Fool's Errand (21 page)

For a long moment, Persephone said nothing. Though she knew that her answer must be “yes” for Finn's sake, the word stuck in her throat. She was not overly concerned with the notion of accepting peril, but to pledge allegiance under false pretences—even for the right reasons—just felt
wrong
.

“Wife?” murmured Azriel. Drawing her even closer, he slid a forefinger under her chin and tilted her head so that she was looking up at him.

He is a Gypsy
,she thought suddenly as she stared into his very blue eyes.
I could pledge allegiance to him and mean it
.

“Yes, Cairn,” she said, though she was yet looking at Azriel. “I willingly do as you ask.”

As had become custom in these dangerous times, Persephone took the Mark of the Gypsies on a patch of skin that none but she—and, in his dreams, her husband—would ever see. After she'd done so, the whole tribe sat down at the long tables to eat and go over what they knew about Balthazar's discovery of the healing pool.

“
Supposed
discovery,” said Fayla, who was sitting across from where Persephone was wedged between Azriel and Rachel.

“Supposed discovery,” conceded Cairn from her spot beside Fayla and Tiny—who still smelled of wine and who was slumped over, unmoving, with his head buried in his folded arms.

“The fact is that no Gypsy ever heard the story of the discovery first-hand,” said Fayla.

“Why not?” asked Persephone in surprise as she piled her platter with thick slices of meat and wedges of cheese, sausages, boiled eggs, fried potatoes, leftover wedding cake and bread smeared with sugarberry jam.

“Balthazar was the Gypsy ambassador to Parthania—it would not have been appropriate for him to have a contingent of his tribesmen living within the walls of the imperial palace,” said Fayla, eyeing Persephone's platter with amusement, as though she had a fair notion how the tribe's newest Gypsy had worked up such an appetite.

“It would have been seen as an act of aggression,” explained Azriel, as he poured his famished bride a mug of ale.

“Exactly,” said Cairn, smiling at his gallantry. “Besides, what need had Balthazar for his tribesmen? As ambassador, it was his job to establish relationships with those outside the tribe, and by all accounts he did this well. Indeed, he and King Malthusius were said to have been good friends for many years. As dear to each other as brothers, it was said. In fact, after Balthazar disappeared and was given up for dead, it was the Erok king himself who arranged for the private funeral service that Balthazar ruined by showing up alive and well—”

“And boasting of having discovered the reborn Pool of Genezing,” finished Fayla.

Cairn nodded.

Persephone gestured for Rachel to pass the steaming porridge. As she served herself up several hefty ladlefuls of the stuff, she said, “Did he offer any proof of his discovery?”

“Proof?” said Azriel, slipping his arm around her as naturally as any man would around his wife. Brushing his lips against her suddenly scarlet cheek, he said, “No. But they say he had scars—scars suggestive of a mishap that ought to have killed him, scars that looked many years healed even though he'd only been gone from Parthania for a matter of weeks.”

“They' say he had scars? Who are ‘they,' Azriel?” asked Rachel, drizzling honey over her own sticky pile of porridge before handing the honey pot to Persephone, who could not help herself leaning into Azriel as she reached for it.

“That's just it—we don't know who ‘they' are,” said Fayla. “Because no Gypsy had a chance to speak with Balthazar before his arrest, all we know is rumour. Tittletattle whispered by servants who happened to peep through the right keyholes.”

“Not everything servants say is ‘tittle-tattle,' Fayla,” said Persephone, lifting her chin.

“That is true,” agreed the beautiful Gypsy girl as she cast a sidelong glance at Tiny, who'd just moaned softly. “But it is also true that a story told a thousand times over is likely to change completely over the course of the telling.”

“All right, then,” interjected Rachel. “What do you
think
you know about the discovery of the pool?”

“We think that Balthazar discovered it after a long sea journey,” said Fayla. “We think he was shipwrecked and that he made it to shore only to soon after find himself chased by a frothing beast into a place of nightmares.”

“How soon after he reached shore was he chased?” asked Persephone.

“Impossible to say—it could have been minutes, hours or even days,” put in Cairn. “Balthazar was a known storyteller with a reputation for not allowing facts to hinder the telling of a good tale. In the case of this particular tale, it is reasonable to assume that he might also have been being purposely vague to prevent anyone from guessing the whereabouts of the pool.”

“And the frothing beast? And the place of nightmares?” said Persephone as Azriel casually took his arm from around her.

“Again—impossible to say,” said Cairn. “Though I can tell you that those exact phrases—‘frothing beast' and ‘place of nightmares'—were heard over and over again in the reports we managed to collect.”

“Anything else?” asked Persephone, frustrated by how little valuable information they had to offer—and by how much she missed the feel of Azriel's arm around her.

Slumped beside Fayla, Tiny stirred for the first time since sitting down at the table. “We think old Balthazar found the pool at night—” he began hoarsely, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

“Then perhaps the beast he mentioned was a ravenous night creature of some kind,” said Rachel with a shiver. “Like a bear or a wolf—something you might find prowling around the darkest part of the Great Forest after the sun goes down.”

When Fayla allowed that it was possible, Rachel shivered again and reached for more sausages.

“There are only two other thing we
think
we know,” said Cairn. “The first is that while he was running away from the beast in the darkness, Balthazar fell far enough to be mortally wounded. And the second is that he spoke privately to the ambassadors of each of the other three outlying tribes in the hours before his arrest.”

“What about the reason that Balthazar sailed away from Parthania in the first place—do you know anything about that?” asked Persephone, inhaling sharply at the sudden feel of Azriel's hand upon her knee. “Because if we knew where he was headed when—”

“We don't,” said Fayla impatiently. “That is why approaching the tribes to find out what he might have told their ambassadors will be our only hope of narrowing down the search area.”

“
Our
only hope?” said Persephone in surprise.

“Tiny and I thought to join you on the quest,” said Fayla with a hint of defiance, as though she rather resented the fact that her participation hadn't been assumed
or
requested.

Persephone glanced at Tiny, who currently looked as though he'd have to be transported by sledge, spoon-fed mush and administered fluids by dropper to survive a trip to the backhouse.

Seeing Persephone's glance, Fayla stiffened and said, “Of course, if you'd rather undertake the quest by yourselves—”

“No, no,” said Persephone hurriedly. “Your assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

“All right,” said Fayla, somewhat mollified. “Then the only question that remains is, which tribe should we approach first?”

“In spite of the great dangers associated with doing so, it must be the Khan,” declared Cairn. “Their various clans live high upon the mountains in the north. To reach them, you will have to risk crippling falls, bitter cold and deadly snow beasts. In addition, you will have to risk being butchered without warning. The Khan are fierce fighters and powerful beyond imagining. Moreover, years of having their tribesmen kidnapped and their beloved woolly sheep stolen and slaughtered—sometimes by slave hunters posing as Gypsies—have instilled in them a tendency to attack first and ask questions later.”

“And this is the tribe you suggest we approach
first?”
said Persephone, sounding so dismayed that Cairn actually laughed.

“Yes,” she said, “because old Balthazar was said to have been closer to the Khan Barka than to the ambassadors of either of the other two outlying tribes. If he told anyone anything meaningful about his discovery, it would have been Barka. And though Barka and the other two ambassadors were later arrested and imprisoned, never to be seen again, unlike Balthazar, all three of them would have had time to get a message to their tribesmen.”

Something in Cairn's words niggled at the back of Persephone's mind, but she set it aside to think about later. “And if Balthazar told this Barka nothing, or if this Barka didn't manage to get a message to his tribesmen?” she asked.

“You'll have to approach the Marinese and the Gorgishmen. I suggest you try the Marinese first. Though the artisan tribe is notoriously puritanical and rigid in their ways, they are not known to be a warring people. Indeed, time and again over the years they've shown a willingness to do almost
anything
to avoid conflict with outsiders. In approaching them, the most significant danger you're likely to face is the channel crossing you'll need to make to reach their settlement on the Island of Ru, where they fled in the early years of Mordecai's regency.”

“And if the Marinese can tell us nothing?” asked Fayla.

“Then you'll have to travel westward across Glyndoria to the Valley of Gorg where the last of the free Gorgishmen reside,” said Cairn grimly. “They are vile beings—not because they are fiercer than the Khan or cleverer than the Marinese but because they are closer to animals than to humans. Even before the bad times came they were sly, greedy, lying connivers without a shred of compassion for any other living creature. Moreover, they are thought to be cannibals—only the very boldest slave hunters will go after them, and it is said that more than half of those disappear without a trace.”

“No great loss,” muttered Fayla.

“Agreed,” grunted Tiny, shakily lifting his head three inches before dropping it back into his folded arms.

Shuddering at the picture Cairn had painted of the western-most tribe, Rachel said, “Why would your kinsman Balthazar have confided
anything
to a Gorgishman?”

“I do not think he would have,” said Cairn frankly. “That is why I do not think you ought to approach the Gorgish until you've exhausted all other avenues for finding the pool.”

“And what dangers can we expect to encounter in the Valley of Gorg?” asked Persephone, hoping that she sounded like a brave adventurer and not like a suddenly apprehensive young girl.

“Besides traps set by creatures who may or may not want to turn us into stew? None at all,” said Tiny gruffly, finally lifting his head all the way up. Squinting and shielding his eyes, he said, “The Valley of Gorg is reputed to be beautiful beyond description, a paradise on earth fit for the gods themselves.”

Persephone laughed shortly and without much mirth. “That is good,” she said, “for it means that if we do not freeze, starve, fall to our deaths, drown, get torn to pieces by beasts, get clubbed, speared, eaten by barbarians or otherwise perish most gruesomely, we shall have something to look forward to.”

“And so we shall,” agreed Azriel, Fayla, Tiny and Rachel with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“And so you shall,” said Cairn softly.

TWENTY-ONE

M
ANY MILES TO THE SOUTH
, Mordecai entered the king's private chambers unannounced as had become his habit over these past few days. Whistling cheerily, he slouched across the polished floor to the long table where the royal fool sat alone, listlessly picking at his morning meal. The king did not stand when Mordecai entered the room and did not look up as he approached. Under normal circumstances, Mordecai would have been much insulted by such treatment, but such was his eagerness to give the king his latest surprise that he hardly noticed.