Valdemar 05 - [Vows & Honor 02] - Oathbreakers (18 page)

Jadrek glared, his whole attitude one of affronted dignity, but did not call for help or gibber in helpless anger as Tarma had half expected. Instead every word he spoke was forceful, but deadly cold, controlled—and quiet.

“What, pray, is this supposed to mean?” The gray eyes were shadowed with considerable pain at the moment; Tarma hoped it was not because of something she'd done to him in getting the door open. “I have come to expect a certain amount of cavalier treatment, but not in my own quarters!”

“My lord—” Kethry began.

“I,” he said bitterly, “am no one's lord. You may abandon that pretense.”

Kethry sighed. “Jadrek, I humbly beg your pardon, but we were trying to find a way to speak with you without drawing undue attention. If you want us to leave this moment, we will—but dammitall, we are
trying
to find out what's become of our Captain, and you seem to be the only source of reliable information!”

He raised one eyebrow in surprise at her outspokenness, and looked at her steadily. “And you might well be the instrument of my execution for treason.”

Tarma whistled softly through her teeth, causing both of their heads to swivel in her direction. “That bad, is it?”

His jaw tightened, but he did not answer.

“Believe or not, I've got an answer for you. Look, I would assume you are probably the most well-read man in this city; that's what the Captain seemed to think,” Kethry continued. “Do you know what a
kyree
is?”

He nodded warily.

“Do you know what it means to be mindmated to one?”

“A little. I also know that they are reputedly incapable of lying mind-to-mind—”

At Kethry's hand signal, Tarma stood away from the door, crossed the room at a sprint and flung open the casement window that looked out over the stableyard. She had seen Jadrek at this window the night before, which was how she and Kethry had figured out which set of rooms was his. Warrl was ready, in the yard below; Tarma could see him bulking dark in the thin moonlight. Before Jadrek could react to Tarma's sudden movement, Warrl launched himself through the open window and landed lightly in the middle of the rather small room. It seemed that much smaller for his being there.

The
kyree
looked at Jadrek—seemed to look
through
him—his eyes glowing like topaz in the sun. Then he bowed his head once in respect to the Archivist, and mindspoke to all three of them.

Jadrek stared at the kyree, his jaw slack with astonishment. “But—but—”

The Archivist reached for the back of a chair beside him to steady himself. He was pale, and there was marked confusion in his eyes. “I—please, ladies, sit down, or as a gentleman, I cannot—and I feel the need of something other than my legs to support me—”

There were only two chairs in the room; Tarma solved the problem of who was to take them by sinking cross-legged to the floor. Warrl curled behind her as a kind of backrest, which made the room look much less crowded. While Kethry took the second chair and Jadrek the one he had obviously (by the book on the table beside it) vacated at their knock, Tarma took a quick, assessing look around her.

There were old, threadbare hangings on most of the stone walls, probably put up in a rather futile attempt to ward off the damp chill. There was a small fire on the hearth to her right, probably for the same reason. Beside the hearth was a chair—or rather, a small bench with a back to it—with shabby brown cushions. This was the seat Jadrek had resumed, his own brown robes blending with the cushions. Beside this chair stood a table with a single lamp, a book that seemed to have been put down rather hastily, and a half-empty wineglass. Across from this was a second, identical seat. To Tarma's left stood a set of shelves, full of books, odd bits of rock and pieces of statuary, and things not readily identifiable in the poor light. At the sight of the books, Tarma felt a long-suppressed desire to get one of them in her hands; she hadn't had a good read in months, and her soul thirsted for the new knowledge contained within those dusty volumes.

In the wall with the bookcase was another door, presumably to Jadrek's bedchamber. In the wall directly opposite the one they had entered was the window.

Pretty barren place.
This time Tarma was thinking directly at the
kyree.

:He has less—far less—respect than he deserves,:
Warrl
said with some heat. This man has knowledge many would die for, and he is looked upon as some kind of fool!:

“I ... had rather be considered a fool,” Jadrek said slowly.

The
kyree
raised his head off his paws sharply, and looked at the man in total astonishment.
:You
hear
me?:

“Yes—wasn't I supposed to?”

Tarma and the
kyree
exchanged a measured glance, and did not answer him directly. “Why would you rather be considered a fool?” Tarma asked, after a moment of consideration.

“Because a fool hears a great deal—and a fool is not worth killing.”

“I think,” Kethry said, leaning forward, “you had better begin at the beginning.”

 

Some hours later they had a full picture, and it was not a pleasant one.

“So the story is that Stefansen intended some unspecified harm to his brother, and when caught, fled. In actuality, Tindel and I overheard some things that made us think Raschar might be considering assuring that there would be no other male claimants to the throne and we warned Stefansen.”

“Where did he go?” Kethry asked.

“I don't know; I don't want to know. The less I know, the less I can betray.” His eyes had gone shadowy and full of secrets.

“Good point. All right, what then?”

“Have you had a good look around you?”

“Raschar's pretty free with his money,” Tarma observed.

“Freer than you think; he supports most of the hangers-on here. He's also indulging in some expensive habits.
Tran
dust, it's said. Certainly some very expensive liquors, dainties, and ladies.”

“Nice lad. Where's the money coming from?”

Jadrek sighed. “That's the main reason why I—and my father before me—are not in favor. King Destillion began taxing the peasantry and the merchant class far too heavily to my mind about twenty years ago; Raschar is continuing the tradition. About half of our peasants have been turned into serfs; more follow every year. Opposing
that
was a point Stefansen agreed with me on—and one of the reasons why Destillion intended to cut him out of the succession.”

“But didn't?” Kethry asked.

Jadrek shook his head. “Not for lack of trying, but the priests kept him from doing so.”

“Idra,” Tarma reminded them.

“She saw what Raschar was doing, and began to think that despite Stefansen's habit of hopping into bed with anything that wiggled its hips at him, he might well have been a better choice after all. He certainly had more understanding of the peasantry and how the kingdom's strength depends on them.” Jadrek almost managed a smile. “Granted, he spent a great deal of time with them, and pretty much with rowdies, but I'm not certain now that his experience with the rougher classes was a bad thing. Well, Idra wanted an excuse to go after him—I unearthed the old story of the Sword that Sings. Raschar has one chink in his armor; he's desperate to prove he's the rightful monarch. Idra took Raschar the old Archive books and got permission to look for the Sword. Then—she vanished.”

The fire crackled while they absorbed this. “But she'd intended to go after Stefansen?” Kethry asked, finally.

Jadrek nodded. “It might well be that she decided to just go, before Raschar could change his mind—”

Tarma finished the sentence. “But you aren't entirely certain that something didn't happen to her. Or that something didn't happen right after she set out.”

He nodded unhappily, twisting his hands together in his lap. “She would have said good-bye. We've been good friends for a long time. We used to exchange letters as often as her commissions permitted. I ... saw the world through her eyes....”

There was a flash of longing in his face, there for only a instant, then shuttered down. But it made Tarma wonder what it must be like, to have dreams of adventuring—and be confined to the body of a half-lame scholar.

She stood up, suddenly uncomfortable with the insight. The tiny room felt far, far too confining. “Jadrek, we'll talk with you more, later. Right now you've given us plenty to think on.”

“You'll try and find out what's happened to her?” He started to stand, but Kethry gently pushed him back down into his chair as Tarma turned abruptly, not wanting to see any more of this man's pain. She turned the latch silently, cracked the door open and checked for watchers in the corridor beyond.

“Looks clear—” Kethry and Warrl slipped out ahead of her, and Tarma glanced back over her shoulder soberly. The Archivist was watching them from his chair, and there was a peculiar, painful mixture of hope and fear on his face. “Jadrek, that was why we came here in the first place. And be warned—if anything
has
happened to Idra, there might not be a town here once the Hawks find out about it.”

And with that she followed her partner back into the corridor.

J
adrek tried to return to his book, but it was fairly obvious that he was going to be unable to concentrate on the page in front of him. He finally gave up and sat staring at the flickering shadows on the farther wall. His left shoulder ached abominably; it had been wrenched when the door had been jerked out of his hands. This would be a night for a double-dose of medicine, or he'd never get to sleep.

Sleep would not have come easily, anyway—not after this evening's conversation. Tindel had been after him for the past several days to talk to the women, but Jadrek had been reluctant and suspicious; now Tindel would probably refrain from saying “I told you so” only by a strong exercise of will.

What did decide me
,
anyway?
he wondered, trying to find a comfortable position as he rubbed his aching shoulder, the dull throb interfering with his
train of thought. Was it the presence of the kyree? No, I don't think so; I think I had made up my mind before they brought him in. I think it was the pretty one that made up my mind—Kethry. She's honest in a way I don't think could be counterfeited. I can't read the Shin‘a'in, but if you know what to look for, Kethry's an open book.

He sighed
. And let's not be fooling ourselves; it's the first time in years that a pretty woman looked at you with anything but contempt, Jadrek. You're as susceptible to that as the next man. More....

He resolutely killed half-wisps of wistful might-be's and daydreams, and got up to find his medicines.

 

Tarma left Warrl watching the Archivist's door from the corridor, just in case. His positioning was not nearly as good as she'd have wished; in order to keep out of sight he'd had to lair-up in a table nook some distance away from Jadrek's rooms, and not in direct line of sight. Still, it would have to do. She had some serious misgivings about the Archivist's safety, especially if it should prove that he was being watched.

Creeping along the corridors with every sense alert was unnervingly like being back with the Hawks on a scouting mission. Kethry had hesitantly and reluctantly tendered the notion of using her powers to spy out the situation ahead of them; Tarma had vetoed the idea to her partner's obvious relief. If there was any kind of mage-talented spy keeping an eye on Jadrek, use of magic would not only put alerts on the Archivist but on
them
as well. Their own senses
must
be enough. But it was tense work; Tarma was sweating before they made it to the relative safety of the guesting section.

They slipped their more ornate outfits back on in the shelter of the same alcove where they'd doffed them, and continued on their way. Now was the likeliest time for them to be caught, but they got back to their rooms without a sign that they had been noticed—or so Tarma thought.