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Why does she hesitate?Selfishly eager, Emien wondered. Usually his mistress
flaunted power, taking pleasure in intimidation and superiority. Emboldened by
the thought that Tath-agres might be tiring, Emien hoped the King would
resist, compelling her to react until exhaustion lowered her guard.
But the murders in the council had shattered Kisburn's con-fidence. Deprived
of the support of Lord
Sholl and the Warlord-General, he lacked the backbone to fight. Emien looked
on in disgust while his shoulders sagged, as if the gem-crusted chain of
office which circled his shoulders suddenly grew too weighty for him to
endure.
"I will yield you the Keys." Kisburn blotted his brow on his brocade cuff and
glowered at the woman who blocked the chamber door. Robbed of dignity by
defeat, his tone turned querulous. "I hope you have decency enough to leave
after this. For your sorceries and your demons have brought my kingdom to the
verge of ruin."
The King pulled a ring from a chain at his belt and crossed the room. Sullen
and slow, he knelt before the heavy steel-bound chest placed beside the
hearth.
"Go with him," said Tathagres to Emien. Her voice held a brittle edge. "Be
certain he tries no tricks. The
Keys of Elrinfaer lie in a box of black basalt. You will know it by Anskiere's
seal set in gold on the top."
Emien obeyed, feigning nonchalance. While Kisburn un-locked the chest and
lifted the lid, the boy glanced furtively at Tathagres; her attention appeared
absorbed by the King, who reached with jerky, uncertain motions and shuffled
among the contents in the chest. Emien sidled closer. Careful to hide his
movements, he raised his hand to his belt, closed his fingers over his knife,
and pretended to peer over the King's shoulder. Slowly, nervously, he inched
his blade from its sheath.
"Here." Kisburn straightened, a cube of dark stone balanced across his palm.
The symbol of Anskiere's mastery was inlaid in shining gold on its polished
surface, a stormfalcon centered within three concentric circles. To Emien, the
seal promised power, permanent escape from the sovereign tyranny of sor-cery.
With a rising surge of triumph, he seized the royal shoul-der and sank his
dagger upward to the hilt in the soft flesh of the King's lower back.
Royal blood flooded warmly over his wrist. The King cried out, twisted and
sank in agony to one knee.
Anskiere's box slipped from loosened fingers. Emien caught the object, felt
its solid corners gouge his skin. Too late he noticed the cube possessed
neither seam nor catch. If the stone contained an object of power, he had no
time to search for the secret. With the hair rising at the nape of his neck,
Emien straightened and faced his mistress.
Tathagres stepped clear of the doorway, both hands in con-tact with her
neckband. Her murdered ally writhed in agony on the hearth, but she made no
effort to help him. Slim, straight and savagely beautiful in her silver mail,
she met her squire's defiance with dangerous fury. "Fool," she said coldly.
"Give the Keys of Elrinfaer to me."
Taen cried out from the depths of dream trance. Sweat dampened her brow and
she twisted against
Jane's hands. He held her shoulders firmly, preventing her from thrashing
against the gritty wall of the cavern. The tunnel which led from the east keep
dungeon was narrow, hastily constructed and shored up with scraps of timber
and undressed rocks. Sloping gently, it opened into a muddy cave whose
entrance lay hidden behind an outcrop above the harbor. There by the light of
a single lantern a wizened healer cleaned and dressed the Kielmark's abrasions
with old, careful hands. Throughout the disturbance, his touch on the wounds
stayed neat and sure, and if his salves were astringent enough to make Jaric's
eyes water, the King of Renegades ignored the sting. Like the Firelord's heir,
he sat hunched and still, attention
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fixed with unwavering intensity upon the dream-weaver who sought news of the
trap which closed over
King Kisburn's attack force in the fortress above.
Taen shivered and abruptly opened her eyes. In a voice which trembled with
shock, she said, "Emien has murdered the King. He wishes Tathagres' death also
and has seized the Keys of Elrinfaer on the chance their powers might prove
useful against her. As yet Anskiere's sorceries are beyond his ability to
master."
"He's ignorant." The Kielmark fretted as the healer wrapped a fresh bandage on
his forearm. "The Keys have no purpose except to preserve the wards over
Elrinfaer Tower."
Taen offered no reply. Suspended once more in the dream link, she sagged
against Jaric's shoulder. But the tension did not smooth from her young face
as she merged her conscious-ness with Emien. Her hands remained clenched in
her lap. The Firelord's heir stroked tangled hair from her brow, unhappily
aware the
Keys' recovery might now cost Taen's brother his life. More than ever before,
Jaric wished he had insisted the dream-weaver leave before Kisburn's assault
as the Vaere had directed.
But Taen remained unaware of the concern which troubled the Firelord's heir.
Absorbed by the mysteries of her craft, she heard nothing as the Kielmark
swore and excused the healer with an irritable flick of his wrist. Bound to
her brother, she stood in a room panelled in gilt and cedar, the chilly weight
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