The Lion of Senet (6 page)

“And even if we did move him, where do we take him?” She jumped to her feet and began to pace the small sitting room. “Damn, if only Tovin wasn’t here! He was making noises about visiting the survivor at dinner.” She stopped abruptly and turned to Helgin. “He might come here tonight!”

“And I will turn him away,” Helgin promised. “But I can’t deter him for long. You have to decide what you want to do, my lady.”

“That’s simple! He has to die,” she announced decisively.

“I
beg
your pardon?”

“You have to announce that the survivor died,” she instructed, resuming her frenzied pacing. “That you were unable to save him. Say that he had terrible internal injuries or something of that nature. That should throw Tovin off. Then we can move him somewhere safe and I’ll find a way to get him back to his . . . friends.”

“After all this time, do you even know how to contact his friends, my lady?”

“There are still Dhevynians loyal to his cause. The Draitons of Derex. The Seranovs of Grannon Rock...”

“Yes, well, we won’t get into what I think of the Seranov family, my lady,” Helgin muttered. Then he shook his head. “But even if you were certain of their aid, do you know the risk you would be taking if your husband or Tovin Rill discovered you making contact with Senet’s enemies?”

Morna was silent for a moment, then turned to face the physician. Her expression was bitter.

“What other course is open to me, Helgin?” she asked. “The alternative is to inform my husband that the miraculous survivor of the Goddess’s tidal wave is the most wanted man in all of Dhevyn and Senet.”

Chapter 7

Eryk watched Dirk mutter impatiently to himself as he worked out the incomprehensible mathematical problems Helgin had set for him. It seemed to take his young master only as long as it took to write down the answers.

Eryk was in awe of Dirk Provin’s ability to solve things like that. Actually, he was in awe of Dirk generally. Since being rescued by Duchess Morna, his life had taken such a dramatic turn for the better that sometimes his former life seemed like a bad dream. He never went hungry anymore, he had a real bed to sleep in and people treated him with respect. Even the stable boys who tormented him so often when he was smaller didn’t bother him these days. Not since Rees had quietly taken Derwn Hauritz and Taril Longbottom and their friends aside after that episode with the horse trough. Eryk didn’t know what the older Provin brother said to the other boys, but nobody in the castle had picked on him since that day. But he still stayed clear of the town; even Dirk was not certain he would be safe alone down there. Derwn Hauritz, the butcher’s son, bore long grudges.

Eryk was inclined to be forgiving toward Taril and his cronies, though. If not for a beating that left him half dead, Master Helgin would never have brought him to the attention of Duchess Morna, and she would never have taken him into the Keep and he would never have been made Dirk’s servant. He would still be the smallest, stupidest boy on Elcast who spoke with a lisp and was the butt of all the pranks and torments that the apprentices in the town could devise.

Eryk knew he wasn’t very bright, but being around Dirk made him realize that everyone had someone who was smarter than they were.
Except
Dirk. In Eryk’s humble opinion, Dirk was the smartest person on the whole of Ranadon. Even Master Helgin thought he was clever, and he’d lived on other islands where there were lots of smart people.

“Done!”

“That was quick,” Eryk remarked, then added a little doubtfully, “Wathn’t it?”

“Wasn’t it,” Dirk corrected automatically.

“
Wasn’t
it?”

“I suppose.” Dirk blew on the ink to hasten the drying process, then snatched the page off his desk. “I don’t know what Helgin was on about. If these are the worst problems he can come up with, then I think the scholars on Grannon Rock who slaved over them for so long must have been drunken morons to a man.”

Eryk grinned at the comment, following Dirk to the door. “You’re cleverer than them, Lord Dirk.”

“I seriously doubt that, Eryk.”

“You’re smarter than
me,
” Eryk reminded him, then he shrugged. “Actually, everybody in the whole world is smarter than me.”

“Don’t be silly, everybody in the whole world is not smarter than you, Eryk.”

Eryk smiled at the reassurance, but knew better than to believe it. He knew that Dirk didn’t consider himself particularly gifted. His young master thought the duchess was just a trifle overprotective and Master Helgin just a tad senile. When pressed, Dirk would admit, begrudgingly, that he didn’t have much trouble with any of the work the old physician gave him in his dual role of tutor and apprentice master, but insisted that it didn’t prove he was the genius his mother liked to think he was. Eryk knew Dirk found the whole subject of his intelligence just a little bit embarrassing, and fervently wished his parents would stop being so proud of him for it.

They hurried down the stairs to Master Helgin’s rooms. Although Helgin had been anxious to be rid of them earlier, Eryk figured that with Dirk’s studying complete, they would be allowed to stay and tend the unnamed sailor. Eryk ran down the stairs behind Dirk, determined not to miss a minute of this unusual event. Nothing like this had happened in the Keep before. The most exciting thing that had happened to Eryk lately was getting a new pair of boots for his birthday.

The sailor’s injuries made an interesting change from the normal, everyday ailments that Master Helgin dealt with in the Keep, and the man was lucky that he had been thrown ashore on Elcast, where a physician of Master Helgin’s caliber was on hand. The breaks in his leg and arms had been clean breaks, so Helgin claimed, and the old physician had let Dirk and Eryk watch as he stitched the cut on his forehead so carefully it wouldn’t even leave much of a scar. With a bit of judicious manipulation his dislocated shoulder had popped back quite smoothly, and once he awoke from his poppy-dust-induced coma, the man would probably heal quite rapidly.

Eryk was anxious to be there when he woke. Dirk had said the man looked like he might come from the Baenlands. He wanted to ask the Baenlander about his ship. He wanted to ask about the Baenlands, too.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry, lads?” Wallin asked, as Dirk and Eryk almost collided with the duke and Tovin Rill on the third-floor landing.

“We were just going to see Master Helgin, sir.”

“As are we,” Tovin informed him. “We’ve come to see how our lucky sailor fares.”

“He’s probably not awake yet,” Dirk told them. “Master Helgin gave him poppy-dust for the pain.”

“Never fear, we’ll not disturb him.”

Just as anxious to check on the patient, Dirk led the way along the hall to Master Helgin’s room. He depressed the latch. Surprised to find it locked, he fished his own key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, stepping aside to allow his father and the governor to enter.

Lady Morna and Master Helgin froze as they entered, their conversation halting midsentence, their whole stance proclaiming some terrible guilt, although about what, Eryk could not imagine. The door to the other room was closed. The cluttered sitting room, with its numerous piles of books, scrolls and jars, was on the eastern side of the Keep. The sun infused the room with warm red light that lent the scene a surreal atmosphere.

“Wallin! Lord Tovin! What... what are you doing here?”

“We came to check on Master Helgin’s patient, my lady,” Tovin replied.

“You can’t!” Morna declared.

“He can’t be disturbed,” Helgin announced at the same time, stepping in front of the bedroom door.

Tovin stared at the duchess and then the old man suspiciously. “What is going on here?”

Morna took a deep breath and smiled. She looked outwardly calm, but her fingers were knotting and unknotting the gold cord tied around the waist of her gown. Eryk had never seen her do that before.

“What do you mean, my lord?”

Tovin stared at the duchess for a long moment, and then looked at the physician. “Show me your patient, old man,” he ordered.

“He cannot be disturbed,” Helgin repeated firmly.

“Helgin, stop being so stubborn,” Wallin said impatiently. “Lord Tovin merely wants to check on the man. He won’t disturb him. He won’t even wake him.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow it, my lord. The patient is very ill. It’s doubtful he will make it through the night.”

“Has he taken a turn for the worse?” Dirk asked in concern.

“You said he’d be fine before dinner,” Eryk reminded him helpfully.

Tovin glanced at Eryk curiously, then turned his attention back to Master Helgin. “Well, old man? Is he dying? Or is he fine?”

Helgin didn’t answer him. Wallin was sufficiently annoyed by now to push past his wife and the physician and open the door himself. He took a step inside the bedroom and stopped dead, then looked back over his shoulder at Morna. The look he gave her was filled with such pain that Eryk thought Duchess Morna was going to cry.

“Well?” Tovin demanded impatiently.

“I think perhaps you’d better see for yourself, my lord,” Wallin said. He looked away, as if he suddenly couldn’t bear the torment in Morna’s eyes.

The governor crossed the threadbare rug and stepped into the bedroom. From his place near the door Eryk couldn’t see the expression on the Senetian’s face when he saw the sailor, but there was no mistaking his tone when he bellowed, “Call the guards!”

“You can’t move him!” Helgin protested. “Please!”

Tovin pushed his way back into the sitting room to confront Morna. “You may consider yourself under arrest, my lady.”

“Mother?”
Dirk cried in bewilderment. “Father? What’s going on?”

Tovin rounded on Dirk angrily. “Did you know about this, too? Are you part of the plot to conceal his presence from me?”

“Plot? What plot? What are you talking about?”

“Go to your room, Dirk,” Morna ordered. Her voice was flat and unemotional. “And take Eryk with you.”

“No! I want to know what’s happening. Why are you under arrest?”

“Dirk,” his father said, “do as your mother says. Leave us.”

“Lord Tovin?” Dirk seemed to think that if his parents weren’t going to tell him what was going on, then perhaps the Senetian Governor would.

“Your mother is harboring a criminal, Dirk. I’ve no doubt that we interrupted her and her accomplice preparing to spirit him away somewhere.” Tovin turned to Morna, as if he were mightily pleased with himself for uncovering such a dastardly plot. “That was the plan, wasn’t it, my lady? Claim the man had died during the night, before I got a good look at him? What then? A message to his pirate cohorts to get him off the island? Or perhaps you knew he was coming? Is that what his ship was doing near your coast, my lady? Was he coming to visit you?”

“You can’t arrest my mother!” Dirk objected. The Senetian turned to stare at him in surprise.

“Stay out of this, son,” Wallin warned.

Dirk ignored him. “My lord, you can’t arrest my mother for harboring a criminal. If anyone is guilty of that crime, it’s you.”

“Dirk!” Morna cried anxiously.

“No, my lady, let him continue,” Lord Tovin said, his eyes dangerous. “It seems you have quite an advocate. Please, Dirk, carry on.”

“
You
ordered the rescue of the sailor, my lord, and it was your men that brought him here to the Keep, when they could just have easily taken him to the garrison in town. My mother didn’t even know he was in the Keep until you brought it to her attention.”

Dirk waited expectantly. Eryk had no idea who the sailor in the next room was, or what was really happening, but if Dirk was so sure Tovin Rill couldn’t arrest Lady Morna for it, then Eryk believed it, too.

“And what of Master Helgin?” Tovin asked. “Do you have an excuse for him, too?”

“Master Helgin is a physician, sir, and sworn to do no harm.”

Eryk was very proud of Dirk. He wasn’t scared at all. Eryk would have given a great deal to have just a tiny bit of Dirk’s courage.

“As you obviously wish this man serious harm,” his young master continued, “he could be considered to be merely upholding his oath.”

Tovin smiled suddenly and turned to Wallin. “Where did you educate this boy, Wallin? In the tribunals of Senet?”

“I did warn you he was a bright lad,” Wallin reminded him. “He is also very lucky I haven’t throttled him for disobeying me. Leave
now,
Dirk, and stay in your room until I send for you.”

Dirk might be prepared to face down the Senetian Governor on a point of law, Eryk noted with interest, but he wasn’t quite ready to defy his father when he used that tone of voice.

“Yes, sir,” Dirk replied meekly. He turned toward the door with Eryk close on his heels, then stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “May I ask one question, before I go?”

“Is there any way of stopping you?” Tovin muttered.

“The sailor. Who is he?”

Tovin looked at him doubtfully, as if he thought Dirk should know the man’s identity. The duke didn’t look at him at all. Master Helgin was chewing nervously on his bottom lip, something he only did when he was very worried. After a long moment of heavy silence, it was Lady Morna who finally answered him.

“He is Johan Thorn,” she said softly, a wealth of unspoken emotion in her voice. She looked squarely at Tovin and added harshly, “And he’s
not
a criminal.”

“Johan Thorn? Isn’t he a pirate or something?”

“He’s a traitor,” Tovin agreed. “And as soon as I get word to Prince Antonov, he will die a traitor’s death.”

“Why? Because he’s a pirate?”

“Because he is the true King of Dhevyn,” Lady Morna said.

Chapter 8

When the vast city of Avacas came into view, Belagren breathed a sigh of relief. They had made good time from Omaxin, but every day she had spent away from the capital since the eruption was another day for people to start putting their own interpretation on events. Her urgency to return to Avacas had consumed her, and she had driven her escort hard to get back before too much damage could be done in her absence.

She halted her entourage on the rise overlooking the city as they emerged through the last of the mountain passes, thinking it looked unchanged from when she had last seen it several weeks ago. She could only hope that her first impressions were correct. It was nearly three weeks since the eruption, and a lot could have happened in that time without her.

“Shall we head for the palace, my lady?” the captain of her guard asked, interrupting her train of thought.

“No,” she replied, “we shall return to the Hall of Shadows.”

“As my lady commands.”

The captain wheeled his horse around, ready to give the order to move on. Belagren desperately wanted to go straight to the palace, but it was important that Antonov not see her like this, travel stained, weary and unattractive as a result of the forced ride from Omaxin. It was important that he only see her at her best, particularly now that she was getting older. The Lion of Senet had a notorious wandering eye, and Belagren had never fooled herself that she could hold him exclusively to her. He’d had plenty of affairs over the years, but none of the women remained a threat for long. She had seen to that personally. The High Priestess managed the problem by ensuring that she controlled the young women who caught his eye. That way there were no scenes, no awkward explanations and most important, no bastards.

“You’re not going to the palace?” Madalan asked beside her.

Belagren glanced at her friend. “I need a bath. And besides, it might be better if Antonov comes to me.”

Madalan shook her head. “Don’t you ever worry that he’ll tire of playing your games, Belagren?”

The High Priestess smiled. “I am the Voice of the Goddess, Madalan.”

“Then for all our sakes, I hope she speaks to you again soon,” the older woman reminded her. “Or things are going to get very awkward for all of us.”

The Hall of Shadows was a gift from the Lion of Senet. Some five miles from the center of Avacas, it perched on an outcropping of rock that jutted into the Tresna Sea, affording it a glorious view of both the harbor and the city. Formerly the summer residence of a once-wealthy family now fallen from grace, it had been turned into Belagren’s own private palace. Two new wings had been added in addition to an impressive temple on the grounds, the whole thing paid for by a grateful and devoted population who believed that the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers was their conduit to the Goddess.

When they reached the Hall she hurried inside. Madalan issued orders, arranging her bath and organizing for a message to go to the palace to inform the Lion of Senet that the High Priestess had returned. Belagren hurried through her ablutions, certain Antonov would be here as soon as he heard of her arrival.

She was somewhat vexed when he did not appear until later that afternoon.

The High Priestess received him in her private rooms. The Lion of Senet strode into the outer chamber impatiently, pulling off his riding gloves. Antonov Latanya was an attractive, well-muscled man, a fact that had done much to enhance the legends that surrounded him. Belagren frowned as he helped himself to the decanter on the sideboard, pouring a large drink for himself. He did not offer to pour one for the High Priestess.

“His highness appears thirsty,” she remarked, a little annoyed at him.

“His highness is thirsty,” Antonov agreed, turning to face her. “Where have you been?”

“In Omaxin, as well you know.”

“You should have been here,” Antonov scolded. “There was an eruption in the Bandera Straits.”

So that’s where it had happened. She was close—her guess had been the Tresna Sea.

“I know,” she informed him. “It was a sign from the Goddess.”

“It certainly was,” he agreed, suddenly smiling, “and I know exactly what she was trying to tell me.”

Belagren crossed the room and poured herself a glass of wine. It was her job to interpret the will of the Goddess. Antonov was starting to get a little above himself.

“You presume much, my lord, to imagine that you could know—”

“We’ve captured Johan Thorn.”

Belagren quickly took a sip from her wine to hide her shock. She had been so close to announcing that the eruption indicated their work in Omaxin was blessed by the Goddess and should proceed at a faster rate, which she intended to make Antonov finance.
Why didn’t I know about this? Why wasn’t I
told the moment I arrived in Avacas?
And then another thought occurred to her. If Neris Veran lived, the one person on Ranadon who would know for certain was Johan Thorn.

“As I remind you frequently, Antonov,” she said, fighting to keep her relief hidden, “the Goddess eventually answers all our prayers.”

“She certainly answered this one. More than that, she took an active part in his capture.”

Belagren smiled serenely as he spoke, aware that if she said anything, it would simply reveal her ignorance. Better to let him talk. He would tell her everything she needed to know.

“A tidal wave!” he continued. “She sent a tidal wave, of all things. Johan was shipwrecked on Elcast.”

Belagren raised an elegantly arched brow. “Elcast? Perhaps the Goddess has a sense of humor.”

Antonov smiled at her. He had the most intense, golden eyes and they were shining with faith. “I believe she does. And I should never have questioned you, Bela. You’ve been telling me for years that the Goddess would hand Thorn to me when the time was right. Do you forgive me for doubting you?”

Belagren was almost as startled by that admission as she was by the news that Johan Thorn had been captured. Her growing sense of urgency, the whole reason for her trip to Omaxin, was the feeling that Antonov was slipping away from her. This fortuitous eruption had provided her with some breathing space. For the time being, at least, Antonov’s faith in her infallibility was restored.

“Your questions were prompted by frustration,” she replied with a shrug. “But you must never doubt the Goddess.” She stepped closer to him, touching his cheek with her hand. “I know how hard it’s been for you, Antonov. But the Goddess will never let you down.”

Antonov smiled and turned his face to kiss her palm. Belagren felt an unexpected shiver run down her spine. It had been so long since he had come to her bed. The young men she consoled herself with were handsome and well trained, certainly, but none of them could hold a candle to the aura of power that surrounded this man. It was intoxicating . . . and she had missed him so much.

Perhaps now, the time was right. Flushed with his renewed faith, he would come back to her bed and she could dispose of that witless but stunning young girl that she had arranged to keep Antonov occupied during her absence.

“I have to get back to the palace,” he told her, as if he didn’t even notice the invitation in her eyes. “I’ve a lot to take care of before we leave for Elcast.”

“You’re going to Elcast?” The news distracted her from her disappointment.

“You don’t think I’d trust Thorn to anyone else, do you?”

“Of course not...”

“We’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. I plan to stay on Elcast until after the Landfall Feast.”

You can’t leave me!
she screamed silently.
Not now! Not
when I’ve only just got you back!

“You’ll stay for the Elcast Landfall Festival?” she inquired calmly, her demeanor at complete odds with her inner turmoil. “I’m surprised to hear they even have one.”

“Of course they have a Landfall Feast. It’s the law.”

“I wonder who they plan to sacrifice.”

“According to Tovin Rill, last year’s sacrifice was a pig. For that sacrilege alone, I should destroy them.”

“That’s Morna,” Belagren suggested. “Given half a chance, she’d be burning effigies of you and me.”

Antonov nodded, his expression grim. “I might sacrifice Thorn on Elcast. I think I’d like to witness Morna Provin watching as her lover burns.”

Belagren almost cried out in panic. She fought to keep her voice even. “You can’t kill Thorn yet, my dear. Not while his heresy lives on.”

“What heresy? Once he’s dead that will put paid to his sedition. A few years from now, nobody will even remember his name.”

“They will if Neris Veran lives,” she warned.

Antonov stared at her. “
If he lives.
”

“He lives,” Belagren assured him. “If Neris hadn’t survived that cliff in Tolace, Johan would never have bothered stealing his child from the Hall of Shadows. I
know
he lives, Anton. I can feel it. The
Goddess
knows he lives.” Then it came to her, as she spoke. There
was
a way to redeem this potentially disastrous turn of events. “Perhaps that’s why she has given you this opportunity to capture Thorn alive, so that you may finally hunt down Neris Veran and destroy the heresy he spreads.”

She waited for a moment, wondering if Antonov’s renewed faith was strong enough to override his desire to put an end to Johan Thorn.

“What do you suggest I do?” he asked after a moment’s thoughtful silence.

“Don’t kill Thorn until you have absolute proof that Neris Veran is dead.”

Antonov nodded slowly. “If that is what the Goddess wishes.”

Almost faint with relief, Belagren nodded. “It is.”

The Lion of Senet smiled and leaned forward to kiss her. She closed her eyes in anticipation, but his lips merely brushed her cheek. “I’ll see you before I leave?”

“Of course.”

He put down the empty wineglass, then turned and walked away from her, leaving Belagren feeling oddly let down. He stopped when he reached the door, turning to look at her.

“On the other hand, perhaps you’d like to join me in Elcast?”

Belagren stared at him.
You bastard! You knew all along
what I wanted! You delight in tormenting me.

“I’ll have my things sent down to the
Calliope,
” she replied evenly.

“Well, don’t be late. We sail at second sunrise on Tithe-day.”