copied my grimoires. I'd hoped it was simply a lie, a distraction, but I've since discovered that something broke my ghargatula's tether, so I suppose it must be true.'
'Yes.'
'And Winterflower absconded with the texts.'
'Yes.' Abandoning Rhespen in the process. He could only assume she'd been too panicked to linger long enough to dart across the floor, grab his hand, and carry him along with her.
'Where did she go?'
'I don't know. We hadn't decided on a destination.'
'Curse it, anyway! Why did you betray me, Rhespen? Haven't I given you everything?'
'Everything but what I wanted most. When I begged for that, you sent me away to die.'
'No!' The gold hesitated. 'Well, all right, that possibility was in my mind. I wanted her, and no hunter likes it when someone tries to balk him in the pursuit of his chosen prey. I was annoyed with you, but by no means certain you'd die. I thought it more likely that your exile would simply cure you of your infatuation and your impudence. And that if you succeeded in your mission, the rewards would more than compensate you for the loss of a woman, however fetching.'
'If you didn't want me dead, why didn't you respond to my call?'
'If I, or one of the princes, had crossed the river, all the greens, and all their warriors, would have turned out to fight us. I wanted winter raiding, not all-out war.'
'And such strategic considerations aside, you were chastising me, even if it wasn't supposed to result in my demise.'
'Just so. But when you returned victorious, your punishment was over. I wasn't angry anymore. I meant it when I lavished honors on you. Why couldn't you put the episode behind us?'
'Perhaps I would have,' Rhespen said, 'in time. But then I learned that Winterflower hadn't yielded to you of her own free will. You chained her mind and spirit with the foulest sort of sorcery.'
Orchtrien stared at his prisoner in seeming amazement, then laughed. 'My poor friend. My poor fool. Mind you, I'm not much better. She cozened me as well. She convinced me she truly had come to love me.' 'She… what?'
'I give you my word as a king and a gold dragon, I never cast any sort of spell on the lady, certainly not a coercion as abominable as that.' Orchtrien sighed. 'In retrospect, it's easy enough to see what happened. When Duskmere and his confederates lured your company into a trap, it was a useless, ill-considered tactic, born of anger rather than guile. But after Bexendral defeated them, they began to exercise their wits, and when I demanded hostages, they sent us a spy and a witch, to accomplish whatever harm she could. To that end, she established a liaison with you.'
'No. That can't be. She despised me at first. I had to win her trust and affection.'
'She made you think so, and me as well. She had to. Given her pedigree, we would have grown suspicious if she'd warmed to us too easily, and as I observed previously, her initial disdain made us prize her subsequent affection all the more. I wonder if she also used enchantment to make herself more appealing.'
'She had no grimoire.'
'That we discovered.'
'If she'd cast a glamour on herself, one of us would have noticed. She had some rudimentary magical skills, but she wasn't a true wizard.'
'Or so she told you. She was adept enough to snatch up your staff and use it instantly. Either way, it doesn't matter. Once you succumbed to her charms, she could attempt various ploys. She could try to wheedle secrets out of you, or subvert your loyalty and turn you into a rebel, too.'
'Until you sent me away and took her for yourself.'
'Yes. I daresay she had mixed feelings about being a royal mistress. It must have been difficult for her, loathing me as she did. She must have lived in constant fear that I, with my discernment and arcane powers, would unmask her. Yet she was in a still better position to spy, or even attempt regicide when I seemed most vulnerable, though she never mustered the nerve and stupidity required for the latter.'
'Until I came home.'
'Yes, whereupon she tried to manipulate you into serving as her assassin. Without suggesting it directly, of course. She knew you almost certainly wouldn't succeed, but even if I killed you, the realm would be the weaker for it, and perhaps she imagined that the ensuing commotion would provide her an opportunity to escape with whatever secrets she'd discovered.
'Unfortunately,' Orchtrien continued, 'her dupe succumbed to her blandishments as usual, but didn't behave precisely as she'd expected. You too went digging for secrets, in a place where she herself would never have dared to intrude. Now she's carried all that lore away, and I'll have to put off marching against the reds to recover it.'
'Majesty,' Rhespen said, 'if what you're saying is true-'
'Of course it's true! Why would I bother lying to a creature in your situation?'
'Then I've wronged you, my benefactor, my liege lord, in thought and deed, and I beg for the chance to atone. Let me help retrieve the books.'
'Traitors,' Orchtrien said, 'don't get second chances.'
He jammed the gag back into Rhespen's mouth.
After Orchtrien's departure, Rhespen lay struggling to disbelieve the dragon's assertions. He couldn't. They made too much sense.
Winterflower had made him her pawn, led him into treason and stripped him of his honor and everything else he possessed, then abandoned him as soon as it became expedient. The shame and humiliation of it were unbearable.
But he had to not only endure but transcend them.
Otherwise, he'd rot and suffer in his cell until the king's servants either killed him there or led him forth to the scaffold.
That might happen anyway, because Orchtrien had every right to think him helpless. But in point of fact, Rhespen had long ago bound himself to his staff. The link was what enabled him to call the rod into his hands.
He'd always spoken a word of command to facilitate the process. His captors no doubt assumed it was a necessity, and it was entirely possible they were right. Rhespen hoped, however, that if he exerted all his willpower, and simply articulated the word in his thoughts, it might suffice.
He made the attempt repeatedly, while spasms wracked his guts, and shame, fury, and dread gnawed at his concentration. For what seemed a long while, nothing happened. Then the cool, rounded rod materialized in his left hand.
Its sudden appearance startled him, and for an instant, he was terrified that he'd fumble and drop it, whereupon the clang would summon a guard, or else he'd lack the mystical strength to draw it back into his grasp a second time, even though it was just a pace or two away. He gripped it with all his meager strength and succeeded in holding on to it.
In addition to the temporary spells he stored in it based on his anticipation of his needs, the rod possessed a few permanent virtues. One was the power that had unlocked the door to Winterflower's suite. He invoked the same attribute, and his shackles flew open. So did the buckle securing the gag.
He stood up. The dungeon spun, pain stabbed through his belly, and he had to clutch at the rack to keep from falling. He whispered his charm of renewed vitality. It steadied him and blunted the agony, but he was still weak. Truly potent healing magic was the province of the gods and their priests, and thus beyond the reach of even the ablest wizard.
Such being the case, he was in no shape for a fight, or even to cast spells of any complexity. Fortunately, he still had several enchantments of stealth and disguise stored in his staff, where he'd placed them in case he needed them to sneak into Winterflower's apartments.
He veiled himself in invisibility. Then, employing his staff as if it were a crutch, he hobbled up the stairs, unlocked the door at the top with a touch of his prop, and passed on into the dank, torchlit corridor beyond.
