The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) (11 page)

“I
am authorized to do what I damned well please with members of my own
house! I have no intention of letting you send a band of thugs to
silence him!”

Davron
slowly but forcefully extended his hand and physically pushed
Narelki away, eliciting a screech of outrage from the Matriarch of
House Amrath. The Meites watched in stony silence, and the rest of
the elders again looked at Kariana with expectation and horror.

“
I
say you protest too much,” Davron growled, withdrawing his
hand and lowering it to his sword. “Rithard is indeed
your
creature. And does anyone here actually believe you didn't know your
own son, even if his face
was
bandaged? I say you set this up yourself to shame my house.”
He turned to the crowd and swept a hand through the air. “Surely
it doesn't escape anyone's notice that sorcery was the prime driver
in this mess, and here we are, all of the sorcerers and has-beens
united.” He looked pointedly at the Meites before locking eyes
with Narelki again. “If you think killing me will be as easy
as it was with Maralena and Sadrina, think again.”

Narelki's
voice cracked as she shouted, “Are you
threatening
me?”

Davron's
voice was cold like steel as he answered, “I am telling you
point blank that I can clear this scabbard and take off your head
before any of you can stop me. Make of that what you will, cunt.”

Maranath
bristled at this, and stepped forward. “You go too far,
Davron! Shall you and I dance?”

Davron
looked at Maranath with cold, calculating eyes. “You may
frighten the rest of them, but I am no weak-willed fool. Steel has
always been effective against your kind, if the man wielding it has
the will.”

“And
you think you have it, eh, boy?”

Davron
sneered at this, not backing down. “I
know
I do,
old man
.”

Polus,
standing behind Davron and out of his field of vision, gave Kariana
a sharp look and mouthed, “Do something, fool!”. Kariana
could almost feel the impact of his boot against her backside.
So,
I have at least some temporary allies. Better than nothing.

She
gathered herself and shouted at the top of her lungs, “What is
the meaning of this?”

The
hall fell silent, as all eyes turned toward her. Davron regarded her
with a look of utter contempt as he spat, “You forget
yourself. My home, my rules.”

“If
you'd prefer, I could call an emergency session. I'll see you all in
the courtroom in, say, ten minutes? You can make it if you run.”

Davron
looked for a moment as if he would challenge her, then gave Maranath
a final glare and stepped back, his hand still near his blade, but
no longer clutching it. “Some other time, old man.”

Maranath
nodded to him and, with some effort to master himself, took a step
back, too. “Any time you like,
child
.”

Kariana
looked at Davron, then Maranth, making certain they knew she was
addressing them. “If you want to fight, you're welcome to
petition me for formal permission to duel. You'll have it, as soon
as this crisis is done. For now, I'm taking official charge of this
mess.”

Davron
and Maranath both raised their right hands in surrender, gesturing
they would keep their peace. But Narelki shook her head vehemently.
“No! I will not have it!” She stepped forward and raised
a fist to strike Davron, who regarded her with a cool, condescending
glare.

Polus's
voice thundered over the chatter that immediately erupted. “Meites!
Will you restrain your people, or must I intervene?”

Prandil
stepped forward and gently tugged at Narelki's arm. “Not now,
my love. Come. This is not the hill to die on.”

To
Kariana, it seemed that it was less Prandil's words that reached
Narelki, than the subtle, almost imperceptible shake of the head
from Ariano. At this, Narelki relaxed almost to the point of
collapsing, and allowed herself to be towed aside at Prandil's
gentle insistence.

Kariana
felt a chill in her spine. Narelki was intimidating, to be certain,
but Ariano was the only person in the room that Kariana genuinely
feared. She breathed a sigh of relief to know she would not be
facing off against the wicked crone. She had no illusions of the
outcome. Narelki's submission made that all the more clear.

Kariana
looked about at the elders, probing, trying to measure things. It
seemed they were content to let her call the shots. “Caelwen,
go and collect Healer Rithard.”

Polus
nodded his approval. “Bring him to the prison,” he told
his son. “I'll meet you there.”

“No,”
Kariana said. “Bring him to me.”

In
his office, Rithard sat at his desk, studying two glass decanters.
One, his medicinal liquor, stood open, nearly empty. The other
contained the sedative that he had, ironically, intended for
Maralena.
Perhaps we will put it to use, yet.

He
had consumed enough of the liquor to feel a strong buzzing in his
head. Most of his muscles had stopped their annoying spasms sometime
after the second drink, and after the third, his jaw and chest
relaxed enough that he could breathe properly and think without
distraction. The fourth and fifth had been nothing more than
insurance against the return of his symptoms. As usual, he didn't
feel his fear so much as emotion. It was physical, and temporarily
alleviated.

What to do?
Doubtless, his life was about to end, one way or another. If Davron
was late arriving to silence him, Narelki would surely have her
vengeance on him. Rather than viewing his final moments as
pointless, Rithard believed they were crucial. There were decisions
to be made, consequences to choose, and a confession that, depending
on how he slanted it, might buy one or both of his problems a ticket
on the same coach to Elgar that they had booked for Rithard.

Death
via the sedative would be painless and easy, and spare him
considerable embarrassment. Taking his own life would be seen by
many as absolution for his crimes. His name might not be quite so
tarnished. But it hardly mattered. He had no children, and his only
legacy was the one he had made catching villains. That would be hard
to salvage, even with his suicide. They would call him a villain,
even if they conceded he had found honor in the end. His own
villainy would taint his accomplishments still, perhaps beyond
salvage.

Likely,
Davron would make his work quick. Narelki might draw things out. In
any event, the information he had entrusted to his mother would
certainly come out, and prove devastating to both houses. Taking his
own life would remove any control he might exert on the process. And
despite knowing her vengeance on him would be terrible, Rithard
could not quite bring himself to hate Narelki. He
had
wronged
her. It was to save his own life, but he had betrayed her, still.
Did he perhaps have a duty to spare her the worst of it, if not to
her, then to his own House?

Rithard
was abruptly jarred from his musings by a loud banging on his door.
He poured the last of his liquor into his glass and called out,
“Come in. I've been expecting you.”

The
door opened quickly, filled by...someone. It took a moment for
Rithard's vision to focus, but when it did, he didn't bother trying
conceal his shock.

Caelwen
stood before him, looking both furious and terribly sad. “I
doubt that very much.”

Rithard
nodded and took a gulp from his glass. “As a matter of fact, I
expected someone else.” He ran a hand over his face in misery.
“I seem to be slipping, lately. Missing things, getting
blindsided.”

Caelwen
slowly shook his head in reisignation. “You didn't miss
anything. You just got lucky, and things fell another way. There was
no predicting this.” He closed the door and faced Rithard
again, his hands clasped together in front of him as if he didn't
trust them to keep their peace. “Tell me. Why?”

Rithard
heaved a great sigh as he set his glass on the table, avoiding
meeting Caelwen's judgmental gaze. “It's nothing convoluted. I
wanted to live. And I've done terrible things in that pursuit, now
likely pointless.” He buried his face in his hands and began
to sob quietly. “I might have come to the same end with my
integrity intact, if I'd had your courage.”

Caelwen
slammed a mailed fist against the desk, jostling the decanter of
anesthetic onto it's side. “Stop mewling! I need that
wonderful mind of yours intact if we're to find a way out of this
for you!”

Rithard
lowered his hands and watched the decanter roll off the edge and
shatter on the floor, scattering its contents in a rain of shards
and droplets. “It seems you've helped me resolve a difficult
decision,” he muttered.

“Know
this, Rithard. I begged a favor from the Empress, and it was she who
intervened here and sent me here. I don't know what arrangement you
may have made with House Noril, but if I know my old master at all,
he has every intention of coming here to kill you, and the Empress's
orders be damned.”

“Who
do you think I was waiting for?”

“We
need to go.
Now
. Use that damned brain of yours and find us a
way to elude them!”

Rithard
shook his head, hopeless. “Then we are doomed.” He
gestured toward the empty bottle of liquor. “I've turned it
off for the evening. I didn't see having the opportunity to make use
of it again, really.”

Caelwen
snatched up the bottle and hurled it against the wall in rage and
frustration. Rithard felt a shard of glass prick his cheek, but make
no complaint, nor move to rise.

“Damn
you, I'm doing this with or without your cooperation!” Too
quickly for Rithard to follow, Caelwen moved in to grab him. Rithard
felt himself hurled into the air, and came down hard enough on
Caelwen's mailed shoulder to knock the wind from his lungs. He
wheezed in protest, but it was useless. He was in no shape to aid or
resist.

“Keep
quiet! I'm saving your life, damn you!”

Caelwen
had set Rithard on his own two feet once they'd navigated the
stairs. The drunken fool was weaving badly, but at least he was
quick enough about it. Caelwen slammed open the front door of the
hospital and froze. “Mei.”
Thirty seconds
more. That's all I needed, but it's not to be.

Fifteen
cobblestone stairs below, Davron and his contingent of men were just
arriving. Caelwen counted six armed men in addition to his old
master. They quickly spread into a wedge, Davron at the point, but
drew no weapons.

“Stay
here,” Calwen told Rithard. “You're like as not to fall
down the stairs and break your neck, and I'm no fan of irony.”

Rithard
nodded his compliance, though Caelwen had his doubts how long
Rithard's promise would last, with no one here to mind him.
Best
to get this done quickly, then.

As
Caelwen jogged down the stairs to meet his harriers, Davron snapped
a salute, and Caelwen returned it out of reflex.

“Caelwen,
be a good lad and surrender your prisoner. Let's not make this
difficult.”

This
was no good. Everything Caelwen knew about fighting, he had learned
from the man who now stood against him. “That wasn't the
agreement.”

“I
made no agreement. Tasinalta can issue all the commands she wants,
but without our support, they're farts in the wind.” Davron
lowered his hand to his sword hilt, still not taking hold of it, but
communicating his clear intent. “Surrender your prisoner.”

Caelwen
answered him through clenched teeth, “You know I can't do
that.”

Davron
had the look of having eaten something unpleasant. “Honor,
eh?”

Caelwen
nodded. “You're the one who taught me that silly notion.”

“If
I'd known I might have to kill you over it, I might not have.”
Davron heaved a great sigh. “Don't be stupid. This will kill
your father.”

“This
isn't about my father. It's about my duty. And yours.”

Davron
pointed an accusing finger at Caelwen, his face showing real anger.
“I say this
is
my duty, boy, and yours is to stand
aside! Who are you to say otherwise?”

Caelwen
squared his shoulders and put his hand on his sword's grip. “A
man with conviction and a blade.”

Davron
stood silent for long seconds, taking the measure of the situation.
At last, he drew his own blade with a fluid motion. “You
learned well, Caelwen. You were my best student.”

As
he advanced, the rest of his men drew their own weapons and advanced
with him.

Caelwen
grimaced. “There's no honor in this,” he muttered.

Davron
turned a chilling gaze toward his men, and they hurriedly sheathed
their weapons. “It seems some of my own blood could learn a
lesson from you,” he said darkly. “If I die here,
Caelwen is to proceed unmolested. Am I understood?”

As a
group, and with considerable embarrassment, Davron's men nodded and
stepped back.

Rithard
cleared his throat and stepped forward. “This will not be
necessary,” he said in only slightly slurred speech. “I'll
go with Davron.”

Caelwen
glared at him. “I told you to stay put! You're lucky you
didn't kill yourself on the stairs!”

Davron
nodded at this. “That would have been unfortunate all around.”

Caelwen
found Davron's tone odd. It should have been mocking, but he seemed
sincere enough, even angry that Rithard might be injured. He put the
thought aside. This was no time for second guessing. “You're
too drunk to make that decision, Rithard, and in any event, it's not
your choice. My orders are to deliver you to the Empress. I mean to
fulfill those orders.”

Davron
pointed to the ground with his sword. “Sit, coward. Men are
speaking.”