Second Sons - Lord Of The Shadows Part 8

Dirk mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Madalan sounded as if she truly believed what she was telling Antonov. He wondered, though, what Belagren had really done when Neris told her he knew when the second sun would return. He suspected her reaction had been more akin to rubbing her hands with glee than being humbled or upset.

"And yet Dirk remains unconvinced," Antonov noted with a frown.

"Our newly appointed Lord of the Shadows has little reason to welcome the notion Marqel is now the Voice of the G.o.ddess, your highness."

Antonov nodded thoughtfully, turning to Dirk once more. "Did you question the route through the delta she now claims to know?"

"From what little I know of it, your highness, her directions seem genuine," he confirmed. "They're a little obscure. She speaks of things like 'turning east in the lee of the broken island,' which I'm guessing refers to the place the Baenlanders call Split Rock. It's a ma.s.sive monolith protruding into the delta. I think it's the peak of a submerged mountain. The hidden rocks surrounding it are perilous."

"Would you take a fleet into the delta based on the information she has?"

"That would depend on what I wanted to achieve." Dirk shrugged. "If I merely wanted to confirm the veracity of Marqel's directions, I'd send in a small force-one that could get in and out of the delta quickly and stealthily. If I was planning to destroy them, I might risk sending a whole fleet in. But if she's wrong, it's an expensive way of exposing her lies."

Antonov was silent as he thought about it. Dirk could well imagine the argument going on inside his head: should he refuse to believe Marqel and risk offending the G.o.ddess? Or should he risk an invasion fleet, only to be exposed as a fool when his s.h.i.+ps finished up shattered and decimated on the hidden reefs and rocks that protected the Baenlands?

Dirk was hoping his suggestion about sending in an advance scouting party would appeal to Antonov. That would give the Baenlanders a little more time. It was bad enough that he had betrayedthem, but he'd made the situation infinitely worse for them by sending a message telling the pirates they had time to get away, and then reneging on his own promise. The six weeks they thought they had to get everyone clear was now down to less than three. By the time the lookouts spied Antonov's fleet heading for the delta, their s.h.i.+ps would be trapped in the bay.

Antonov was still mulling over his decision when a servant stepped onto the terrace and announced the Lord of the Suns had arrived from Bollow.

The old man stepped onto the terrace as the servant announced him, his long gray beard brus.h.i.+ng the jeweled sun clasp on his belt. He bowed stiffly to Antonov and Madalan, and then caught sight of Dirk. He was unable to hide his surprise.

"Dirk Provin!"

"My lord," Dirk replied, bowing respectfully. "Welcome to Avacas."

The Lord of the Suns stared at him with rheumy eyes. "It's a pity we meet again under such tragic circ.u.mstances."

Dirk met his gaze evenly. He's angry with me, Dirk realized. He thinks I murdered Belagren. And he thinks I've made him my accomplice by asking him to send that letter to her.

"It was my hope, too, that our next meeting would be under happier circ.u.mstances, my lord," Dirk replied, hoping Paige would understand what he meant. There was little hope of getting the Lord of the Suns alone to explain things to him, and certainly not before the funeral tomorrow.

"The death of the High Priestess is only a tragedy if you lack faith, Dirk," Antonov remarked. "When a soul is called to the bosom of the G.o.ddess after a lifetime of exemplary service, one should rejoice. It is selfish of us to grieve for our own loss. Rather, we should be celebrating Belagren's life."

Dirk nodded in acknowledgment of Antonov's wisdom, privately marveling at his logic. Is that how you're coping with the loss of the woman you presumably loved for most of your adult life? By telling yourself the G.o.ddess has taken Belagren from you as a reward for her faithful service?

His reasoning scared Dirk a little. Antonov's faith was so unshakable, so adaptable to the vagaries of day-to-day living, Dirk began to wonder if he could ever succeed in bringing the Church of the Suns down. Would Antonov ever see the truth, or merely a.s.sume the G.o.ddess was testing his faith and deny the evidence of his own eyes? As Dirk watched the Lion of Senet smile serenely, comforted by the thought his High Priestess was called to the G.o.ddess, rather than torn away from him in a cruel twist of fate, Dirk began to doubt anything he did would make a difference.

"And there is even more reason to celebrate," Antonov told the Lord of the Suns. "The G.o.ddess has given us a new voice."

Paige glared at Dirk for a moment before recovering his composure and turning to face Antonov.

"She has?"

"She has chosen a young Shadowdancer named Marqel," Madalan explained. "You may have met her when we stopped in Bollow on our way to Omaxin."

"I don't recall her," Paige replied, obviously unsettled by this new revelation. "Are you certain about this?"

"Dirk is doubtful," Antonov told him. "But he has personal reasons for not wanting to see this young woman elevated to a position of honor. The Lady Madalan appears convinced. Perhaps after you have spoken to Marqel, we can settle the matter once and for all.""I will do as the G.o.ddess guides me, your highness."

Antonov nodded and waved his hand dismissively. "Then if you will all excuse me, I have many things to arrange before the funeral tomorrow."

Dirk bowed to Antonov and then turned to the Lord of the Suns. "May I help you to your room, my lord? It's a long way to the top floor and I'm sure your journey must have been exhausting."

"Thank you, Dirk," Paige said, leaning on the arm Dirk offered him. "Your highness."

Antonov barely acknowledged the Lord of the Suns's farewell, his mind already on other things.

Dirk helped Paige Halyn through the study and back into the palace hall, where Madalan left them, heading off on her own business. She spared Dirk a glance that spoke volumes before she departed, but he was satisfied she would not betray him.

Not yet, anyway.

Dirk's guard fell in behind them as soon as they stepped into the hall. The old man looked over his shoulder at the armed men who now accompanied them, and then turned to Dirk questioningly.

"I'm under house arrest," Dirk explained.

"For what?"

"For being who I am."

Paige nodded in understanding. "Things in Avacas are not as I expected," he said, as they headed down the hall toward the grand staircase that dominated the foyer.

"There have been some... unexpected events," Dirk agreed cautiously, aware his guards could hear every word, and would probably report it to either Antonov or Barin Welacin.

"We must talk, you and I," the Lord of the Suns announced.

"I'm sure we'll find time," Dirk agreed, as if there was no urgency at all. "If not before the funeral, then maybe afterward we can arrange something."

The old man searched his face carefully. "There are some... matters I wish to discuss with you, Dirk."

"Then I will be certain to make the time," Dirk promised.

"They are matters I am convinced only you can explain clearly," Paige ventured in a voice laden with hidden meaning.

"Perhaps after the funeral," Dirk repeated, wis.h.i.+ng the old man would just leave it be. But the Lord of the Suns wasn't going to be dismissed so readily.

"They are very important matters, Dirk."

Why not just come right out and tell everyone what's really going on! Dirk wanted to shout at him. He glanced at the guard pointedly and then looked at Paige Halyn.

"I promise, my lord. As soon as I can, we will meet and I'll give your matters my undivided attention." Then he added meaningfully, "I hope I can provide you with the satisfactory explanation you're looking for."

Finally taking the hint, the old man nodded his agreement. "I will look forward to it, Dirk."

Paige Halyn said nothing further on the matter as they turned and headed up the broad sweeping stairs leading to the royal apartments on the fourth floor, Dirk's guard following close behind.

The Lord of the Suns was puffing and wheezing by the time Dirk delivered him to the door of his guest apartment. He excused himself hastily, before Paige could say anything else liable to implicatethem both, and returned to his own rooms farther along the hall. The guards stopped at the door, leaving him to enter alone.

Dirk locked the door and walked through the sitting room to the bathroom, where he splashed himself with water to cool his fevered face. He was quite sure his close brush with exposure, not the heat of the afternoon, had caused the sweat on his brow.

What was Paige Halyn thinking, acting as if we're old friends?

If the Lord of the Suns had any wits at all, he would not have asked Dirk to meet with him so openly. They were supposed to barely know each other. He should have done little more than acknowledge Dirk's existence.

Dirk glanced in the mirror with a sigh.

"I'm surrounded by fools," he told his reflection.

It didn't help that Dirk was starting to suspect the biggest fool he was dealing with was himself.

Chapter 12.

Belagren had always had a flair for the dramatic. It was one of the things that had made her successful as High Priestess. Her funeral proved to be no exception. She had long ago drawn up quite explicit instructions about how the ceremony should be conducted. Belagren planned to go out in such a grand manner people would remember the event for years to come.

One way or another, she intended to achieve immortality.

Marqel was rather put out to discover she was not to have a prominent role in the ceremony. As the new Voice of the G.o.ddess, she felt she deserved to be in the front ranks of the mourners, or better yet, in the small select group that stood with the Lion of Senet. She should be up there, honored as Belagren's successor, not forced to traipse along in the heat like a dog sniffing the back of a butcher's cart for a bone. They wouldn't let her say anything or do anything. Dirk wouldn't even let her speak to Antonov. That really irritated her. She was certain that if she could speak to the Lion of Senet again, if she repeated her story about hearing the G.o.ddess, then he would be convinced of her divine calling and Marqel could finally take on the role she was destined for. But Dirk and Madalan had made sure that wouldn't happen until they were ready.

She was sick of doing what other people wanted.

The second sun had set. Marqel walked behind the carriage, merely one of the scores of faceless Shadowdancers, bathed in the scarlet light of the first sun. They trailed the High Priestess in a long line, three abreast on the road in their red robes, as if her funeral carriage was leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake.

Belagren's body had been taken back to the Hall of Shadows to be prepared for the funeral, so the procession to bring her body down to the harbor was a long one. It took nearly three hours for the flower-laden carriage bearing her remains to wend its way through the narrow streets of Avacas. A large, solemn crowd had gathered to witness the pa.s.sing of a legend, some of them genuinely grieving the loss of the woman they believed to be the Voice of their G.o.ddess, others merely curious, hoping for a glimpse of the fabled High Priestess, even if she was dead.Marqel had joined the procession of Shadowdancers who walked in the wake of the carriage, doing her best to look like she was mourning the old b.i.t.c.h. The men and women around her walked with their heads down, some of them muttering silently to themselves. Were they praying? Or just running through tomorrow's laundry list? she wondered. Perhaps they were praying. Somewhat to Marqel's surprise, she had discovered that despite the fraud on which their cult was based, many Shadowdancers honestly believed in the G.o.ddess.

Still, Marqel mused, I suppose Belagren didn't keep her secret all these years by broadcasting it to all and sundry.

Fools, she sneered silently. If only you knew what I know...

There was a roped-off area near the docks, where Antonov and his closest advisers stood on a podium decked out in the gold-and-white colors of the Latanya family, waiting for the funeral carriage to arrive. Alenor sat beside the empty chair reserved for the Lord of the Suns, looking pale and gaunt.

Marqel recognized the chancellor, Lord Palinov, and a few other familiar faces from the palace. Dirk was with them, too. He might be Lord of the Shadows and the right hand of the High Priestess, but he stubbornly refused to wear the red robes of their order, and was dressed in dark trousers, calf-high boots and a jacket that was well cut, expensive and suited to his lean frame. He hardly posed a daunting figure, though, standing beside Antonov. You had to get to know him, Marqel decided, to appreciate how intimidating he could be.

She wondered why he wasn't walking with the rest of the Shadowdancers, until she remembered Dirk was the nephew of Antonov's late wife, the Princess a.n.a.lee of Damita. Marqel frowned at the thought. It reminded her that no matter what she did, she would never be family. Dirk had committed murder. He had destroyed Antonov's favorite s.h.i.+p. He had spent two years living among the Lion of Senet's enemies-a criminal running drugs with Reithan Seranov and doing G.o.ddess knows what else...

Yet there he was, standing on the podium next to his uncle in a position of honor because he was family, and being family gave him a level of protection Marqel could never hope to aspire to.

For a moment she scanned the faces of the other people standing with Antonov. Was there a distant cousin up there, she wondered? Was there another member of the Latanya family on that podium? Was the heir to the throne after Misha and Kirshov up there now, waiting for his chance at power? If there was, Marqel silently wished him luck. With Dirk Provin in Avacas, she doubted anybody else had much of a chance at anything.

Still, she supposed. He might hate me, but Dirk needs me.

And a child by Antonov will make me family, too...

She was still a little concerned about her ability to bear a child, but had decided not to worry about it for now. Once she was High Priestess, Marqel was certain there would be other herbs, other drugs she could use to ensure a baby. There were many secrets she would become privy to, once her position was confirmed. She was confident that among them was the solution to her dilemma.

In the meantime, Marqel resolved to bide her time and do as Dirk ordered, although she was honest enough to admit it was not just his plan that appealed to her. She was beginning to develop a healthy respect for his influence. That he stood beside Antonov today, unpunished for all that he had done, drove home forcefully that she was a long way from being able to defy him. She didn't have Kirsh to protect her anymore and until she had Antonov utterly convinced she was the Voice of the G.o.ddess, until he believed her-even above his precious nephew-she was in no position to challenge Dirk on anything.

It came as something as a shock to Marqel to realize that she had been so engrossed in her own thoughts that the Lord of the Suns had almost reached the end of his eulogy without her even noticing.

The old man had finished chronicling Belagren's remarkable life-that must have really stuck in histhroat, she thought-and now beseeched the G.o.ddess to take Belagren into her embrace for eternity.

And I'll bet he doesn't mean a word of it.

When the Lord of the Suns was finished, he returned, slowly and painfully, to the podium and gave a signal. The honor guard stepped forward to lift Belagren's body from the carriage and carry it down to the elaborate floating bier tied up at the end of the wharf. Antonov stepped down from the podium and followed the small procession, waiting as the honor guard secured the High Priestess to the pyre. There were two longboats attached to the pyre, waiting to tow it out into the harbor. In the prow of each boat sat a drummer, who would pound out the mournful beat so the oarsmen could draw the float away from the wharf with a degree of solemn dignity.

That, and to make sure the wharf doesn't catch fire, Marqel thought with a sly little smile.

Antonov moved forward as the honor guard stepped back. Somebody appeared with a torch and handed it to him. He held the flaming baton on high for a moment and then touched it to the pyre. A wall of flame immediately obscured Belagren's body. The drummers in the longboats took up the beat and the pyre began to move out into the harbor. Marqel watched it burn, fascinated by the flames.

"I wonder how long it's been since he set fire to a body that was already dead?" a sour voice in the crowd muttered. Marqel looked around in surprise, but whoever was brave enough to make such a remark was smart enough to draw no further attention to himself.

Marqel looked back at the pyre, wondering idly if the voice was simply a lone dissenter or if such sentiments were common among the people in Avacas. She'd had little to do with the general population in Senet since becoming a Shadowdancer, and her life as a traveling performer before that had always marked her as an outcast. Marqel had no real understanding of the lives of ordinary people.

It didn't matter anyway. She was never going to be ordinary, so what ordinary people thought meant nothing to her. She was going to be High Priestess of the Shadowdancers.

Antonov stood at the end of the wharf, a lone, poignant figure silhouetted by the flames, as the High Priestess burned. Marqel studied him closely. He was a powerful, well-built man, still fit and good-looking, considering he was old enough to be her father. She'd been shocked by the suggestion that she should become Antonov's mistress when Dirk first proposed it, but as she watched the Lion of Senet now, she realized it wasn't going to be such a ch.o.r.e. Kirsh was young and good-looking and he adored her, but Antonov wore an aura of power Marqel found much more seductive. All Kirsh could offer her were furtive kisses and second place to his wife.

Antonov could give her the world.

Marqel glanced back at Dirk and smiled to herself. And when he does, she told him silently, I won't need you anymore, Dirk Provin.

Then we'll see who the clever one really is.

Chapter 13.

Misha's health improved rapidly once Master Helgin and Petra taught him how to deal with his addiction. Taken in the right quant.i.ties, poppy-dust made him alert, stronger and more confident. He was eating regularly and had already gained weight, although Helgin wouldn't be happy until he gained a lot more. The physician speculated that Ella had been varying the dose she gave him just to keep him offbalance, but once he was in a position to regulate his own medication, he found he had some chance of living a normal life. He also began to understand what Helgin meant when he referred to a "manageable addiction."

But Misha wasn't interested in managing anything. He wanted to be rid of it, once and for all, and were it not for his experiences in Tolace he would have refused the drug outright.

Helgin a.s.sured him that once he was stable and had regained some strength he could begin to taper the dose gradually, which would give his body time to adjust. While such a course of action was eminently reasonable, it might take months-even years-before he was completely free of it. Misha didn't have years. Dirk had betrayed the Baenlanders and told Antonov the way through the delta.

Misha would be lucky if he had weeks before they came for him, and once he was back in the clutches of Belagren and Ella Geon, he wasn't sure he would have much longer to live, regardless of whether he was an addict or not.

He was walking again-painfully-but at least he could hobble a short way along the beach. Calla had paid him a visit several days before and then returned the following day with a metal crutch she had made for him, which made it easier for him to get around. Misha was dismayed by his weakness, but somehow, he had to survive this. He had to free himself of the poppy-dust and return to Avacas, strong enough to confront his father and tell him what was going on.

Misha had learned much more than how to manage his addiction in the short time he had been in Mil. With no reason to doubt the High Priestess's version of events, he had always believed Neris Veran was the heretic who had corrupted the King of Dhevyn, which led to the War of Shadows. Since he'd been in Mil, since he'd had Neris's supposed "heresy" explained to him in detail, his whole world had turned on its ear. A few months ago, he would have denied the story about Neris discovering the truth about the return of the second sun in the ruins of Omaxin and sharing it with Belagren, who then announced the G.o.ddess had spoken to her. But then, a few months ago, he would have scoffed at the suggestion he was a poppy-dust addict, too.

Once he had accepted that brutal truth, it wasn't very hard at all to accept the rest of it.