They passed at length into the cool dimness of the palace halls. Carse strode down huge echoing rooms with inlaid floors and massive pillars that supported giant beams covered with gold. He noticed that the serpent motif was strong in the decorations.
He wished he had Boghaz with him. He had been forced, for appearance sake, to leave the fat thief behind and he felt terribly alone.
At the silvery doors of the throne room the guard halted. A chamberlain wearing mail under his velvet gown came forward to greet Ywain.
“Your father, the Sovereign King Garach, is overjoyed at your safe return and wishes to welcome you. But he begs you to wait as he is closeted with the Lord Hishah, the emissary from Caer Dhu.”
Ywain’s lips twisted. “So already he asks aid of the Serpent.” She nodded imperiously at the closed door. “Tell the king I will see him now.”
The chamberlain protested. “But, Highness—”
“Tell him,” said Ywain, “or I will enter without permission. Say that there is one with me who demands admittance and whom not even Garach nor all Caer Dhu may deny.”
The chamberlain looked in frank puzzlement at Carse. He hesitated, then bowed and went in through the silver doors.
Carse had caught the note of bitterness in Ywain’s voice when she spoke of the Serpent. He taxed her with it.
“No, Lord,” she said. “I spoke once and you were lenient. It is not my place to speak again. Besides”—she shrugged,—“you see how my father bars me from his confidence in this, even though I must fight his battles for him.”
“You do not wish aid from Caer Dhu even now?”
She remained silent, and Carse said, “I bid you to speak!”
“Very well then. It is natural for two strong peoples to fight for mastery when their interests clash on every shore of the same sea. It is natural for men to want power. I could have gloried in this coming battle, gloried in a victory over Khondor. But—”
“Go on.”
She cried out then with controlled passion. “But I have wished that Sark had grown great by fair force of arms, man against man, as it was in the old days before Garach made alliance with Caer Dhu! And now there is no glory in a victory won before even the hosts have met.”
“And your people,” asked Carse. “Do they share your feelings in this?”
“They do, Lord. But enough are tempted by power and spoils—”
She broke off, looking Carse straight in the face.
“I have already said enough to bring your wrath upon me. Therefore I will finish, for I think now that Sark is truly doomed, even in victory. The Serpent gives us aid not for our sakes, but as part of its own design. We have become no more than tools by which Caer Dhu gains its ends. And now that you have come back to lead the Dhuvians—”
She stopped and there was no need for her to finish. The opening of the door saved Carse from the necessity of an answer.
The chamberlain said apologetically, “Highness, your father sends answer that he does not understand your bold words and again begs you to wait his pleasure.”
Ywain thrust him angrily aside and strode to the tall doors, flinging them open. She stood back and said to Carse, “Lord, will you enter?”
He drew a deep breath and entered, striding down the long dim length of the throne room like a very god, with Ywain following behind.
The place seemed empty except for Garach, who had sprung to his feet on the dais at the far end. He wore a robe of black velvet worked in gold and he had Ywain’s graceful height and handsomeness of feature. But her honest strength was not in him, nor her pride, nor her level glance. For all his graying beard he had a mouth of a petulant greedy child.
Beside him, withdrawn into the shadows by the high seat, another stood also. A dark figure, hooded and cloaked, its face concealed, its hands hidden in the wide sleeves of its robe.
“What means this?” cried Garach angrily. “Daughter or not, Ywain, I’ll not stand for such insolence!”
Ywain bent her knee. “My father,” she said clearly, “I bring you the Lord Rhiannon of the Quiru, returned from the dead.”
Garach’s face paled by degrees to the color of ash. His mouth opened, but no words came. He stared at Carse and then at Ywain and finally at the cowled, hooded Dhuvian.
“This is madness,” he stammered at last.
“Nevertheless,” said Ywain, “I bear witness to its truth. Rhiannon’s mind lives in the body of this barbarian. He spoke to the Wise Ones at Khondor and he has spoken since to me. It is Rhiannon who stands before you.”
Again there was silence as Garach stared and stared and trembled. Carse stood tall and lordly, outwardly contemptuous of doubt and waiting for acknowledgment.
But the old chilling fear was in him. He knew that ophidian eyes watched him from the shadow under the Dhuvian’s cowl and it seemed that he could feel their cold gaze sliding through his imposture as a knife blade slips through paper.
The mind-knowledge of the Halflings. The strong extrasensory perception that could see beyond the appearances of the flesh. And the Dhuvians, for all their evil, were Halflings too.
Carse wanted nothing more at that moment than to break and run. But he forced himself to play the god, arrogant and self-assured, smiling at Garach’s fear.
Deep within his brain, in the corner that was no longer his own, he felt a strange and utter stillness. It was as though the invader, the Cursed One, had gone.
Carse forced himself to speak, making his voice ring back from the walls in stern echoes.
“The memories of children are indeed short when even the favorite pupil has forgotten the master.”
And he bent his gaze upon Hishah the Dhuvian.
“Do you also doubt me, child of the snake? Must I teach you again, as I taught S’San?”
He lifted the great sword and Garach’s eyes flickered to Ywain.
She said, “The Lord Rhiannon slew S’San, aboard the galley.”
Garach dropped to his knees.
“Lord,” he said submissively, “what is your will?”
Carse ignored him, looking still at the Dhuvian. And the cowled figure moved forward with a peculiar gliding step and spoke in its soft hateful voice.
“Lord, I also ask—what is your will?”
The dark robe rippled as the creature seemed to kneel.
“It is well.” Carse crossed his hands over the hilt of the sword, dimming the lustre of the jewel.
“The fleet of the Sea Kings stands in to attack soon. I would have my ancient weapons brought to me that I may crush the enemies of Sark and Caer Dhu, who are also my enemies.”
A great hope sprang into Garach’s eyes. It was obvious that fear gnawed his vitals—fear of many things, Carse thought, but just now, above all, fear of the Sea Kings. He glanced aside to Hishah and the cowled creature said:
“Lord, your weapons have been taken to Caer Dhu.”
The Earthman’s heart sank. Then he remembered Rold of Khondor, and how they must have broken him to get the secret of the Tomb and a blind rage came over him.
The snarl of fury in his voice was not feigned, only the sense of his words.
“You dared to tamper with the power of Rhiannon?” He advanced toward the Dhuvian. “Can it be that the pupil now hopes to outrival the master?”
“No, Lord.” The veiled head bowed. “We have but kept your weapons safe for you.”
Carse permitted his features to relax somewhat.
“Very well, then. See that they are returned to me here and at once!”
Hishah rose. “Yes, Lord. I will go now to Caer Dhu to do your bidding.”
The Dhuvian glided toward the inner door and was gone, leaving Carse in a secret sweat of mingled relief and apprehension.