Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (16 page)

 
          
A
man came, eyeing Calandryll with open curiosity.

 
          
He
said, "Hot water. And quickly," surprised at his own authority,
though no less so than the servant, who nodded and hurried away, clearly taken
aback by this new sense of command.

 
          
The
water came and Calandryll dismissed the servants, immersing himself in the tub
and scrubbing furiously at his hair and skin. He would have liked to study the
chart, but soon, he knew, his father would be back and he wanted to take no
risk of giving further offense.

 
          
Considerably
cleaner, he dried himself and selected fresh clothes. Bylath had not indicated
whether or not a formal occasion was planned, so he compromised, selecting a
shirt of dark blue cotton and matching breeks, short boots of black leather,
and a loose tunic of green. He combed his hair, smiling, albeit ruefully, as he
thought that the last time he had taken such care with his appearance he had
sought to impress Nadama.

 
          
Well,
now she would wonder where he had gone,- perhaps even fret over his
disappearance. And when he returned—a hero!—she would likely regard him in a
new light. The thought pleased him and his smile grew broader. It was still
there when he was summoned to dine.

 
          
It
was not a formal occasion. The servant sent to fetch him informed him that
Bylath awaited his presence in one of the smaller halls, and when he entered he
saw that the Domm sat with Varent and Tobias at a round table, the others
occupied by only the closest of his father's advisers. Nadama was not present
and he was uncertain whether that was a relief or a disappointment as he bowed
courteously.

 
          
He
was placed between Varent and Tobias, the ambassador beaming a greeting, his
brother regarding him with disinterest. Bylath eyed him for a moment, as though
deciding between reprimand and admonishment, and said, "You owe thanks to
the ambassador."

 
          
Calandryll
frowned his incomprehension, turning to Varent, who shrugged and smiled
effacingly.

 
          
"I
saw no great reason to have you present," the Domm announced, "but
Lord Varent pleaded your cause."

 
          
"Thank
you," Calandryll murmured, politely.

 
          
"Young
men are apt to act without forethought," said Varent smoothly. "I am
sure Calandryll intended no offense." •

 
          
"But
nonetheless gave it," Bylath grunted.

 
          
"Aldarin
forgives any slight," Varent returned, smiling, "and I should prefer
to depart Secca knowing that peace reigns in your household."

 
          
Bylath
snorted; Tobias grinned and murmured, "I believe any insult he may have
intended was directed at me. And Nadama."

 
          
The
remark was designed to hurt, but Calandryll ignored it, his attention caught by
the ambassador's announcement.

 
          
"You
are leaving?" he asked, hoping desperately that his tone did not reflect
the anxiety he felt.

 
          
Varent
nodded and said, "Indeed. Gracious though your father's hospitality has
been, I must return to Aldarin on the morrow."

 
          
"Your
business is concluded, then?" asked Calandryll.

 
          
"It
is," said Varent. "The treaty is signed and I must carry that welcome
news back to my own city without delay."

 
          
"You
have achieved all you hoped for?"

 
          
It
was difficult, this double-talk: he would have preferred to blurt out his news
and ask the diplomat outright how he was to leave Secca undetected. But Varent
would inform him; of that he was sure, he told himself. After all, the man
could come and go like a shadow in the night, and it was hardly likely he would
leave without the chart. And without Calandryll, he would have no chart.

 
          
"I
believe so," he heard Varent say, trying to read the man's face, seeking
an answer there.

 
          
"We
have," said Bylath, bluntly, "the final details have been ironed
out."

 
          
"Perhaps
one or two may require amendment," smiled Varent, "but I am confident
we all have what we want."

 
          
The
words were directed at the Domm, but Varent's easy smile encompassed Calandryll
like a question. He nodded slightly and saw the ambassador's lids close
briefly, as if in confirmation that he understood.

 
          
Servants
brought food then, and for a little while the table was silent. Varent spooned
soup, murmuring some bland comment on its taste. Tobias said, "We eat
fresh venison tonight, little brother. A buck I killed myself."

 
          
"It
was an excellent kill," Varent complimented, "and a truly enjoyable
hunt."

 
          
"Secca
has good hunting," nodded Bylath, beaming as he turned toward Tobias.
"And that second kill! You surpassed yourself; the horn spread on that
buck was magnificent."

 
          
Tobias
basked in the praise. "A pity Calandryll did not accompany us," he
remarked. "He'll have little enough time for such pleasures after he
assumes his priestly duties."

 
          
Bylath
chuckled sourly. "Calandryll? He's no huntsman."

 
          
"How
did you pass your day?" asked Varent, as if making polite conversation.
"What did you do while we rode to the hounds?"

 
          
Calandryll
shrugged. "I studied. I examined some old maps."

 
          
"Studied,"
Bylath snorted. "All you need study, boy, is the Deran gospels."

 
          
He
did not notice Varent's smile, or the satisfied look the ambassador gave
Calandryll.

 
          
"You
found them interesting?"

 
          
"I
did," Calandryll nodded. "Most interesting."

 
          
"My
offer stands," Varent said. "Should your father permit it, you are
most welcome to examine my own small scholarly collection."

 
          
Calandryll
grinned his answer, undaunted by his father's scornful grunt.

 
          
"You
have my thanks, Lord Varent, but Calandryll is to enter the priesthood—he'll
not be free to visit Aldarin."

 
          
"As
you wish," Varent murmured equably.

 
          
"We
must all accept our duties," Tobias intoned portentously. "Must we
not, Calandryll?"

 
          
"Yes,"
he answered evenly, "we must. Whatever they may be."

 
          
Both
Tobias and Bylath glanced at him then, surprised by his apparent acceptance.
The Domm frowned, but Calandryll was saved from interrogation by the arrival of
the venison, thick slabs of aromatic meat accompanied by great platters of
steaming vegetables and salvers of blood- thickened gravy.

 
          
"This
really is superb," Varent applauded, skillfully deflecting attention from
Calandryll. "Your kitchens complement your son's skill as a huntsman, Lord
Bylath."

 
          
The
Domm beamed; Tobias simpered, and the conversation, steered by Varent, returned
to the day's sport. Calandryll ate in silence, satisfied that the ambassador
had understood his oblique references,- satisfied that he had received the
answer he wanted.

 
          
In
his chambers after the dinner had ended and the palace slept, he awaited
Varent's arrival in a fury of impatience. The night was clear and the moon full
now, limning his balcony with cold silver light. Bats fluttered on silent
wings, and in the garden below night birds chorused, their song loud through
the opened window. The air was warm, the early promise of spring fulfilled.
Calandryll paced, pausing only to peer at the map spread on a table. For all
the value Varent placed on it, it seemed to show no more than a possibly
disputable outline of Gessyth's geography, a seemingly random tracery of lines
devoid of annotation: he could not see how it might define the location of
fabled Tezin-dar.

 
          
"Is
that it?"

 
          
He
gasped as Varent entered the chamber, the warm air momentarily filled with the
odor of almonds.

 
          
The
ambassador shed his obfuscating cloak and stepped up to the table.

 
          
"Excellent!
You have done well, my friend. Now, would you do even better and offer me a cup
of wine?"

 
          
Calandryll
gaped, nodding, and filled a goblet. Varent smiled his thanks, sipped, sighed,
and said, "Delicious. Dinner was so tedious! You brother shares the bovine
attributes of the creatures he takes such pleasure in slaughtering. And your
father—I can see why you want to leave Secca."

 
          
He
emptied his glass and set it aside, resting a companionable hand on
Calandryll's shoulder.

 
          
"But
I digress—the curse of the diplomat!—and you have triumphed."

 
          
"It
is
the map?" Calandryll asked. "The one you—
we
—
need?"

 
          
Varent
bent over the table, studying the chart.

 
          
"It
carries Orwen's seal; it shows Gessyth. Yes, my friend, it is the one."

 
          
"But
it shows so little," said Calandryll. "Where is Tezin-dar? It show no
cities at all, only lines that might mean anything."

 
          
"Ah,
but it will." Varent tapped the yellow skin confidently. "It will
lead us—you!—to the Arcanum. My word on it."

 
          
"But
there are no cities marked," he protested again. "It appears utterly
random."

 
          
Varent
tapped his nose, "Thomus had foresight," he murmured. "Alone of
. all the Domms Lysse has known, he saw that this might be needed. But he was
careful! He knew that such a chart fallen into the wrong hands might well prove
the undoing of the world, so he took precautions. Do you know how this was
drawn?"

 
          
Calandryll
shook his head.

 
          
"Thomus
sent Orwen to Gessyth," the ambassador explained. "Orwen and a band
of his most trusted men. For years they remained in that godforsaken place, and
more than half died there. Still more of fevers when they returned. All were
sworn to secrecy, and Thomus employed sorcerers to set glamours upon them, that
they could not speak of what they saw. He was a wise man, Thomus."

 
          
"But
how does it help us?" Calandryll demanded.

 
          
Varent
chuckled. "Thomus was a very wise man, my friend. He had Orwen draw two
maps."

 
          
Enlightenment
dawned: Calandryll chuckled in turn.

 
          
"And
you have the second!"

 
          
"Yes,"
said Varent. "To the unknowing eye, it is no more than some arcane
antique—a seemingly random collection of notes jotted on a skin like this. But
finer, thinner—transparent, in fact. Of itself, useless, just as this is
useless. But place the one upon the other ..."

 
          
"And
you have a true map of Gessyth," Calandryll finished.