father!’ Davon exploded.
‘No, I’m not. I’m not that patriotic. Aunt Pol’s got a fortune that
the king takes care of. We’ll just add our money to hers for now
until we find a new place to hide.’
‘Why not just kill the Murgo?’ Alten demanded.
‘Interesting idea, Alten,’ I said coolly. ‘Are you any good at
murdering people? Have you had lots of practice?’
‘Well -‘ he faltered.
‘I didn’t think so. All right then, Geran. Go talk to Oldrik.’
‘First thing in the morning, Aunt Pol.’
‘No, Geran. Do it right now. I’ll write a short note to the king
with that password so he’ll know what to do with your money. By
tomorrow morning, we’ll be miles away from Muros. Davon, you
and Alten go back to the shoe-shop. Tell your cobblers that
something’s come up. Call it a family emergency, and don’t get too
specific. Tell them that we have to go to Camaar.’
‘Are we going to Camaar, Aunt Pol?’
‘Of course not, but I want that Murgo to think that’s where we’re
going. Oh, by the way, Geran, have Oldrik sell this house, too. We
won’t need it any more.’
‘Where are we going, Aunt Pol?’ Alten asked me.
‘To a place where there are roses,’ I said, smiling.
Geran sighed.
‘Look on the bright side, Geran,’ I said. ‘This time, you’ll have
.help when you start cleaning the house.’
And that’s exactly what we did. We left Muros about two hours
before dawn, traveling westward on the imperial highway that led
to Camaar, and when we were about three leagues out of town, we
took the secondary road that branched off toward the western end
of Lake Camaar. We reached the lake about noon, and then we
doubled back along the north shore and took a back road toward
Medalia.
We had two wagons and a couple of riding horses, and I’d
browbeaten my family into wearing the clothes of common farmers. The
wagons were actually more for show than convenience. The food
and blankets were necessary, but the several pieces of nondescript
furniture piled on top of them were there to make it appear that
we were nothing more than an extended farm family on the move.
It took us a week and a half to reach Lake Erat, and the family
hid out in the forest overnight while I went owl to meticulously
investigate the area. I found no sign of any Angaraks, and so we
moved cautiously along a barely visible wood-cutter’s track to the
edge of my rose-thicket.
I made another quick survey at that point. There were three
woodcutters about a mile away, and just to be on the safe side, I murmured
‘sleep’ to them from the limb upon which I was perched. Then I
went back to my family, asked the roses to make way for us, and
we all went on to the manor house.
what a magnificent home!’ Geran’s wife, Eldara, exclaimed.
,i’m glad you like it, dear,’ I told her. ‘Get used to it, because
we’ll probably be here for several years.’
‘Long enough to get the place cleaned up, anyway,’ Geran said
with a tone of resignation.
‘I don’t understand,’ Eldara said with a puzzled look.
‘You will, dear,’ Geran told her. ‘Believe me, you will. Where did
we leave the mops and brooms, Aunt Pol?’
‘In that storage room just off the kitchen, Geran.’
‘Well,’ Geran said to his family, ‘I guess we’d better go inside and
get started.’
*CHAPTER28
‘My house on the shores of Lake Erat was our refuge of last resort
during those early years – my version of ‘a cave in the mountains’.
I used it for that purpose several times until I grew more skilled at
escape and evasion. just the knowledge that it was there and that
,it was highly unlikely that any Murgo could find it gave me a
profound sense of security.
That first time was slightly different from later ones, since there
was a very good reason for us to make our stay an extended one.
Geran had been born a prince, and his earliest memories and all his
deeply ingrained instincts were based on that fact. Anonymity was
just not a part of his nature. He’d been born to a royal family,
and, since it was a good royal family, he’d been raised to take his
responsibilities more seriously than his privileges. He tended to take
charge of things and went out of his way to help his neighbors.
That was probably what was behind his near-brush with elective
office. It was highly admirable, but was also quite probably the
worst thing he could have done. Cold logic told me that Geran was
simply too good for the outside world. And so, though it withers
my soul to admit it, our years among the roses had only one purpose
– to give Geran and his wife time to grow old and die.
Does that seem cold-blooded? I loved Geran – as much as I would
have had he been my own son. My first responsibility, however,
was to the blood-line, not to individuals, and the safety of the line
hinged on keeping those inheritors who were incapable of
maintaining their anonymity completely isolated from public view. it
happened several times during the centuries that followed, and it
always pained me when I was obliged to take one of those earnest
young men to my manor house and to keep him there until the years
carried him off. ” I sometimes wonder if my centuries as Duchess of
Erat hadn’t just been to prepare me for the endless funeral I was
forced to endure as a part of the task that’d been laid upon me. I’d
lost Killane and Asrana and Malon and Ontrose, and there in that
house by the lake I was patiently waiting to lose Geran and Eldara
so that I could move on.
Prince Geran of Riva died in his sleep in 4066, not long after his
seventieth birthday. His death wasn’t really unexpected, since he’d
been in decline for a number of years. We grieved his loss, and I’m
happy to say that no member of our little family brightly announced
that ‘it’s better this way’. That particular empty-headed platitude
offends me to the verge of physical violence. I’m a physician, after
all, death is my enemy, not my friend.
We buried Geran on the same hilltop where Killane rested, and
we returned then to the now somehow empty house.
Two years later, Eldara joined her husband, and I began to make
some subtle suggestions to the rest of the family that we might want
to start thinking about going back out into the world.
I gave them a year to absorb the idea and then, one summer
evening after supper when we were all sitting on the terrace, I
brought it out into the open. ‘Where do you think we should go?’
I asked them.
‘Back home, of course,’ Alnana replied quickly.
‘I don’t think that’d be a good idea, dear,’ I disagreed. ‘Our
enemies are probably waiting for us there.’
‘But my sisters live in Muros,’ she protested.
‘All the more reason not to go there,’ I told her. ‘Murgo assassins
tend to kill everyone in sight once they start murdering people. If
we go back to Muros, we could very well be putting your sisters
and their families as well – in mortal danger.’
‘YOU mean that I’m never going to see them again?’ she cried.
‘At least you’ll know that they’re alive, Alnana,’ I told her.
‘If we want to get as far away from Muros as possible, we should
go to Camaar – or Darine,’ Davon suggested.
‘Not Camaar,’ I said.
‘Why not?’
‘There are too many people of foreign birth there. We’re trying
to avoid Murgos, not to cuddle up to them.’
‘Darine, then?’ Alten said.
I pursed my lips. ‘That might be the best. Darine’s crawling with
Alorns, and Alorns have certain hereditary prejudices.’
‘Oh?’
‘They instinctively hate Murgos. Racial prejudice is stupid and
very unattractive, but it can be useful sometimes. I’m sure that there
are nice Murgos – somewhere in the world – but the ones we’ll
encounter here in the west aren’t likely to be among them. Any time
you see a Murgo west of the Escarpment or north of Sthiss Tor, you
can be fairly certain that he’s here to kill you.’
‘What about all the other Angaraks?’ Alten asked.
‘The Malloreans live on the other side of the Sea of the East, and
they take their orders from Urvon, not Ctuchik. Thulls are too stupid
to pose much of a threat, and the Nadraks are an enigma. Nobody
can ever be really sure whose side a Nadrak is on. Ctuchik relies
almost exclusively on the Murgos – the Dagashi in particular.
They’re the ones we have to watch out for. Let’s give some serious
thought to Darine. With so many alorns living there, any Murgo