the artist. ‘She’s gifted in her own profession, though.’
‘Which profession is that, Master Caalador?’ Ehlana asked.
‘She’s a whore, your Majesty.’ He shrugged. ‘The drawing is
just a side-line. She likes to keep pictures of her customers. She
studies their faces during the course of her business transactions,
and some of the portraits have strange expressions.’
‘May I see that?’ Sephrenia asked suddenly.
‘Of course, Lady Sephrenia.’ Caalador looked a little surprised
as he took the drawing to her. Then he returned to his seat.
‘Did you ever meet Djukta, Sparhawk?’ he asked.
‘Once.’
‘Now there’s a beard for you. Djukta looks like an ambulatory
shrub. He’s even got whiskers on his eyelids. Anyhow, Scarpa
traveled with the carnival for several seasons, and then about
five years back he dropped out of sight for a year or so. When
he came back, he went into politics – if that’s what you want to
call it. He makes some small pretense at nationalism in the same
way that Rebal, Parok and Sabre do, but that’s only for the
benefit of the truly ignorant down in Arjuna. The national hero
there was the man who established the slave-trade, a fellow
named Sheguan. That’s a fairly contemptible sort of thing, so
not many Arjunis take much pride in it.’
‘They still practice it, though,’ Mirtai said bleakly.
‘They do indeed, little dorlin’,’ Caalador agreed.
‘Friend Caalador,’ Kring said, “I thought we agreed that you
weren’t going to call Mirtai that any more.’
‘Ain, it don’t mean nuthin’, Kring. It’s gist muh folksy way o
settin’ people at then ease.’ He paused. ‘Where was I?’ he asked.
‘You were starting to get to the point,’ Stragen replied.
‘Testy this morning, aren’t we, old boy?’ Caalador said mildly.
‘From what our people were able to discover, Scarpa’s far more
dangerous than those three enthusiasts in western Tamuli.
Arjuni thieves are more clever and devious than run-of-the-mill
criminals, and a number of them have infiltrated Scarpa’s apparatus
for fun and profit. The Arjuni are an untrustworthy people,
so the Empire’s been obliged to deal with them quite firmly.
Arjuni hatred for the Tamuls is very real, so Scarpa hasn’t had
to stir it up artificially.’ Caalador tugged at his nose a bit doubtfully.
‘I’m not altogether sure how much of this we can believe
the Arjuni being what they are and all – but one highway
robber down there claims to have been a member of Scarpa’s
inner circle for a while. He ‘told us that our man’s just a little
deranged. He operates out of the ruins of Natayos down in
the southern jungles. The town was destroyed during the Atan
invasion back in the seventeenth century, and Scarpa doesn’t
so much hide there as he does occupy the place – in a military
sense of the word. He’s reinforced the crumbling old walls so
that the town’s defensible. Our highwayman reports that Scarpa
starts raving sometimes. If we can believe our informant, he
started talking about the Cyrgai once, and about Cyrgon. He tells
his cronies that Cyrgon wants to make his people the masters of
the world, but that the Cyrgai, with that institutionalized stupidity
of theirs, aren’t really intelligent enough to govern a global
empire. Scarpa doesn’t have any problems with the idea of an
empire. He just doesn’t like the way the present one’s set up.
He’d be more than happy with it if there were just a few changes
up at the top. he believes that the Cyrgai will conquer the
world and then retreat back into their splendid isolation. Somebody’s
going to have to run the government of the world for
them, and Scarpa’s got a candidate in mind for the position.’
‘That’s insane!’ Bevier exclaimed.
“I think I already suggested that, Sir Knight. Scarpa seems to
think he’d make a very good emperor.’
‘The position’s already been filled,’ Sarabian noted dryly.
‘Scarpa’s hoping that Cyrgon will vacate it, your Majesty. He
tells his people that the Cyrgai have absolutely no administrative
skills and ~that they’re going to need someone to run the conquered
territories for them. He’ll volunteer at that point. He’ll
genuflect perfunctorily in Cyrgon’s direction once in a while,
and more or less run things to suit himself. he has large dreams,
I’ll give him that.’
“It has a sort of familiar ring to it, doesn’t it, Sparhawk?’ Kalten
said with a tight grin. ‘Didn’t Martel – and Annias – have the
same sort of notion?’
‘Oh my goodness, yes,’ Ehlana agreed. “I feel as if I’ve lived
through all of this before.’
‘Where does Krager fit in?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘Krager seems to be some sort of coordinator,’ Caalador
replied. ‘He serves as a go-between. He travels a great deal,
carrying messages and instructions. We’re guessing about this,
but we think that there’s a layer of command between Cyrgon
and the people like Scarpa, Parok, Rebal and Sabre. Krager’s
known to all of them, and that authenticates his messages. He
seems to have found his natural niche in life. Queen Ehlana tells
us that he served Martel and Annias in exactly the same way,
and he was doing the same kind of thing back in Eosia when
he was carrying Count Gerrich’s instructions to those bandits in
the mountains east of Cardos.’
‘We should really make some sort of effort to scoop Krager
up,’ Ulath rumbled. ‘He starts talking if someone so much as
gives him a harsh look, and he knows a great deal about things
that make me moderately curious.’
‘That’s how he’s managed to stay alive for so long,’ Kalten
grunted. ‘He always makes sure that he’s got so much valuable
information that we don’t dare kill him.’
‘Kill him after he talks, Sir Kalten,’ Khalad said.
‘He makes us promise not to.’
‘So?’
‘We’re knights, Khalad,’ Kalten explained. ‘Once we give
someone our oath, we’re obliged to keep our word.’
‘You weren’t thinking of knighting me at any time in the
immediate future, were you, Lord Vanion?’ Khalad asked.
“It might be just a little premature, Khalad.’
‘That means that I’m still a peasant, doesn’t it?’
‘Well – technically, maybe.’
‘That solves the problem, then,’ Khalad said with a chill little
smile. ‘Go ahead and catch him, Sir Kalten. Promise him anything
you have to in order to get him to talk. Then turn him
over to me. Nobody expects a peasant to keep his word.’
‘i’m going to like this young man, Sparhawk,’ Kalten grinned.
‘Zalasta’s coming for me, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia told the big Pandion.
‘He’ll escort me safely back to Sarsos.’ She shook her head,
refusing to enter the room to which they were returning after
lunch.
‘You’re being childish. You know that, don’t you, Sephrenia?’
‘I’ve out-lived my usefulness, and I’ve been around Elenes
long enough to know what a prudent Styric does when that
happens. As long as a Styric’s useful, she’s relatively safe among
Elenes. Once she’s served her purpose, though, her presence
starts to be embarrassing, and you Elenes deal abruptly with
inconvenient people. I’d rather not have one of you slip a knife
between my ribs.’
‘Are you just about finished? Conversations like this bore me.
We love you, Sephrenia, and it has nothing to do with whether
or not you’re useful to us. You’re breaking Vanion’s heart. You
know that, don’t you?’
‘So? He broke mine, didn’t he? Take your problems to Xanetia
Since you’re all so enamored of her.’
‘That’s beneath you, little mother.’
Her chin came up. “I think I’d rather you didn’t call me that
any more, Sparhawk. It’s just a bit grotesque in the present
circumstances. I’ll be in my room – if it’s still mine. If it isn’t,
I’ll go live in the Styric community here in Matherion. If it’s not
too much trouble, let me know when Zalasta arrives.’ And she
turned and walked on down the corridor, ostentatiously wearing
her injury like a garment.
Sparhawk swore under his breath. Then he saw Kalten and
Alcan coming down the tiled hallway. At least that particular
problem had been resolved. The queen’s maid had laughed in
Kalten’s face when the blond knight had clumsily offered to step
aside so that she could devote her attentions to Berit. She had
then, Sparhawk gathered, convinced Kalten that her affections
were still quite firmly where they were supposed to be.
‘But you never leave her side, Sir Kalten,’ the doe-eyed girl
accused. ‘You’re always hovering over her and making certain
that she has everything she needs or wants.’
“It’s a duty, Alcan,’ Kalten tried to explain. ‘i’m not doing it
because I have any kind of affection for her.’
‘You’re performing your duty just a little too well to suit me,
Sir Knight.’ Alcan’s voice, that marvelous instrument, conveyed
a whole range of feelings. The girl could speak volumes with
only the slightest change of key and intonation.
‘Oh, God,’ Sparhawk groaned. Why did he always have to get
caught in these personal matters? This time, however, he moved