Manalle shrugged. ‘We would have done the same at the gates of Manaleth.’
‘To mark our irritation, yes. But what cause has she to be irritated with us? We are ever courteous, even as Degalla mocks your superior intelligence, while Jureg clumsily gropes for secrets in his witless conversations with me.’
‘Be at ease, husband. We prove their betters with patience.’
Hedeg said nothing. They had begun their exchange voicing positions opposite its conclusion: for all his wife’s brilliance, she was ever at risk of lending fangs to her contempt. The time for feuds was not now. But as she has counselled, patience. Once these lowborn thugs are dispensed with, then, Lady Degalla, my wife will face you with drawn blade, for all the slights we list here.
‘I never much liked Hish Tulla,’ said Manalle.
Of course not. Even more beautiful than you, and better with any weapon you’d care to name. Of course you hate her, beloved. Tutors can teach nothing about envy, beyond their own, and those rivalries and petty feuds give proof of their own failure in managing it. His wife was indeed brilliant, but this did little to constrain the swirl of base emotions churning beneath that genius. Erudition offered the illusion of objectivity, as befitted learned opinion, but the venal thing beneath had the face of a spoiled child.
Ah, wife, if you but guessed at the generosity of my love for you …
Degalla raised a gauntleted hand in greeting. ‘Emissaries of the Shake,’ she said, ignoring for the moment the peculiar presence of a Warden. ‘You ride to Kharkanas? Are we to find significance in that?’
The warlock – she thought he might be named Resh, though her memory was uncertain – shrugged at her questions. ‘Lady Degalla. Jureg Thaw. I see, among the retinue at the gate, two standards. You have been hosting Lady Manalle and Hedeg Lesser. It’s curious to see the highborn out in this bleak season.’
Jureg spoke. ‘Warlock Resh, you have found yourself a survivor from the Wardens. But the Shake are hardly known for their largesse, much less sympathy. Is she a prisoner?’
The third figure was covered in a hood of black wolf fur, the skin draped over his habit, but something in his posture led Degalla to suspect who it was who had elected to remain hidden from them. She recalled hearing of an incident, outside the door to the Chamber of Night. Smiling at the hooded figure, she said, ‘I am told Lord Anomander displayed forbearance upon the threshold to Mother Dark’s holy sanctuary. But surely it is known that he no longer resides in the Citadel, leaving such matters to Silchas Ruin.’
Resh tilted his shaggy head. ‘What matters are you referring to, milady?’
‘Why, the protection of Mother Dark, of course. I would not think the approach unguarded. Nor should you.’
But her words elicited nothing from the hooded man slumped on his horse. Perhaps, she considered, she had been wrong. An instant later she amended her position. It was, she felt certain, Caplo Dreem within those shadows.
‘Shall we be sharing the road, milady?’ Resh asked.
‘For a time,’ she replied.
Her husband cleared his throat. ‘There are rumours – signs – that Deniers remain in the forest, and have grown belligerent.’
‘If so, we’ve not heard about it,’ the warlock replied. ‘In any case, what need have we to fear our followers?’
‘Your followers?’ Jureg frowned. ‘And how did you heed their pleas for help this summer past?’
‘We made what offers of refuge we could.’
‘For the children, yes, as surety to your future. But I understand that few lived long enough to ever reach your monastery gates.’
‘Are these matters of some concern among the highborn, Jureg? If so, why?’
‘Neutrality will avail you nothing,’ her husband replied. ‘You are ruled by an old woman and an even older man. Inaction and fear of change plague their every moment, and that infirmity seems to have infected the rest of you. Should Lord Urusander win this war, warlock, do you truly imagine that he will leave you alone? Or, rather, will Hunn Raal leave you alone? Will the new High Priestess of Light? Yours is a misplaced faith, by any measure.’
The Warden snorted. ‘This is pathetic. There is nothing here worth hiding. Ladies Degalla and Manalle are setting out with their husbands and a retinue of servants and guards. Presumably, one of the highborn has called for a meeting – that it’s taken this long is the only reason for being coy. I’d be just as embarrassed under the circumstances. As for us, why, Warlock Resh wishes to examine the nature of the Terondai. Sorcery now seethes through Kurald Galain – is this a consequence of Lord Draconus’s gift? Or was the Azathanai, T’riss, the source? Is it not wise to determine the source of this magic before indulging in it?’
After a long moment, Degalla shook her head. ‘And your perusal of a pattern on a floor requires the presence of an assassin? No, Warden, but I’ll grant you your innocence, and conclude that you have been deceived by your c
ompanions.’
At that, Caplo Dreem finally lifted his head, drawing back his hood. He smiled at Degalla. ‘I can hear them,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Hedeg and Manalle. They speak quietly, but are beneath the arch of the gatehouse, sending down sufficient echo. I can hear their every word.’
Degalla twisted round, stared up at her distant guests, and the steep, long climb to where they sat astride their horses. ‘Impossible,’ she said.