Lord of the Rose (36 page)

“My dear Lady Coryn, I assure you I have no idea what you are talking about!” protested the regent. “I once saw his
strongbox—knew that he wanted to make those six stones into a new crown—but it’s ridiculous to assert that I knew where it was hidden! Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters in the
real
world to address! Mundane things like road repairs—if you want the people of Palanthas to have anything to eat this winter! And those repairs will cost me more of this gold than I should like to part with.”

That last statement was true.

“No doubt,” Coryn replied. “If you insist you know nothing about the lost compact, then I shall ask the same question of your dukes. Do you think they know where it is? And the green diamonds?”

“They’re gone, I tell you!” Du Chagne blurted.

“Gone?” Coryn blinked, and he wondered if she was stupid—or was mocking him. “You mean, just like
that?”

She snapped her fingers, and all the gold, the more than twelve thousand bars in the treasure room, vanished. Du Chagne screamed in horror and spun around, staring in disbelief at the room that was utterly empty. There was no longer any brilliant reflection, no warmth—suddenly it felt very chilly and looked very dark in here.

“What did you do?” shrieked the lord regent. “Where did it go?”

“Oh, your gold is still here,” Coryn said. “I told you, it can’t be stolen.”

“Where is it then?” he demanded, taking an angry step toward her, his fingers clenched.

“Here,” she said, apparently unafraid.

Du Chagne groped around, feeeling a solid mass of a block of golden bars. He fumbled, lifted one, felt the solid weight of an ingot. He hefted it but could see right through it—as if it wasn’t there!

“I can’t see it!” he whined.

“Neither can anybody else,” the wizard told him. “It’s invisible.”

“I can’t trade with invisible gold!” cried the lord regent.

“Perhaps not. Perhaps your partners will take payment on trust?”

“Nobody takes payment in trust, as you well know!” snapped the duke. He glared at her, breathing hard, trying to gain control of himself. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I want to find that compact and the missing strongbox. I want to know who killed Lord Lorimar,” the white wizard answered.

“I don’t know where any of it is!” protested du Chagne. “The Assassin killed Lord Lorimar! We all know that!”

“Perhaps your invisible gold will help you rethink these events,” Coryn said calmly.

“How can it do that?” he demanded.

Instead of answering, the enchantress murmured another word, a strange-sounding utterance that echoed in the air for several seconds after she disappeared.

“My dear!” cried Lady Martha, embracing her husband, Duke Walker, as he came striding through the doors of the castle. The troops of his Ducal Guard were still filing into the courtyard, and the streets beyond rumbled from the weight of heavy wheels as the freight wagons of Walker’s personal baggage train rolled across the drawbridge and into the castle’s yard. “I did not expect to see you back so soon! Have the goblins been vanquished?”

“Not entirely,” the duke said with a dismissive shake of his handsome head. “There were difficulties between Solanthus and Thelgaard—not too surprising—and I was unable to force them to cooperate.”

“But Thelgaard—is he all right? I heard there was a terrible battle?”

“He is a moron!” snapped Walker. “He lost the better part of his army and came in to my camp like a drowned rat after swimming the Upper Vingaard. If I hadn’t provided him with an escort, I doubt that he would have made it back to his keep in one piece!”

“He went back to Thelgaard?” Martha was perplexed. “So the war is over, then?”

“No, I keep telling you,” snapped the duke, growing more vexed. His sleep had been troubled by terrible dreams during the whole expedition “Thelgaard lost a battle. He is back in his keep with such few survivors as got away with him. I doubt they will be sallying forth any time soon. After Duke Jarrod’s men and the Crown knights were defeated, Duke Rathskell and his own force fell back to Solanthus. They are quite safe there—for you know that is the mightiest fortress anywhere on the plains.”

“Yes, my duke. But what of the goblins—they have retired to the mountains then?” asked Martha, her pretty brow wrinkling.

“I’m quite sure I don’t know,” said the duke. “They probably have taken Luinstat by now. I had to order the place evacuated, since Solanthus absolutely refused—refused, I tell you!—to stand before it.”

“But … that’s way over by the Garnet Mountains! Why did you bring the army back here?” the lady pressed.

“Damn it, woman! It’s not the whole army—just my personal guard and my own wagons! The army is posted by the Kingsbridge, ready to move when need be. I have bigger problems than that! I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I took to the field, and if this problem is going to get solved, I’ll have to get some rest! Now, have my servants draw me a bath!”

“But … what about the goblins?” Lady Martha wasn’t the smartest duchess ever to don a tiara, but she knew that something about her lord’s grand strategy didn’t sound quite right.

“If they create more problems, Joli knows one of those tiresome fools will let me know about it. As for now, I’m hungry as well as tired. Go tell the chefs that I would like something fresh for dinner as soon as I am done with my bath. I have been on the plains for too long—have them make something from the sea!”

The Nightmaster stood on a high tower alongside the bulk of Castle Caergoth. His temple was far below here, but he borrowed this lookout whenever he wanted to look at the night sky. No one had ever spotted him here—at least, no one who had lived to tell of their discovery.

From here the priest had watched the Ducal Guard return to the city, saw the knights stabling their horses, going to the houses of their wives and mistresses. This meant that Caergoth’s army was inactive, no doubt gone into bivouac somewhere on the plains.

The cleric of Hiddukel knew that his god should be pleased with his labors. In truth, many of his plans had worked out as he desired. His goblin agent, sequestered in the dungeon below the castle, had been able to reach the mind of the Princess of Palanthas, had ensured that she would return across the plains instead of by ship. His crystal visions had revealed to the dark priest that the detour was working exactly as he and his master wished. The auguries were right—indeed, she had stumbled upon the Assassin!

If only the Assassin had been killed. Instead, the fugitive was captured! The dark priest felt a shiver creep along his spine, for this was
not
what his immortal master desired. The Prince of Lies needed his most dramatic deceit to remain undiscovered, and that required that the man called the Assassin must die.

That interfering bitch of a princess had seen to it that the man would live, for several more weeks at least. Each passing day was too long.

It was necessary to prod events along, which he could do with the whisper of a dream that would carry through the evening’s dusk.…

The Lord Regent’s palace was dark, save for the torches at the front doors and the lanterns carried by the watchmen who patrolled the outer wall and the upper parapets. Bakkard Du Chagne looked out from the lonely bedroom on the upper
floor—his wife had long ago been banished to her own chamber on the far end of the royal wing—watching not the lights but the darkness. It was near morning, but he had been unable to sleep since a terrifying dream had roused him before midnight. In the wake of that nightmare, he had sent a secret message into the darker quarter of his city. Now he watched and waited.

A memory, unbidden, provoked a shiver of terror. He recalled the empty-looking vault, all his vast treasure treacherously concealed by the White Witch. How dare she? And how could he force her to remove her spell. That, unfortunately, was not a problem he could solve tonight.

There! He saw a shadow moving along the base of the wall, staying well concealed from the guards. The shadow followed a zig zag course through the garden, avoiding the hounds and even the servants’ quarters. When the shadow came to the base of the palace, it started up a trellis, climbing silently. This trellis was usually lit by several bright lanterns, but tonight the Lord Regent, claiming difficulty in sleeping, had ordered them extinguished.

When the shadowy figure reached the top of the trellis, he slipped over the railing, crossed the balcony and entered the door that was being held open by Lord Regent Bakkard Du Chagne.

“Excellency,” said the man, kneeling, “I await your order.”

“Yes, of course,” said the regent. “Show your face.”

The visitor pulled back the cowl of his dark hood. His visage was that of a Knight of Solamnia, right down to the bushy, but carefully trimmed, mustache.

“Good, yes, that disguise will work.”

“What are your orders, my lord?”

“There is a file of knights approaching the city from the plains. They are led by Captain Powell, chief of my palace guard. A good man. Loyal, and true to the Oath and the Measure.”

The man nodded, as the noble continued.

“They will be entering the pass of the High Clerist within the week. They are bringing a prisoner with them, a notorious assassin they recently captured. I wish you to meet this party—I will
send some message for you to convey, some missive for Powell to explain your trip. Call yourself … Sir Dupuy.”

“It shall be as you command, my lord,” pledged the man. He bowed tentatively, sensing there was more to come.

“Your payment … I cannot pay you in gold, not this time.”

“No gold, my lord?” The man had the audacity to sound disappointed.

“No, but here is a bag of good steel coins,” snapped du Chagne. “Convert them to gold yourself if you desire! You know where the moneychangers are! First, do this job for me.”

“Of course, my lord. As to the job …?”

“You will ride with the column of knights as they return to the city,” the regent said. “You will locate the captive. And, Sir Dupuy?”

“Excellency?”

“It is my express wish that this prisoner should not reach the city alive.”