^attempted such would draw immediate response from the Other two, resulting in international incidents, and war. No one would want that.”
“True,” Admon Faye said quietly.
“While you, being an outlaw known to all three lands, would actually be a kind of buffer for all three.”
“I take the dragon’s place. Get to the point.”
“So what is it that you want, you who can take whatever you choose?
Respect. Respect, and real power. A seat on the Council of Elders.
Your own merchant house.”
Admon Faye smiled broadly. “You understand perfectly.”
“The Council has been summoned, and you will naturally be elected to it. You have what you want, we have what we want… and between the two of us, we eliminate Jagd from the competition. What more could you ask for?”
“Only one thing,” Admon Faye said.
“And that is?”
“Your seat, Flayh. As head of the Council.” The slaver grinned as he said it. FJayh raised an eyebrow, then returned the grin.
“That, my friend, is why it pays to be a power shaper CHAPTER SEVEN
Opening at the Palace
AN HOUR BEFORE DUSK, the chain of wagons rumbled over a cobblestoned bridge into the heart of Chaomonous and turned east down the main thoroughfare. The broad street climbed steadily to the base of a huge chunk of granite. On top of that rock stood the Imperial House itself.
As the road wound up out of the city, one could see that the center of town was constructed on a little sliver of land, a peninsula bracketed by two giant rivers. On the far side of the castle the rivers joined, rolling as one to the sea many miles beyond. But the arriving players paid no heed to the rivers. All eyes were fixed on the massive fortress that rose before them.
It was impossible to tell where the rock stopped and the structure began, so closely had the castle’s walls been married to then: granite foundation. Though the setting sun did curious things to the color of the palace, it was clearly not of a single shade of gray. Rather, it seemed the battlements were of patchwork construction, a testimony to the long years the castle had been in the building. The tops of its spires disappeared into a cloak of fog that clung stubbornly to its ancient stonework. The Imperial House of Chaomonous towered over the capital, drawing all eyes to itself.
From a distance it appeared to float above the world, unrelated to the city clustered at its feet. But from the perspective of the approaching wagons, the castle looked anything but ethereal. It squatted on its granite slab in heavy silence, brooding over the confluence of the two rivers like an ill-tempered titian.
Pelmen rode atop the second carriage with Yona Parmi. Flocks of excited children raced beside them, and he smiled and waved to them, maintaining the clownish persona he had assumed in Pleclypsa. But there was no smile behind his white face. The closer they got to the malevolent presence of the castle that dominated the landscape, the more sure he grew that some nameless power lurked within its walls. But what power? And how did it come to be here?
Gerrig’s wagon led the parade, moving at a pompous snail’s pace. Gerrig stood on the top of his carriage, waving both hands in the air and shouting at the startled shoppers who thronged the city’s markets.
Gerrig loved nothing so much as acting and at the present he was giving a lively performance in the role of the conquering hero.
“He’d better sit down before we start up the incline,” Parmi mumbled,
“or he’ll scatter pieces of his head all over the cobblestones.”
“Are you reading my mind again?” Pelmen asked solemnly through a fixed, forced smile.
“It isn’t hard, you know. Your thin mask doesn’t hide worry well.”
“Is it that obvious
“To one who’s watched you for so many years, it’s certainly obvious.”
Parmi cocked an eyebrow and gazed up at the castle’s heights. “Are there powers here you fear?”
“Perhaps.”
“Still not going to tell me why we’ve come?”
“Why should I cause you to worry, too?”
Yona chuckled nervously. “It’s comments like that which make me worry.” He was silent for a moment, then he went on: “Just promise me this. If you need some help, will you call on me?”
“That I can promise.”
“Tine.” Yona nodded and leaned out to wave at a meat merchant who peered at them from under a red and purple
awning. “I must say,” he muttered, noting the colors, “it looks as if the house of Uda has taken over this city entirely.”
“Does it matter?” Pelmen wondered.
Parmi regarded him with a curious smile. “By that you mean?”
“Only that despite their colors, one merchant is very like another.”
“You’ve not gone to war with the Council of Elders!” Yona blurted in astonishment.
“Not exactly. But they may have gone to war with me.”
Yona Parmi swiveled back to stare glumly at the rear of Gerrig’s ascending wagon. “Battling dragons seems ridiculous enough. But battling business?” He heaved a heavy sigh.
“It’s all right, my friend,” Pelmen said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Come now, Pelmen, how can you expect me not to?”
“I can’t! That’s why I haven’t told you any more than I have. One thing I do hope, however…”
“And that is?”
“That you won’t call me Pelmen within the walls.”
“Ah ” Yona grunted, and he slapped his forehead. “Sorry. Henceforth you’re Fallomar in my every thought.”
The road tilted up sharply, as it began its zigzag climb of the castle mount. Gerrig finally took his seat grudgingly, since many new spectators had just rushed into the streets to watch them. They were obviously headed for the Imperial House, and these city dwellers were fascinated by the sight of anyone privileged to pass beyond those forbidding walls. The climb to the outer gate took ten minutes, and the two players passed it in silence. Then they were inside. Their wagons were wheeled away to the massive royal carriage house. Their animals were led the other direction to a gigantic stable. Then they were permitted to climb the thirty-foot stairway to enter the main gate.
They walked through hallways lined with masterpieces of paintings and sculpture, across carpets of inch-thick pile. The ceiling, twenty feet above their heads, was inlaid with “.; a continuous mosaic pattern interweaving blue, green and pink stones and plates of beaten gold. The halls glowed With a golden shimmer, as those polished plates reflected the light of long white candles, held in place by brackets of still more gold. The halls twisted and turned at sharp angles; at the head of each turn was a pair of slotted windows. These were arrow slits, and through these apertures the troupe could see the watchful eyes of the palace guards following their progress intently. This mixing of luxurious grandeur with raw force was designed to intimidate each entrant of the castle, and the design suceeded admirably. “This house could never be taken by force,” Pehnen murmured to himself.
He felt a strange sensation then as if the walls had heard his words and approved. He put the thought out of his mind when he noticed a curious condensation on the wall. The fitted stones glistened with reflected candlelight…
The other veterans of court performance stalked along grandly, joking with one another over the awestruck expressions of their newer companions. “Don’t get too excited,” Danyilyn complained casually to one. “This is the front half of the palace for important people. We’re nothing but players, so they’ll stick us in the servants quarters in the back.”
For that, Pelmen was very grateful. The further out of Ligne’s path, the less chance of her seeing through his thin disguise. As they turned another corner, he smiled clownishly and waggled his fingers at the guards beyond the wall. He thought he saw one pair of eyes smile back.