The Dragons of Argonath (45 page)

To their right towered the Sunberg, its upper surface glowing in the sun's light. Ahead loomed the house. They passed a perimeter wall set beside a sunken lane, then a gate of white stone where they were admitted to the inner yard. There they were pulled off the ponies and conducted directly into the house. Armed guards were evident at the doors.

Inside, Lagdalen's first impressions were of immense wealth. There were paintings by Aupose and Ieff Hilarde, fabulously expensive beauty. The floors of the halls were carpeted thickly, so the entire place held a deep hush. Even the boots of their captors were reduced to quiet thudding.

They entered a long corridor with pale blue walls and dark blue ceiling. They were ushered into a long room, with gilt-framed mirrors on the walls. A man in black uniform was arguing with a much fatter man clad in an expensive-looking brown suit of worsted. Lagdalen recognized him after a moment or two, it was Wexenne of Champery. One of the worst hotheads in the original Aubinan cabal.

At the entrance of the two young women and their captors, the argument stopped for a moment while the men looked them over. The fellow in the hated uniform of Padmasa turned back to the other with fury.

"My Lord Lapsor will not accept this sort of interference."

"My dear Kosoke, this is my house, and I will retain the right to interview whoever is a guest here, thank you very much."

Kosoke looked as if he wanted to draw his big knife and set it athwart the fat man's throat. With a visible effort he restrained himself, bowed, and left the room with a last glance in Lagdalen's direction. His face had a strange, vacant look that chilled her.

They were left with the fat man in the brown suit. Lagdalen could almost hear her father's cough of disapproval at his expensive shoes and yellow silk socks. Tommaso Tarcho was of the old school and believed that wealth should never be flaunted. Rich and poor should wear the same clothing, good stout sandals or boots, warm but sober clothes and sensible hats. Excessive display was in poor taste.

"Flashy softie, that one!" she could hear Tommaso's derision in her head.

"Ah," said the man, "let me welcome you to Running Deer House. Please be seated." He extended his hands toward the comfortable-looking lounge chairs. "I will send for hot kalut. I am sure you would welcome it after your ride."

This was unexpected, but after an exchange of looks of surprise, they did as they were bid and waited to hear more. Their wrists were still bound together, yet they were waiting to be served a nice hot cup of kalut. As if they were simply on a social visit!

The well-dressed fellow seemed to understand the incongruity of this, nonetheless he strove to extend his own illusions.

"Well," he said with a sad shrug, "this is not quite the way I would have wished to welcome you, Lagdalen of the Tarcho, to my house here on the Running Deer, but now that you're here, I shall endeavor to make your visit as comfortable as possible."

This veneer of hospitality struck Lagdalen as being very strange. Still she decided to go along with it. Until her wrists were cut loose, there wasn't a whole lot she could do about getting free.

"Then, we thank you, Wexenne of Champery, Lord of Nellin." She kept her voice as neutral as possible.

"Nellin is a proud place, Lady! As proud as Marneri." He thrust out a lip, as if challenging her to contradict him.

"So I have heard, Master Wexenne. Alas, now I understand that the pride of Nellin lies in the dust as a result of this rebellion against the rule of justice and law."

"Infamous law, madame, infamous! Laws that prevent us from realizing the proper level of profit from our hard work."

Lagdalen looked around her and then back to him.

"You seem to have done well enough, Lord Wexenne. You live more graciously than anyone in Marneri. Not even the bankers can match this."

Wexenne fluttered his eyes, he was plainly pleased by the comparison. Lagdalen was disgusted. As a Tarcho, she was of the highest level of society, and though her horizons had been broadened in the service of Lessis, still she retained some of the aristocrat's disdain for social climbers. Compared to the Tarcho or any of the great clans of Marneri, this wealthy grain magnate was a jumped-up nobody. His wealth and his pretensions were both unpleasant.

Fortunately he was oblivious to her unspoken contempt.

"This house is a marvel, isn't it? I have spent my life building Running Deer House, and I think it suits the valley very well. A crown jewel for the helm of Aubinas."

"I see." Lagdalen's eye took in the magnificent painting on the far-end wall. A pastoral scene, undoubtedly it was another Aupose. "Certainly it makes a fine place to hang the works of Honoriste Aupose."

Wexenne beamed. To sit in this parlor with a young attractive scion of the aristocracy of Marneri and hear such praise of his creation, this was wonderful. It helped to take the sting away from much of what had happened lately. That fool Kosoke! And the demands of the Lord Lapsor! It was getting to be insupportable.

At least well-bred young ladies from Marneri knew who the great Aupose was. Unlike some of these Aubinan oafs, who were ignorant of everything beyond their fields and the hunt.

"Thank you, Lady."

Wexenne now turned to Eilsa.

"I regret that we have not had the pleasure of a proper introduction. Please accept my apologies for this situation. I am Wexenne of Champery."

"I am Eilsa of Wattel."

"Wattel! Great heavens, you're a long way from home." Wexenne seemed to think this was an amusing thought. Eilsa did not.

"I am not here of my own free will, Master Wexenne."

"No, of course not. I regret it, young lady, I truly do. It's all in the name of the cause, you see. But, never mind, it'll be over soon, we'll be free, and we'll bury the hatchet. Perhaps you will come again in the future, as a guest."

Lagdalen and Eilsa exchanged a glance. This assumption of future friendship was bizarre.

"Why have I been brought here now? What do you want from us?"

"I? I want nothing of you, young Mistress Wattel. It is not I that sent for you. Oh, no, it was Him."

"Who is that?"

Wexenne pursed his lips and seemed to weigh his words carefully.

"He is a most remarkable being, an ancient lord of extraordinary power. His mind is very deep. He has knowledge beyond anything known to ourselves."

"Indeed. What do you call this person?"

"He terms himself 'Lapsor.' I suspect that he has many names."

Lagdalen found her patience had eroded. The smug stupidity of these Aubinans had grated on her for years during the case of Porteous Glaves.

"Yes, Master Wexenne, we have heard of this person. It takes many names and is an enemy to all living beings. A true, deadly servant of the darkness, a thing with no more compassion than a stone, perhaps even less. It will use you and spit you out with no more thought than if you were a cherry."

Wexenne stared at her for a moment. "What?" he began, then changed his expression with an effort.

"No! Do not malign him, young lady. Please restrain your opinions. The Lord Lapsor has been of incalculable benefit to our rebellion."

"They say this is how he always begins, by fomenting rebellion and civil wars. Later he hews down his friends as well as his enemies, and piles them together in a common grave."

Wexenne fluttered his hands.

"You cannot make omelettes without first breaking a few eggs."

"That means you ride roughshod over the rights of others, even to the point of taking lives. How many men have been killed now because of your rebellion?"

"We fight for the principle of freedom!"

Lagdalen's accumulated resentment of the Aubinan gentry surfaced.

"Freedom from what? The freedom to use your present situation to enrich yourselves and impoverish the rest of the Argonath! Without unity the nine cities will fall, just as Veronath fell long ago!"

"Oh, do not speak of ancient history to me! Why should we not take advantage of our fertile lands?"

"You have been well blessed. I see no poverty here. And these fertile lands would not be yours if others had not fought for them and cleared them of the enemy."

"Enough! You are quite the imperious young witch, are you not? Well, he will soon take that out of you."

There was a silence.

"I see," said Lagdalen in icy tones. "Your 'welcome' does not include safety."

There was a knock at the door.

"What is it?" said Wexenne.

The door opened and another overly well-dressed man entered, Porteous Glaves himself. Lagdalen got over the shock in a few moments. After all, where else would she expect to find Glaves?

"Porteous," said Wexenne. "This is a surprise. You are back from the front already?"

"Didn't actually go there, Faltus, old friend. I was ordered to keep a watch on the home base."

"Oh, really, I had thought you would be longing to be at the front of the battle line, leading the charge for Aubinas!"

"Well, of course, old friend, of course. But one must follow orders, don't you know."

"No, actually I've never been very good at taking orders, Porteous. I'm better at giving them. I'm sure you understand."

"Well, I suppose so, but things have changed, old friend. The cause has moved to a higher plane. We're at war now, and so everything must be laid on the line. And that means taking orders when they're necessary."

"Mmmm, well."

"Anyway, old friend, I'm here because Kosoke asked me to come and talk to you. He told me something ridiculous, that you had refused to hand over the prisoners and were holding them yourself. So I thought I'd better run up and see what's what."

Wexenne stared at Porteous. How had Lapsor done this to his old friend?

"No," he said.

"No?" Porteous's eyebrows furrowed as if he could not comprehend this concept.

"I am not keeping our guests myself. I am meeting them, that is all. I retain the right to meet anyone who is invited into my house."

"Ah, yes, well, very good, then. But now, don't you see, it's time they were conducted to their cells. They should be there in case the Lord Lapsor returns and wishes to see them himself."

Wexenne's nostrils flared. How dare they? This was his house, and it was his rebellion, and here they were acting as if he was a nothing! As if they could do whatever they wanted in his house without even asking his permission!

"They will be released to Lapsor in good time. For now they will remain here while I interview them myself. You forget, Porteous, that I am a commander of the Aubinan army."

Porteous's puzzlement showed on his simple, fat face.

"But the Lord Lapsor ordered that they be confined to the cells. He was most eager to begin work on them at once."

Lagdalen felt her heart freeze. "Work?" she said in a soft voice.

Porteous glanced at her, but did not seem to recognize her. He had changed dramatically. He had lost a lot of weight. There was also a slightly vacant look in his eyes, like that of a newborn calf. He looked back to Wexenne, who continued smoothly.

"That may be, Porteous, but I have not yet completed my interviews. When they are done, these young women will be available to see Lapsor."

"Faltus, think carefully here. You will anger the lord and disturb his work. He will be unhappy."

"Alas, dear Porteous, sometimes things like that can happen. The Lord Lapsor will understand."

Porteous could scarcely comprehend Wexenne's refusal.

A further knock at the door brought a maid bearing a tray with hot kalut. She served them, though her eyebrows rose at the sight of their bonds. Lagdalen and Eilsa eagerly drank it down anyway. Porteous muttered for a while to himself and then abruptly left the room.

"I must apologize for my friend Porteous's behavior. He just hasn't been himself lately."

Lagdalen sipped the kalut and eyed Wexenne. She thought she understood the situation. Wexenne had caught a tiger by the tail in this Lord Lapsor. Now his own position was endangered, even in his own magnificent house.

"So the Lord Lapsor is your guest here, Wexenne?"

Wexenne stifled his first retort while a rather insincere smile spread across his face.

"Ah, yes. Extraordinary fellow. Taken over the cellars, you see. Down there with an army of things, you know. Quite amazing what he's done in just a few short weeks."

"And what will he be doing with us in this 'work' of his that was mentioned?"

Wexenne blanched. His hand wobbled, and his cup clinked in the saucer. Nightmarish images rose up to haunt him.

"Ah, let us not, no, let us not… discuss such things. Come, I think you might enjoy a walk in the orangery. Yes, that would be a good thing. You mentioned the great Aupose. I have several fine examples of his early work. On our way to the orangery, I can show you his first painting of the Sunberg. Aupose will always be associated with the beauties of Nellin, as you know, and he was particularly fond of the country around here."

Refreshed by the kalut, they rose and accompanied Wexenne on a walk through the fabulous halls of his grand house. Two guards followed them at a discreet distance. At one point they stood beneath an enormous canvas, covered in the writhing masses of war beneath lowering clouds and darkness.

"Ieff Hilarde's 'Tanagos.' Has there ever been anything that could match it for its fury and passion?"

Lagdalen had to agree. Hilarde made the battle of Tanagos almost come to life before them. On white horses the knights of Aubinas were charging into the foreground, about to shatter the line of the demon lord's forces. Men, imps, and trolls wrestled and writhed across the mid-ground. Civilization swayed in the balance under the dark masses of cloud.

Once, she recalled, Aubinas had indeed been a proud name, and the home of great warriors in the cause of the Argonath. Over the generations, though, they had lost that loyalty and had grown contemptuous of their fellow men.

In a well-lit hallway, they stopped to admire Honoriste Aupose's great first painting of the Sunberg.

"In his lifetime, the great Honoriste painted the Sunberg forty-one times. The paintings are all different. Each is unique in its angle of view and the weather it depicts. The Sunberg has many moods."