The Sorcery Within

XXII

HER FATHER HAD LEFT FORthe main house only a minute before Lerina heard a knock on the door. He must have forgotten something. Then why the knock? She glanced out one of the windows and saw the silhouette of a man. She couldn't make out his features, but she didn't need to. She rushed to fling open the door.

He was dressed in black seal hide, the uniform of an Elandri diver, his hair still tousled from his swim. He was more handsome than she had remembered. She stared. He did likewise, a long time straight at her, then at the baby at her breast.

"I waited to name them," she said. "I wanted you to be here to help me choose."

He took the baby from her and cradled it. It protested. "Ssssh," he told it. "You may never see your father again. Have some respect." To their delight, the infant obeyed, burbling contentedly and falling asleep in his arms the way newborns will.

"So small," he murmured.

"They didn't feel small coming out." She smiled. "And they're twice as big now as they were then."

"Is this the boy?"

"No, the girl. I was considering calling her Elenya, after my mother."

"A good name. How about Alemar for the son, both for my own father and my famous ancestor, the Dragonslayer? At least he will bear some mark of his heritage."

Lerina's eyes went wide. "You weren't joking – youare the king of Elandris!"

He chuckled. "No." He suddenly realized where they were and entered the cottage. Lerina closed the door. "I am a cousin of King Pranter, so distant that were I not royalty, no one would have bothered to calculate the relationship."

She raised the baby boy out of its cradle and brought him forward. "But you were worth a healing spell."

"Not for that reason, exactly. Any of the Blood who can make the talismans of Alemar work – the belt in my case – is looked after by the king."

"The talismans?"

"We have a great deal to discuss," he said. "How long until your father returns?"

She knew then that he was here only for the night at most. But by heaven, she would make the most of the hours they had.

Lord Dran had apparently been contentedly asleep. He shuffled into the great hall of Garthmorron Hold, Lerina in the lead. Dran was a stout man. The grey in his voluminous beard made him appear almost elderly, though Keron knew him to be just over forty.

Outside an owl screeched. Mice rustled under the floor. It was that hour when one's own breathing sounds like a gale. The light came from a few candles, supplemented by the nearly dead embers in the fireplace, just enough to define the carvings, brasswork, tapestries, and paintings that decorated the walls.

"I'm sorry to disturb your rest, my lord," Keron said. "It was important to talk to you when no others could hear."

Dran looked askance at Lerina, then to the quiet figure of Cosufier Elb-Aratule, who waited in the background near the hearth, then back to Keron. "Just who are you, sir?"

"I am Keron Olendim, admiral of the northern fleet of royal Elandris. I am the father of Lerina's twins."

The sleepiness vanished from the lord of Garthmorron's eyes. "You are a bold man to come here. What is to stop me from rousing my household?"

"Nothing," Keron answered seriously. "Though capturing or killing me might take more than you imagine. I believe you will be well satisfied to have heard me out, however."

Dran turned to his gamekeeper. "Cosufier?"

"Hear him," Lerina's father said simply.

Dran sank into one of his sumptuous sofas. "Very well, then. I'm listening."

Keron produced a pouch and inverted it. He caught the amath pearl as it rolled out and lifted it up for Dran to see.

"Take it. Examine it."

Dran's hands trembled as he reached for it. Cradling it carefully, he placed it next to the candle and peered at the iridescent surface for a full minute.

"This is real," he whispered.

"And it is yours," Keron said. "Assuming, of course, you agree to my plan."

Dran sat up straight. "You'll not bribe me into your war, sir. We've suffered enough disruption of trade. Garthmorron is neutral."

"The war may force you into a decision of one sort or another before too many years," Keron said. "But I respect your position. I am not suggesting a political alliance. This is a personal matter."

"Go on," Dran said, suspicion evident, though he kept a paternal grip on the pearl.

"You lost your wife and son a number of years ago, and have not been inclined to remarry. Garthmorron is at present without an heir."

"That is correct."

Lerina had taken a seat next to Keron, who put his arm around her. "I cannot stay here to care for my children. I am married, with sons and daughters, and an important station in Elandris. Soon, I suspect, my duties will not even allow me to return to Cilendri waters at all. I have two choices. I can be separated from Lerina and our offspring, or take them with me."

"And I would go," Lerina interjected.

Keron's expression was bittersweet. "It hinges on you, Lord Dran. You see, these children are of the Blood. They are the descendants of Alemar Dragonslayer. As such, they have potentials and a heritage which must not be wasted. I would gladly take them to Elandris, and endure the mutters behind my back, and will if necessary to ensure that, should they be the ones to remanifest the great wizard's full power, they will be properly trained to apply those talents to our efforts against Gloroc. But I prefer not to do so. In Elandris, they would be targets. In the last decade, Gloroc has begun to systematically assassinate any who carry Alemar's blood. He has already succeeded in killing two of my children – one of them a girl child of four years." His voice became husky.

"You want to hide them here," Dran said.

"Yes. If the Dragon doesn't know about little Alemar and Elenya, he can't hurt them. At the moment, only we in this room, and two of my most trusted men, know of their origins. I will not even tell the king unless it seems necessary. It is my wish that no one else learn of them. Even the children themselves must not be told until they are of such an age that their discretion may be trusted."

"What do you want from me?"

"To adopt the twins as your heirs. They will grow up with the amenities of landed gentry, and it will not seem unusual when they are provided with special education and training. I will send one of the men I spoke of earlier to look after them, and teach them what they will need to know. Raise them well, and our pact will be fulfilled. You need not actually leave the estate to them, if that is disagreeable to you, nor do you need to cater to us royalists in commerce or military dealings. For this you will receive the pearl, which as you can see is worth as much as your entire hold, and a generous yearly stipend."

Dran stroked the pearl. "Surely you realize that I could never convert this into cash?"

"It is a token, Lord Dran. If I thought you could be bought, I would never have made this offer. You would be just as likely to sell me out to Gloroc."

"That is true. At the same time, by helping you I am opening myself up to the Dragon's retribution."

"Yes. You are."

Suddenly Dran smiled. "The Worm is getting too bold. I would enjoy putting a thorn in his side."

"Then we are agreed?"

"I have spent too much time without an heir. Why not have two?"

"Tongues may wag," Lerina said. "Even though you were nowhere near when the children were conceived."

"Scandal doesn't seem to have disturbed you," Dran said good-naturedly. "If anything, I would consider such gossip a compliment to my virility. Though my chamberlain will be aghast."

"Poor Uncle Ossatch," Lerina murmured.

"Oh, he'll be glad to see his great-nephew and niece looked after," Dran declared, and turned to Keron. "When will you send your man?"

"As soon as I return to the capital."

Musicians lifted conch shells to their lips and began the dirge. The pallbearers climbed the steps of the dais, the first of them closing the casket lid. They waited for the signal from Keron, then lifted their burden and followed the admiral from the great, royal Hall of Final Respects. No burial at sea for this man. That ritual was respectable enough for commoners, but Obo of Mirien had been one of the greatest servants of King Pranter, a fine and capable wizard, and deserved interment within the walls of the Lesser Mausoleum.

Keron strode impassively between the ranks of grievers, many of them from the royal houses of Firsthold, capital of Elandris. Obo's reputation had reached many ears, though the man himself had forever hidden in the background of court life – his face would not have been recognized by most of those present. In fact, Keron mused cynically, the turnout would never have been this large had not the king himself briefly come to pay his respects. To those seeking to curry favor, the funeral had become the place to be.

They passed the Greater Mausoleum, its marble columns stretching almost to the city dome. Perhaps one day Keron would himself be brought to that place, attired in finery as magnificent as that he wore today, to join the ranks of the Blood who had lived and died since Alemar Dragonslayer had built this, the first of his cities beneath the sea. At the Lesser Mausoleum, the Keeper of the Tomb was waiting.

Keron saluted the old man. "I give to you this servant of the king," he said ritually.

"What name shall be entered in the Record of the Dead?"

"Obo Iremshan, son of Ibo and Phelopeen."

"Let him pass, and find his place among the generations who have labored for the House of Olendim."

The pallbearers approached the threshold, which they did not cross. An equal number of the Keeper's assistants received the coffin as it came forward. They carried it inside, to the niche within which it would be deposited and sealed, marked by a plate of brass containing Obo's name, age, rank, and the nature of the tasks he had accomplished for the rulers of Elandris.

It was done. Keron turned, thanked the pallbearers, and ambled down the steps, a dark expression tainting his features. The crowd had already largely dispersed. Lady Nanth joined him as he reached street level. He held her hand and walked with her toward the vast palace.

"My condolences, Admiral," stated Lord D'rul, a former naval commander who had served with Keron's father. "And congratulations on your promotion."

Keron thanked the man tersely and quickly excused himself. He could read D'rul's motives. Upon his return to the capital, Keron had found himself raised not simply to rear admiral in charge of the northern fleet, but admiral of the entire navy, following the recent assassination of one of his cousins. It was obvious that Keron was very much in the king's favor. Furthermore, most at court had come to suspect – correctly so – that Keron possessed one of the talismans of Alemar Dragonslayer. So he was now the object of courtiers and hangers-on. All the bilge of the empire wanted to be his friend.

"He was a good man," Nanth said of the deceased. "It was so sudden. He seemed in good health only last week."

"Obo was old. I am relieved he got to die of natural causes."

"He healed so many. He couldn't save himself, though."

"He only worked with wounds. The Lesser Art, he called it. Nor do I think he wanted to thwart nature."

"I will miss him."

"So will I," Keron stated emphatically.

Nanth and he seldom talked about important matters. She would obviously have liked to continue, but they had reached the palace door that would take Keron to his offices. "I have business to attend to, my lady. Obo left some final wishes. I will see you at home soon."

She opened her mouth, but he had turned a corner before she could protest. He cringed a little at his gruffness, but in truth he couldn't enjoy Nanth's company until the matter on his conscience was cleared.

He greeted his secretaries and locked himself within his sanctum. He found a cup of hot tea waiting for him. He raised it up to toast the bald figure on the other side of the room.

"Now you are dead, and are free to serve me," Keron said.

Obo smiled and raised his own cup. "And a fine retirement it will be, I hope. The tension in this city could be cut with a kitchen knife. Too much for this tired old frame. If I had stayed much longer, I would soon have died in truth."

"Your need and mine have come to terms," Keron said. "It gives me hope, master wizard. Teach my children well."

"I will," Obo said seriously. "You will be proud of them."

"If I ever see them again," Keron murmured. As full admiral, no doubt he would be unable to leave the capital for a decade or more. "Give my love…" He choked on the phrase.

"I will," Obo said kindly. "She will understand, if she's half the woman you've described. She'll realize that all men have their duty."

"I forgot mine, for a month," Keron said, in a haunted tone of voice. "Now I'll pay for that lapse the rest of my life."

In a voice more fatherly than he had ever heard Obo use, the wizard said, "Do not blame yourself. If not for the Dragon, you could have chosen another path. Blame Gloroc. It is he who warps the lives of every man in the kingdom."

Blame the Dragon he would. But it wouldn't be enough. Keron had known of his lack of choice before he had met Lerina. Still he had loved her. If the fates willed it, he might have his vengeance on Gloroc one day, but he could never erase the fact that he had cruelly toyed with the life of an innocent young woman.