As Nadalya came into the chamber, the coterie about Naimun suddenly fell silent. She smiled sweetly at the various members, and then at her eldest son. Some among the group bowed, while others merely canted their heads, depending on whether they saw her as a lady of Ranke and wife of the current ruler of Sanctuary——as she was—or merely the fair-haired daughter of a well-to-do wine merchant and not of royal lineage, or as a degraded woman, degraded because she had become the number-two wife of an uncouth, Irrune outlander, king though he was.
Fair-haired and handsome in a coarse, heavyset way, Naimun’s thick lips curved upward in a smile. “Mother,” he said.
“La, my son,” said Nadalya, her tone merry, her hazel eyes atwinkle. “Take care, for if you and your group fall silent when one outside your circle enters the chamber, why, one might think you were plotting.”
Even as she laughed in blithe unconcern, still her gaze took in every nuance of the group—Some of those fools actually looked away. But one of them, Nidakis, held his composure and stepped forward and deeply bowed. As the young man straightened and brushed his black hair from his dark eyes he said, “We were merely stunned by the light of your presence, my lady.”
“Oh, my, a flatterer, I see,” replied Nadalya, smiling. “Beware this one, Naimun. He is like to turn your head.”
To one side, ginger-haired, freckled Caliti quickly glanced at Naimun and then looked down at the floor.
“Mother, where are you off to?” asked Naimun.
Nadalya sighed. “Your father seems rather pained by his leg this day, and I go to cheer him and to beg him to be at the courtyard gathering in two days to help us celebrate the visit of per-Arizak, the Dragon. Seldom does Ariz come down from the hills, and I would have him know he is welcome in his father’s house.”
“Indeed, my dear lady,” said Nidakis, “an event that Lord Arizak should attend, can his health permit him to formally welcome his eldest son. And so, let us not cause you to tarry, as pleasant as that might be.”
Nadalya grinned and tilted her head. “Naimun, ’ware my words, for this second son of Lord Kallitis is a wily one and likely to charm you blind.”
With that she stepped on past the young men and into the corridor beyond, where her merry mood vanished, and her gaze grew hard. They plot to set Naimun on the throne, and therefore they plot against Raith. For that they will pay, though but one at a time. And Nidakis: the chief schemer, that one, his smooth words those of a serpent, a seducer of minds, including Naimun’s. Should Naimun gain the throne, instead of my beloved Raith, Nidakis would stand in the shadows and whisper in Naimun’s ear and thereby actually rule. Well, we shall see about that. Indeed, we shall see.
In his tower, with a disgusted grunt—if a whisper can be said to resemble a grunt—Hâlott finally gave up on the chest. It was beyond his skill to open. Nevertheless, there were some in Sanctuary who might succeed where he had failed. He considered severaclass="underline"
Tregginain? No, too incompetent.
Dysan? Too young. No experience with puzzles and locks, I think.
Spyder? Some say he moves like a cat burglar, but there is an aura about him that does not speak of thief. I will have to look into him one day.—Ha! Look into him. Hâlott’s blue-tattooed lips twitched in what was for him a grin at his unintended double entendre.
Pegrin the Ugly might do, even though he seems to have given up his thieving ways, now working as he does for a steady wage at the ’Unicorn. Still, it might be that he will take on a commission, even though he seems appalled by my appearance.
Then there is that young one known as Lone, though perhaps he is nought but a cat burglar.
Ah, wait. There is one even better. I will send Rogi to fetch him.
Satisfied with his decision, Hâlott patted the chest and then turned to the ruby ring. It was time to begin that commission.
Rogi scrambled up the thorny slope and over the crest, and down into the grassy vale beyond. In moments he had come to the stand of kastor ricinus plants. At the first of them, a rather tall one, he pushed aside the large, bronzegreen star-shaped leaves, some of them with a purplish tint down their centers, and he looked for the spiny, seedbearing pods. Since the warm season was upon them, surely there should be some. Yet, after long examination, it seemed there were none.
Rogi moved further into the stand of the smoothstemmed shrubs, and once more failed to find any bean pods.
A bit farther in, he spotted a number of the spiky husks yet clinging to the inner branches, and Rogi pushed through to get them.
He had nearly filled the small pouch, when he heard the sound of a horse coming over the rise and down into the vale. Rogi froze so as not to be seen, for oft had he been harassed by bravos looking for a bit of sport, but for Rogi it was maltreatment Of course, the moment they discovered that Rogi was Hâlott’s lackey, the torment immediately ceased, such was the regard for the thing Hâlott was, though no one was certain just what that thing might be. However, if there were a rider astraddle the oncoming horse, then whoever this rider might be, perhaps he did not know of Hâlott or that Rogi fetched for him. And so, Rogi remained concealed among the leaves and limbs of the kastor plants.
When the horse and the man rode by—for it was a man on a horse—he passed heedless of the little hunchback within the foliage.
Rogi watched, just in case he had to run, yet the rider seemed to be following something, for his eyes were focused on a point in the air. What that might be, Rogi didn‘t—Oh, wait, it’th a flying inthect of thome thort. Well I’ll be thshite upon; it’th a wathp or a hornet. Why would thomeone follow a wathp?
Curious, Rogi slipped out from under the drooping branches of the kastor plant and, at a distance, trailed after.
It was not long ere the man stopped beneath the limbs of a large, wide-branched tree.
Rogi flopped bellydown in the tall grass.
The man cautiously backed his horse away from the tree, and dismounted and tied the reins to a sapling. He then unlashed a small, latched wooden box from the rear saddle cantle and sat down beside the horse and waited. And as he lingered, he tied one end of the rope ’round the box and the other end to his belt.
The scant remainder of the day slowly passed, and Rogi watched the man as the man watched the tree. As dusk descended, the man stood and took up the box and walked to the tree and looked up. After long moments, he somehow seemed satisfied and began climbing, one end of the rope yet fastened to his belt, the other yet tied to the box sitting on the ground.
Rogi frowned in puzzlement, but kept an eye on the man.
Finally, with the rope yet affixed to his belt, the man reached one of the large middle limbs and stepped onto the heavy branch and carefully sidled outward. He finally stopped and straddled the limb and warily moved a bit more outward. He then drew up the box and unlatched a hasp and opened the lid and cautiously raised it and swiftly—
What the thshite? He‘th thlipping it over a horneth’ netht!
The man quickly latched the hasp and then slowly lowered the box. As soon as it was on the ground, he swung down from the tree. In moments he rode away with his prize lashed to the back cantle.