to herself a fact that had slowly been growing in her heart and her mind: that she did not love this generous, handsome man who had risked his life and his ship to aid the rescue of her father.
She wanted to love him-indeed, a part of herself told her that she was obligated to love him. But neither of these altered the simple fact that she did not.
'I–I wish I could stay for the rest of the summer,' Brandon said sincerely. 'But my father must know of our safe return, and I have already been absent from my own kingdom for too long. You return to Callidyrr in the autumn?' concluded the prince.
'Always in the past we've left Corwell before the gales of Harvestide. I assume Father will want to do the same this year, but I'll send word to you about our plans. It's not as if you're sailing to the ends of the world!'
She wanted to speak lightly, but the words came out more harshly than she intended. She saw the hurt on Brandon's face and tried to ease it by taking his hand. 'I will write,' she promised.
He nodded glumly, then kissed her. She returned his embrace, but once again she relished a sense of freedom when he released her. Why can't I tell him? The question nagged at her, but she forced it away. She watched him step into the longboat that several kindly fisherffolk had provided. Tavish already sat near the bow, busily tuning the strings of her harp, though she stopped long enough to wave a cheery good-bye to the princess on the pier.
The Prince of Gnarhelm stood tall in the stern of the little boat as he was rowed to his proud longship. Alicia stood watching, waving finally as he climbed aboard the vessel. Wind quickly billowed the longship's sail, and the Princess of Moonshae turned her prow toward the gap in the breakwater. Smoothly she sliced through the waves, shrinking in size as Brandon set a course toward the mouth of Corwell Firth.
By that time, Alicia had already started back to the castle.
Keane saw that the house across from the shrine was indeed a magnificent residence. Set high upon the hill that protected the Upper City, it might have served as a palace to the monarch of some small state. Below swept a vista of the Lower City and its great, encircling arm of the Chionthar River, here widespread and placid, though it had another fifty miles of journey before it reached the sea.
A high wall of whitewashed stone surrounded and screened the grounds, but as he approached the steel- barred gate, Keane saw an expanse of fountains and formal gardens. Several cascading spumes of water splashed merrily, casting streams of spray through the crisp morning air. Detailed mosaics of colorful tile formed a wide walkway leading from the gate toward the columned portico before a grand manor. The house, as white as the walls, gleamed in the morning sunlight.
Though Keane could easily have teleported, levitated, or slipped invisibly into the compound, the nature of his business required him to make a more formal approach. Therefore the tall, lanky wizard wore his finest leather cape, a satin shirt of blue silk, and smooth, high-topped boots of soft doeskin.
A pair of guards in red livery snapped to attention behind the gate as the mage approached. Keane bowed politely before speaking.
'Is the Exalted Inquisitor present? I request the honor of an audience with him.'
'The inquisitor is a very busy man,' sniffed one of the guards, with a disdainful inspection of the magic-user's finery. 'Whom shall we report is calling?'
'I am Keane of Callidyrr, serving as ambassador for His Majesty, High King Tristan Kendrick of the Moonshaes.'
The guard's eyes, much to Keane's satisfaction, widened slightly at the information. The man turned and started for the house at a trot while the other guard took pains to effect an absolutely rigid stance. A few minutes later the first guard returned, accompanied by a short, chubby man in a white clerical robe. The symbol of Helm, the All-Seeing Eye encircled by a ring of platinum, bobbed against the latter's ample belly.
'A royal ambassador… this is a signal honor! Come in, come in, my good lord!' The cleric beamed at Keane, waddling forward and gesturing imperiously to the guard who still stood rigidly at his station. 'Open that gate, man-and be quick about it!'
'Thank you,' Keane murmured as the priest bowed and smiled.
'You come from the court of the Kendricks? Your king's name is known far and wide, of course-an honorable man and a wise and beneficent ruler! But, of course, you know that already. Perhaps there is something that I can help you with? I am the bishou of this temple and shrine-Bishou Harmanius.' The rank of bishou was not unknown to Keane. Harmanius was an influential man and a powerful cleric-but not powerful enough for the mage's needs.
'Actually, I'm afraid that my business must be conducted with the Exalted Inquisitor. Will he grant me the honor of an appointment?'
'Ahem… well, you see … he is a very busy person these days,' the bishou demurred. 'Perhaps if I could relay to him the nature of your business…?'
As they spoke, the pair passed between a pair of tall columns, climbing several large steps to approach the huge, ornately carved doors at the front of the manor. These swung open ponderously at their approach, and Keane saw another pair of scarlet-coated guards, images of immaculate tunics, obsidian-black boots, and buckles of gleaming silver, flanking the entrance.
'It concerns a matter of great importance to my king-a service he desires. Naturally it involves a sizable donation to the coffers of the church.' Keane added the incentive on his own responsibility, suspecting from the opulence around him that it would be an effective inducement. He was not disappointed.
'Of course, the business of an esteemed monarch like King Kendrick must supersede lesser concerns,' noted the cleric, without a hint of irony so far as Keane could tell. 'I shall relay your request immediately. Would you be so kind as to wait in here?' Harmanius indicated a large parlor lined with marble walls, the floor buried beneath an array of lush, silken rugs.
'My pleasure,' Keane replied. The cleric bustled into the temple while the magic-user walked slowly about the large chamber, dazzled by the wonders on display.
A large doorway of cut glass led into an enclosed garden, and from it sunlight spilled into the room. Paintings hung along the walls, mostly battle scenes, in which the banner of the All-Seeing Eye floated proudly above the victorious troops. One canvas made a mural along a good-sized wall, depicting the toppling of Maztican gods from their pyramid-shaped temples while the local peoples bestowed gifts of gold and silver on the bishou who had enlightened them. The mage spent several minutes studying the scene, noticing the strong flavor of righteous triumph tinged with bleak and abject conquest.
'Lord Ambassador?'
Keane turned suddenly, surprised that someone had entered the room without being heard. He felt a flash of guilt, as if he had been caught eavesdropping. 'Ah, yes-forgive me. I was just admiring your artwork.' He recovered smoothly from his surprise to bow formally to the man he knew must be the Exalted Inquisitor of Helm.
'Splendid, is it not? It commemorates the founding of Helmsport, on the coast of Maztica. Perhaps you know that it has become the major port on that savage shore?'
The cleric, Keane saw, was a very tall man-nearly as tall as the mage himself. He was stout, but not obese. Instead, the inquisitor carried the strong suggestion of a workman's strength in his barrel chest and large hands. A neatly trimmed beard of rust red framed the priest's chin, and his blue eyes sparkled with intensity and, perhaps, curiosity.
'I had heard something of that, yes,' noted the mage as the cleric lead him to a pair of comfortable chairs arrayed before a currently unlighted hearth.
'Please, be seated. Allow me to introduce myself-Parell Hyath, Helm's inquisitor along this coast. Harmanius tells me you wish to discuss a matter of import to your king.'
'That's correct.' Keane had already decided that he wouldn't mention the unfortunate demise of Bakar Dalsoritan. No need to inform the inquisitor that he was the mage's second choice. Instead, he quickly launched into the explanation.
'His Majesty King Kendrick has recently been rescued from a dire imprisonment. His health is good, but his captors, in an act of sheer brutality, cut off one of his hands. He has commissioned me to … negotiate for the services of a devout man of the gods, a man such as yourself. I am prepared to offer generous inducements should you be willing to return to the isles with me and perform a spell of regeneration on the king.'
Parell Hyath's blue eyes narrowed subtly, but his lips pursed tightly together.
