Alfred said nothing more—he couldn’t say anything more, he didn’t have breath left to say it. The passage through Death’s Gate, followed by the emotional upheaval of the cycles’ shocking events and the constant drain on his magic to help him survive, rendered the Sartan weak to the point of collapse. Blindly, wearily, he stumbled along where he was led.
He had only a vague impression of arriving at another gate, of emerging thankfully from the maze of tunnels, of Jera and Jonathan answering questions put to them by a dead guard, of hearing that someone was taken ill and wondering vaguely who, of a large fur-covered body of a pauka appear out of the mist, of falling, face first, into a carriage and hearing, as in a dream, the voice of Jera saying, “… my father’s house . . .” and of the eternal, horrible darkness of this dreadful world closing over him.
CHAPTER * 23
NECROPOLIS, ABARRACH
‘AND, so, PONS, YOU LOST HIM,” SAID THE DYNAST, IDLY SIPPING AT A potent, fiery, red-hued liquor known as stalagma, the favored after-dinner drink of His Majesty.
“I am sorry. Sire, but I had no idea I would be responsible for transporting five prisoners. I thought there would be only one, the prince, and that I would take charge of him personally. I had to rely on the dead. There was no one else.”
The Lord High Chancellor was not concerned. The dynast was fair-minded and would not hold his minister responsible for the inadequacies of the cadavers. The Sartan of Abarrach had learned long ago to understand the limits of the dead. The living tolerated the cadavers, responding to them with patience and fortitude, much as fond parents tolerate the inadequacies of their children.
‘A glass, Pons?” asked the dynast, waving off the cadaver servant and offering to fill a small golden cup with his own hands. “Quite an excellent flavor.”
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Pons, who detested stalagma but who wouldn’t have dreamed of offending the dynast by refusing to drink with him. “Will you see the prisoners now?”
“What is the hurry, Pons? It is nearly time for our rune-bone game. You know that.”
The chancellor gulped down the bitter-tasting liquid as swiftly as possible, fought a moment to catch his breath, and mopped his sweating forehead with a handkerchief.
“The Lady Jera mentioned something, Sire, about the prophecy.”
Kleitus paused in the act of lifting the glass to his lips. “Did she? When?”
‘After the stranger had … er … done whatever he did to the captain of the guard.”
“But you said he ‘killed’ it, Pons. The prophecy speaks of bringing life to the dead.” The dynast drank off the liquor, tossing it to the back of his throat and swallowing it immediately, as did all experienced stalagma drinkers. “Not ending it.”
“The duchess has a way of twisting words to suit her own convenience, Sire. Consider the rumors that she could spread concerning this stranger. Consider what the stranger himself might do to make the people believe in him.”
“True, true.” Kleitus frowned, at first worried. Then he shrugged. “We know where he is and with whom.” The stalagma put him in a relaxed mood.
“We could send in troops . ..” suggested the chancellor.
“And have the earl’s faction up in arms? Ifs possible they might join these rebels from Kairn Telest. No, Pons, we will continue to handle this matter subtly. It could give us the excuse we need to put that meddlesome earl and his duchess daughter out of the way for good. We trust you took the usual precautions, Pons?”
“Yes, Sire. The matter is already in hand.”
‘Then why worry over nothing? By the way, who takes over the ducal lands of Rift Ridge if young Jonathan should die untimely?”
“He has no children. The wife would inherit—”
The dynast made a fatigued gesture. Pons lowered his eyelids, indicative of understanding.
“In that case, his estate reverts to the crown, Your Majesty.”
Kleitus nodded, motioned to a servant to pour him another glass. When the cadaver had done so and withdrawn, the dynast lifted his cup, prepared to enjoy the liquor. His gaze caught that of his chancellor and, with a sigh, he set the glass back down.