Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (6 page)

 
          
He
closed Medith's book as the servant returned, bearing a tray of beaten copper
on which a platter of cold meat and some fruit rested.

 
          
"Water
is now being drawn," he announced, and left with a cursory bow. Calandryll
realized that he was hungry-

 
          
He
was biting into an apple when two more servants lugged in a caldron of steaming
water, two women behind with cold. The men deposited the contents of their
burden in his tub and the women stood waiting for instructions. He dismissed
them: it seemed decadent to allow another to bathe him, and his love for Nadama
rendered him oblivious to the other services they offered.

 
          
The
barber was waiting when he emerged and he sat, watching strands of hair fall
about his feet, returning desultory responses to the man's professional
chatter. That task completed, the barber applied a razor to Calandryll's
cheeks, finally allowing his subject to examine his handiwork.

 
          
"Thank
you."

 
          
Calandryll
waved a hand in dismissal, staring at his image. He looked tidier, but not
greatly improved. It would have to suffice; short of divine intervention he
could look no better. He glanced at the sand clock, seeing the grains filtered
close to the mark of the dining hour, and went to his wardrobes.

 
          
Customarily,
his dress was careless, but tonight he gave some thought to his apparel,
selecting and discarding outfits until he was satisfied with his choice. He
drew on a loose shirt of white Seccan silk, and dark blue breeches that he
fastened with a maroon belt, its formal sheath decorated with silver threading,
the dagger it held hiked with mother-of-pearl, boots of blue-dyed leather
stitched with silver to match the sheath, and finally a tunic lozenged with
maroon and blue. He studied himself afresh, self-conscious of his unusual
finery, then nodded in satisfaction, and filled a goblet with Aldan wine.

 
          
Three
glasses bolstered his confidence and when he heard the great gong bell, and
gave himself a final examination, he decided he looked handsome enough to sway
Nadama. He descended the stairs resolutely, resisting the impulse to hurry.

 
          
He
reached the ground floor of the palace and strode across the tiles to the
smaller banqueting hall. Ambassadors did not merit the grandiose feasting
accorded some visiting Domm or ranking monarch, only those nobles directly
concerned with the negotiations attending, with their immediate families,
though there were enough of them the hall seemed crowded. Nadama's father,
Tyras den Ecvin, would be there, accompanied by his wife and daughter.
Calandryll's heart quickened at the thought.

 
          
The
guards ringing the outer hall saluted him as he passed and he gestured in
response, halting beneath the arched entrance. Dusk began to darken the sky and
lanterns had been lit along the walls, braziers of sandalwood committing
perfumed smoke to the air. Bylath sat at the High Table, raised three steps
above the floor on a dais of black marble, facing the arch, the ambassador to
his right, Tobias at his left. An empty chair waited beside the ambassador.
Calandryll hung back, scanning the hall. The foremost of the Domm's councillors
occupied the tables at the pedestal's foot and he found Nadama there.

 
          
She
was lovely. The lanterns struck golden highlights from her luxurious auburn
hair, piled high to emphasize the slender paleness of her neck. Her eyes
sparkled and her lips were spread wide in a smile, and as she turned to speak
with her mother Calandryll swallowed at the taut stretch of white silk across
her breasts. Taking a deep breath and essaying what he hoped was a dignified
expression, he entered the hall.

 
          
Bylath
glanced up as he approached the High Table, murmuring something to the man on
his right. The ambassador was tall, even seated, and slim, his features handsome
in a hawkish way, dark eyes bright in a tanned face, his hair cut short, a
dramatic contrast to the robe of pale blue and gold he wore. He glanced in
Calandryll's direction and nodded. Tobias looked toward his brother and added a
word of his own, smiling. Guessing that some comment on his tardiness was made,
Calandryll felt his cheeks redden, instinctively quickening his pace. He caught
Nadama's eye as he passed her table ana smiled, delighted that she returned his
unspoken greeting.

 
          
"So,
you come at last."

 
          
Bylath
studied his son with cool grey eyes, a hand toying with the pendant of his
office. Calandryll felt his blush deepen, muttering an apology as he reached
his place.

 
          
"My
younger son, Calandryll," Bylath announced to the ambassador.
"Calandryll, this is Lord Varent den Tarl of Aldarin."

 
          
"My
lord."

 
          
Calandryll
bowed formally before seating himself; Varent answered with an easy smile.

 
          
"Doubtless
lost in some book," Tobias remarked with casual malice.

 
          
"Study
is no bad thing," murmured Varent, and Calandryll flashed the dark-haired
man a grateful look.

 
          
"But
unnecessary to one destined for the priesthood," Tobias responded.

 
          
Varent's
shoulders rose a fraction and he brushed his dark beard as if considering the
comment. "Knowledge is power," he remarked equably. "Even should
the priesthood he his destiny, he loses nothing in study."

 
          
Tobias
snorted, and for an instant Tie appeared a mirror of his father, broad
shoulders hunching, his handsome face creased with a dismissive smile. He was
tall as Bylath, who yet retained the heavy musculature of his prime, the hand
that cupped his goblet large and thickfingered, his yellow-gold hair thick
about a face seemingly carved from dark sandstone. Calandryll felt himself a
wan facsimile of his parent; a poor copy of his brother. He sought to hide his
embarrassment behind his wine cup.

 
          
"What
do you study?" asked Varent amiably.

 
          
Calandryll
decided he liked the Aldarin ambassador. He said, "I was reading Medith."

 
          
"The
History of Lysse and the?"Varent nodded.

           
"An excellent work, though I
consider Samium a more reliable chronicler."

 
          
"Medith
offers better maps," Calandryll returned promptly, his confidence mounting
as he felt himself on familiar ground.

 
          
"True,"
allowed Varent, "in Aldarin we have his original charts. Should you ever
honor our city with a visit, I should be pleased to show them to you."

 
          
Calandryll
beamed at the prospect. Then felt his smile freeze as his father said,
"The priests of Secca do not leave the city. Calandryll will take up
residence in the temple."

 
          
It
sounded as though his future had been decided: it firmed his own decision to
approach Nadama. He looked to where she sat, barely hearing Tobias say,
"That way I can keep an eye on him," not needing to turn his head to
know that a mocking grin curved his brother's lips.

 
          
Nadama
smiled at him and he felt his confidence soar, Reba's prophecy momentarily
forgotten. If she would have him, the future must hold happiness.

 
          
"You
appear disturbed," Varent remarked softly. "Does the priestly life
not appeal?"

 
          
Calandryll
tore his gaze from Nadama, turning to the ambassador, about to give a negative
reply. Beyond Varent he saw his father's eyes upon him and said dutifully,
"As the Domm wills."

 
          
Bylath
smiled tightly. Varent nodded, recognizing he touched upon an area of argument;
diplomat that he was, he changed the subject.

 
          
"Do
you consider the Kand pirates a threat to Secca?"

 
          
"They
threaten all our cities," Calandryll answered, forcing himself to speak
calmly. "Though their depredations are less immediately felt in Secca,
still we need the iron of Eyl and open trade routes. Should the corsairs
succeed in establishing dominance of the Narrow Sea, or threaten the coastline,
then we must share the suffering of Aldarin."

 
          
Varent
nodded approvingly.

 
          
"An
allied naval force! Your son speaks sense, my lord Bylath."

 
          
"We
are agreed on this," Bylath said.

 
          
"You
have decided?" asked Calandryll.

 
          
"Today,"
said Tobias.

 
          
"Aldarin
contributes twelve galleys/' Varent offered, "and we draw up treaties of
nonaggression between our cities."

 
          
"Twelve
from us," Tobias expanded as though the credit belonged to him alone,
"and twelve from our ally— surely sufficient to ward our sea-lanes. Though
when I am Domm we shall renegotiate—I favor a more aggressive policy."

 
          
"Your
brother would attack the Kands in their strongholds," explained Varant.

 
          
"Too
great a risk of war with Kandahar," Bylath said. "Though the notion
has its appeal."

 
          
"Strike
to the heart!" Tobias declared fiercely. "Teach the corsairs a lesson
and end their threat once and for all."

 
          
Bylath
favored his elder son with an approving smile, but he said, "Let us take
this thing one step at a time. Alliance first, to secure our trade routes; it
would be unwise to overreach ourselves."

 
          
"Of
course," Tobias agreed quickly. "I speak of the future, when our
allied navy will be stronger."

 
          
"What
is your opinion?" Varent asked politely.

 
          
Calandryll
frowned, thinking. It was unusual enough that his views should be sought on
such matters, and he would have preferred to study Nadama, contemplating bow he
should approach her, but he felt his father's eyes an him, as though the Domm
saw his reply as a test of some kind.

 
          
"I
think," he said slowly, "that caution is the wisest policy. Should we
go to war with Kandahar we should be the weaker side. The concept of our cities
joining in alliance is unusual enough that we should first establish the navy.
Let us see how that fares before we attempt so imbitious a venture as direct
attack."

 
          
"Cautious
as ever," Tobias grunted.

 
          
But
Calandryll saw that for once he had his father's ipproval. Encouraged, he
continued, "There will, inevitably, be problems at first. Who commands?
How shall the supportive levies be organized? Shall the ships be built in the
yards at Eryn, or in our own cities? Does Eryn join the alliance?"

 
          
"Eryn
remains neutral," said Bylath. "They'll build our galleys, but not
man them; nor join us."

 
          
"Eryn
sits safe in the north," grumbled Tobias. "The corsairs make no
sallies so deep into the Narrow Sea and Eryn lacks the spine to fight with
us."

 
          
"Why
should she?" asked Calandryll. "The Kand pirates are no threat to
Eryn."

 
          
"And
this alliance is unprecedented," agreed Varent. He turned to Bylath:
"Your son has a good head on his shoulders, my lord. He'd make a fine
diplomat."

 
          
"He's
to be a priest," said Bylath flatly, bringing Calandryll back to earth.
"Tonight I announce it."

 
          
Calandryll
saw the satisfied expression on Tobias's face and felt his spirits sink afresh.
Decisions had clearly been made in his absence, and while they were hardly
unexpected, their immediacy emphasized his dilemma. He sought solace in
contemplation of Nadama: if she agreed to marry him, the influence of the den
Ecvin family could change his
future.           '