Summerblood (15 page)

On and on, and he began to wish he was wearing more substantial clothing, because the thin sylk of his house-hose was already wearing through at the knees, and his slippers weren't prospering either. In any case, he forgot about both as a turn brought him the distant scent of hot meat and warm bread. Suddenly ravenous, he let the shaft lead him that way, following a series of bends toward those heavenly odors. Voices reached him, too, waxing as he approached, and louder again as he softened the sounds of his own movements. If he was lucky, the diners would eventually depart, leaving something he could snare for himself. Or they'd go to sleep. Or—he didn't know. All he knew was that hunger was uppermost in his mind. And so he crept onward, stretching his body long against the stone, for there was no way to tell whether this duct met the adjoining chamber high or low.

So it was that, long before his fingers finally found the grating, his well-tuned senses informed him that he'd not only happened upon diners, but—more importantly in the long run—some conclave of the invaders. Their voices came from above and were muffled, from which he guessed that the grille was set near the floor behind a piece of furniture. By the sounds of cutlery against crockery and the click and slosh of pouring, he assumed that a meal was in progress. Not breakfast, by the
smell of the food, but that was all he could tell. Scarcely daring to breathe, he listened.

At first, the conversation was about the quality of the meal, the difficulties in assuring the cooperation of those set to prepare it, questions regarding how the rest of the hold's inhabitants were to be fed, and whether they should be allowed to continue their established routines or some new system be set in place now that the mines had been sealed. Before long, Kylin managed to attach names to two of the speakers: a young-sounding man named Ahfinn, who was evidently some sort of secretary or scribe, to judge by the lists and records from which he frequently quoted or was asked to quote. The one who addressed him most often was a man with a voice full of authority, rather like Lord Eellon sounded when he chose. That man's name was Zeff, and Kylin suspected he was the commander of this expedition, if not of the Ninth Face itself. Another chance remark made him think that this room was somewhere in Priest-Clan's quarters, maybe even Nyss's suite.

In any case, he heard a good many things and filed them away for when he might possibly encounter someone who could put them to use. But not until at least two people had left, and he was beginning to fear he might have to depart as well, lest a growling stomach betray him, did he hear something that truly set his heart thumping.

“Have you made those revisions I requested?” Zeff inquired, over the sound of more goblets filling.

“I have, Lord Chief. They await your approval and we will send them.”

A pause, then: “Let me hear them one last time, since that's likely the way they'll be presented—if not by our agents, then by Avall himself, when he receives them.”

Kylin heard a sigh, followed by the sound of parchment rattling, then someone swallowing and clearing his throat, then more rattling.

“ ‘To his Incipient Sovereign Majesty, Avall syn Argen-a, High
King of all Eron, greetings unto you from those who would not be your foes unless you make them so. Know you that on the forty-first day of High Summer, forces loyal to The Most High God, of whom Eight Faces have been shown to man, and acting in the name of that God's minions in this land, have taken guardianship of Gem-Hold-Winter with minimal insult to man, beast, or building, and now claim it as their own protectorate, with full and total sway over its folk and fold alike, even unto the dispensing of life and death in the name of The Most High God, after proper trial, should occasion arise.

“ ‘Know you that our intentions in so doing are our own, but should be obvious to a Sovereign so quick to act and so well equipped and advised as yourself. Yet know you, as well, that our acts were perpetrated solely to protect the land and people of Eron from any danger within and without. But know also that we have been made aware that a threat indeed exists to the land and people of Eron, and to the sovereignty of The Most High God and those who serve Him in all His aspects. And know that said threat is now confined to the hands of the High Sovereign of All Eron, and that said threat consists of a helm, a sword, and a shield of fine and noble design and craftsmanship, wrought by Avall syn Argen-a himself; his bond-wife, Strynn san Ferr-a-Argen; and Eddyn syn Argen-yr, each item set with a particular distinctive red gem, for which cause exists that they might be deemed the Lawful property of Gem-Hold-Winter.

“ ‘Be it therefore resolved that said items, hereinafter referenced as “the regalia,” have been deemed by those possessed of sufficient wisdom to make such judgments, to be too dangerous to be entrusted solely to any one man, office, rank, or title so subject to dispute and change. And be it therefore stated as a function of this resolve, that Avall syn Argen-a, acting in his state and function as High King of All Eron, will, as soon as may be accomplished, deliver and surrender the above-mentioned regalia to Priest-Clan, as represented by those now in possession of Gem-Hold-Winter. And should His Majesty fail in this request, be it known that Gem-Hold-Winter and all those who inhabited it at the time the agents
of The Most High God gained sovereignty over it, will be razed to the foundations, and no one left alive, regardless of clan or conscience. Be it so stated, signed, and ordained, this forty-second day of High Summer, in the first half year of the reign of Avall I (Incipient).
’ ”

A pause, then: “It waits only your sign and seal to make it so.”

Another pause, a deep breath, and, “Give me a pen.”

The rattle of parchment followed, then a scratching, then the slosh of more drinks being poured and what sounded like a toast.

“Whatever happens, they'll blame it on Avall, you know,” Ahfinn observed.

A mirthless laugh gave answer. “That's precisely what we intend. Though what Avall
doesn't
know is that we may well level the place anyway.”

Kylin's blood ran cold at that. Logic demanded that he hasten away as soon as possible and make every effort to relay what he'd just learned to his Sovereign and friend, though it cost him his life. Yet still he lay there, unmoving, scarcely breathing, as fascinated as a wild beast caught in a lantern's glare.

“Shall we send it now?” Ahfinn inquired.

Silence followed, broken by the sounds of drink being slowly sipped, as if Zeff were considering his reply. Then: “It
should
leave tonight. But first—”

A knock sounded on the chamber door: a distinctive cadence that likely identified whoever sought entrance. “Enter,” Zeff called irritably.

A door opened and someone strode into the room. Someone smaller than Zeff to judge by the weight of the tread. “Nyss,” Zeff acknowledged, in greeting. Something in his tone told Kylin that their relationship was no longer entirely cordial.

“Chief,” Nyss replied formally. “You summoned me here at this time,” she continued. “I await your pleasure.”

“The extent of which,” Zeff replied, “has yet to be determined.”

“I am
not
some neophyte,” Nyss huffed, all pretense of
formality fading. Steps followed, then ceased. A cushion sighed as someone sat down. “My time is of value, if not to me, to our cause. I—”

“Your presence here is by my leave,” Zeff snapped back. “I heard good report of you and I listened. Perhaps I shouldn't have.”

“We are all equal before the Ninth Face,” Nyss replied, in the cadence of someone quoting.

“Ah, but The Ninth has given me this place, and it is now my task to determine how I might best secure it.”

“And so you hesitate.”

“And so I hesitate.”

“Because once you've sent forth that parchment there, the course is set. And you fear you haven't explored your choices as thoroughly as you might.” An edge had entered Nyss's voice, Kylin noted: hostility and perhaps contempt, if not true challenge. It was good that he'd remained there, he reckoned. And if he lingered longer, perhaps he could learn more. It would be a balance, however; too long and anything he discovered might reach Avall too late. And that assumed he was able to reach his Sovereign at all, which was a
very
large assumption indeed.

But pondering that was for later. For now …

Bodies shifted. Yet more drinks were poured and one, by the sound of it, offered. “I don't like contention,” Zeff sighed, somewhat more amiably. “For all Contention has a Well, it's my least favorite aspect of my least favorite Face.”

“You do have an option,” Nyss observed carefully.

“And what might that be?”

“If you had gems of your own, you could argue from a position of strength.”

Zeff's breath hissed. He set his goblet down hard. “What do you think was my intent in coming here myself ? I hadn't reckoned on what happened. Everything I knew of Crim suggested she was wise and very, very circumspect. I thought perhaps she was someone with whom we could do business.”

“And she isn't?”

“She's not proving so,” Zeff grumbled. “I keep hoping.”

“And time flies on hope's back,” Nyss retorted with a grim chuckle.

“I know. And yet I fear. If I send that message, Avall will almost certainly attack this hold, and he'd be a fool not to bring the Lightning Sword. If he wins, that's the end of us. But an attack on us, if it is perceived as an attack on
Priest-Clan
, could well bring civil war, and Avall has sense enough to know that. He may choose to cut his losses.”

“Which leaves us if not stronger, then no weaker.”

“Stronger, I hope. We'll still command the source of the most powerful objects in Eron.”

“If there
are
more, of which we have no proof.” Nyss filled her goblet and drank again. The atmosphere was becoming less charged by the moment; indeed, was assuming that of two old friends working for a common cause.

“Which doesn't matter anyway,” Zeff acknowledged, “if we can't access the mines.”

“Is the damage that severe?”

“Worse even than I feared. That's also why I'm waiting.” A pause, another sigh. “When I came here, I assumed Crim knew about the gems. I assumed she either had some of her own or could find them. I assumed that if I sent challenge to Avall, I would be in a position to meet that challenge. I still know, in the way I know the sun will rise tomorrow, that more gems exist here. But I can't get to them—yet. Suppose Avall risks war and comes to face us? Will I be able to face him in turn?”

“It won't be you alone that faces him,” Nyss replied dryly.

“Which is why I want to try one last time to force Crim to reveal everything she knows about the gems, and, more to the point, about ways to access them.”

“It will have to be tonight, then,” Nyss retorted. “If I wait longer, I may have to answer to someone higher in the clan than you. There are limits to what I will risk.”

Zeff stood abruptly. “Well, then, if all this hinges on one point, I suggest that point be assessed.”

“A wise choice.”

“My only choice, given the time frame in which I'm forced to function. Ahfinn,” Zeff called, more loudly, “fetch the prisoner.”

“You'd bring her here?”

“It's her hold, under Law,” Zeff shot back. “And she is High Clan, and a lady. Besides, comfort often makes one lower one's guard.”

Kylin released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and closed his eyes in a vain effort to banish the image that had entered his head. He'd heard nothing of Crim since he'd begun hiding out. She was probably the closest friend he had in the hold, he reckoned; and the fact that she still lived was encouraging. But she was also a prisoner, and from what he'd heard of these men's methods …

There was no way on Angen he'd leave now. And if he could find out where she was kept and there was access to the ductwork there, why, maybe, just possibly, he could free her. In any case, the best thing he could do for his cause, clan, and Kingdom was to continue listening.

But Zeff and Nyss seemed to have found some point of equilibrium and lapsed into a discussion of the relative merits of last year's vintages over those of the year before, which Kylin found both boring and nerve-wracking, for all he fancied himself a connoisseur.

Indeed, so long was Ahfinn in returning that Kylin dozed, only to awaken to the sound of voices and a door opening. It closed again, and Kylin heard the lock click. As best he could tell, Zeff and Nyss had indeed been joined by two others in house-slippers, one of whom was certainly Ahfinn, and the other, by her lighter tread, Crim. She sounded tired, but that was to be expected.

Unfortunately, two more men accompanied them, and these wore sturdy boots that branded them as soldiers on duty. One seemed to station himself by the door, the other not far from where Kylin hid behind his grille. They were armed and
armored, too; Kylin could hear the rustle of their mail and the rasp of gauntlets against sword hilts.

Crim was clearly confined, for every time she moved, he caught the muffled clink of metal, which meant they'd shackled her wrists—probably with soft-chains.

“Lady Crim,” Zeff intoned formally, “please sit down and be as comfortable as you can, considering the situation in which you have found yourself.”

“Into which
you
have put me,” Crim shot back with a vehemence that surprised Kylin. “You could end this instantly, which I know perfectly well.”

“I also know that you, being a much-esteemed Hold-Warden, are aware that one sometimes finds oneself entrusted with certain duties.”

“Duties in defiance of clan and King are no duties.”

“How do you know I defy them?”

“How could you not? You've claimed their property; that alone puts you in rebellion.”

“Have you considered that my clan might sanction this?”

“They'd be fools.”

“The line between genius and idiocy can sometimes be razor thin.”

“I doubt you had me brought here to match tongues or wits,” Crim snapped. “State your purpose and be done.”