fambly!” She would have gone on. But I took a few steps toward this Ered Imlien and clutched up his buff tunic in my fist and shook his head a little and I glared into his eyes.
“But you had best speak to me, rast! And quickly!”
Fifteen
“Speak up, cramph!” I loosed my grip a little and some air flowed down with a great whooping gasp into his lungs. His face was a bright purple, like a rotten gregarian. He wheezed. I thought his eyes might roll out of his head. So I shook him again, just to keep him in the right frame of mind. He choked out: “The Princess Dayra, she is nothing more than a-”
I hit him before he could say whatever he was going to say.
I suppose I was oversensitive about my daughters because I had held my Velia in my arms as she died. I could never forget that — what father could? So I hit him again and said, “Speak carefully, Imlien, speak very carefully.”
“I do not know!” he blubbered out, his face already beginning to swell, a trickle of blood down his chin from a split lip. “I hear only that she-”
“Careful!”
“She runs wild! I cannot tell more for I do not know!”
I became aware of the conservatory again, and of the others frozen in postures of horror. The Chuliks had trotted out from behind their glass screen, their weapons ready, and the kovneva waved them down. If they wanted a fight, by Vox! I was in the mood now, right enough, to my shame.
“He speaks the truth, Dray Prescot! No one knows what your daughter Dayra is up to. That is where the Princess Majestrix has gone. More than that no woman knows.”
I let Ered Imlien fall to the floor. I glared at the kovneva. “You are not of the Sisters of the Rose?”
She drew that gorgeous body up and her lean crone-like face sharpened. “No.”
She made no offer to tell me which order owned her allegiance. I did not ask. She would not have said if she did not wish to.
“It seems,” I said, “that if we make a deal I shall have to watch this lump of offal.”
“I will answer for him. He is a trylon. Thengelsax is too close to the northeast for his comfort. His estates are raided. He is foolish only in his concern for his estates.”
“And his people?”
“They fight for him as is their duty.”
The idea that Dayra had something to do with the raids from those hard folk of the northeast crossed my mind. But it seemed too preposterous. And, anyway, was not all the island one? Was not Vallia Vallia?
Perhaps there were no raids at all, and this was an invention of this miserable Ered Imlien to his own dark ends. I looked at him. He was drawing himself up and quite automatically reaching out for his riding crop. If he’d attempted to hit me with it I hadn’t noticed. But it was broken in half. Had I done that?
“You have shamed me, Prince,” he said, and the words gritted out through his teeth.
“Not so, Imlien. Not so. You have shamed yourself.”
“One day-”
“Ered! Keep silence!” Natyzha Famphreon glowered on the miserable trylon and Ered Imlien turned away, muttering, but he kept silence as far as I was concerned.
To the kovneva I spoke and I admit with some trepidation. I was astounded at the quality of my voice. It hardly sounded like the bull-headed, vicious, intemperate Dray Prescot I knew.
“And can you tell me nothing more about my daughter?”
She shook her head. I thought, but could not be sure, that a dark gleam of triumph crossed those arrogant features.
“Nothing more is known.”
There was nothing more I could find out. Whatever it was that Delia had gone to sort out, I could only hope that she and Melow would be successful and return swiftly to me. They had to be successful! We had lost one daughter. We could not bear to face the anguish of the loss of another.
I forced myself to calm down. I could trust my Delia. She was supremely competent in these matters. I had a job to do here and that I must do. There was one other matter I wished to discuss before I left here, either walking out with all due civility, battling my way out with the Krozair brand in my fists or carried out feet first.
So I smashed myself out of that fearful frame of mind. One must, as they say on Kregen, accept the needle.
“We have ranked our deldars in this matter of the emperor,” I said. “And we agree I shall think on it. Tell me, Natyzha Famphreon, what know you of the Black Feathers?”
Her arrogant old head went up at this. She started to walk between lines of potted plants, twirling the green fronds. We all walked with her, although Ered Imlien kept well clear of me. The onker was swishing his broken half of the riding crop about and trying to bash his boot and hitting his knee, whereat I was minded to laugh.
“The Black Feathers? Ah, you have heard of them?”
I said in a nasty voice, “If I had not heard of them I would scarcely be able to ask you.”
She had the self-consciousness to flush up at this, at my suggestion, at my tone. She snapped a twig from a sweet little loomin, and twitched the flower about, not gently.
“The provinces are full of rumors. Nothing certain is known, as nothing is certain about anything in this life.”
“The provinces, but Vondium?”
“I gave orders to my crebents of my estates to root out the priests. They did not catch one. Here in Vondium I have heard nothing.” Then the sly old besom glanced at me and drew the mauve and white flowers down her cheek. “Perhaps you, Prince Majister, are of the Chyyanists?”
“I have no time for slallyfanting in this, kovneva. I too have attempted to root out the evil and now, I think, it is time for stronger measures. You are aware of the creed preached by the priests of the Great Chyyan?”
She flicked the flower. “I care not. They are not of Opaz and therefore are damned beyond redemption.”
Had this old biddy been a commoner she would undoubtedly have formed one of the people in the long chanting processions that wound through Vondium. “Oolie Opaz! Oolie Opaz!” they chanted, up and down, singsong after singsong cadence. “
“I know they wish to break our heads and take all that is ours,” said Nalgre Sultant. He looked vicious and mean, a very natural expression for him. “Red revolution! Aye! That is what these Chyyanists want.”
I did not think these nobles had penetrated as far as we had in discovering details of the Chyyanists. I pondered. It might be advisable to tell them more than they already knew. I detested the racters. They had the power and the money. The Chyyanists wanted to take that money and with it the power, in the here and now. Those ends were admirable, in one sense, if they could be achieved reasonably. But red revolution is not reasonable and I have had a hand in more than one red revolution. Once you start to sweep away the old, the process can get out of hand. If Vallia ran red with blood from any cause, I would sorrow. And I did not believe the designs of Makfaril were simple honest revolution. How, once a little power is put into your hands, the evil and corruption grow!
So I told them what we had discovered. They took these revelations seriously. They would. They were experienced people with much at stake.
“Then the Chyyanists present a present threat.” The kovneva had stopped twiddling with her flower.
“Once the temple is brought to Vondium and the priests begin to suborn the masses. . Slaves too, I hear, are sometimes present in the congregations.”
“They aim to enslave the racters,” I said with some satisfaction.
“That has been tried before and was ruthlessly put down. Once the temple is erected in Vondium the evil will
