Restoree (12 page)

“The Regent requests the presence of the First Councilman immediately,” one guard said, saluting.

“He’s
my
brother. I must come, too,” Maxil pleaded.

“Only the First Councilman is required,” the guard said dispassionately.

Maxil’s eyes clouded and his lip trembled a moment. “But he may . . .”

“Lad,” Stannall reassured him kindly, “I’ll send for you,” and he followed the guard.

Maxil’s face wore the old, bitter mask. I tried to comfort him, but it was the appearance of his younger brother, Fernan, drunken, strutting in premature triumph, that stiffened Maxil’s resolve. Looking at the youngster, his face greasy and swollen with overindulgence, I could scarcely see why anyone would choose
him
over Maxil.

Deliberately Maxil turned his back on Fernan and ignored the whispers we both heard very plainly. Gorlot had spread his fiction about Maxil with an efficient hand.

We didn’t have long to wait to know why Stannall had been summoned. He, Gorlot and another man Maxil said was Trenor appeared in the archway and the maskers quieted expectantly.

“The Warlord Ferrill has been seriously taken with a heart attack. He is resting comfortably at the moment. It is the opinion of his physician that with care and rest he will recover,” Gorlot’s harsh news rang out into the Hall. “We have been concerned with his health for some time. It is our deep regret that his frailty will prevent him from fulfilling his promise as one of Lothar’s great Warlords.”

“He regrets,” Maxil growled.

Someone was moving through the crowd which parted to make way. As he stepped up to Gorlot, we saw it was Fernan. Maxil winced. I saw Stannall beckoning to Maxil and gave him a prod in the ribs. Because the boy refused to let my hand go, we both made our way through the reluctantly parting throng. I gave Maxil one final push and jerked my hand free as we reached the steps. Gorlot, however, saw me and his eyes narrowed. I returned his stare with a defiance I hoped was convincing.

People began to whisper together and then someone tittered and Maxil, standing by Stannall, turned to face the Hall.

“What makes the eunuch think he can be Warlord?” some self-acknowledged wit quipped from the safety of the mass. Laughter rippled from all parts of the Hall.

“Eunuch?” I echoed angrily, rising to the first step and turning to face the direction of the voice. “Eunuch?” I repeated as the laughter died and attention was centered on me. I snorted with disgust and disbelief. “Can you know,” for the wit had been a man, “better than I?”

The mutter from the assembled had an entirely different tone now, one of surprise, and Maxil added the final touch.

“Sara, not here,” he pleaded, an agonized expression on his furiously blushing face.

It couldn’t have been more perfect. The canary-satiated look vanished from Fernan’s fat face. Gorlot’s eyes narrowed to angry slits and his right hand clenched and unclenched the knife at his belt.

“In deference to the illness of Ferrill, it is my suggestion that you carry your revels to another place of enjoyment,” Stannall announced quietly, motioning to the guards to step aside from the archways. “Lord Maxil,” and Stannall stressed the title, “the Lady Sara, may I ask that you attend me?”

Gorlot stepped in between Stannall and us.

“As Regent, I would like to ask the Lady Sara a few questions,” he almost snarled.

There was a hint of a smile on Stannall’s calm face as he answered Gorlot.

“Gorlot, you were Regent to Ferrill. Your Regency, a temporary appointment in any case, has ended with your acknowledgment of Ferrill’s incapacity. The Council will convene tomorrow to install the new Warlord-elect and consider the appointment of
his
Regent.”

Calmly Stannall motioned us to precede him out of the Hall. I couldn’t resist one backward glance and saw Fernan pulling at Gorlot’s sleeve impatiently, his putty face screwed up with childish petulance.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
TANNALL BRUSHED ASIDE
M
AXIL’S IMPATIENT
questions about Ferrill. As First Councilman, Stannall had apartments on the fourth level of the palace wing. We made a silent progress down the blue, softly lit corridor, punctuated with doors and guards, past Maxil’s quarters. At the door of his suite, Stannall paused, motioning the guard aside. He produced a curiously shaped rod and pressed it into the small panel in the center of the door. A low whine was audible and then the door opened inward. Lights came up immediately, exposing the graceful main room of the apartment and a filigree-framed balcony.

When the door was closed, Stannall turned to me sternly and demanded an explanation of my cryptic remarks in the Starhall. I gave him an expurgated edition of Harlan’s recovery from the drug, intimating that “suspicions had existed in certain minds” over the cause of Harlan’s unexpected collapse. I told him of our escape, my meeting with Maxil and my subsequent abduction. As far as I knew, Harlan was in Central Barracks in a detachment from Motlina, under the Second Leader Sinnall.

“I realize now why I was suddenly invited here for the Eclipse,” Stannall mused, rubbing the side of his nose thoughtfully. “My presence has not been required much lately. Obviously Harlan could be kept from seeing me here,” and he nodded toward the guarded door. “But there are other problems now to be surmounted.”

He turned toward Maxil thoughtfully.

“Although . . . ah . . .
the
Lady Sara has already neatly undone much of Gorlot’s plans to undermine your election,” Stannall began, inclining his head graciously toward me.

“But we . . . she . . .” Maxil stammered.

Stannall frowned and looked at me for explanation.

“We met for the
first
time this afternoon,” I said meaningfully.

“Then the boy could be . . .”

“Nonsense,” I snapped, regardless of Stannall’s position and age. “He doesn’t think he is and he should know.”

“My daughter, Fara . . .”

“You
know,
sir, Fara and I have had an understanding for just
years,”
Maxil blurted out.

Stannall regarded him with a kindly expression. “I had hoped that would develop into a constant feeling.”

Maxil swallowed hurriedly. “It has. I mean, it would if you’d ever let her come back to the palace.”

Stannall raised his eyebrows. “More of Gorlot’s machinations clarify suddenly. Yes, of course, it wouldn’t be to his advantage to have Fara at the palace. Placing you under a tutor the like of Samoth . . .” Stannall shook his head. “Believe me, I was not in favor of that appointment. But I felt at the time it was only for a little while.”

“Little while!” Maxil snorted, revealing the abuse he had endured all too long.

“However,” Stannall said more briskly, “we shall take care of that little detail right now. Before anything else.”

He touched an ornate switch on a bare wall which slid back, revealing a complicated set of panels, desk area and closets. Flipping a series of switches, Stannall activated a vision circuit on which a picture clarified of an old man, clad in a dressing robe.

Stannall greeted the man as Cordan, explaining the Warlord’s collapse and asking Cordan to contact Luccill and Mallant and bring them immediately to the palace wing to confer with Trenor.

“With Trenor?” Cordan shouted indignantly.

“Yes, Trenor,” Stannall reiterated clearly. “We shall need a full report in the morning for Council. You will then insist, I repeat, insist on seeing me, no matter what the hour, to give me, as First Councilman, your opinion. I cannot overstress the urgency of this. Do you understand?”

Cordan nodded gravely and Stannall broke the connection. Maxil sighed with relief and flopped down into an armchair.

“Why didn’t you tell me of Harlan’s escape before you rushed off to Ferrill?” the Councilman asked me sternly. “You realize, of course, that the news was too great a strain and brought about his attack? I could have effected a convention myself, given your information.”

Maxil turned a horror-stricken face to me.

“I didn’t know that,” I said, tears springing to my eyes.

“But, my dear girl, I
am
the First Councilman. Surely you know the prerogatives of that office.”

“The Council was not in session,” I argued in defense. “Harlan didn’t dare get in touch with you at your holdings.”

“Harlan made a poor choice as messenger, then,” Stannall retorted, anger in his voice.

“I wasn’t even supposed to
be
a messenger,” I cried. “I just had the misfortune to tangle with Samoth and the next thing I knew I was in the palace and in Maxil’s room. I thought it would
help
Ferrill to know Harlan was all right.”

“Please, Sir Stannall,” Maxil interposed, alarmed at my tears. “I’m the one to blame.
I
knew how
sick
Ferrill was. And I knew all about Harlan. It’s my fault, not Sara’s.”

“Oh, my situation is absurd,” I cried in my frustration. “Accusing me doesn’t heal Ferrill now and it doesn’t get Harlan into the palace and make him Regent again.”

“He couldn’t be made Regent anyway,” Stannall reminded us dryly.

“Why not?” Maxil’s voice cracked in dismay.

“First, he has to be proved sane. Second, the same condition I cited to Gorlot applies to Harlan. He was Regent for
Ferrill.”

“But what if I want Harlan as
my
Regent?” declared Maxil with dawning comprehension. “I’m over fifteen, so I can choose.”

“That’s perfectly true,” Stannall replied as if he, too, had only realized this fact. He brought his hand down hard on the communicator switch, dialing quickly. He turned to me again, his eyes blinking rapidly, his lips pursing in thought. “There is no doubt of his sanity?”

“Of course not. He never was insane. He was drugged into a semblance of mental imbalance. If you are having those physicians here for Maxil, get Harlan here, too. They must be as qualified to judge Harlan’s sanity as Maxil’s . . . virility.”

A voice declared it issued from “Central Barracks,” but no picture evolved.

“This is First Councilman Stannall,” and the picture came on abruptly. “I need additional sections for special duty at once. Are all assigned?”

“No, Sir Stannall, but the ones available are all provincial reinforcements called in on special assignment,” the officer apologized.

“That doesn’t matter. Have you any men from my province?”

“No, sir. I could recall those from duty . . .”

“That would consume too much time. What have you got?”

“Units from Motlina, South Cheer, Banta . . .”

“Motlina. Leader’s name?”

“Sinnall.”

“That would be Nallis’ son, wouldn’t it?”

“I believe so.”

“Fine. Have him report by planecar to my balcony and give him clearance through all that mess out front.”

It was too simple. I sat with my eyes closed in relief that Harlan would soon be here. Stannall, pursing his lips in thought, brooded over the length of his right foot. Maxil walked over to the fruit bowl on the table and chose a piece to munch.

“I wonder,” Stannall mused aloud, “what else Gorlot has been busy doing.”

“Harlan seemed to think the Tane uprising was covering something up,” I remarked into the silence.

Stannall shook his head in disagreement. “I’ve checked and double-checked the reports on that from the first attack. I’ve interviewed some of the survivors of the first raids. Those that were paralyzed with cerol. Wicked stuff that. I suspect some connivance with Glan or Ertoi. They have always been so complacent about their role in the Alliance. It isn’t natural. And then there’s that treaty concerning the Tanes that Gorlot has been trying to ram through Council.”

I shrugged, not having heard anything about that. The sound of Maxil’s munching was infectious. I rarely needed an excuse to eat lately, so I wandered over to have another bite.

We were all expecting it, but when the whir of the planecar’s approach suddenly drowned out the muted revelry beyond the gardens, we jumped to our feet, startled.

The car hovered, connected with the trelliswork of the balcony and disgorged its passengers. Stannall held up a warning hand and allowed the group to file in. The planecar was closing its slot door when the door to the hall burst open and the guards rushed in, weapons drawn. The masqueraders, acting on reflex, pulled out their own arms. The two forces glared at each other suspiciously even as Stannall’s easy chuckle dissipated the sudden menace in the room.

“I’m pleased to see such alertness,” he remarked to his guards with that measured calm of his.

Weapons were sheepishly replaced.

“Mark these men well, guards,” Stannall continued, indicating Sinnall’s section. “They’ll be coming and going all night. Oh, and when the physicians Luccill, Mallant and Cordan arrive, they are to be admitted immediately. They are expected.”

The guards backed out with one final suspicious glare at the newcomers.

As the door closed behind them, Harlan spotted me where I had been half hidden by Maxil.

“Sara, how did you get here?” he exclaimed, striding to me.

Stannall snorted. “
That
reaction proves he’s sane,” he commented almost sourly. “You’ve heard the news?”

Harlan, one arm around me, turned back to the First Councilman.

“Bad news needs no announcement,” Harlan said heavily.

“Your emissary,” and Stannall gave me a curt nod of his head, “was too literal in the discharge of her duty. In consequence she also robbed you of yours.”

“Stannall, that isn’t fair,” Maxil interposed before I could explain anything.

“Sara, you were supposed to get to Jokan’s,” Harlan muttered, gripping me tightly in his concern.

“Best laid plans,” I sighed. “I ended up here, talking to Ferrill after all.”

Stannall frowned and went into bitter detail of the events leading up to Ferrill’s heart attack.

“Sara wouldn’t have known you could help us, Stannall,” Harlan said firmly. “Had I even the slightest hope you would be here at Eclipse, I would have . . .”

Stannall waved off the rest of his sentence. “You realize, of course, Harlan, that your Regency also is terminated by Ferrill’s incapacity?”

Harlan nodded, settling himself beside me. I sat there inanely holding the core of my fruit because I didn’t see anywhere to dispose of it. Behind Stannall’s back, Harlan took the core and tossed it at a seemingly bare spot in the wall. A slot opened as the core neared and closed silently behind it. Harlan’s grin and the squeeze he gave my hand mitigated Stannall’s scathing disapproval.

“However,” Stannall continued, pacing, “young Maxil here is next in line. He claims he’s ready to stand up and cry for you in front of Council.”

Harlan turned to Maxil, a mixture of emotions on his face and a flurry of unspoken thoughts muddying the color of his eyes.

“With thanks for the honor, young Maxil, I’m not at all anxious to be saddled with the Regency again.”

Everyone in the room turned to stare at Harlan.

“But you were . . . driving us like cavehunters to get here,” Jessl stammered out.

“To save Ferrill’s life, yes. It’s in good hands now. And neither Gorlot nor I is Regent.”

“But Harlan, you’re the only one who
can
be Regent,” Maxil cried out, his voice cracking perilously in his distress.

Harlan regarded him a moment with tolerance.

“You could certify me for good if I agreed with you, young Maxil,” he said lightly. “You’ll find dozens of men eager for the job. I’ll give my personal recommendation that you’ll be easy on the new Regent.”

“This levity is uncalled for,” Gartly growled disapprovingly. “There aren’t dozens of men qualified for the Regent of the Warlord in these troubled times. And you know it.”

“You’re one, friend Gartly,” Harlan pointed out. He rose. “I had been Regent for seven years,” he said, directly to Stannall. “That’s a slice out of a man’s life. I’ve got other plans for the next six years while Maxil grows up,” and his eyes slid enigmatically in my direction.

“For instance?” asked Stannall with an edge to his voice.

“You know my preferences well enough, Stannall,” Harlan replied sharply. “You’ve vetoed my requests for more exploratory ships. You’ve overridden my insistence that we must find more allies for the final attack on the Mil homeworlds.”

This seemed to be the prologue for the renewal of an old battle of more than unusual importance to both men. Stannall opened his mouth to reply and then dismissed the subject with a sharp wave of his hand.

“It does you no good to find new planets for Lothar if she is in the grip of men like Gorlot and the petty bullies of his clan. You were, as I recall it,” and Stannall’s voice was heavily sarcastic, “the one who initiated the colonization policy that would give the run-from-the-Mil his first chance for independent holdings . . .”

“If there were not two but eight, nine, ten planets to divide, there would be no such struggle,” Harlan interposed.

Stannall snorted his contempt. “Of course, it doesn’t signify that such men as Lamar, Newrit, Tellman—and I could name a dozen others—are no longer available as prospective Regents.”