“Magister, no disrespect intended, but I’ve been at Svoin and Port Gold and Fortress Draconis. I’ve lived with Panqui. I’ve fought pirates. I’ve fought bandits in Yslin and gibberers in the woodlands of the Black Marches. There are events unfolding that are more important than the orders you’ve been given. If I have to choose between obeying you and defeating Chytrine, well, my choice is clear. As should yours be.”
Kar nodded slowly; then walked to the half-buried Tetther. With the help of the other Adept, he dragged her clear. Kar sent the two Adepts off, then turned and bowed in Kerrigan’s direction. “I would like to say I shall see you shortly, but I do not feel I will. My school, by the way, is Clairvoyance—this is how we knew where to find you.”
“Clairvoyance is one of the most difficult schools to master.” Kerrigan glanced at the pile of snow. “You said you had no idea that she could not handle me. Your visions stopped with meeting me here?”
“One did. Others, well…” The man sighed out a cloud of steam. “Your path, Adept, moves through more darkness than light. Be wary, but of stout heart.”
Kerrigan nodded, then bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Magister. If our paths do cross again, I hope it will be in the light.”
“As do I, Adept Reese, as do I.”
The grey-robed mage departed and a heartbeat after he turned a corner and disappeared from sight, Lombo leaped from the roof and landed in the snowpile that had buried Tetther. His claws raked through the snow, then he smiled up at Kerrigan. “Good no kill.”
“Sorry for robbing you of your fun, my friend. She didn’t deserve to die.”
“More smart live longer.”
“True enough.” Kerrigan smiled. “Had you not been up there, I’d not have thought of bringing the snow down on her.”
“Kerrigan no kill.” Lombo shrugged. “No kill hard.”
“No. It’s just that killing is a lot easier for some. I just can’t…”
“No need.” Lombo ambled over to him and draped a long arm over his shoulders. “Kerrigan make Will-talk. But less.”
The magicker laughed. “Yes, Will can talk a lot but sometimes, what he says is useful. It was here. It saved a lot of trouble. That’s good, I guess.”
Lombo nodded. “Much trouble coming.”
“So Magister Kar said.” Kerrigan sighed out a misty cloud. “Let’s just hope it’s not so much trouble that Will-talk and no kill can’t get us out of it.”
13
Will did his best not to gawk as Count Marsham led him into the palace throne room. While the building had the external architecture of a fortress, with narrowed windows and thick walls, parts of the interior had clearly undergone extensive renovation. For while the throne room did still feature thick columns that supported a vaulted ceiling, the walls had been covered with wooden panels framed in gilt. Wonderful murals covered the panels, and while a quick glance suggested a few hid secret doors, they were obviously there for decoration more than utility.
A thick green carpet led from the doorway to the throne. On either side of it a marble mosaic floor with grand patterns in white, black, and red spread out. It looked fairly new based on the lack of wear. The throne itself sat on a small dais and consisted of a high-backed chair and canopy, with two extensions on either side for Scrainwood’s sons. The fact that their seats were little more than a green velvet cushion over a slab of wood would do nothing at all to encourage them to attend court.
Marsham stopped just inside the door. “Highness, I present Lord Norrington.”
Scrainwood looked up from the small book he had been perusing. Though Will himself couldn’t read and hadn’t much studied the habits of readers, he knew Scrainwood had affected the pose to make himself seem smarter. The light slanting in from the windows didn’t fall close enough to the throne actually to let the king read. This realization put Will further on his guard as he composed a smile for the king.
Scrainwood snapped the book closed and smiled, then rose. “Of course, Marsham, I know my friend Lord Norrington by sight. Who does not? He’s quite taken our city by storm. Our people love him as I do, as the world does.“
“Of course, Highness. As I love him as well.”
“As well you should, Marsham.” The king nodded once, then shooed Mar-sham off with a flick of his hand. The gesture seemed small at so long a range, but it shook Marsham. The man clearly did not like being dismissed, especially in so casual a manner.
He turned to go, but Will reached a hand out to stop him. “Count Marsham, your service to us is so dear.” Will grasped the man’s right hand in both of his and pumped it fiercely, then half turned and waved the man toward the door.
Marsham departed, but glanced covertly at his hand, just to make certain all his rings were still there. He bowed as he exited, then closed the doors. Before they clicked shut, Will did see the man glaring at him, and the thief suppressed the desire to stick out his tongue.
Cabot Marsham had found him at the Rampant Panther Inn where Alexia’s companions had taken rooms. The man’s speech had been flowery and unctuous—a word Will got from Kerrigan and, while he didn’t know what it meant, it just sounded right. Marsham had spoken of the honor it would be to conduct him to the king, and the hope and love he had for Will. Despite that, Will noted that the man wore far fewer rings than the lines on his fingers suggested he preferred, had chosen older clothing for his journey, and carried a purse with no serious weight of coin in it.
If trust were measured in gold, Marsham’s couldn’t have bought sour beer and moldy bread meant for swineslop.
But, as far as Will was concerned, swineslop would have been too good for Marsham, and probably for the king as well. In spite of that belief, Will adjusted his mask, then bowed deeply.
“Will, no need for formality between such as us. While you may be only a lord, you and I are cut of the same cloth. Great times demand great efforts from the great, and we are great.” Scrainwood beckoned him forward as casually as he had dismissed Marsham, though it struck Will that dismissal came far more naturally to him than summoning. “Come here, Wifl. There are things we must discuss.”
The thief marched straight down the carpet, glancing at the panels and the windows. Wearing his mask did not bother him, save where it trimmed a little off his peripheral vision. Still he did spot many things that would be of great value, were they not far too large to be carried off easily.
A flashed vision of fire and of gibberers hauling things away shook him. The only way any of this will leave here is if the palace is looted. At first that struck him as a good thing, since it would punish Scrainwood. That thought, however, died as Will realized that the sacking of the palace would mean the city had fallen. The smiling faces of those who had greeted him, of those who had seen him as a savior, melted into tortured reflections in bloody pools.
Will focused on the king as he stopped a dozen feet from the dais. “What would you have of me, Highness?”
“First, my hearty greeting and best wishes. I apologize for taking so long to bring you here. I simply insist that you move from your current lodgings and stay here in the palace.”
The thief nodded. “Your invitation is most kind, Highness, but I shall remain where I am. The people like having me there. We sing and tell stories. It makes them happy and less afraid.”
Scrainwood hesitated for a moment, as if weighing Will’s argument. “But your safety is in question.”
“You’ve never taken a good look at Resolute, have you?”