“Bring you what?” Alistair said. “What do you need, Uncle?”
Ferox’s lips trembled, but his eyelids fluttered open again. “Bring me,” he said, his voice a little stronger this time, “the dwarf.”
Even the distant noise of the earls down in the great hall seemed to still. Leta stood, scarcely breathing, staring at the earl’s tense expression, and she felt cold from the inside out. Alistair’s mouth hung open, his brow wrinkled and puzzled. “Uncle?”
Mintha stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder. “He’s raving,” she said. “His mind is fled. Pay no attention to anything he says, my son. He’s already as good as dead.”
Alistair stood uncertainly, but the dying man repeated, “The dwarf. Bring me . . .”
Lady Mintha whirled upon the castle leech. “Have you a draught to give him, to make him sleep?”
“My lady,” said the leech, bowing and scraping, “he ordered me to give him nothing at the end. He ordered me—”
“He can give no more orders,” Mintha said. “My son is giving the orders now. Listen to him!”
“Mother,” Alistair said, “I don’t like to go against my uncle’s wishes—”
Leta heard no more. She was already out of the room, slipping away like a thief on a wicked errand. She passed into the crowded passage, where retainers tried to grab her arm and whispers assailed her, asking, “Is there word? Is he dead?” She shook her head and pressed on through their midst to places where no torches were lit and shadows surrounded her like icy specters. She fled down the stairs, her black veil trailing behind her, on through ways she knew better than all the rest of Gaheris.
She came to the library door and burst through. “Chronicler!”
A single light burned at the desk. And there the Chronicler sat, pale and tense. She saw his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “M’lady,” he said quietly.
She was across the room. Without thinking, she took hold of both his hands. She could scarcely draw breath enough to speak, for she had run all that way. “Earl Ferox is asking for you!”
Shadows cast by the candlelight played strangely across his features. She saw his eyes widen, his jaw clench. Then, without a word, he slid down off the stool. How like a child he seemed in the darkness, his head no higher than her heart. As fast as he could, he hastened from the library, and she followed him back through the cold passages, up the stairs, and on to the earl’s death chamber. The retainers without muttered and pointed, but he ignored them all and passed into the room under the eyes of Gaheris’s allies.
“What is he doing here?” Lady Mintha snarled and started to come around the bed. “Get him out!”
“Peace, Mother,” Alistair said, grabbing her arm and holding her in place. “Or I will send you from the room.”
So it was that the castle Chronicler approached his dying master unimpeded. He leaned over the bed, gazing on that wasted face, once so strong, so lordly, so commanding. There were tears in his voice when he spoke:
“I am come, my lord.”
Earl Ferox’s eyes slowly opened, and he turned to look upon the dwarf. Something like a smile pulled at his sagging mouth. “So you are, my son.”
The scrubber stood in deep shadows, his back against the wall, feeling every contour of the cold stones pressed into his withered shoulders. He kept out of sight of the earls’ retainers. His eyes, runny and clouded though they were, kept sharp lookout. He had seen the quiet maiden hastening behind the little man, and he nodded, grunting.
Turning about and hobbling down a quiet passage, he made his way to a window. Through the stone slit the blue star peered, watching eagerly. The scrubber, using his mop for support, hauled himself up to the window and put his head out into the night cold.
“Go tell Queen Bebo the time is come,” he said. “She must send me aid.”
The star twinkled brightly.
Then it vanished.
Down below, in the cold courtyard, the door of the crypt strained. Behind it, voices whispered: Now! Now!
5
THERE WAS NO CORONATION. None dared leave their high towers for fear of the Twelve and Cren Cru. But my brother took my hand and flew with me to Itonatiu, the Sun Tower, where the king’s throne waited at the summit. He sat, his wings spreading on either side, his hands grasping the arms of the throne. His head bowed. He was so young, still a child by our people’s standards. But when he sat on that throne, he became king indeed.
I stood silently before him, weeping, for the image of our parents’ fall was scored across my mind.
Suddenly Tlanextu looked up. I drew back, shuddering. “No!” I said. But I could not deny what I saw. For there was now death in his eyes as well. Our parents’ sacrifice had been in vain. Cren Cru would drain him even as it had drained them.
“We must save Etalpalli,” he said to me then. “At all cost!”