“Of course, we keep them locked up! You don’t suppose I want them wandering about underfoot? I have enough to do down here as it is. Hurry up. I haven’t got all night. That newest arrival isn’t getting any fresher. I suppose you’ll be wanting something to eat and drink?” The preserver slammed shut the door, glared through the bars at his prisoner.
“Just water.” Haplo didn’t have much appetite.
The preserver brought a cup, shoved it through the bars, ladled water from a bucket into it. Haplo took a drink, spit it out. The water tasted decayed, like everything smelled. Using the remainder, he washed the prince’s blood from his hands and arms and legs.
The preserver glowered, as if he considered this a waste of good water, but said nothing. He was obviously in haste to begin his work on the prince. Haplo lay down on the hard stone, cushioned by a few handfuls of scattered kairn grass.
A Sartan chant rose high-pitched and grating, echoing thinly through the cells. At the sound, it seemed another chant arose, almost unheard, a ghastly wailing groan of unutterable sorrow. The phantasms, Haplo told himself. But the sounds reminded him of the dog, of that last pain-filled yelp. He saw the eyes looking at him, confident that its master would be there to help, as Haplo had always been there. Faithful, believing in him, to the end.
Haplo grit his teeth, and blotted the sight from his mind. Digging his hand into his pocket, he drew out one of the rune-bones he’d managed to palm during the game. He couldn’t see it, in the darkness, but he turned it over in his hand, fingers tracing the sigla carved into the surface.
CHAPTER * 25
OLD PROVINCES, ABARRACH
‘AND THEN, FATHER,” SAID JERA, “THE PHANTASM BEGAN TO TAKE shape and form—”
“Become solid, Daughter?”
“No.” Jera hesitated, thoughtful, frowning, trying to put her memories into words. “It remained ethereal, translucent. If I tried to touch it, my hand would feel nothing. But yet I could see .. . features, details. The insignia he wore on his breastplate, the shape of his nose, battle scars on his arms. Father, I could see the man’s eyes! Yes, his eyes! He looked at me, looked at all of us. And it was as if he’d won a great victory. Then, he … disappeared.”
Jera spread her hands. So provocative were her words and so eloquent her gesture that Alfred could almost see again the diaphanous figure dwindle and fade like morning mist beneath an ever-shining sun.
“You should have seen,” added Jonathan with his warm, boyish laugh, “the expression on old Pons’s face!”
“Mmmm, yes,” muttered the earl.
Jera flushed delicately. “Husband dear, this matter is really quite serious.”
“I know, darling, I know.” Jonathan struggled to regain his self-composure. “But you have to admit, it was funny . ..”
A smile crept over Jera’s lips. “More wine, Papa,” she said, and hastily moved to fill her father’s glass.
When she thought the earl wasn’t watching, Jera shook her head in fond, mock reproof at her husband, who grinned back at her and winked.
The earl saw and wasn’t amused. Alfred had the uncomfortable impression there wasn’t much that went on around him that the earl didn’t see. A dried-up, wizened husk of a man, the earl kept his beady black-eyed gaze constantly darting about the room, then suddenly sent the darts into Alfred.
“I’d like to see you do that spell of yours.” The earl spoke as if Alfred had performed a rather ingenious card trick. The earl leaned forward in his chair, balancing himself on sharp-pointed elbows. “Do it again. I’ll call one of the cadavers. Which one. Daughter, can we afford to spare—”
“I—I couldn’t!” Alfred stammered, becoming more and more flustered as he sought to grope his way through the morass threatening to engulf him. “It was impulse. Act of the … the moment, you see. I looked up and . .. there was that sword c-coming down. The runes .. . just popped into my head … er… so to speak.”
‘And just popped back out again, eh?” The earl jabbed a sharp-boned finger into Alfred’s ribs. Every part of the old man’s body appeared to have been honed on a grindstone.