A Flame in Hali (56 page)

“It is indeed a troubled world we live in,” Callina said, rising to her feet. “Any morsel of hope is welcome.”

Romilla said eagerly, “At first, when I was ill, I could not see beyond the next day, even the next hour. With Sandoval’s healing, as you see, I am well and strong.”

“Then you will soon sit at council with Her Majesty, as is your right,” Eduin said.

“Why, yes,” Romilla said, clearly pleased. “If I had not fallen ill, I would surely have done so before now. I shall take my place this very evening.”

Callina looked dubious. “Will not your lord father object to your taking precedence?”

Romilla tossed her head. “I am sure he will be happy that I am able to do so. Does the Blessed Sandoval not agree?”

“Most certainly,
vai domna,
” Eduin hastened to reply, “for only in this way can the perfidious influence of certain persons be opposed.”

“You have seen this?”

Saravio took that moment to intone, “It is the will of Naotalba.”

“Naotalba,” Callina repeated in a dreamy voice. “I remember hearing that name as a child, in stories meant to frighten us. I always imagined her as a tragic figure, the Bride of Zandru of the Seven Frozen Hells. Now she seems so comforting.”

“Much of what we were taught as children changes in the light of truth,” Romilla said. “If Naotalba represents a descent into hell, then she also brings us hope, for she is a bridge between the human and the divine.”

“But she doesn’t exist, not really,” Callina protested.

“To Sandoval she does,” Eduin said. “Perhaps she is only a symbol that allows him to focus his vision and insight, for there is no question that he can see many things beyond the scope of ordinary men.”

“Has he the gift of Allart Hastur, to see into the future?” Callina asked.

“Saravio’s vision does not lie in a heritage of strange
laran
from the breeding programs during the Ages of Chaos,” Eduin hastened to say, for Callina had come uncomfortably close to the truth. It was one thing to present Saravio as a man touched by the gods, whatever they might be, and entirely another to arouse the suspicion he might be a renegade
laranzu
. “In the end, what difference does it make what Naotalba is, so long as she protects us against our enemies?”

“We must stand together in these perilous times, Kirella and Valeron side by side,” Romilla said breathlessly. She slipped her hand confidentially through Callina’s elbow. “
You
must help us.”

Callina blushed and looked confused, for she was, after all, very young. “I am sworn to the Queen’s service, but whatever I can do, I will.”

During the days that followed, Eduin found many opportunities to interact with Callina and others of the court. Courtiers here, as elsewhere, were always alert for the latest rumor or hint of favoritism, possibility for advancement or influence. Within a few hours of their arrival, Eduin had sensed the first tendrils of their curiosity. The stableman whispered to his friends, as did the chambermaids who served Romilla and Callina.

A word dropped here and there, accompanied by a psychic nudge, was enough to fuel the growing fascination with Saravio. Eduin soon heard of miracle healings, of clairvoyant trances, of haloes of light surrounding the holy man.

Before long, stories of “the Blessed Sandoval” reached beyond the servants’ quarters. One morning, a page knocked on the door of the room Eduin and Saravio shared. One of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting had a headache, and, having heard how Romilla had been cured of a terrible affliction, begged him to come to her aid.

Eduin doubted the lady had any ailment beyond those generated by boredom, rich food, and confined living space. “Come,” he told Saravio, “the disbelievers call upon us once more to prove Naotalba’s power.”

At these words, as at every mention of the name of the demigoddess, Saravio’s eyes brightened. “They, too, will come to know and serve her. Lead me to them.”

The lady and her own attendants received them in a surprisingly comfortable room in the royal wing. Like much of Valeron Castle, its walls were fine-grained stone polished to a soft gloss, the furnishings pale wood, cushions and drapes a pastel shade of gray-green. Bowls of white rosalys scented the air.

The dough-faced matron, encased in layers of silver-edged lace over Aillard scarlet and gray, sat moaning and wiping her forehead with an embroidered handkerchief. Her chair, a graceful piece, seemed more suited to a young
damisela
than one of her girth. Beside her, an equally elegant table held a platter of delicacies, the kind of concentrated sweet foods Eduin had often eaten after strenuous work in a Tower circle.

He bowed while the page announced them and pronounced the lady’s name. Eduin realized with a start that she was Linella Marzan, the wife of Julianna’s formidable general.

“Oh, my head is very bad,” the lady whimpered to Saravio. “I have such palpitations in my breast, I can find no ease. I do not think any power can cure me, but sweet Romilla, the dear girl, said that your singing brought her so much help. What can it hurt?”

She paused to scoop up a handful of sugared nuts. “It is for my nerves,” she said, noticing Eduin’s gaze. “I am so sensitive, you see, that every possible little thing devastates me. You see the condition I am reduced to. The slightest disturbance in the etheric aura! I should have been trained at a Tower, only my health would not permit it. I could never withstand the stress.”

She paused briefly to eat the nuts and fan herself with her limp handkerchief. Eduin murmured how fortunate Her Majesty was to have such a talented lady-in-waiting.

“Oh, yes, she quite depends upon me. And now you know how important—how
essential
it is that I maintain my health. My head torments me most cruelly. I don’t suppose there is any help for it. I never complain, but bear my affliction as best I can. It is the price of talent such as mine, to bear such burdens. Ah!” She heaved an enormous sigh.

Eduin made a few reassuring comments and then began arranging the room, placing chairs for Saravio and the lady’s attendants and deftly removing the table of food. He did not want any competing pleasures once Saravio had begun singing. One of the attendants, a pretty girl from one of the minor noble houses, brought out a small bowed viol and seated herself on a tufted stool at the lady’s feet. Clearly, one of her duties was to play and sing for her mistress.

Lady Linella continued to bemoan her sufferings even as Saravio began singing. She had no strength of will or personality to resist, but slipped easily into the state of euphoria. The girl with the viol provided a simple harmony. She bent over her instrument, her cheeks flushed, eyes dreamy.

When the lady was secured, Eduin skimmed the surface of her thoughts. He searched for some bit of memory or fragment of conversation, anything that would tell him how much influence she had over her husband, or even the things he might confide in her. Perhaps the general spoke to her in bed, or when he was weary with the cares of his position. Even a silly old woman might make a sympathetic listener.

Eduin found little of any immediate use. Eventually, he might induce her to drop a phrase or two, a pointed question, a mention of Varzil in a negative context. He decided that the best course was to create a dependence upon Saravio. It would be simple enough to do, given her initial susceptibility. He would leave her with a mental suggestion of well-being and many reassurances of being at her service.

She might think of Saravio’s singing as an enjoyable pastime until she tried to do without it. Then the craving would begin. She might fight it for a time, if she had the wit to realize what it was, but in the end, she would lose.

Even if Lady Linella proved to know nothing, she would tell her friends. More would come to hear the healing song, and some of them might have influence over powerful men. Perhaps word would reach the Queen herself. . . .

On the night of the Midsummer Festival feast, Romilla and her father sat in the places of honor at the royal table. The hall was bedecked in wreaths of straw and field flowers. Tables creaked under the massed weight of the food. Roasted stuffed fowl and platters of artistically arranged, honey-glazed vegetables sat beside baked casseroles of mushrooms and cheeses carved like flowers. The centerpiece was a sculpture of an eagle in silver-foil-covered peaches and apricots, its wings edged in crimson cherries to reproduce the Aillard colors. Windows stood open, so that the lingering twilight filled the air with a pearly radiance. Ladies, even Queen Julianna herself, wore garlands of flowers, and tiny beribboned baskets of fruit had been set beside each woman’s place.

Eduin and Saravio had been relegated to a lower table, along with those guests unworthy of royal notice.

Above the murmur of the crowd, Eduin heard Romilla exclaim in a high, girlish voice, “I, who am heir to Kirella, fell ill with melancholy some winters ago. Neither our household
leronis
nor the physician could heal me. It was not until this man, Sandoval the Blessed—” she gestured to the lower tables, where Saravio and Eduin sat, “—came to us that I emerged from the dark time. Not only that, my father watched with his own eyes as Sandoval healed a mortal wound.”

“Extraordinary,” one of Julianna’s councillors said.

The Queen’s voice rose above the others. “We shall see. Is that the man, seated at the lower table with his interpreter?”

Saravio, as if sensing her attention, began to rise from his seat. Eduin grabbed Saravio’s arm and pulled him down, too late. The Queen gestured them forward.

“Come here, fellow, so I can see you properly.”

Eduin bowed deeply, doing his best to imitate the awkward effacement of a poor man among his betters. Saravio held himself proudly, regarding the Queen with a level gaze. She might be the Lady of Valeron, but in Saravio’s eyes, she was no match for Naotalba.

Lord Brynon stirred. “
Vai domna,
will you not hear this man? Truly, he has restored my daughter to health and strength when all other help had failed. In doing so, he himself became the target of a nefarious plot that even now stretches out its grasp for all of Valeron.”

Hope and exultation flared in Eduin’s mind. Impolitic as it was to introduce such a serious topic at a festive meal, Lord Brynon had done it, and in such a way that no suspicion of influence could fall upon either Saravio or Eduin.

Julianna regarded Aillard, one eyebrow raised. “Pray continue.”

“An attempt was made upon the life of Sandoval the Blessed by that same physician who failed so miserably to cure my daughter. In fact, I have since come to suspect that his ministrations contributed to her decline.”

“And you believe this physician was part of a larger plan?” the Lady inquired.

Zandru, she was sharp!
Eduin’s heart beat faster and he leaned forward, muscles tensing. Cold sweat damped the palms of his hands.
Go on,
he silently urged the Aillard lord,
say it!

“Under questioning, the physician revealed his affiliation with none other than the Keeper, Varzil Ridenow,” Lord Brynon announced, drawing himself up to his fullest.

“And this is the basis upon which you suppose a plot?” The eyebrow hitched a fraction higher.

“Surely you must see the pattern. Varzil’s machinations are everywhere, from the shores of Hali to the Tower at Cedestri. He may already have infiltrated this very castle and suborned your own people even as he did mine—”

The Queen cut him off with a sharp, humorless laugh that sent Eduin wincing. “Really, Aillard, you must not go imagining schemes and plots everywhere, simply because you have an incompetent physician. Of course, this wandering entertainer would concoct such an accusation in order to advance his own position. Such men can have considerable power of persuasion. They are useful enough in counteracting the vapors of young girls, but no one of any strength of character takes them seriously. Mind you watch that his influence does not grow beyond the ladies’ bower, or the results will be your disgrace and not his.”