As always, Salmissra’s chamber was dimly lighted by oil lamps hanging on long silver chains from the shadowy ceiling. The chorus of eunuchs still knelt adoringly in the queen’s presence, but they no longer sang her praises. Noise of any kind irritated Salmissra now, and it was wise not to irritate her. The Serpent Queen still occupied the divanlike throne beneath the towering statue of Issa. She dozed interminably, stirring her mottled coils with the seething dry hiss of scale rubbing against scale. But even in restless doze, her tongue flickered nervously. Sadi approached the throne, perfunctorily prostrated himself on the polished stone floor, and waited. His scent on the air would announce him to the hooded serpent who was his queen.
“Yes, Sadi?” she whispered finally, her voice a dusty hiss.
“The Murgos wish an alliance, my Queen,” Sadi informed her. “Taur Urgas wants to threaten the Tolnedrans from the south to force Ran Borune to withdraw his legions from the Thullish border.”
“Interesting,” she replied indifferently. Her dead eyes bored into him and her coils rustled. “What do you think?”
“Neutrality costs nothing, Divine Salmissra,” Sadi replied. “Alliance with either side would be premature.”
Salmissra turned, her mottled hood flaring as she regarded her reflection in the mirror beside her throne. The crown still rested on her head as polished and glistening as her scales. Her tongue flickered, and her eyes, flat as glass, looked at the mirror. “Do what you think best, Sadi,” she told him in an uncaring tone.
“I’ll deal with the matter, my Queen,” Sadi said, putting his face to the floor in preparation to leave.
“I have no need of Torak now,” she mused, still staring at the mirror. “Polgara saw to that.”
“Yes, my Queen,” Sadi agreed in a neutral voice, beginning to rise.
She turned to look at him. “Stay a while, Sadi. I’m lonely.”
Sadi sank immediately back to the polished floor.
“I have such strange dreams sometimes, Sadi,” she hissed. “Such very strange dreams. I seem to remember things – things that happened when my blood was warm and I was a woman. Strange thoughts come to me in my dreams, and strange hungers.” She looked directly at him, her hood flaring again as her pointed face stretched out toward him. “Was I really like that, Sadi? It all seems like something seen through smoke.”
“It was a difficult time, my Queen,” Sadi replied candidly. “For all of us.”
“Polgara was right, you know,” she continued in that expiring whisper. “The potions enflamed me. I think it’s better this way – no passions, no hungers, no fears.” She turned back to her mirror. “You may go now, Sadi.”
He rose and started toward the door.
“Oh, Sadi.”
“Yes, my Queen?”
“If I caused you trouble before, I’m sorry.”
He stared at her.
“Not very much, of course – but just a little.” Then she returned to her reflection.
Sadi was trembling as he closed the door behind him. Sometime later, he sent for Issus. The shabby, one-eyed hireling entered the chief eunuch’s study with a certain hesitancy, and his face was a bit apprehensive.
“Come in, Issus,” Sadi told him calmly.
“I hope you aren’t holding any grudges, Sadi,” Issus said nervously, looking about to be sure they were alone. “There was nothing personal in it, you know.”
“It’s all right, Issus,” Sadi assured him. “You were only doing what you were paid to do.”
“How did you manage to detect it?” Issus asked with a certain professional curiosity. “Most men are too far gone for the antidote to work before they realize they’ve been poisoned.”
“Your concoction leaves just the faintest aftertaste of lemon,” Sadi replied. “I’ve been trained to recognize it.”
“Ah,” Issus said. “I’ll have to work on that. Otherwise it’s a very good poison.”
“An excellent poison, Issus,” Sadi agreed. “That brings us to the reason I sent for you. There’s a man I think I can dispense with.”
Issus’ single eye brightened, and he rubbed his hands together. “The usual fee?”
“Naturally.”
“Who is he?”
“The Murgo ambassador.”
Issus’ face clouded for a moment. “He’ll be difficult to get to.” He scratched at his stubbled scalp.
“You’ll find a way. I have the utmost confidence in you.”
“I’m the best,” Issus agreed with no trace of false modesty.
“The ambassador’s pressing me in certain negotiations that I need to delay,” Sadi continued. “His sudden demise should interrupt things a bit.”
“You don’t really have to explain, Sadi,” Issus told him. “I don’t need to know why you want him killed.”
“But you do need to know how. For various reasons, I’d like for this to look very natural. Could you arrange for him-and perhaps a few others in his household-to come down with some kind of fever? Something suitably virulent?”
Issus frowned. “That’s tricky. Something like that can get out of hand. You might end up infecting an entire neighborhood, and there would be very few survivors.”
Sadi shrugged. “One sometimes must make sacrifices. Can you do it?”
Issus nodded gravely.
“Do it then, and I’ll compose a letter expressing my regrets to King Taur Urgas.”
Queen Silar sat at her loom in the great hall of the Algar Stronghold, humming softly to herself as her fingers passed the shuttle back and forth with a drowsy, clicking sound. Sunlight streamed down from the narrow windows set high up in the wall, filling the huge, narrow room with a diffused golden light. King Cho-Hag and Hettar were away from the Stronghold, preparing a huge encampment some few leagues out from the base of the eastern escarpment for the army of Alorns, Arends, Sendars, and Tolnedrans approaching from the west. Although he was still within the borders of the kingdom, Cho-Hag had formally transferred authority to his wife, extracting a pledge of support from all of the assembled Clan-Chiefs.
The Queen of Algaria was a silent woman, and her calm face seldom betrayed her emotions. She had spent her entire life in the background, often so unobtrusively that people did not even realize that she was present. She had, however, kept her eyes and her ears open. Her crippled husband, moreover, had confided in her. His quiet, dark-haired queen knew exactly what was going on.
Elvar, Archpriest of Algaria, stood, white-robed and much puffed-up with his own importance, reading to her the set of carefully prepared proclamations which would effectively transfer all power to him. His tone was condescending as he explained them to her.
“Is that all?” she asked when he had finished.
“It’s really for the best, your Highness,” he told her loftily. “All the world knows that women are unsuited to rule. Shall I send for pen and ink?”
“Not just yet, Elvar,” she replied calmly, her hands busy at her loom.
“But ”
“You know, I just had the oddest thought,” she said, looking directly at him. “You’re the Archpriest of Belar here in Algaria, but you never go out of the Stronghold. Isn’t that a bit peculiar?”
“My duties, your Highness, compell me-”
“Isn’t your first duty to the people – and to the children of Belar? We’ve been terribly selfish keeping you here when your heart must be yearning to be out among the clans, overseeing the religious instruction of the children.”
He stared at her, his mouth suddenly agape.
“And all the other priests as well,” she continued. “They all seem to be concentrated here at the Stronghold, pressed into administrative duties. A priest is too valuable a man for such tasks. This situation must be corrected immediately.”
“But ”
“No, Elvar. My duty as queen is absolutely clear. The children of Algaria must come first. I release you from all your duties here at the Stronghold so that you may return to your chosen vocation.” She smiled suddenly. “I’ll even draw up an itinerary for you myself,” she said brightly. She thought a moment. “The times are troubled,” she added, “so perhaps I’d better provide you with an escort – several trustworthy men from my own clan who can be depended upon to make sure that you aren’t interrupted in your travels or distracted from your preaching by any disturbing messages from abroad.” She looked at him again. “That will be all, Elvar. You’d probably better go pack. It will be a number of seasons before you return, I imagine.”
The Archpriest of Belar was making strangled noises.
“Oh, one other thing.” The queen carefully chose another skein of yarn and held it up to the sunlight. “It’s been years since anyone made a survey of the herds. As long as you’re going to be out there anyway, I think I’d like an accurate count of all the calves and colts in Algaria. It will give you something to occupy your mind. Send me a report from time to time, won’t you?” She returned to her weaving. “You’re dismissed, Elvar,” she said placidly, not even bothering to look up as the Archpriest, shaking with rage, tottered away to make preparations for his roving imprisonment.