Polgara the Sorceress (37 page)

The answer, of course, was fairly simple, and it would almost certainly teach my belligerent friend
not
to deliver ultimatums to me any more. I’d never done it before, but there’s a first time for everything, I guess. I knew what was involved, and I was confident that I could improvise should the occasion demand it.

‘All right, Killane,’ I said in feigned surrender, ‘if you’re going to insist –’

‘I am,’ he said flatly. ‘I’ll be after saddlin’ our horses, then.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘We won’t be traveling on horseback. Let’s go out into the garden.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘You’ll see.’

I’ll admit that it was just a bit tricky. I knew what Killane
looked
like, but I didn’t have a complete grasp of exactly how he
felt
– his own sense of his being, I suppose you could call it. Our gender differences complicated things just a bit, but I set that part aside. Killane’s gender wasn’t going to be particularly important for a while. He stood near a bed of winter-dormant rose-bushes with a slightly apprehensive look on his face, realizing, I suspect, that he might have pushed me just a trifle too far.

Then he started slightly, seeing something that wasn’t really there near his left foot. He raised the foot, obviously intending to tramp on what he thought he was seeing.

‘Leave it alone, Killane,’ I said sharply to him. ‘I need it just now. Look at it very closely, however.’

He stared intently at the illusion.

I had to filter the release of my will through
his
consciousness, and that was no mean trick. So far as I can recall, it was the first time I’d ever actually funneled my will through the mind of someone else. When I had everything firmly in place, I almost absently picked up a rock that weighed perhaps two pounds, and then I let my built-up Will go in the direction I had it pointed, and even as the transfer was taking place I prudently set the rock down on the tail of the small field-mouse into which the entirety of Killane’s awareness and body were being transferred. There was a fair chance that the transformation might make him a bit hysterical, and I didn’t really have the time to hunt him down.

The squeaking he made was pathetic, and the poor little creature’s beady eyes were almost starting out of its head. I pushed back my instinctive sympathy, however. Killane
had
insisted, after all.

Then I went falcon, and that
definitely
increased the level of squeaking. I more or less ignored those shrill cries of
absolute terror and strutted – that’s the only word for it – over to one of the fruit-trees, selected a winter-shriveled apple on a lower limb, and pecked at the stem until it came free and fell onto the half frozen grass. I practiced with the apple for a few moments until I could hold it firmly without sinking my talons into its flesh. Then I went back to the squealing field-mouse. I took him firmly in my talons, shouldered the rock off his tail, and left for Vo Astur.

The trip wasn’t bad – for me – and after we were several hundred feet up in the air, Killane stopped squealing. He
did
tremble a lot, though.

It was mid-afternoon when we reached Vo Astur, and I noted as we settled onto the battlements of the palace that the parapet was largely deserted, a clear indication that discipline was lax. I disapproved of that, even though it was definitely to our advantage. Asturia was on a war footing, after all, and the lack of sentries on the parapet was an indication of unforgivable slovenliness. Still holding the trembling mouse in one claw, I hopped into a deserted sentry-box at the southwest corner of the battlements and changed Killane and myself back into our natural forms. He was staring at me in absolute horror when his real form blurred into place, and he continued that squeaking.

‘Stop that!’ I told him sharply. ‘You’re a man again. Talk. Don’t squeak.’

‘Don’t you
ever
do that t’ me again!’ he gasped.

‘It was your idea, Killane.’

‘I never said no such thing.’

‘You told me that you were going to come along. All right, you
did
come along. Now quit complaining.’

‘What a
dreadful
thing that wast’ do!’

‘So was threatening to burn my house down. Snap out of it, Killane. We’ve got work to do.’

We kept watch from the tiny sentry-box until the soldiers who were scattered along the parapet gathered over on the far side in response to the inviting sound of a pair of rattling dice. Then, with no ostentatious display of furtiveness, Killane and I went down a flight of stairs into the upper floors of Nerasin’s palace. I still knew my way around the ducal residence, and Killane and I slipped unobtrusively into a
dusty, neglected library. In all probability, it was the safest place to hide, since study was not held in very high regard in Vo Astur just then.

The sun went down and darkness settled over Vo Astur. The noise from the throne-room seemed to suggest that the Asturians were celebrating something. Nerasin had evidently done some boasting, and his cohorts – his immediate family, for the most part – appeared to be convinced that his clever ploy would improve things in Vo Astur. I assumed that they were eating as well as drinking. That’s the basic flaw in any attempt to starve a people into submission. The ones you’re really after are the last ones to go hungry.

Killane kept watch at the door while I carefully reviewed the details of a dissection my teacher Balten and I had performed back on the Isle of the Winds. I wanted to make absolutely certain that a fairly common ailment would convince Nerasin to be cooperative.

I think it was almost midnight when a group of rowdy Asturian nobles came staggering up the stairs from the throne-room, turned the semi-comatose Nerasin over to the guards at the door to the royal apartment, and reeled off down the corridor singing a bawdy drinking song.

Killane and I waited. ‘I’ll be after doin’ th’ killin’, Lady-O,’ my friend whispered to me. ‘I’d not be wantin’ y’ t’ soil yer pretty hands on th’ likes o’ no Asturian.’

‘We aren’t going to kill anybody, Killane,’ I told him firmly. ‘I’m going to give Nerasin some instructions, that’s all.’

‘Surely y’ don’t think he’ll be after followin’ them, do y’?’

‘He’ll follow them, Killane. Believe me, he’ll follow them.’

‘I’ll be absolutely fascinated t’ see how y’ plan t’ manage that, Lady-O.’ He picked up a heavy chair and very slowly twisted it apart, making only a very small amount of noise. When it was all in pieces, he selected one of the legs and swished it through the air a couple of times. ‘Twill do nicely, don’t y’ know,’ he noted, brandishing his makeshift club.

‘What did you do that for?’ I asked him.

‘I’ll be after needin’ something’ t’ put th’ guards t’ sleep.’

‘Why don’t you check with me before you dismantle any more furniture?’ I suggested. ‘The guards won’t be any problem.’

‘I’ll not be after doubtin’ yer unspeakable gifts, Lady-O,’ he said, ‘but I think I’ll be after keepin’ me cudgel here – just in case.’

‘Whatever makes you comfortable, I suppose.’ I listened at the door for a few moments. Silence was settling over the castle. Here and there a door slammed, and the occasional bursts of laughter and rowdy song were quite some distance off. I opened the door slightly and looked at the two bored-looking guards at Nerasin’s door. ‘Sleep,’ I murmured to them under my breath, and a moment or so later they were sprawled, snoring, one on either side of the door. ‘Let’s get on with this, then,’ I said to Killane, and the two of us stepped out into the corridor.

The door was not locked, since it was supposed to be guarded, so Killane and I were inside Nerasin’s apartment in no more than a minute.

I cast my thought about the series of connected rooms and found that nobody was awake, and then my friend and I went on into the bedroom where Nerasin sprawled snoring and only partially undressed across the canopied bed. I noticed that his bare feet were very dirty.

Killane quietly closed the door. ‘Would y’ be after wantin’ me t’ wake him?’ he whispered.

‘Not yet,’ I murmured. ‘I’d better sober him up first. Then he’ll wake up all by himself, I think.’ I rather carefully examined the man who called himself ‘the Duke of Astur’. He was of a medium build, he had a big, bulbous nose and small, deep-set eyes. He had a weak chin and sparse, dark hair. He was none too clean, and his breath was like the odor from a freshly reopened grave.

Leeching the residue of strong drink from a man’s body isn’t particularly difficult, but I wanted something in place within Nerasin’s body before I did that. I probed rather carefully with my thought, located his stomach, and carefully etched away the lining of the stomach wall near its bottom. Then I abraded the stomach wall itself until there
was an open sore there. Nerasin’s digestive juices should do the rest. Then, being careful not to move too quickly, I drained away what he’d drunk that evening. When I judged that he was just on the verge of noticing the fire I’d just built in his belly, I relaxed the muscles in his voice-box to the point that he wouldn’t be able to scream – not audibly, at any rate.

The putative Duke of Asturia awoke rather suddenly.

Judging from the slightly disappointed look on his face, soundless screaming isn’t very satisfying. His writhing was inspired, however.

‘Good evening, your Grace,’ I said pleasantly. ‘Isn’t the weather mild for so early in the season?’

Nerasin scrunched himself up into a tight ball, clutching at his stomach and trying with every ounce of his strength to push out at least a small squeak.

‘Is something the matter, dear boy?’ I asked, feigning some slight concern. ‘Something you ate or drank no doubt.’ I laid my hand on his profusely sweating forehead. ‘No,’ I said, ‘it doesn’t seem to be connected to any kind of food. Let me think for a moment.’

I drew a look of studious concentration over my face while my ‘patient’ thrashed about on his bed.

Then I snapped my fingers as if a thought had suddenly come to me. ‘Of course!’ I exclaimed. ‘How did I miss it? It’s so obvious. You’ve been a naughty boy, your Grace. You’ve done something lately that you’re very ashamed of. There’s nothing really wrong with your poor little tummy. You’ve got a guilty conscience, that’s all.’ Then I triggered a fresh flow of digestive juices into his stomach.

This time he was actually able to make a slight squeaking noise – I think he did anyway. I couldn’t be completely sure because he’d rolled off the bed and was crawling around under it. The squeaking might have been the sound of his toe-nails scraping on the floor-boards.

‘Help his Grace back into bed, Killane,’ I suggested to my grinning henchman. ‘I want to see what I can do to ease his suffering.’

Killane reached under the bed, caught Nerasin by one ankle, and dragged him out into the open again. Then he
bodily picked up the squirming Asturian and casually dumped him back on the bed.

‘Allow me to introduce myself, your Grace. My name’s Polgara. You may have heard of me.’

He even stopped wiggling. His eyes bulged out. ‘Polgara the Sorceress?’ he whispered, looking slightly terrified.

The physician,’ I corrected. ‘You have a very serious condition, Duke Nerasin, and if you don’t do just exactly what I advise you to do, I can’t hold out much hope for your recovery. First of all, you’re going to send word to the people you have holding Duke Alleran’s son. Tell them to bring the little boy here immediately.’ Then, just to make sure he got my point, I released a fresh flow of gastric juices into his inflamed stomach.

He immediately tied himself into an intricately complex knot and became very cooperative. There was a bell-pull at the head of his bed and he quite nearly tore it from its mounting when he summoned assorted servants. He gave orders in a hoarse whisper and then fell back on his bed, sweating profusely.

There, now,’ I said in a motherly sort of way, ‘see how much better you feel already? I’m very pleased with how well your treatment is progressing. We’ll have you back on your feet in no time. Now then, while we’re waiting for your people to bring little Kathandrion here, we’d probably better go over the things you’re going to have to do to prevent a relapse of this dreadful condition. You
really
don’t want this to happen again, do you?’

He shook his head violently.

The Arendish Council will be meeting at the Great Fair again this summer – as it usually does – and I really think you should make plans to attend – for reasons of your health, if you take my meaning. Then, just to be sure that this distressing condition doesn’t recur, you’d probably better call all your spies, assassins, and assorted other troublemakers back here to Vo Astur. All this scheming and plotting is
very
hard on your stomach, and that delicate conscience of yours could cause all this to flare up again the moment you do anything the least bit dishonorable. It may take a bit of getting used to, Nerasin, but you might
very well go down in history as the most honorable man to ever be born in the Duchy of Asturia. Doesn’t that make you proud?’

He gave me a sickly little smile. ‘Honor’ is a nice word, but the concept was totally alien to Duke Nerasin.

‘I think perhaps you should rest now,’ I told him, ‘but first, you’d better pass along orders that no one in Asturia should in any way interfere when my friend and I take little Kathandrion home to his parents. I know that the thought of the child’s happiness just fills your heart with joy, and you wouldn’t even think of hindering me, would you?

He shook his head so hard this time that it almost flew off.

Some scruffy-looking ruffians brought Alleran’s young son to Nerasin’s apartments shortly after dawn. ‘Aunt Pol!’ The little boy cried delightedly, running to me on his sturdy little legs. I swept him up into my arms and held him very close for a while.

Nerasin provided horses for Killane and me and a fairly sizeable escort to take us as far as the Wacite frontier.

‘Will th’ belly-ache be after goin’ away in time, melady?’ Killane asked as we rode out of the bleak granite pile known as Vo Astur.

‘It’ll
seem
to, Killane,’ I replied. ‘I’ll probably have to turn it on a few more times before Nerasin falls into line, though. He’ll try something sneaky in a few months, and I’ll set fire to his belly again. He’ll wait a little longer before he tries something else, and I’ll stir the fire again. Nerasin’s a thoroughgoing scoundrel, so I’ll probably have to remind him about “his condition” a half-dozen or so times before he finally decides to behave himself. In the end, Arendia should be fairly quiet – for a generation or so, anyway. After that, who knows?’