A yawning servant brought word to Tharius Don in the middle of his sleep time. “The general asks for you at once in the audience hall, Lord Propagator. Most urgently.” He waited for some reply, and when Tharius waved him off, he scurried away into the darkness. The midnight bell had only lately struck. Tharius had heard it in his sleep, through the purple dusk that was night in this season.
He wrapped himself in a thick robe with a hood and made his way down the echoing corridors and endless flights of stairs to the audience hall. Muslin curtains hung limp against the closed shutters, like so many wraiths in the torchlight. At the side, where Lees Obol’s niche was, the curtains were flung wide, and General Jondrigar stood there, face impassive and his hand upon his knife. Something in his stance recommended caution to Tharius Don, who approached softly, pausing at some distance to ask, “You needed me, General?”
“Dead,” Jondrigar replied. “I think. Dead.”
“Dead? Who?” Only to understand at once who it was and why this midnight summons. “The Protector?”
The general nodded, standing aside to gesture Tharius forward. In the niche, still overheated by the little porcelain stove which was only now burning itself out, the bed stood with its coverlets thrown back. On the embroidered sheet the body of Lees Obol lay immobile. His eyes were open. One arm was rigidly extended above him, as though petrified, pointing.
“Telling me, go!” Jondrigar said, indicating the hand. “Telling me. As he always did.’
“Rigor,” Tharius murmured. “All dead men get rigor, General. It doesn’t mean—”
“Telling me go,” the general repeated, his eyes glowing. “Rigor comes long after. He died like this. The message for me.”
Tharius moved to the bed, put his hands gently upon the ancient face, the neck, the arms. Rigid. All. Like rigor, yes. Or blight. His face darkened. So. Plots. Perhaps.
“When was he last seen alive?”
“You were here one time.”
“Yes. Last evening. Shavian Bossit and I met in the hall for a few moments. I didn’t look in on Lees Obol, though Shavian may have done.”
“He did. Through the curtains. Jondarite captain reports this to me.” Jondrigar took off his helmet and ran a trembling hand across his mane. “Jondarite captain looked in every hour. Served tea late, as Protector wanted. Then, at midnight bell, he looked in again. This is what he found.”
We could have a bloodbath here, Tharius thought. Better defuse that. “We have been surprised he has lived this long, General. We all knew he would die very soon. The elixir does not give eternal life. Only more years, not an eternity.”
“No one killed him.”
It could have been a question, or a statement. Tharius Don chose to interpret it as both.
“No one killed him. Age killed him. As it will all of us.”
“But he left a message for me,” the general said again. “He told me to go.”
Tharius thought it wiser to say nothing. He had no idea what was in the general’s mind and chose to take no chance of upsetting him.
“The Noor Queen. She is coming to Split River Pass,” the general said suddenly. “I need to go there.”
Tharius thought the general’s mind had slipped and said soothingly, “There will be a council meeting within hours. You should be here for that.”
The general nodded. “Yes. Then I will go to Split River Pass.” He turned and made his way out of the hall, unsteadily, as though under some great pressure. Tharius felt a fleeting pity. Lees Obol had been all Jondrigar’s life. What would he do now?
He put the question away. There were customs to comply with. “Send someone to Glamdrul Feynt,” he said to the Jondarite captain who hovered against the wall. “Tell him to look up what funeral arrangements were made the last time a Protector died, then come tell me what they were. Send someone else for servants. Wash the body and clothe it properly. Then get the messengers moving. Let them know at the Bureau of Towers. Tell them to get the word out to the towns. There will probably be some period of mourning. Find out who’s running things over there while Gendra’s gone, and send them to me. Oh, and find my deputy, Bormas Tyle, and send him to me as well.”
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