‘You’re putting yourself in danger, Sephrenia,’ Aphrael objected.
‘There’s nothing particularly new about that.’ Sephrenia smiled. ‘And when you consider what we’re trying to do, no place is really safe.’
‘Is that it, then?’ Engessa asked, standing up.
‘Probably, friend Engessa,’ Kring replied, ‘except for the hour or so we’ll all spend telling each other to be careful.’
Engessa squared his shoulders, turned and faced his Queen directly. ‘What are your orders, Betuana-Queen,’ he asked her with military formality.
She drew herself up with a regal stiffness. ‘It is our instruction that you return with us to Sarna, Engessa-Atan. There you will resume command of our armies.’
‘It shall be as you say, Betuana-Queen.’
‘Directly upon our return, you will send runners to my husband, the king. Tell him that there is no longer a threat to Tosa. The Shining Ones will deal with Scarpa.’
He nodded stiffly.
‘Further, tell him that I have need of his forces in Sarna. That is where we will prepare for the main battle, and he should be there to take command.’ She paused. ‘This is not because we are dissatisfied with your leadership, Engessa-Atan, but Androl is the king. You have served well. The royal house of Atan is grateful.’
‘It is my duty, Betuana-Queen,’ he replied, clashing his fist against his breastplate in salute. ‘No gratitude is necessary.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Aphrael murmured.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sephrenia asked her.
‘Nothing.’
Chapter 22
‘It’s definitely Chacole and Torellia, Sarabian,’ Elysoun insisted several days later. ‘Chacole’s more or less running things. She’s older and shrewder. The strangers usually go directly to her. They talk privately for a while, and then she sends for Torellia. They weren’t really all that fond of each other before, but now they’ve got their heads together all the time.’
‘They’re probably getting orders from home,’ Sarabian mused. ‘King Jaluah of Cynesga is Chacole’s brother, and Torellia’s the daughter of King Rakya of Arjuna. Can you get any sense at all of what they might be up to?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s too early.’
‘Early?’
‘Women’s politics again. We’re more devious than men. Chacole will want everything in place before she starts to form other alliances. She’s got Torellia under control, but she’s not quite ready to start trying to expand yet.’
‘You’re sure that Torellia’s the subordinate one?’
She nodded. ‘Chacole’s servants are lording it over hers. That’s the first sign of dominance in the Women’s Palace. Cieronna’s servants are all insufferable because she’s the first wife, and we’re all subordinate to her – except for Liatris, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Sarabian smiled. ‘No one in his right mind is impertinent to Liatris. Has she killed anybody lately?’
‘Not since she butchered Cieronna’s footman last year.’
‘There’s a thought. Should we bring Liatris into this?’
Elysoun shook her head. ‘Maybe later, but not at this stage. Atana Liatris is too direct. If I approached her with this, she’d simply kill Chacole and Torellia. Let’s wait until Chacole approaches me before we involve Liatris.’
‘Are you sure Chacole will approach you?’
‘It’s almost certain. My servants have greater freedom of movement than hers – because of my social activities.’
‘That’s a delicate way to put it.’
‘You knew I was a Valesian when you married me, Sarabian, and you know about our customs. That’s why my servants have the run of the compound. It’s always been a tradition.’
He sighed. ‘How many are there currently, Elysoun?’
‘None, actually.’ She smiled at him. ‘You don’t really understand, do you, Sarabian? The biggest part of the fun of those little adventures has always been the intrigue, and I’m getting plenty of that playing politics.’
‘Aren’t you feeling a little – deprived?’
‘I can endure it,’ she shrugged, ‘and if I get desperate, I always have you to fall back on, don’t I?’ and she gave him an arch little smile.
‘Wal, sir, Master Valash,’ Caalador drawled, leaning back in his chair in the cluttered loft, ‘ol’ Vymer here, he done tole me that yer a’ willin’ t’ pay good money fer infermation, an’ he sorta figgered ez how y’ might want t’ hear ‘bout the stuff I seen in southwest Atan fer yer very ownself.’
‘You two have known each other for quite some time then?’ Valash asked.
‘Oh, gorsh yes, Master Valash. Me’n Vymer goes way back. We wuz all t’gether durin’ that fracas in Matherion – him an’ me an’ Fron an’ Reldin – along with a couple others – when the fellers from Interior come a-bustin’ in on us. They wuz hull bunches o’ excitement that night, let me tell yew. Anyway, after we shuck off the po-lice, we all split up an’ scattered t’ th’ winds. Tain’t a real good idee t’ stay all bunched up whin yer a-runnin’ from th’ law.’
Stragen sat back from the table out of the circle of light from the single candle, carefully watching Valash’s face. Caalador had just arrived to replace Sparhawk and Talen in the on-going deception of Valash, and Stragen was once again impressed by how smooth his friend really was. Valash seemed lulled by the easy, folksy charm of Caalador’s dialect. Stragen despised the slovenly speech, but he was forced to admit its utility. It always seemed so genuine, so innocently artless.
‘Where is Fron, anyway?’ Valash asked.
‘Him an’ Reldin tuk off ‘bout a week ago,’ Caalador shrugged. ‘I happened t’ stop off in a tavern up in Delo whilst I wuz a-comin’ on down yere, an’ they wuz a feller what had “policeman” wrote all over him who wuz describin’ ol’ Fron an’ the boy right down t’ th’ warts. Soon’s I got yere, I tole ‘em ‘bout it, an’ they figgered that it might just be time t’ move on. Anyhow, Vymer here sez as how yer innerested in whut’s a-goin’ on here an’ thar, an’ I seen a few things after we all got run outta Matherion that he’s a-thankin’ might be worth somethin’ to ya.’