
"Yes. You are."
Suddenly Dran smiled. "The Worm is getting too bold. I would enjoy putting a thorn in his side."
"Then we are agreed?"
"I have spent too much time without an heir. Why not have two?"
"Tongues may wag," Lerina said. "Even though you were nowhere near when the children were conceived."
"Scandal doesn't seem to have disturbed you," Dran said good-naturedly. "If anything, I would consider such gossip a compliment to my virility. Though my chamberlain will be aghast."
"Poor Uncle Ossatch," Lerina murmured.
"Oh, he'll be glad to see his great-nephew and niece looked after," Dran declared, and turned to Keron. "When will you send your man?"
"As soon as I return to the capital."
Musicians lifted conch shells to their lips and began the dirge. The pallbearers climbed the steps of the dais, the first of them closing the casket lid. They waited for the signal from Keron, then lifted their burden and followed the admiral from the great, royal Hall of Final Respects. No burial at sea for this man. That ritual was respectable enough for commoners, but Obo of Mirien had been one of the greatest servants of King Pranter, a fine and capable wizard, and deserved interment within the walls of the Lesser Mausoleum.
Keron strode impassively between the ranks of grievers, many of them from the royal houses of Firsthold, capital of Elandris. Obo's reputation had reached many ears, though the man himself had forever hidden in the background of court life – his face would not have been recognized by most of those present. In fact, Keron mused cynically, the turnout would never have been this large had not the king himself briefly come to pay his respects. To those seeking to curry favor, the funeral had become the place to be.
They passed the Greater Mausoleum, its marble columns stretching almost to the city dome. Perhaps one day Keron would himself be brought to that place, attired in finery as magnificent as that he wore today, to join the ranks of the Blood who had lived and died since Alemar Dragonslayer had built this, the first of his cities beneath the sea. At the Lesser Mausoleum, the Keeper of the Tomb was waiting.
Keron saluted the old man. "I give to you this servant of the king," he said ritually.
"What name shall be entered in the Record of the Dead?"
"Obo Iremshan, son of Ibo and Phelopeen."
"Let him pass, and find his place among the generations who have labored for the House of Olendim."
The pallbearers approached the threshold, which they did not cross. An equal number of the Keeper's assistants received the coffin as it came forward. They carried it inside, to the niche within which it would be deposited and sealed, marked by a plate of brass containing Obo's name, age, rank, and the nature of the tasks he had accomplished for the rulers of Elandris.
It was done. Keron turned, thanked the pallbearers, and ambled down the steps, a dark expression tainting his features. The crowd had already largely dispersed. Lady Nanth joined him as he reached street level. He held her hand and walked with her toward the vast palace.
"My condolences, Admiral," stated Lord D'rul, a former naval commander who had served with Keron's father. "And congratulations on your promotion."
Keron thanked the man tersely and quickly excused himself. He could read D'rul's motives. Upon his return to the capital, Keron had found himself raised not simply to rear admiral in charge of the northern fleet, but admiral of the entire navy, following the recent assassination of one of his cousins. It was obvious that Keron was very much in the king's favor. Furthermore, most at court had come to suspect – correctly so – that Keron possessed one of the talismans of Alemar Dragonslayer. So he was now the object of courtiers and hangers-on. All the bilge of the empire wanted to be his friend.
"He was a good man," Nanth said of the deceased. "It was so sudden. He seemed in good health only last week."
"Obo was old. I am relieved he got to die of natural causes."
"He healed so many. He couldn't save himself, though."
"He only worked with wounds. The Lesser Art, he called it. Nor do I think he wanted to thwart nature."
"I will miss him."
"So will I," Keron stated emphatically.
Nanth and he seldom talked about important matters. She would obviously have liked to continue, but they had reached the palace door that would take Keron to his offices. "I have business to attend to, my lady. Obo left some final wishes. I will see you at home soon."
She opened her mouth, but he had turned a corner before she could protest. He cringed a little at his gruffness, but in truth he couldn't enjoy Nanth's company until the matter on his conscience was cleared.
He greeted his secretaries and locked himself within his sanctum. He found a cup of hot tea waiting for him. He raised it up to toast the bald figure on the other side of the room.
"Now you are dead, and are free to serve me," Keron said.
Obo smiled and raised his own cup. "And a fine retirement it will be, I hope. The tension in this city could be cut with a kitchen knife. Too much for this tired old frame. If I had stayed much longer, I would soon have died in truth."
"Your need and mine have come to terms," Keron said. "It gives me hope, master wizard. Teach my children well."
"I will," Obo said seriously. "You will be proud of them."
"If I ever see them again," Keron murmured. As full admiral, no doubt he would be unable to leave the capital for a decade or more. "Give my love…" He choked on the phrase.
"I will," Obo said kindly. "She will understand, if she's half the woman you've described. She'll realize that all men have their duty."
"I forgot mine, for a month," Keron said, in a haunted tone of voice. "Now I'll pay for that lapse the rest of my life."
In a voice more fatherly than he had ever heard Obo use, the wizard said, "Do not blame yourself. If not for the Dragon, you could have chosen another path. Blame Gloroc. It is he who warps the lives of every man in the kingdom."
Blame the Dragon he would. But it wouldn't be enough. Keron had known of his lack of choice before he had met Lerina. Still he had loved her. If the fates willed it, he might have his vengeance on Gloroc one day, but he could never erase the fact that he had cruelly toyed with the life of an innocent young woman.
XXIII
RET AJHEHEPHwas a rich man. Half the wagons in the caravan belonged to him; the other half to the traders who had paid his stiff fees. If he were so inclined, he could ride within his own personal coach, cushioned in velvet and canopied in fine Cilendri silk. Furthermore, where other merchants endured the journey from Azurajen to Surudain without the comfort of their wives' company, Jheheph always brought at least five of his favorite concubines and provided each with accommodations nearly as luxurious as his own. The oeikani beneath his saddle was of the most exclusive, thoroughbred stock. Ret a Jheheph was used to having his way.