Lord of Lies. David Zindell

in the western portal. A silence befell the hall. All eyes turned toward these men, for they were Morjin’s emissaries: the hated Red Priests of the Kallimun. I, and many others, struggled to get a good look at these seven priests who had been locked in their rooms in the keep for the last three days. But the great cowls of their robes hid their faces. The warriors led them to the table next to that of the Alonians. There, scarcely twenty feet from my father’s withering gaze, they were seated.

      And then the silence was suddenly broken as one of the knights near me cried out, ‘Must we take meat with them? Send them back to Sakai!’

      And then Vikadar of Godhra, one of the fiercest knights in Mesh, shouted, ‘Send them back to the stars!’

      His call for the priests to be executed out of hand gained the immediate approval of the more bloodthirsty in the hall. Next to me, Baltasar stood staring at the priests, and I could almost feel the heat of his ire beating through his veins. Many others burned for vengeance as well. But my father cooled the passions running through the hall with a sudden lifting of his hand. His bright eyes caught up Vikadar in reproach to remind him of one of Mesh’s most sacred laws: that anyone who willfully killed an emissary should himself be put to death.

      ‘It is said,’ my father called out in his strong, clear voice, ‘that these emissaries have been sent by Morjin to sue for peace. Very well – we shall hear what they have to say. But only after we’ve all taken meat.’

      This was a signal that everyone still standing should take their seats. While Maram went off to join Lord Harsha and Behira at their table with Lord Tanu and Lord Tomavar, Master Juwain made his way toward his fellows of the Brotherhood. Sunjay and Baltasar sat with the other off-duty Guardians in the second tier of tables from the front of the hall. Upon taking my grandmother’s arm in mine, I walked with her to our family’s table where I pulled out her chair next to my father. I sat at the right end of the table next to my brother, Ravar. He had the face of a fox, and his dark, quick eyes flickered from my father to the cowled faces of the Red Priests at their table before us. His sharp and secretive smile reminded me that our father would not be moved by fear of Morjin’s men, which would be the same as admitting to fear of the Red Dragon himself.

      It was strange eating our supper beneath the dais on which stood the Lightstone, guarded by thirty Knights of the Swan. Nevertheless, eat we all did: fishes and fowls, joints of mutton and whole suckling pigs roasted brown and sheeny with fat. There were loaves of black barley bread, too, and pies and puddings – and much else. The feast began with talk of war on the Wendrush. A minstrel from Eanna brought rumor that Yarkona had finally fallen, conquered in Morjin’s name by Count Ulanu the Cruel, who had been made that tormented realm’s new king. From the various tables lined up through the hall came the buzz of many voices. Although it was impossible to follow so many streams of conversation, I heard more than one person speak of the Maitreya. Some feared that unless the Shining One came forth soon to lay hands upon the Lightstone, its radiance would fade and it might even turn invisible again. Others, citing verses from the Saganom Elu, gave voice to forebodings of some great disaster that would befall Ea if the Maitreya wasn’t found and united with the golden cup. Too many of those present, I thought, cast quick, longing looks toward me before turning back to their neighbors to speak in hushed tones or taking up knives again to cut their meat.

      Finally, after the last bit of gravy had been mopped up with the last crust of bread and every belly was full, brandy and beer were poured, and it came time for the many rounds of toasting. I watched Maram, sitting between Behira and the dour, old Lord Tanu, down glass after glass of thick, black beer. At our table, my family drank with less abandon. Next to me, Ravar nursed his single brandy, while next to him, the dashing Yarashan, who had once boasted that he could outdrink any man in Mesh, contented himself with two slow beers. Karshur, Jonathay and Mandru did likewise. Asaru, his fine and noble face alert for the verbal sparring with the emissaries that soon must come, drank only a single glass. And my father joined Nona and my mother, the beautiful Elianora wi Solaru, in taking only one small sip of beer with each toast.

      After all honors and compliments had been made, it came time for that part of the feast that was less a gathering in good company than it was like battle and war. And so my father again held up his hand for silence. Then he called out into the hall: ‘We will now hear from the emissaries and all who wish to voice their concerns.’

      The first to speak that night would be Prince Issur. As he pushed back his chair and stood to address my father, everyone turned toward the Ishkan table to hear what he would say.

       3

      Prince Issur was a rather homely-looking man with a narrow forehead and a nose too big for his face. But he was spirited and prudent, and I knew him to be capable of a sort of harsh justice, and even kindness. His long hair, tied with five battle ribbons, hung down over his bright red surcoat showing the great white bear of the Ishkan royal house.

      ‘King Shamesh,’ he said to my father, ‘King Hadaru bids me to remind you of your promise made on the field of the Raaswash: that the Lightstone is to be shared among all the Valari. More than half a year now the Cup of Heaven has resided here in Silvassu. King Hadaru bids me to ask you when it might be brought to Ishka?’

      Despite the reasonableness of the man’s voice, some of King Hadaru’s arrogance and demanding ways shaded the words of his emissary. A murmur of discontent rumbled from the warriors and knights in the hall. Almost all of them had stood upon the field of the Raaswash when the delicate peace between Ishka and Mesh had been made. They must have recalled, as I did, how King Hadaru’s eldest son, Salmelu, had been exposed there as a betrayer of all the Valari and had been driven off forever from the Nine Kingdoms. If Prince Issur, however, suffered from the shame of his brother’s treason, he gave no sign of it.

      Finally, my father nodded at Prince Issur and said, ‘The Lightstone shall be brought into Ishka, and the other kingdoms, soon.’

      ‘Soon,’ Prince Issur repeated as if the word had a sour taste. ‘Do you mean within a month, King Shamesh? Another half a year? Or might “soon” mean another century or even an age lasting three thousand years?’

      Once, at the end of the Age of Swords, the great Aramesh had wrested the Lightstone from Morjin and had brought it back to this very castle, where my ancestors had kept it all during the long Age of Law.

      ‘Soon means soon,’ my father said to Prince Issur with a soft smile. ‘Arrangements are being made for that which you desire. May a little more patience be asked of King Hadaru?’

      My father, I thought, was a wise man and deep. He knew very well, as did I, that the Ishkans had come to Mesh seeking to set a date for the Lightstone to be brought to King Hadaru’s palace in Loviisa. He knew, too, that the Ishkans expected to be put off with all the forcefulness for which my father was famed. Thus his gentle manner disarmed Prince Issur.

      ‘Perhaps a little more patience, then,’ Prince Issur said, flushing from the intensity of my father’s gaze. ‘Shall we say before autumn’s first snow?’

      ‘Autumn is less than half a year away,’ my father said. ‘With the Red Dragon on the march again and kingdoms going up in flames, it will come soon enough – all too soon.’

      He motioned for Prince Issur to take his seat; despite himself, Prince Issur did so. Although he must have been aware that my father had made no real commitment, he would take back to Ishka the impression that my father desired the same thing as did King Hadaru. And, truly, my father did. The duties of kingship might demand that he remain flexible in his strategies, but he would never stoop to deception or outright lies.

      Even so, I knew that he hated having to make such oblique responses, that it went against his honest nature. He turned toward me then, and flashed me a quick look as if to say, ‘Do you think it is hard being King? What must it be like, then, to be the Maitreya?’

      As I sat pondering this mystery, I became aware of the many people covertly watching me, as they had