Springwar (18 page)

Lykkon’s eyes went very round, and Bingg’s, if possible, even rounder. “You weren’t hurt?”

“Knocked out,” Avall replied. “Who knows what would’ve happened had we not been linked to the gem and so, presumably, under its protection?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation, for one thing,” Veen supplied tartly. “But what you’re saying
without
saying is that what you’ve found is—or can be—a weapon. It can allow speech across impossible distances, which would certainly aid any army, especially if a means could be found to use it reliably. And now this other thing.”

“And we know nothing about what it can really do—when, how much, how often, with whom,” Eellon observed.

“And from what Avall said,” Gynn finished, “both Argen-yr and Priest would like to have some say in its use as well.”

“Gem, too—probably,” Eellon sighed. “They’re bound to find out about this eventually;
they’d
have a claim it would take a score of Law Priests to disentangle.”

“Never mind that for all we know they’ve known about this kind of thing for years, and that it could as easily be them manipulating The Eight—assuming that’s what’s happening—as Priest. Or they could be in league with Priest.”

“The mind reels,” Gynn groaned. “I don’t
think
The Eight are merely a function of some plot such as you’ve suggested, but it’s definitely something we need to investigate. But one thing this does imply is that ordinary people may have access to what could be the Overworld, which by extension means they might have direct access to The Eight, which Priest has traditionally claimed as their right alone. So Priest is doubly threatened: Animals have souls—some of them—and the rank and file can access the Overworld directly.”

“Assuming,” Avall broke in wearily, “that more gems can be found, or even exist.”

“The boy’s right,” Eellon agreed. “Our problem is to find
out if more exist, and if so, how to control and use them. And if not, how to make best use of the one we have.”

Gynn nodded. “I may have to bring Ferr into this, since he’s almost into it anyway. I won’t invoke my sept-chief, because the clan politics of this are complex enough, and a three-way struggle for power in a major clan is more than any of us need.”

“There’s also the small matter,” Avall noted bitterly, “of the fact that if Gem
has
been withholding information, which we’ve now stumbled upon, my wife, bond-brother, and an important Warcraft heir might all be in danger.”

Eellon nodded. “But you can contact them, right?”

Avall shrugged. “I’ve been too weak to try since I … came to myself.”

“How
did
you do that?” Gynn wondered.

Another shrug. “I don’t know. I wasn’t conscious at the time. I think … maybe it was something the gem did of its own accord.”

“So maybe
the gem
is an Avatar of The Eight,” Veen ventured.

Gynn studied her seriously. “Lady Veen,” he said thoughtfully, “you seem to have an interesting take on things. And since you know more than you ought already, it is perhaps wise that I take you into my personal service, and these two lads as well, since one of them needs a healer anyway. Therefore, I would have you return with me to the Citadel. I’ll send someone to replace all three of you at the tower, and to retrieve your gear, if that pleases you.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Veen countered bravely.

“You’ll do it anyway. We’re talking about the fate of the Kingdom.”

“Aye, Lord,” Veen replied meekly. “As you will.”

“Strange bedfellows,” Eellon muttered.

The King yawned. “And it’s time I sought mine, lest I be missed. I took a … secret way here. One”—he gazed fiercely at Lykkon—“you no longer remember.”

Lykkon grinned, but nodded.

“I don’t suppose you have a secret way out of here?” the
King continued. “I’d as soon no one know I’ve been here, and there’ll be more of us leaving than arrived.”

Eellon shook his head. “Not from here.” His breath was still fading into the suddenly silent air, when a sharp rap sounded on the door. Riff jerked as if he’d been struck, which meant he’d dozed off. He reached for the bolt, then hesitated, looking at Eellon.

“Who is it?” the Chief of Argen called.

“Tyrill!” a harsh female voice cracked back. “Am I going to have to stand out here all night while you try to hide from me?”

Eellon stiffened, face purpling into a rage only Tyrill could impart in him, but Gynn swiftly edged past him to shoot the bolt and wrench open the door.

Confronted with her sovereign, which was clearly more than she expected, the Craft-Chief of Smith staggered back a pair of steps, and would have fallen had she not had the support of two female squires. Half again her size, though slender for all that, the King whisked the old woman away from them. “Go …
now!”
he thundered. “Return in a hand. And remember: This hasn’t happened!” And with that, he snatched Tyrill into the room. “Riff,” he added, “stand guard outside. It’ll raise questions, but the main questioner is right here, so maybe Luck will tend to the rest.”

Riff nodded mutely and slipped into the corridor as Lykkon courteously helped Tyrill to a seat—tactfully far from Eellon, who had regained a semblance of calm, but only a semblance. “How much did you hear?” the King demanded.

“I heard nothing,” Tyrill snapped back. “If I’d been spying, I’d not have knocked. As any fool would know.”

“And you often attend Eellon’s apartments late at night?”

“I do when I see sledges leaving at odd times and returning at odder, with gate-wardens ignored; then hear of the sudden use of back passages and food being conscripted by someone who’s supposed to be somewhere else. And—”

She blinked, having just that moment noticed Avall—or
perhaps having realized who he was, and the implications thereof.

“Sovereign Oath,” Gynn said simply. “I would have Sovereign Oath of you, as I have had it of these others.”

“To what am I swearing secrecy?” Tyrill growled back. “I don’t like secrets.”

“Unless you contrive them,” Eellon burst out.

“It’s important,” the King told her, “else I wouldn’t be here. I have no intention of involving anyone further, nor of informing you of what has lately transpired until I have time to do some thinking. In the meantime, you will mention this meeting to no one—and yes, I know I’m a fool to deny you information. Then again, I
am
your King. You can speculate all you want, but you will say nothing. Now—I would have your oath.”

“Suppose I refuse?”

“Refusal to swear Sovereign Oath is treason.”

“So are other things I can name.”

“Name them if you will, but not until I give you cause. I’m warning you, Tyrill, if I have to have you drugged and dragged out like a ceremonial puppet, I will. Some things are beyond your need to know. Now—
swear!”

And with that the King drew the Sword of Air again, recited the oath, and heard it back from a white-faced Tyrill. Not until the ritual blood sheened her fingers did the King speak once more. “I know that keeping you ignorant is more dangerous than having you armed with knowledge, but some things are worth that risk. When I feel free to inform you further, I will—probably soon. Now go. Riff will escort you to your quarters. And return here at once with those maids—squires, whatever they are—who henceforth will be in my service.”

Tyrill looked as though she were about to explode, but finally realized she might possibly have met her match in a room full of strong youths and powerful men. “I
will
know,” she hissed, as she rose to leave. “It would be better if you told me than if I hear otherwise.”

“We would all have been better had you remained
asleep,” Gynn retorted. “Now go. Be assured I will follow hard upon your heels.”

Tyrill spared one final, all-encompassing glare, and departed.

“One final thing,” the King called to her back. “There is not now, and never has been here, tonight, anyone who looks like, sounds like, or whom you have cause to think might be, Avall syn Argen-a.”

“I would,” Tyrill gritted back, “there never had been.”

A
vall stared blankly at the door through which his King had just departed, along with Myx, Riff, and Veen, all three of whom he suspected he’d see again—in the guise of Royal Guards.

And felt all the false energy that had sustained him since he’d returned to Tir-Eron start to ebb away. His eyelids seemed made of lead; his limbs had a distant quality, as though they were not quite part of him. A moment only it would take to fall asleep.

He’d welcome it, too, because if he stayed awake he would think, and there were too many things to think about already. Nothing was
ended
, he realized; he’d just set something larger than he could imagine in motion. Something he prayed would not become his task to bear.

But he was almost alone now, with good food and two people nearby who liked him and, more to the point, cared about him. Three, if you counted Bingg.

Eellon was settling himself wearily into the chair next to Avall’s, and Lykkon was puttering about with the remains of their hasty repast. Not, incidentally, without helping himself to the odd tidbit.

Avall was more tired than sleepy.

So tired …

“Hold on a moment longer, boy,” Eellon urged softly,
“and we’ll let you sleep as long as you want. I won’t let even the King disturb you.”

Avall shook his head stubbornly, wondering where the energy for even that had come from. “Whatever you put in the cider, I need more. I have to stay alert for at least another half hand.”

Eellon regarded him sharply, and Lykkon actually gasped.

“On one condition,” the old man conceded finally. “That you take the smallest dose you can get by with—and that you do it in Lykkon’s quarters.”

“Mine,” Avall protested weakly.

“No,” Eellon replied flatly. “First, there’s no fire there, since we didn’t know you were coming and left in haste. Second, your return should
not
become common knowledge until we’ve had time to confer a bit more about some things—
we
being, at minimum, you, me, the King, and Ferr.”

“Besides,” Lykkon continued, “Bingg’s been lonely since I started spending most of my time at Lore. And since I have to get back there soon anyway—probably tomorrow—”

“Definitely
tomorrow,” Eellon corrected. “I’ll write you a letter, but don’t expect it to do more than spare you a thrashing. Still, I’d as soon someone stayed with Avall tonight. I can’t—I’m tired to the bone. And Bingg’s still too young, even if he wasn’t half-asleep.”

Finding any protest likely to fall on deaf ears, Avall merely shrugged and let Lykkon help him to his feet. Eellon, for all his age, took the lead, and stood guard at every intersection as they made their way to Lykkon’s suite. Since the youth often served as Eellon’s squire, it was only one level away. Mercifully, they saw no one save a distant cousin out to raid the kitchens, and she was easily evaded.

Eellon held the door while Lykkon steered Avall into the vestibule, then right, into the bedroom itself. The place was a near twin to Avall’s apartment except that there were two beds, each smaller than the single one in Avall’s quarters. One was made up, the other looked hastily abandoned.

Avall let himself be led to the fresher one, and Lykkon
got him undressed down to his shirt and house-hose. While a somewhat revived Bingg poked up the fire, Eellon emptied something from a phial into the last of the cider, which he’d brought with him, sending Bingg back to the meeting room to retrieve the soup.

Avall had almost fallen asleep again when Eellon sat down on the bed beside him and held out the doctored mug. “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what this is for,” the old chief grumbled.

Avall’s reply was to drain the drink to the dregs, then extend the mug for more as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I have to contact Strynn—or try. She must be mad with worry. I have to let her know I’m alive, and I have to tell her about Rann.”

“What about him?”

“That he may be dead.”

And with that Avall fell silent. He’d been avoiding that topic since he’d returned to himself, but now he’d voiced it, and that had made the notion real. Rann had been with him during the attack. Rann had yelled at him to look out. Rann had been injured even then.

Which meant there was a good chance he
was
dead.

Maybe when he finished with Strynn he’d have strength enough to try and contact Rann, anyway. He’d
certainly
try, he amended. No one needed to know. There was no way anyone
could
know, unless he told them.

“Mind if we watch?” Eellon inquired from the candlelit gloom, as he retrieved Avall’s second mug of cider—which Eellon didn’t remember drinking.