PRAULTH (2)
She waited for the summoning. She waited with much self-righteousness. Cultat had been so smugly pleased at the news of his nephew, at the possibility that his relative might have succeeded in his apparently wholly independent mission of assassinating General Weisel.
But Praulth had seen the latest intelligence. The Felk were moving once more, closing on the city-state of Trael—just as she had predicted some while ago.
The quarters she and Xink had been appointed were very comfortable, certainly by University standards. Praulth hadn't stirred from these rooms for the past day. In that time she'd barely spoken a word, despite Xink's efforts to engage her in activities. She was even disinterested in sex. She could not accept, on a fundamental level, the prospect that Weisel—and thereby, Dardas—had been defeated by a single assassin.
Now, however, the Felk were on the move, indicating that someone was leading the army. Praulth could only hope that it was still Dardas.
"Do you want anything from the shops?" Xink asked. "There are these sweet pastries I found I think you'd like—"
She turned cold eyes on him, and he ceased his prattling. Really, he could be such a blathering fool. Why hadn't she seen it before? That was obvious, of course. She, too, had been a fool. Naive. Virginal. Blind. Well, that time had passed and was gone forever. One lost one's virginity once. It remained to be seen if one could recapture any trace of innocence, ever. It occurred to Praulth in a distant corner of her brooding mind that this newfound cynicism wasn't a very enjoyable state. But enjoyment wasn't important, she reminded herself immediately. She had a real purpose in this world, and no indiscriminate assassination of her worthy nemesis was going to end that function.
She was going to defeat Dardas. Therefore, Dardas still had to be alive. If he wasn't...
It went around and around in her head, as it had since Premier Cultat had temporarily adjourned the conference. The many representatives of the various threatened southern states remained here in Petgrad. Praulth had waited, watch after watch, until finally the fresh war news had been relayed here by Cultat's Far Speak wizard spies. There was not enough intelligence yet to determine if Dardas was still guiding the Felk army, through the guise of General Weisel.
During the past day Praulth had had enough time to entertain every unpleasant probability. Dardas might be dead. Cultat may have decided to proceed without her aid as a military strategist. This Felk war might simply sputter into nothing; maybe the Felk had determined that they'd conquered enough new territory and had quit their campaign.
No and no and no. The Felk were heading for Trael. By now they might even be in sight of it. This war, whatever else, wasn't over. She was sure of that much.
She also knew, logically, that Cultat and his burgeoning alliance still desperately needed her help. All she had to do was wait for the summons.
She had been pacing a great deal. Now she put herself firmly into a chair, one that was patterned in a decorative design. Xink had gone off without further word to the shops that this district of Petgrad had to offer. Praulth continued her wait.
It ended a few moments later, with a sharp rap on the door. It startled her, as anything which arrives after being so long anticipated will do. Without rising she bid her visitor to enter.
Amidst her brooding she had also entertained the delicious fantasy that Premier Cultat himself would come calling, contritely, begging her forgiveness for any slight she may have incurred, beseeching her to take up her rightful place as the de facto leader of the alliance.
It was, of course, instead a messenger who entered the rooms. A girl, younger than Praulth, her brow damp with sweat and her undeveloped chest rising and falling.
"The premier... requests... your presence." Panting. She must have run full out.
Praulth stood, taking up her coat. There were other clothes here in the rooms, but she hadn't bothered changing out of the traveling garb she'd worn when they left Febretree. Perhaps she should dress in something a little more... urbane. Something to emphasize the importance of her status. As it was, she looked no better than Merse, the uncouth messenger who had fetched her from the University.
"Is it to that tower, then?" she asked. She wasn't looking forward to climbing those stairs again.
"No," the girl said, still catching her breath. "Somewhere... else. I'll show you."
"I'm not going to run with you, girl," Praulth warned darkly, as she followed the young messenger out the door. It was typical of Xink that he'd managed not to be here at just this precise time. The irritation she felt was becoming reflexive. Xink need do very little to annoy her lately, it seemed. She shrugged. Now wasn't the time to examine personal relationships.
They came out of the apartment compound, with its landscaped court and ornamental columns. It was another overcast morning. Petgrad's streets were alive with what seemed like routine commotion.
The messenger pointed. "It's just two streets that way."
"Two? Then why're you so out of breath, girl?"
"I've been informing all the delegates."
"A full meeting, then? Good. Next time, though, you'll inform me first. Understood?"
"Yes. But the premier wanted me to guide you there personally."
Praulth felt a thin smile brush her lips. Cultat still recognized her importance. "That's good, girl. Now lead the way."
Actually, as it became apparent during their short walk, the bustle in the streets was not routine. The intensity of movement, the volume of the voices, clued Praulth that something extraordinary had occurred. She hadn't noticed it earlier, sequestered in her rooms.
"What is your name?" she impulsively asked the messenger.
"Taff." She was leading Praulth toward an edifice of stone, great blocks of it, stacked precisely into a squared shape, the shades varying, creating a pattern that was pleasing to the eye.
"Tell me, Taff, what is going on out here?" Praulth indicated the milling ruckus.
"The refugees."
"Refugees?"
"Yes. They've been arriving for days. But now the numbers are growing quite high. Some people are worried about food supplies, about housing. There's talk about calling on the Noble Ministry to seal the borders."
The refugees could only be those fleeing ahead of the Felk. Word of the war had spread throughout the Isthmus by now. Panic had evidently taken hold; and with good cause, Praulth judged. Obviously those people worried about food and shelter that Taff spoke of were the Petgradites themselves. These prosperous people wouldn't want their city flooded with copperless rabble who would only be a drain on local resources.
The building that was their destination was fronted by a grand stairway that ran the full width of the structure's exterior. It was another architectural feat that seemed to have been committed for no reason other than impact, like this city's towers.
"We're meeting here?" Praulth asked, halting at the foot of the stone steps.
"Yes," said Taff. She was pleasingly obedient.
"I'll find my way in alone."
Praulth left the girl there and started up the stairs. It was much less of a climb than going up in that tower. Figures scurried to and fro on either side of her, but she kept up a measured pace. She meant to arrive with more decorum than last time, when Cultat had had to catch her from falling at the sight of that vertiginous view.
She entered a huge lobby, beneath an ornate arch. Inside, there were uniformed soldiers, armed. One stepped up to Praulth as she started across the finely surfaced floor. His uniform was spotless.
She didn't wait for him to speak. "I am Praulth of the University at Febretree."
The man saluted, and Praulth liked that. He indicated the way toward a large auditorium deeper inside the building. Praulth continued on at her studied pace, setting her features, letting her eyes settle into a more imperious cast. She had made an effort to alter her walk. Less of a scurry now; more a chopping stride that neither slowed nor sped for anyone. She was no student any longer. She didn't obey the dictates of masters and mistresses less astute than herself. Her fixed future as a permanent academician at the University had been spoiled by this war. But she was glad of it. Without this vast Felk aggression she would never have found herself. Without Dardas to pit herself against... what identity would she have?