Limits of Power (60 page)

The dragon nodded. “I see honor and wisdom in that, but not the whole of wisdom. Let me ask this: have you considered the fate of those you disclaim?”

Arcolin felt his brow furrow. “I am not sure I understand,” he said.

“If you will not have them, whom will they have?” the dragon asked. He turned to Samdal. “Lord Chancellor, he names you. What is your lineage?”

Samdal gaped a moment, then said, “My lord, I am the son of Veldan, Chancellor before me, and he the younger brother of Selmar, Chancellor before him. The lineage goes back to Vaskarin, at the founding of Horngard.”

“A notable heritage,” the dragon said. “Tell me, Samdal Chancellor of Horngard, are you wise?”

“Wise? I … am accounted wise in Horngard.”

Arcolin heard that with astonishment; could Samdal really be such a fool? And yet, nothing Samdal had said in their conversation would be considered wise.

“Are you?” the dragon asked, mildly enough, but his voice sharpened. “And yet you left Horngard, Regent though you be, to wander about in search of the last heir of the Dragon Throne … and I do not see with you couriers who might keep you informed of what happens there, or by whom you could send your counsel back.”

“The Council—”

“Of which you are the head. Why did you leave, Samdal Veldan's son, instead of sending someone else?”

Samdal was trembling now; Arcolin could see his hands clenched at his sides. “I—I—they wouldn't—they didn't think—and I—I'd known him—”

“We were friends as boys,” Arcolin said, to spare him.

“So your Council ignores you?” the dragon said, still looking at Samdal.

Samdal looked down. The dragon cocked his head on one side, as Arcolin had seen lizards do, focusing on prey. Arcolin watched … and out came that impossible tongue, far too long to fit into the human-shaped head, shimmering from its own heat.

“See me clearly, Chancellor,” the dragon said, without moving tongue or lips.

Samdal looked up, panic in every line of his face.

“What am I, Sssamdal?”

“I—I—not a—not a—a dragon?”

“Yesss.” The tongue withdrew. “I am Dragon, Samdal. You claim descent from Horngard's first Chancellor. What is your duty to dragonkind?”

Samdal dropped to the carpet and bowed his head to touch it.

“I … am Dragon's servant, no more.”

“No.” The dragon's voice was low but uncompromising. “Your duty to dragonkind is to keep the faith in Horngard should the king be absent or die. You are not my servant only, but Horngard's. Your duty lies elsewhere, and yet you are here.”

“I—I thought—”

“Wrongly.” The dragon sighed, a long breath of hot air. “Your duty is wisdom, Chancellor, but a fool cannot advise a king. Count Arcolin learned his wisdom in war, and not all war-wisdom is of fighting. What I see is order in his company's camp, as I saw it in his domain; he governs well what he has, and he shows wisdom in understanding that he no longer belongs to Horngard. He has other oaths to keep. You, on the other hand—you have left your duty, apparently without knowing.” He turned to Arcolin. “Count, I will myself take that ring you hold, for this man should not be in authority. Will you yield it to me?”

“Certainly,” Arcolin said, his mind whirling. Samdal not fit to be Chancellor? When a boy, he had seemed as apt as any other in the skills they learned and the tasks they were given. But he had been surprised that a Chancellor would come himself rather than send a messenger. He opened his hand with the ring, and the dragon extended his tongue, curled it around the ring, and took it in. “I have a few other things from Horngard—” The torc, bracelet, and earrings, the dagger.

“They are not necessary,” the dragon said. “The ring, however, should return.” Then it nodded to him. “I also commend your responsibility in the matter of the kapristi. We must talk more of this later, but for now—” He glanced at Samdal, then back at Arcolin. “For now it is clear that dragonkind must once more take note of events in the House of Dragon. This is your personal quarters, I perceive; I cannot in courtesy ask you to leave, but I must speak with this Samdal alone.” Turning to Samdal, the dragon said, “You will accompany me?”

“I—I—” Samdal looked at Arcolin as if hoping for rescue.

Arcolin could think of nothing to say. He did not believe the dragon would actually kill Samdal, but he expected the encounter would be unpleasant, and if the dragon said Samdal was unfit to be Chancellor, he would lose that post.

“Samdal, you have my answer,” he said as the silence lengthened. “I am not the right person for this task. I wish you—and all Horngard—good fortune in finding someone suitable.” To the dragon he said, “Sir, as this man has been my guest and we were friends as boys, I would hope no harm comes to him.”

The dragon's stare was daunting, but Arcolin did not drop his gaze. “Those without wisdom often come to harm,” the dragon said at last, “but I would wish harm on no one who does no ill.”

With that Arcolin had to be content; he bowed, and the dragon gestured. Samdal moved as if he were led by strings like a puppet in a fair stall, and the dragon followed him out. Arcolin sat down again and picked up one of the pastries on the tray, then put it down again. Later. The dragon would talk to him later about … about the kapristi? About Horngard? Both? He put his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. Well … the ring was gone, and with it all temptation and also the old ache and resentment.

He called Burek in and told him the whole story.

“Horngard! So … that's why you did not mind that I was a bastard who had left home under a cloud?”

“Exactly. I'm glad you've reconciled with your grandfather, but equally glad you've not tried to go back into that … that…”

“Whirlpool,” Burek said with a grin. “Like the ones in the Chaloquay—suck you in, and you go 'round and 'round, hitting the rocks and never getting anywhere.” He poured more water for them both.

“It's odd, now I think of it,” Arcolin said. “I didn't before. But the three of us, Kieri and Dorrin and I, were all the same in that way. None of us had a happy situation growing up. Kieri's was the worst, those years of slavery, but Dorrin's was bad enough. Mine was easiest, until that final split. More like yours in that, I think.” He shook his head to clear it. “The dragon's coming back to talk to me sometime, he said. You were right to bring him in, and I'll tell the others that if they see him, he's to be guided to me. Though I expect he could find me by himself.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any new gossip about Vaskronin or Andressat's missing son?”

“No, sir. Just the speculation we heard before. Gone over to Vaskronin, or captured by Vaskronin, or dead.”

Arcolin set himself to write the letter to his king he felt he must write, this time revealing who he really was and what he had been offered and refused. Would the dragon make the connection between Prince Camwyn and Horngard's need? Almost certainly, but with dragon wisdom, not a human's. He phrased very carefully his own thoughts about that.

Vérella, Tsaia

W
hen will she give an answer?” Mikeli, king of Tsaia, glared at Marshal-Judicar Oktar. “We're almost to Autumn Court. I cannot hide this from the peers forever.”

“Sir king, the Marshal-General is doing her best—she cannot force the Council to come to an answer any faster.”

“If she were more forceful—”

“If she were more forceful, she would have a revolt—and there would be blood in the streets. Is that what you want, sir king?”

“No. But we will have one here, where I would like it even less, if we do not have an answer, a way of reconciling the Girdish—”

“Do you really think a mere change of the Code would solve the problem?” Oktar asked.

Mikeli stared at him. “It's the Code. The law. Why wouldn't it?”

“Because the people most opposing a change may not obey a change. If they believe it's against Gird's will—” Oktar drew his finger across his throat.

“Then how do we convince them?” Mikeli asked. “Or do you think we should let matters take their course?”

“No, sir king, I do not.” Oktar frowned. “In anticipation of a ruling from the Council along the lines of the Marshal-General's first communication here, I have been telling Marshals in Tsaia to hold all cases for review until we have that ruling. But—as you know—the number is growing. Besides those you yourself heard of on your progresses, I've had reports of more than four hands … five hands and three, to be exact. Word has already spread; several Marshals have reported panic in their granges.”

“And we don't know why,” Mikeli said. “Something must have happened to start this—”

“The eldest so far is Kirgan Beclan … so if it was something that happened, it must have been that far back—”

“Except that all signs of magery have emerged in the past year.”

“One possibility no one has mentioned,” Oktar said, tenting his fingers, “is that the gods have granted magery again because we will need it.”

“
Need
magery? Why?”

Oktar shook his head. “Sir king, consider beyond this single problem. Magery was here all along, let us say, like water under the ground. Its one outlet we know of in this kingdom was the Verrakai family. Perhaps they … they drew out so much, for their own use, that little was left for others. They are dead; only one Verrakaien remains, and she—I will say firmly, of my own judgment—has not been seeking others' power. So whatever magery is, there could be more of it, rising like springs.”

“I never thought of magery that way,” Mikeli said.

“Nor did I, sir king, until now. But if this reappearance is not caused by some evil power with some evil intent, then it could be as natural as the return of seasons, or be the deliberate intervention of good powers for our benefit.”

“Have you suggested that to your fellow Marshals?”

“No, having just thought of it. But I will, with those here in Vérella, and see if that can ease their minds.” He cocked his head. “How long, sir king, do you plan to keep your brother's magery secret? How long do you think you can?”

Mikeli shook his head. “I don't know. I live in fear that it will out. That haunts my sleep, like the dreams that damned crown forces on me.”

“Better to come from you than be found out,” Oktar said. He had counseled that before without success.

Mikeli nodded slowly. “I am coming to that belief myself, Marshal-Judicar. But how, without condemning my brother—without plunging the realm into chaos?”

“Tell your dukes first. You trust them, do you not? And Duke Verrakai already knows. Duke Marrakai's holdings border Fintha; he must have heard about the problems there. Tell him. Your uncle—he already knows the problem. And Duke Serrostin has a son who's had contact with magery.”

“I suppose we should be grateful we don't have an outbreak of Kuakkgani,” Mikeli said.

“Perhaps.” Oktar looked thoughtful. “If we knew what was coming, we would know … but we don't.”

“Do you really think it could be within Gird's will?”

“Within the High Lord's will, I would say, sir king, or perhaps Alyanya's, or both. Gird is my patron; I am trained in Gird's way, but what we have learned from these explorations in Kolobia suggests what we know of Gird Strongarm is still very far from all the man was or thought.”

Mikeli sighed, then nodded. “Well, then. Marrakai and Serrostin are off at their estates, so I will send word to my uncle that I need to talk to him.”

He wrote that note, handed it to a courier, then went to find his brother. Camwyn and Aris were reading, he discovered, a most unusual activity for the pair of them, explained only by the slightly cooler breeze coming from the shaded north windows.

“What's that?” he asked, as they scrambled up from their seats.

“Marshal Oktar suggested I study the different versions of the Code,” Camwyn said. He looked pale, Mikeli thought, not nearly as brown as he'd been earlier in the summer. Yet he was both taller and more muscular.

“Relating to magery in particular?” Mikeli asked.

“Not just magery,” Camwyn said. “He asked me to compare the versions across time and between the Finthan Code and ours.”

“Going to make you a judicar, is he?” Mikeli said. “I wouldn't think you'd like that much, would you, Cam?”

“I don't know.” Camwyn scratched his head, then shook it. “Not if it means always staying indoors—but this is more interesting than I thought.”

Mikeli closed the door to the room and sat down on the remaining chair. “I need to talk to both of you. You've been careful; no one's found out yet—but that won't go on forever—”

“I'm trying—”