Knave of Dreams Page 16

  It would have been better, easier, far more natural for him to throw away the past, to keep his oath with the Company, become one of them. Yet in turn his mind shuddered away from the slaughter along the ridge. Anger roused at that memory.

  If he discovered that Ochall was indeed at the back of that massacre— Was it not now his “duty” to discover just what game the High Chancellor was attempting to play in the border countries? He could not believe that even the death of his chief pawn could stop Ochall from seeking power.

  Well, the choice had been his, and he had made it. He was not going to slink out like some beggar. He was Kaskar—perhaps not Ochall’s puppet prince— but nevertheless Kaskar now returned to his own holding as the ship settled down.

  As firmly as if Dedan and the whole of a resuscitated Company played bodyguard behind him, Ramsay descended the ladder and stood looking about him.

  He was on a rooftop, some private landing place situated on a building of impressive size and height. Beyond he could see the rise of several towers; perhaps this was even within the heart of a city. But he was given little time to survey his surroundings. Moving swiftly toward him across the landing space came a squad of men.

  This was it—his first trial in his role of Kaskar. Ramsay hoped that he showed no hint of uncertainty as he took only a stride or two forward and then stood, waiting for them to come to him, guessing that might be so by custom.

  Though the men wore the crested hoods common to the Company, their faces were bare. Now Ramsay could clearly see the play of expression across the features of the officer in command. Utter and complete surprise!

  The advance faltered. Not only their leader had been struck by astonishment, there were others as open-mouthed, wide-eyed as he among that guard.

  Ramsay raised his hand in the half salute of superior to inferior. The officer snapped out of his daze. He barked a command Ramsay could not understand. The others moved into line, their weapons pointed barrels to the sky, plainly offering Ramsay the official welcome due Kaskar, the Prince of Vidin.

  THIRTEEN

  There was so much that could go wrong in this masquerade, as Ramsay well knew. His presence here committed him, and with his first order to the Vidinian guards he sealed the commitment.

  “His Worthiness, the High Chancellor—?”

  “Will be summoned at once, Your Presence.” A turn of the officer’s head sent one of his command from the stiff line, trotting across the landing platform.

  Behind him Ramsay heard the beat of the flyer’s motor. He turned his head a fraction, just in time to see that craft leap into the sky, his last chance of withdrawal gone.

  “Your Presence”—the officer moved a step or two closer—“may I express for all of Vidin recognition of the honor you pay us in coming to this, your own city, for the proclamation. That rumor spoke false and you are not dead—that is a matter for thanksgiving—”

  Yes, thought Ramsay—just how had he escaped death? He hoped that the rumors of intrigue and counterintrigue at court would be his cover for any vagueness on that score.

  “When one has enemies,” he began, “subterfuges are necessary. In Vidin, among my liege men, I need not fear that I go without shield for my back.”

  The officer’s sword of ceremony whipped from its sheath.

  “Your Presence commands—Vidin answers! By blood right and liege right has this always been so!”

  “As well I know,” Ramsay acknowledged the formal words of the other. “You are—?”

  “I am First of the Inner Guard, Your Presence, Matrus of the House of Lycus. It is now your will, Your Presence, to proceed to your Chamber of State? Since the High Chancellor arrived among us, we have been prepared. For we did not accept the dark tales out of Lom.”

  So much, Ramsay thought, for that surrogate body Melkolf had produced to be buried with state among Kaskar’s forefathers. He supposed that Ochall’s suspicions had carefully fostered this unbelief in the one principality within Ulad that would be most fertile soil for the growth of a possible rebellion.

  “That you did not believe,” he returned aloud, “is heartening. To most of Ulad, Kaskar lies now entombed. There may be reason, for the present, that he not arise again too soon nor lustily—” Ramsay smiled, an expression which he had but seldom used since he entered into the dream world—so seldom in fact that the very stretch of lips came now with difficulty.

  An honor guard formed—at least Ramsay trusted that their movements signaled an honor guard and not a possible prisoner’s escort, for his suspicions were not completely allayed by the response of the First Officer Matrus, who could be—probably was—Ochall’s man. So surrounded, he reached a lift which descended from the rooftop landing strip, passed several floors, and came to a stop. More guards snapped to attention, and Ramsay was conscious, as he stepped out briskly, of a ripple of surprise that spread outward as those in sight caught a glimpse of Kaskar’s features.

  Though all he had heard of Kaskar in the past had not led Ramsay to believe his double (would he term the Imperial Prince his “alter ego?”) had any great merit, it appeared that in Vidin at least his rule and importance were undiminished. The guard, the servants they now passed, were too well disciplined to break the silence of the corridors. Still Ramsay sensed the spread of excitement. He never turned his head to see, but he was sure that the tramp of the boots of their party was fast doubling in sound, as if he now led a procession that grew larger with every passing moment.

  More saluting guards. One hurried to throw open a door. Ramsay passed into a long room, one wall broken by a series of wide windows, each of which was bordered about its embrasure with red and gold. Opposite these, mirrors, with heavily gilded and carved frames, were set into the wall. The floor, on which the boots of those who entered rang so sharply, was of marble, the ceiling and as much of the walls as could be seen between individual windows and mirrors were of a burnished red lacquer interset with enameled plaques.

  Silver candlesticks standing as tall as Ramsay’s head formed two columns between which he was ushered. Flanking both mirrors and windows there were as many wall brackets made in the form of queer heads wreathed in flowers and ferns, all gilded, each bearing figures which glinted with enamel or gemstones.

  The mirrors reflected and re-reflected all this magnificence, until it seemed that this was not just one chamber but a series of fabulous halls echoing on into infinity.

  At the edge of a two-step dais the column of candlesticks ended. And on the dais was a chair almost as wide as a small sofa. This lacked the canopy of presence which Ramsay had seen in the palace at Lom. But it was equally impressive with its gold back and arms, cushioned crimson seat. As First Officer Matrus drew to one side, Ramsay gathered that this state throne was now his proper place.

  He trod purposefully up the steps, seated himself on the chair, with, he hoped, the appearance of ease of one who was in the right place at the proper time. For the first time he could see now that he had indeed gathered more followers along his route from the landing stage.

  Guardsmen stood at impassive, statue-still attention flanking the candlesticks. The others, wearing heavily embroidered overtunics, could only be civilian officials of this miniature court, or the nobility of Vidin.

  Ramsay hoped desperately that court etiquette might be such that he would not be required to single out for special attention any former acquaintance of Kaskar’s. To play this role when so ill-prepared was dangerous, yet it was all that was left him.

  “The High Chancellor!” From the now distant doorway (the hall somehow appeared not only to have been widened by the use of the mirrors but also to have lengthened, as Ramsay looked back down the way he had come) that voice carried well.

  A man, wearing a servant’s shorter tunic, but that so emblazoned with stitchery as to emphasize his importance in this Household, stood forward. His right hand curled about a staff of silver. This he raised solemnly, thudding it down with a metallic beat against the floor t
hree times.

  Having so gained the full attention of the assembly, he took a step aside, giving way to the man Ramsay sought. This was the Ochall of his dream, except now that the raw aura of power held, power desired, power sought, was not so apparent. Were the dreams able to heighten emotions so that the inner motives of those who moved within them could be read better?

  Ochall had plenty of presence still, but he was not the overwhelming, dominating character either rumor or dream had made him. There was even a trace of deference in his manner as he faced Ramsay.

  This was not the confrontation Ramsay had hoped for. If he could only have met Ochall immediately after landing, been able to read the first reaction of the High Chancellor to Kaskar’s dramatic second return from the dead, that would have given him some small clue as to Ochall’s position. But by this time the High Chancellor had had good time to assume any role he wished.

  Now he advanced down the lane of the candlesticks, his longer overtunic nearly touching the floor. There was no sword of ceremony at his belt, rather around his bull neck lay a long, elaborately wrought collar of gold and gems. From that, resting against his burly chest, dangled an outsize golden key, probably his badge of office.

  The slight hum that had hung in the chamber when Ramsay had taken the throne died away. There was not even the whisper of fabric against fabric as some of that company changed position slightly, not the scrape of a boot, not even the sound of breathing. The arrival of Ochall might have suspended all life in the court; those gathered there would not exist again until he chose.

  Ramsay suspected this effect was deliberately produced by Ochall, that it fed his sense of power. But if he expected that it would also bring to heel a new puppet princeling—no! Ramsay’s instinctive reaction was to prepare to fight the other’s overpowering personality.

  “I give you greeting, High Chancellor.” He attempted to make his voice bland, though to his own ears it sounded odd. However, he must take the initiative in this meeting. “That you have so faithfully awaited me in this, my own court, I take as indicative of your ever-loyal service to the Crown—”

  He did not know where he found the pompous words. Perhaps the very air of this room could produce such a change in one’s speech. Only the most rigid of formal phrases seemed appropriate to echo through such surroundings. What he wanted most of all was some small hint from Ochall as to what the High Chancellor was thinking. Yet Ramsay knew that Ochall would never reveal anything that was not coldly calculated and aimed directly toward his own advantage. If Ochall had been astounded at Ramsay’s arrival, no one would ever know it.

  Ochall bowed his bull’s head in slight inclination.

  “His Presence knows that Vidin is his liege state. Where else would his friends gather in a time when strange matters happen in Ulad and there is much to make those of the deepest loyalty uneasy? That Your Presence would be safe has been our constant prayer. That Your Presence now sits in our sight, unchanged, unharmed,”—Ochall’s hand arose to his breast, touched the glitter of the key—“is our reward for trusting Providence during all the hours, days, of dark story and threat, now happily past.”

  Ramsay saw that, under Ochall’s touch, the large key was moving slightly, back and forth. His attention was thus being drawn from the High Chancellor’s jowled countenance to the key—its movements—slight as those were.

  Back and forth—back—and—

  Ramsay blinked, jerked his eyes up and away. Was his suspicion correct? Was the High Chancellor’s play with that badge of office more than just an absentminded mannerism? What had they said of Ochall?—that he had held Kaskar in some spell. Hypnotism? Perhaps the Heir had been carefully conditioned to react to just such a supposedly innocent personal fidgeting as the movement of the key. That his own attention had been so quickly riveted by a gesture was a warning, Ramsay firmly believed.

  “Your concern for the welfare of the crown,” Ramsay returned, wondering if Ochall would read into that a double meaning, “has always been recognized. Those of the Imperial line are aware of the depth of your loyalty, that high sense of duty which always is an example to all.”

  Once more Ochall’s head inclined that inch or so of acknowledgment. But, Ramsay made sure with a single glance, he no longer fingered the key. If he had attempted to test the suggestibility of this revived Kaskar, the experiment had been a failure.

  Ramsay believed that of all this miniature, attentive court, the High Chancellor might probably be the only one with courage enough to ask questions, those pertinent questions concerning the immediate past of an Imperial Prince who had been publicly buried with every pomp of ceremony, yet now dropped from the sky into his own domain very much alive. However, that Ochall would ask such questions openly Ramsay very much doubted. And this was his own chance to get widely circulated the very sketchy explanation he had worried together during his flight to Vidin.

  “These are days of stress.” He smiled at Ochall. “Sometimes it is difficult to tell friend from foe. That there are those who would willingly see me laid to rest with the elders of my House is a fact all within hearing must know. It is because of you, High Chancellor, that such a fate has not overtaken me. Your plan worked well—”

  He was watching with the concentration of a hunter Ochall’s impassive, heavy face. At this moment Ramsay knew of no other way to achieve even a modicum of understanding with the High Chancellor than to provoke a response from him. Surely the man, praised publicly for the salvation of his puppet prince, would seek to know what had happened. How it was that Kaskar lived, breathed, and declared these facts to be of Ochall’s doing.

  “I serve—” Ochall returned with no change of feature Ramsay could read. “That I am able so to serve is my pride, Your Presence.”

  “Your pride,” Ramsay continued, “but Ulad’s gain. Now, my lords.” He looked away from Ochall. There was no prying open the High Chancellor’s shell by such efforts. He would have to devise a much more vigorous attack. “My lords, my faith in your liege-oaths, in those of Vidin, have sustained me through much these past days. Within these walls I find that which will regain my inheritance in truth. For a man’s strength is not solely of his own hand upon any weapon, or his own wit, but rather in the faith which others hold in him. Now—” Ramsay leaned forward a fraction on the wide seat of the throne. “There may come a day when our mutual faith shall be put to hard testing—for I shall keep no secrets from you in the name of needed security and possible safety. You may hear that Kaskar is indeed dead and buried. In fact, doubtless some of you were in attendance in Lom when this occurred.”

  Ramsay allowed his glance to sweep from face to face along the lines of the nobles. That he had their full attention there was no denying. There were troubled frowns, as well as startled surprise and the soberness of those who awaited enlightenment, to be seen there.

  “Look upon me!” He stood up, moved one step downward from the throne. The glitter of the mirrors, the brightness of the sunlight from the windows, fully revealed him in a light that could conceal nothing. He held his head high, challenging silently by his very attitude any who might now dare to raise a cry of “imposter.”

  “They wished me dead, they employed certain stratagems to achieve that wish. But they failed. I have been hunted from Lom—secretly—lest the fact that I lived be known. Because I could not name friend from pretend-friend-secret-enemy I knew not where to turn.

  “Until—” Now he undertook to advance his strongest attack. “I came by chance to the Enlightened Ones—”

  For the first time there was a faint, a very faint, change in Ochall’s set of lips. However, those about the Chancellor were more open in showing their astonishment. There was a faint murmur, indrawn breaths.

  “There was a foretelling given me,” Ramsay continued deliberately. “And so I came to Vidin.”

  The murmur of those listening grew stronger. Ochall had his countenance once more under control, but open excitement spread through the rest of the com
pany.

  “Your Presence.” An older man, one wearing a gemmed collar of state only a little less elaborate than that which encircled Ochall’s neck, moved out a little from his fellows. “This foretelling—” He hesitated. Ramsay believed he could guess what lay behind that momentary check. The notoriously undependable advice of the Enlightened Ones must be mistrusted by any who were prudent.

  Ramsay nodded. “Yes—the foretelling. As is well known, the Reverend Enlightened Ones are far more intent upon a future that may run so far ahead out of our present years that the results of actions taken now will not be to the advantage of any living. So we must shift and choose, and hope that we have chosen a right. Believe it that I would and will walk warily and not pledge any liege man of mine to a dubious course. I am young in statecraft, but in this chamber stand men who can speak their minds from experience, and those shall be harkened to. Have we not at hand the High Chancellor himself? Any future plans we shall discuss in council. I have only this to say to you, that it is by the aid of the Enlightened Ones alone that I have come to Vidin. In that measure, at least, I think they have done me only good.

  “Now my lords and liege men, I give you leave to withdraw until such a time as we must take council and—”

  He was so eager to get Ochall alone that his impatience at this playing Prince in high ceremony grew. How did one dismiss a court, get some privacy—? He was sure that reference to the Enlightened Ones had given Ochall a jolt, and he needed to push any small advantage before the High Chancellor was again assured enough to lift his barrier.

  Apparently Ramsay had hit upon the right formula, for there was a ripple of bowing toward him; men were backing away from the line of candlesticks. All was proceeding smoothly—

  Then came an eddy by the door. Men were pushed to one side or the other, last being he with the silver staff, who was thrust impatiently and protestingly from where he had tried to bar the way to a man wearing a military hood. Hands tried to grasp the newcomer’s shoulders. He shrugged these off, strode forward, while the court froze in position, quickly sensing that this interruption to the formalities was important.