He chuckled. “Then age must rescue youth. You and I must organize his escape before the sultan changes his mind.”
Had there been an odd timbre to that remark also? Since her eyesight had started failing, Kadolan had come to depend much more on nuances of tone than she ever had in her youth. She felt a twinge of caution, as if some young swain at Kinvale had overstated the value of his estates or boasted of his prospects in the military. Her hunches in such matters were usually reliable. Men trusted words more than women did, as a rule, and hence were less mindful of how they were spoken.
“But of course!” she said eagerly. “How do you propose we go about it, though? The sultan gave orders that he was to be most strictly guarded.”
“Quite! I have seen palaces in my time, but never one so like an armed camp. I do not believe that a rescue is humanly possible . . . mundanely possible!” Carefully Kadolan said, “So?”
“It would seem that the God’s caution to Inos referred to the stableboy. Not Andor, certainly. Nor, I suspect, the sultan.”
“Is Master Rap in love with my niece?”
Another of his dry chuckles . . . “Ha! He has fought his way past warlocks and sorcerers and dragons, out of jails and castles, jungles and pirate ships, through storm and shipwreck to reach her side. And I think in return he would happily serve her as ostler for the rest of his days.”
Kadolan tried to swallow the nasty knot in her throat. Just as she had feared—a stableboy! And a faun! The Gods had strange ideas sometimes. How could she have known?
“Then we must do everything we can for him. Explain your plan, please.”
“I propose that Inosolan make amends for her failure to trust in love.”
That startled her. “Inos? A single word from her to the sultan would—”
“No!” Sagorn said sharply. “A word to me.”
“Oh!” Now Kadolan saw, and her distrust swelled up like a summer thunderhead. Dawn was coming. The sage’s face was a little less of a vague paleness. She could see his eyes now. “Her word of power, you mean, Doctor?”
“Exactly. The sultan took precautions against an adept escaping. He ordered that the prisoner must not be allowed to speak, and must be watched at all times, and so on. He did not consider the possibility of another adept attempting a rescue, and I am confident that an extrication could be effected by an adept. We—my associates and myself, that is—know at present only a single word, and we reduced our power when we shared it with Master Rap . . . not that we grudge the sacrifice, of course. No regrets! To be truthful, the loss was not as severe as I would have expected. Perhaps our word is known by many people, so sharing it with one more made little difference. But a second word is certainly requisite for the venture I have proposed.”
Kadolan sat and thought for a while, hoping to hear some more before she explained the problem.
“And if he dies in jail,” Sagorn said, his voice a little harder, ”then what we gave away will be returned to us.”
“So you hope to go to Inos—”
“I think Jalon may be the answer here, ma’am. He is a skilled mimic, of course, and quite expert at female impersonation. Zarkian costume could hardly be more suited to the purpose. If you were, to invite your niece to your quarters to hear a remarkable female singer, then I doubt that the sultan would object.” He waited for reaction, then added testily, “And after that, you will have to arrange a private interview, of course. That should be possible, I think.”
Kadolan took a deep breath. “Sharing the words is always risky, is it not? You yourself explained that to us. Of course your own integrity is beyond question, Doctor, but if Inosolan shares her word with you, then can you guarantee your associates’ good behavior afterward? Or would she fare like the woman in . . . Fal Dornin, I think it was?”
He sighed. “She is well guarded here, ma’am.” That was not much of an answer.
“It is the only possible solution!” he insisted.
The first breath of morning twitched the drapes with a hint of impatience. Time was slipping away. She cut the knot. “It is impossible. The sultan and sultana are not in residence.”
Sagorn released a long hiss of breath. “When do you anticipate their return?”
“At least two weeks,” she said cautiously. That was true.
Silence. She saw him rub his cheek. The sky was growing brighter beyond the arched windows. Dawn came swiftly here.
“Too late, Doctor?”
“Yes.” There was a note of defeat in that voice, and Kadolan did not like the implications.
“Have you any word of Master Rap’s condition?” she asked.
The lanky form seemed to sink deeper into the chair. “Not good, ma’am. Not good at all.”
Hmm! He had not mentioned that sooner, and she wondered why. It would have added urgency to the request.
Give him a word of power, indeed!
“In any case, would it not have been better strategy for Inos to have passed her word directly to Master Rap? A mage could not be held captive; even Prince Kar said so. And more in keeping with the tenor of the God’s command, too?”
Sagorn uttered a sort of hollow chuckle. “The point would seem to be moot. And just how could the sultana have ever visited that dungeon without the sultan finding out and stopping her?”
There was another answer, though. Kadolan’s prayers had been heard.
“Could you visit that cell, Doctor?”
“Me, ma’am?”
“You and your . . . invisible companions.”
His pale eyes glittered in the feeble wisps of dawn light. “Why do you ask?”
Aware that she was fencing with a celebrated mind, and must certainly lose the match very shortly, Kadolan said, “You could take a message?”
“Possibly, at the risk of all our lives. What message would be worth it?”
“A very confidential one.”
She did not need dawn to be aware of his suspicion. “I wish you to take me now to see Master Rap,” she said firmly, and was surprised at how firm that was, considering the way her insides were behaving. “We had better go at once, as daylight is not far off.”
Sagorn stayed still as a crouching leopard for long seconds. Then he said, ”I never could understand how so powerful a sorcerer, a former warlock, could have known but three words.”
It was hopeless. “Doctor?” she said blankly. “We must hurry if—”
“Inisso gave one word to each of his three sons.”
“That is the legend.” She began to rise.
“The words now known by Inosolan and Kalkor and Angilki. But the fourth descended in the female line?” Hopeless! Kadolan sighed and sat back again. ”Do tell,” he said coldly.
“Yes,” she admitted. “The kings have never known of it. When our mother died, Holindarn was still a bachelor, so she passed it to me. But always it belonged to Krasnegar—so that there would be another available if it were needed, I suppose. When he married Evanaire, then of course I told her.”
“ `Of course,’ you say? Few would!”
The ancient secret was out. Kadolan had laid herself open to murder now. ”I don’t think it can be a very powerful word, Doctor. Evanaire was a marvelously popular person, but she had always been a sweet girl. And I am no worker of miracles. Never have been. Just a useless aristocratic parasite.”
“And the finest chaperon and trainer of young ladies in the Impire!” He thumped the arm of the chair, raising a puff of dust. “I should have guessed! The missing fourth word!”
“I never believed in it . . . but I did feel something when Evanaire died. The very day.”
“Of course you would—your power had increased! And your niece needed your talent!” He was suddenly excited, the scholar slaying a mystery. ”And it was not Inos whom Elkarath detected working magic in Thume—it was you! Your occult power at work when your ward was in danger!”
“Gracious!” She had not thought of that. “How did you ever hear about that?”
“The missing fourth word!” he said again . . . gloatingly?
She hauled herself to her feet. “Missing no longer. I wish to share it with Master Rap.”
Still Sagorn remained in his chair. “How ironic! When the imps were breaking down the door and Inosolan and I were arguing about telling the boy our words to make him a mage—there you were with a fourth word, and could have made him a full sorcerer!” He cocked his head quizzically. “Would you have done so, had he been willing?”
“Probably.” She had not been required to decide then. “Had I thought that Krasnegar needed it. I truly fear it may not be strong enough to do any real good, but . . . who knows? Let us go and try to give it to him now.”