‘My fateful misstep, yes. It was, perhaps, more a case of my unexpected downturn in fortune. One does not rise in the morning, say, considering ending the day in black soil and bound by the roots of a tree, or, for that matter, being imprisoned for five centuries.’
‘Yes, that does seem unlikely,’ Gothos replied. ‘Still, the contemplation of what the fates hold in store must surely accompany each morning’s greeting.’
‘You always were the one obsessed with solemn contemplation, brother, not me.’
‘I deem it a measure of intellect.’
‘A failure I am proud to acknowledge,’ Gethol replied, baring his blackened tusks.
‘Hence the misstep.’
The grin fell away.
‘It is invariably those lacking in intellect,’ Gothos expounded, ‘who unceasingly rue their misfortune. The curse of the witless is to beat one’s head against the obstinate wall of how things really are, rather than what they insist upon their being. Thud, thud, thud. I envisage indeed an expression of dull disappointment, year upon year, century upon century.’
‘I blame Hood,’ Gethol growled.
‘Of course you do.’
The brothers nodded in unison, and then fell silent.
Arathan leaned back in his chair, looking at each one in turn. He crossed his arms. ‘You two are ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I believe the time has come to take my leave of you. Gothos, my gratitude for your … forbearance. The food, drink and the work you had me do. While I gather you and Haut have decided on where I am to go now, I humbly point out that I am of an age to make my own decisions. And I will now walk to Hood’s side, there to await the opening of the gate.’
‘Alas,’ Gothos said, ‘we cannot permit that. You made yourself a gift to me, after all, on behalf of your father. I don’t recall relinquishing my possession of that gift. Gethol?’
Gethol returned to eyeing Arathan speculatively. ‘I have only just arrived, but you’ve made no mention of anything like that.’
‘Just so. As for Haut, Arathan, bear in mind that young Korya Delath, who must now return to Kurald Galain, will be without a protector.’
‘So find someone else,’ Arathan snapped. ‘Why
not Gethol here? It’s not as though he has anything to do.’
‘Curiously,’ mused Gethol, ‘I am of a mind to do just that. Accompany you and Korya, that is.’
‘Then she has an escort and you two don’t need me tagging along! Besides, Father sent me here to be beyond the reach of his rivals in the court of the Citadel.’
Gothos cleared his throat. ‘Yes, about that.’
‘You have heard something?’ Arathan sat forward. ‘How? You’ve never left this damned chamber!’
‘Perturbations in the ether,’ Gothos said, frowning.
‘Perturbations in the what?’
The frown deepened at Arathan’s incredulity.
Gethol snorted.
Sighing, Gothos said, ‘A Forulkan traveller arrived in Hood’s camp yesterday. A delightfully dour female named Doubt. She spoke of events to the east.’
‘What kind of events?’
‘Oh, let me not imply that they have already occurred. Rather, a path has been set upon that has but one destination.’ He blew out his breath. ‘In keeping with my unassailable observations on the inherent self-destructiveness of civilization—’
‘Not again,’ Gethol groaned as he climbed to his feet. ‘Now at last we come to the reason why I dived beneath that tree in the house’s yard – the only escape left to me. I believe I will pay one last visit to Hood, if only to partake in the joy of stinging awake his shame.’ He eyed Arathan. ‘You may join me there, assuming you survive the imminent monologue.’ He strode from the chamber.
‘Milord,’ said Arathan to Gothos, ‘spare me the lecture, if you please. I would know the details of what has happened, or is about to happen.’