Storm Rising

'Your news is late and incomplete,' replied a woman in the tabard of the Weaver's Guild crisply. 'The Karsite is not in his room because he collapsed last night. The Healers have seen to him, and they say that he is ill with strain and grief.' She looked at the Master Goldsmith in a way that made An'desha think there was a long history of rivalry between them.

'And this means that Envoy Jarim's accusations must then be false?' the Master Goldsmith retorted, with a broad gesture that nearly knocked the cap off of a young page next to him. 'I think not! If I were an Imperial spy, I do not doubt I would be under great strain, and as for grief, we have only the Healer's word for that.'

'And you doubt the Queen's Own, who says the same?' the woman snapped, crossing her arms over her thin chest. 'One might well ask where your loyalties lie, if you choose not to believe what Herald Talia says!'

The Master Goldsmith smiled at her in a superior fashion. 'I say only that it is strange that the boy survived when the master did not. I say it is strange that the boy was made envoy. It is strange that the mage-storms first appeared after his arrival, and it is strange that the boy preaches peace with the devils who are responsible for the death of his master.' The Master Goldsmith was clearly not deterred by the vehemence of his fellow Master, and it seemed that Karal's plight represented a way for him to voice some agenda of his own.

There were plenty of people gathered around these two, courtiers and high-ranking tradesmen alike, all dressed in the fine costumes An'desha had come to expect for a Court ceremony of any kind. An'desha examined the faces of those within earshot of this conversation. All of them mirrored the same emotion; grim concern.

They think Karal's illness is nothing more than a corroboration of Jarim's accusations. An'desha knew that his face mirrored concern, too, but it was for a far different cause. He hoped there were enough people here who knew Karal too well to even suspect him of something so outrageous.

The two Guild Masters turned their verbal sparring match to another topic. He moved on, wondering what he should do about the situation, and circulated among the onlookers at Morning Court, still silent, still listening. Karal had his friends at Morning Court, and they were out in force—even Treyvan the gryphon made a rare appearance, and he was brief but adamant in his support.

But Jarim's adherents were far more vocal—and it was difficult to prove a negative. Karal's supporters had only their feelings and a few facts to support them; Jarim's had all the wild speculations they cared to concoct.

An'desha debated attending the Grand Council meeting, knowing that Jarim would do his best to turn it into an indictment of Karal. There had to be a way to keep him from having that official channel!

He debated it all through the Court, and finally decided to take full and unfair advantage of his position and approach Prince Daren himself.

He waited until Morning Court was over, extracted himself from the milling crowd, and presented himself at the door of the Queen's Chambers, requesting a private audience with the Prince-Consort.

He waited in the wood-paneled antechamber, watched carefully by both door guards, who clearly did not recognize him out of his normal costume. He found himself wondering if the Prince would even hear his request, or if some official, unfamiliar with his name and position and deceived by his modest costume, would simply intercept the message. They'll probably ask me to come back later, or wait until the Grand Council meeting, he told himself. If it was Firesong who was asking—

'Sir?' a page popped his head out of the door, startling not only him but the two guards. 'You're to come in immediately, An'desha, sir!'

As the guards stared at one another and at him, obviously wondering who he was that he rated this kind of reception, An'desha didn't wait for a second invitation. The page opened the door, and he slipped in past the boy and into the reception room of the Queen's Chamber.

Apparently he was not the only one who was wasting no time; rather than a servant, Prince Daren was standing right there in person waiting for him, one hand stretched out in welcome.

'An'desha!' he exclaimed, clasping An'desha's hand warmly as the Shin'a'in reached for the Prince's hand. 'Talia warned us what was happening last night. How is Karal, truly? She wasn't certain just how he was responding.' He gestured at one of the carved chairs that stood beside a small table in the middle of the room, and An'desha took it, although the Prince himself remained restlessly standing.

'Sick and asleep, Highness,' An'desha answered gravely. 'He will mend his body, and the Healers say soon, but it is up to us, I think, to mend this situation. If we cannot, he will collapse again from the strain.'

Daren ran a hand through thick blond hair and sighed gustily. 'I was afraid that he might be sicker than anyone had told us,' the Prince said with relief. 'He's—he's a good boy, but much too inclined to hide his hurts, I think. Listen, I intend to overturn every attempt by Jarim to make any accusations against Karal in the Grand Council meetings. If he won't come around, I'll exercise my prerogative as the Queen's proxy and dismiss the meetings altogether.' He smiled grimly. 'We can afford to do without these meetings for a week or two. The real work is being done by Kerowyn, the mages, and the artificers anyway. Frankly, we've been going through with them partly because we must keep the people appraised of our progress, and partly out of hope that something new might come out of them. I must admit that I would not mind an excuse to cancel these time-wasting exercises for a while.'

Greatly daring, An'desha decided to ask a question that he had no right to ask. 'Highness, have you heard