inexorable. “He has just taken a sleeping draft. Any news of our troublous son Conrig can wait until morning. Please go away and let us be.”
“It’s all right, Catty,” murmured the king. His eyes opened and he beckoned the Royal Alchymist to come close. The two men were the same age, five-and-fifty; but the monarch was a pale and flabby ruin of a man once stalwart and handsome, while the wizard retained a well-muscled body beneath his scarlet robes, and his close-cut black hair and tidy beard were barely touched with grey.
“I have no news from the Prince Heritor,” Vra-Kilian said dourly. “Stergos was adamant that Conrig would reveal to you the results of the war council’s deliberation only face-to-face. He’s leaving Castle Vanguard on the day after tomorrow, but he has at least three days’ ride ahead of him, perhaps more if the weather turns bad.”
The king gave a groan of dismay. “It’s my own fault. He doesn’t trust me, and small wonder… but I can’t wait for him. Every day’s precious now! I must set out for Zeth Abbey while I still have the strength.” A hand crept out of the bedclothes and gripped that of the alchymist with surprising vigor. The sick man struggled to rise while both Kilian and Cataldise hastened to restrain him. Windspeak Abbas Noachil at once. Tell him to expect me. I will make the Pilgrimage and ask my one Question!“
The alchymist’s dismayed gaze met that of the queen. She shook her head. “He’s spoken of little else since you left us earlier this evening, Brother. Since… the Tarnian healer delivered his final diagnosis.”
“Your Grace,” Kilian said to the king, “your duty to Cathra is to regain your good health, not endanger it by undertaking a long and arduous journey for such a fanciful reason. Abbas Noachil would be the first to tell you that this so-called oracle—”
“Nevertheless,” the king interrupted. “I intend to make the pilgrimage.”
“I forbid it,” said Vra-Kilian. “You are gravely ill. As the Royal Alchymist, charged by Saint Zeth to preserve the spiritual and bodily life of the King’s Grace, it is my obligation—”
“Be silent!” said Olmigon in a voice abruptly loud and resolute. Kilian blinked in amazement. “The cavalcade will leave Cala Palace tomorrow morning at first light. I’ve already commanded the Lord Chamberlain to make all preparations, and you countermand my orders at your peril, Brother-in-Law! This is one time you’ll not get your way. Furthermore, you’ll accompany us on the trip to the abbey so I can be certain you don’t get up to mischief with the Privy Council while I’m gone. Now get out of here and leave me in peace.”
Vra-Kilian inclined his head. “As you command, sire.” Radiating glacial disapproval, he swept out of the chamber.
“Catty?” whispered the king, when the door had closed.
“Yes, my dearest love.” The queen came to him, setting straight his nightcap, which had fallen awry with his exertions, and patted his hand before putting it back beneath the coverlet.
“You don’t think I’m being fanciful, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“That Kilian! Thinking he could forbid me to do something. The man takes too much on himself.”
“He’s only thinking of your welfare,” said the queen.
“Huh! He makes fun of the oracle. Probably Conrig would, too.”
“You must do as you think best, husband.”
“Yes. I’m the king.”
She kissed his cheek. “High King of Blencathra and absolute monarch of my heart.”
He let out a gusty sigh. “Conrig said he’d make me Sovereign of Blenholme. The young idiot!”
“I think not,” Cataldise said firmly.
“So you take the boy’s part, do you?” He spoke with more disappointment than anger.
“Conrig is an extraordinary young man, not a boy. You know that for the truth. Our son is not always tactful, I must admit, but he has a remarkable grasp of statecraft.”
“Damn him! Everyone thinks he’s brainier
“It’s all right, Catty,” murmured the king. His eyes opened and he beckoned the Royal Alchymist to come close. The two men were the same age, five-and-fifty; but the monarch was a pale and flabby ruin of a man once stalwart and handsome, while the wizard retained a well-muscled body beneath his scarlet robes, and his close-cut black hair and tidy beard were barely touched with grey.
“I have no news from the Prince Heritor,” Vra-Kilian said dourly. “Stergos was adamant that Conrig would reveal to you the results of the war council’s deliberation only face-to-face. He’s leaving Castle Vanguard on the day after tomorrow, but he has at least three days’ ride ahead of him, perhaps more if the weather turns bad.”
The king gave a groan of dismay. “It’s my own fault. He doesn’t trust me, and small wonder… but I can’t wait for him. Every day’s precious now! I must set out for Zeth Abbey while I still have the strength.” A hand crept out of the bedclothes and gripped that of the alchymist with surprising vigor. The sick man struggled to rise while both Kilian and Cataldise hastened to restrain him. Windspeak Abbas Noachil at once. Tell him to expect me. I will make the Pilgrimage and ask my one Question!“
The alchymist’s dismayed gaze met that of the queen. She shook her head. “He’s spoken of little else since you left us earlier this evening, Brother. Since… the Tarnian healer delivered his final diagnosis.”
“Your Grace,” Kilian said to the king, “your duty to Cathra is to regain your good health, not endanger it by undertaking a long and arduous journey for such a fanciful reason. Abbas Noachil would be the first to tell you that this so-called oracle—”
“Nevertheless,” the king interrupted. “I intend to make the pilgrimage.”
“I forbid it,” said Vra-Kilian. “You are gravely ill. As the Royal Alchymist, charged by Saint Zeth to preserve the spiritual and bodily life of the King’s Grace, it is my obligation—”
“Be silent!” said Olmigon in a voice abruptly loud and resolute. Kilian blinked in amazement. “The cavalcade will leave Cala Palace tomorrow morning at first light. I’ve already commanded the Lord Chamberlain to make all preparations, and you countermand my orders at your peril, Brother-in-Law! This is one time you’ll not get your way. Furthermore, you’ll accompany us on the trip to the abbey so I can be certain you don’t get up to mischief with the Privy Council while I’m gone. Now get out of here and leave me in peace.”
Vra-Kilian inclined his head. “As you command, sire.” Radiating glacial disapproval, he swept out of the chamber.
“Catty?” whispered the king, when the door had closed.
“Yes, my dearest love.” The queen came to him, setting straight his nightcap, which had fallen awry with his exertions, and patted his hand before putting it back beneath the coverlet.
“You don’t think I’m being fanciful, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“That Kilian! Thinking he could forbid me to do something. The man takes too much on himself.”
“He’s only thinking of your welfare,” said the queen.
“Huh! He makes fun of the oracle. Probably Conrig would, too.”
“You must do as you think best, husband.”
“Yes. I’m the king.”
She kissed his cheek. “High King of Blencathra and absolute monarch of my heart.”
He let out a gusty sigh. “Conrig said he’d make me Sovereign of Blenholme. The young idiot!”
“I think not,” Cataldise said firmly.
“So you take the boy’s part, do you?” He spoke with more disappointment than anger.
“Conrig is an extraordinary young man, not a boy. You know that for the truth. Our son is not always tactful, I must admit, but he has a remarkable grasp of statecraft.”
“Damn him! Everyone thinks he’s brainier
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