Summerblood (14 page)

“The point of which is?” Rann grumbled through a grimace.

“What you've all been thinking. If the things are so dangerous—and they are, both at a real and symbolic level— why keep them here? Or why not simply disable them and no one the wiser? Remove the gems; substitute others, lock up the components in remote locations and be done.”

“All of which assumes they're the threat you think they are.” From Merryn.

“But they
are
a threat, sister,” Avall shot back. “You should know that better than anyone. It was you that leveled half a cloister when the sword got the better of you—and you're as strong-willed as anyone I know.”

“But I wasn't wearing the whole ensemble,” Merryn countered.

“No, but we can't guarantee anyone else who got hold of them would, either. In any case, while they're here they're a terrible temptation to anyone who wants power—unclanned
thieves and paroled Priests alike. I'm a fool to keep them anywhere around, and at that I've got them multiply guarded. But if you think there aren't a hundred plots already afoot to steal them, to whatever end, you're fooling yourself. Everyone from North Gorge to Ixtianos knows that the givens of power have changed, and that a boy has changed them and now controls them.”

Strynn reached over to take his hand. “Obviously you're voicing things you've pondered long and hard. And I suspect you've already reached a conclusion you're afraid to reveal. I think you want us to reach the same conclusion, then suggest it. But you—”

“You have to trust us enough to tell us what's on your mind,” Rann finished for her. “We care about you because we're your closest friends, and we care about the Kingdom because of how we were raised. Do I have to say any more?”

Avall buried a grin in another sip of liquor. “Very well,” he said. “What I've been thinking is this. On the positive side, the regalia gave us victory over Ixti. Part of that was due to Rrath, granted. But it
was
a victory, and, whether I like it or not, it gave me my throne.”

“Which you didn't want,” Lykkon grinned in turn.

“Which I didn't want, but nevertheless have. But to return to where I was. The negatives are in one sense more nebulous, but in another sense more real. The gems have cost us. They cost us Eddyn absolutely; they cost us Rrath, maybe; and they quite possibly cost Eellon his life. They've made Priest-Clan jealous, made Common Clan distrust us, and done who knows what to those between.”

“All of which we knew,” Merryn sighed. “Get to the point.”

“The point is, those who
don't
control them would, for any number of reasons, like to. And we, who
do
control them, fear them on the one hand—and rightly—and on the other cherish them as what might be construed as security, but which I consider to be temptation.”

“In other words,” Rann summarized, “if the people riot, you're afraid you'll resort to the regalia instead of more traditional channels.”

Avall nodded. “Eron has never been ruled by fear, and I won't let it start with me. In a very real sense, we've moved too far too fast, and we have to retrench a little.”

“Which means?” Vorinn inquired, speaking for the first time.

“Which means, much as I hate to say it, that we—I—have to remove this massive source of temptation from any possible abuse—or use, either.”

Lykkon's eyes were huge. “You don't mean …”

Another nod. “I do. Part of the regalia's value is symbolic, but that function can as easily be filled by something that
looks
like the regalia as by the regalia itself.”

Lykkon's eyes went even wider. “Which is why you've been making molds of it. You said it was for ‘archival purposes’—”

“It was, and is. But it also allows easy duplication by anyone skilled in casting and gold leaf—at which, let me remind you, half the people in this room excel.”

“And the real regalia?”

A final deep breath, and he said what could not be recalled. “We hide it. I can't trust myself with it, and I won't live in fear for the rest of my life.”

“And
where
will you hide it?” Tryffon snapped gruffly.

Avall didn't bother suppressing a smirk, though he sensed that if anyone defied him now it would be Warcraft's Chief. “If I knew that, it wouldn't be hidden.” Then, before anyone else could interrupt: “I'll give it to you, Merry. You take it, and you spirit it away in the night. Put it somewhere none of us knows nor could reach easily. But do it as soon as possible. The important thing is that only one person alive know where it is.”

Silence filled the room. Stunned silence. Then, softly, from Lykkon: “What about your personal gems? They're as much a threat.”

Avall glared at his young kinsman. “That's another debate
for another time,” he said eventually, aware even as he said it that it was something he should have considered himself—and a problem that would not be dismissed easily. “For now … I wanted you to know my thinking on this thing, and I wanted to know yours. We can talk as long as you like, but the decision rests with two people: Me—as King, not as your friend, Avall—and Merryn, who has been asked to undertake a preposterous royal commission, but is still free to refuse that request.”

More silence, from everyone, caught, as they were, between their roles as friends of a man and subjects of a King. It was Merryn that finally spoke. “Give me the keys to their keeping place,” she said. “If I return them tomorrow, you'll know how I decided.”

Avall smiled wanly. “Which is all I could ask.”

Merryn looked very, very troubled. “Unfortunately,” she replied heavily, “it's not all
I
can ask.” She gazed up at him, a grim sadness in her eyes that had not been there a breath before. “If I'm going to do this thing, I want it done once and for all. For that reason, I want to save us all a lot of trouble I can already see starting to fester.” Her gaze slipped sideways to Lykkon. “I want you all to relinquish your personal gems to me as well. Now. Before I leave this table. This means you, Avall, and you, Strynn and Rann.”

A murmur of amazement rumbled around the room. Avall opened his mouth to reply, but Merryn silenced him with a raised palm. “No, hear me out,” she demanded, in a voice like steel in ice. “I have two reasons for asking this, and let me assure you, neither has anything to do with any personal power plays. The first is simply another aspect of temptation. If you're going to remove such dangerous things from reach, you have to do it absolutely. It does no good if, an eighth or a year from now, you decide you want another, more powerful sword or shield, and simply stick your personal gems in new mountings. Additionally, it does no good for me to hide the regalia if you can contact me through the gems. Hidden is as hidden does.”

Avall scowled at her, rubbing his chin. Strynn looked troubled; Rann looked dazed. Even Lykkon looked mildly stunned.

“It makes sense,” Strynn conceded slowly. “My gem certainly helps in some cases. But in the balance …”

“It's hard to fault your logic,” Rann agreed, already fishing inside his tunic.

“Avall?” Merryn prompted, none too gently.

“You can have it,” he rasped at last. “I may regret it, but I'm sick of worrying about the things—and the fact that Lyk's already brought it up means we'll be thrashing it until the Last Winter if we don't address it now. But,” he added, “you can only have my second gem. The master gem stays with me. That's not subject to debate.”

Merryn raised a brow, her face gone tense with anger. “You're undermining your position.”

Avall stared back at her, suddenly incredibly weary. “Perhaps, but I'm fairly certain I'm the only person who can control it, and, I fear, the only person who can cure it.”

“And if you do? Cure it, I mean?” Vorinn challenged.

“Then Merry gets a second royal quest.”

Merryn rolled her eyes, but nodded and extended her hand palm up.
“Now,”
she snapped. “If I have to ask again, you'll have to find someone else to make your journey. I may refuse anyway. You may have your gems back tomorrow.”

Avall shook his head, but reached into his tunic anyway. Rann's gem already gleamed in his hand. Strynn was fumbling with the clasp on hers. Avall looked at his briefly, then laid it in Merryn's palm. No words passed between them, but tension was palpable in the room. “You're now the most powerful person in the world,” he told his sister softly.

“I know,” she whispered back. “You won't regret it.”

Avall broke eye contact first, and let his gaze drift slowly around the chamber. “And now,” he murmured, “I think we've all had a very trying day, so I would wish you all … good evening.”

Only Tryffon lingered at the door, face clouded, brow
furrowed with concern. “I knew it would do no good to tell you this,” he told Avall finally. “I know a man with a certain mind when I see him. But, forgive me when I say this, lad— but I think you're a fool.”

“I may be,” Avall acknowledged, with a sad smile. “But at least I know what I want to worry about.” And closed the door behind him.

It had taken Kylin far longer than expected to reach what had been his nominal goal ever since sufficient smoke had cleared from the ventilation ducts for him to dare moving at all. Indeed, he'd had
no
goal at first, save to get as far away as possible from the place where he'd entered that maze of narrow shafts and cramped passageways, driven by what he now acknowledged was a largely irrational fear of being caught.

That assumed anyone was looking for him, for one thing, which was far from given. Granted, he'd arrived with a royal escort, but that had been late at night, so the event had gone largely unmarked, except by Crim. And since then, he'd kept to himself, but for a pair of audiences with that formidable lady. As for the few friends he'd managed to make within his own clan, most of the ones he'd once claimed had left with the last trek.

And afterward—well, everyone knew the ducts existed, but few actually thought about them, and there was so much noise after the initial invasion and follow-up explosion that any odd sounds were ascribed to clumsy invaders or the hold's settling.

Which had freed him to make his way downward. But that had presented another set of problems, for the ducts, like the
rest of the hold, had suffered major damage, with some passages being blocked by rubble and others sporting gaping holes in the floor that forced him to back up. Fortunately, he had a near-perfect memory, and had possessed sense enough when he began his exploration to count paces—if crawling on hands and knees constituted paces—and turns left and right. In spite of that, he was no longer certain his retreats had returned him to points he'd visited before or merely similar ones.

It was therefore no surprise that it had taken most of the first day to find somewhere he could move downward instead of horizontally. Not that he'd known, at first, for a rough-cast metal grille had blocked access to what sound and scent merely suggested was a tight spiral stairway. Many of the vertical shafts
did
in fact contain stairs, both for stability and to better regulate the flow of heat up and fresh air down. Most were simply sealed off and thus not very well finished. That this one even had a grille closing it off from the ductwork had been something of a surprise, though perhaps it had something to do with controlling rats, of which he'd heard several but met none. And glad he was about that, too.

The
immediate
problem had been that he hadn't known if that particular stair was in use. Finally, he'd decided to wait four hands, as best he could tell, and if no one passed his hiding place, to venture out.

Unfortunately, sleep had ambushed him where he lay, and he had no idea how much time had elapsed while he sprawled there in a stupor. He'd thus waited a while longer, hearing nothing but the rush of air through the stairwell and noting no change in light (for he could discern major differences in illumination). Eventually impatience had got the better of him, and he'd pried the grille free with an abandoned mason's chisel he'd found some way back, and wriggled out.

To find himself where he was now: in what he assumed was the hollow core of one of the massive piers that flanked the central court. Happily, going down was relatively easy—until his careful progress ended when a shuffling foot tapped out
into nothing. He sat down at that, breathing hard, and harder yet when a probe with an outstretched hand showed at least three steps fallen through to the turn below. And since there was no way to tell what waited down there, he didn't dare proceed, much less jump. Which meant a retreat into the horizontal system, from which he hoped to find his way to another, similar stair, since all the piers in the Grand Court were reported to contain them.

And so he crawled onward, increasingly aware of a gnawing in his stomach, which reminded him, now he'd slept, that he'd not only lost track of what time it was but of how long it had been since he'd eaten.