Silverthorn (Riftware Sage Book 2)

Arutha said, “Thank you, my lord Dulanic.”

 

 

He eased himself on his pillows. “No longer. I’m just a simple monk now. By the way, who rules in your place?”

 

“Lyam is in Krondor and will remain until I return. Volney acts as Chancellor.”

 

At this Micah laughed, which brought a wince of pain. “Volney! Ishap’s teeth! He must hate it.”

 

“He does,” said Arutha with a smile.

 

“You going to have Lyam name him Duke?”

 

“I don’t know. As much as he protests, he’s the most able administrator available. We lost some good young men during the Riftwar.” Arutha smiled his crooked smile. “Jimmy suggests I name him Duke of Krondor.”

 

“Don’t sell that one short, Arutha. Train him while you have him. Pile the responsibility on him until he yells, and give him more. Educate him well, then take stock. He’s a rare one. “

 

Arutha said, “Why is this, Micah? Why this concern for matters you’ve put behind?”

 

“Because I’m a vain old man and a sinner, despite my repentence. I still admit to pride in how my city fares. And because you’re your father’s son.”

 

Arutha was silent for a long time, then he said, “You and Father were close once, weren’t you?”

 

“Very. Only Guy was closer to Borric.”

 

“Guy!” Arutha couldn’t believe his father’s most hated enemy could have ever once been his friend. “How is that possible?”

 

Micah studied Arutha. “I thought your father would have told you before he died.” He was silent for a long moment. “Then again, Borric wouldn’t.” He sighed. “We who were friends to both your father and Guy, we all took a vow. We vowed never to speak of the shame which caused them to end the closest of friendships, and which caused Guy to wear black every day for the rest of his life, earning him the name Black Guy.”

 

Arutha said, “Father once mentioned that strange act of personal courage, though he had no other good to speak of Guy.”

 

“He wouldn’t. And I will not either, for Guy would have to release me from the vow, or be proved dead, before I would speak. But I can say that before that schism they were as brothers. Whether wenching, brawling, or in war, neither was more than a voice’s call from the other’s aid.

 

“But look you, Arutha. You have to rise early, and you must get rest. You’ve no more time to idle away over matters long buried. You must be off to find a cure for Anita . . .” The old man’s eyes misted over, and Arutha realized that in his own dark concern for her he had ignored the fact that Micah had long been a member of Erland’s household. He had known Anita since birth. She would be like a granddaughter to him.

 

Micah swallowed hard. “These damn ribs! Breathe deeply and your eyes tear like you’re eating raw onion.” He let out a long sigh. “I held her in my arms when the priests of Sung the White blessed her, less than an hour after her birth.” His eyes took on a far-off look; he turned his face away and said, “Save her, Arutha.”

 

“I will find a cure.”

 

Whispering to control his emotions, Micah said, “Then go, Arutha. Ishap protect you.”

 

Arutha squeezed the old monk’s hand for a moment, rose, and left his quarters. Walking across the main hall of the abbey building, he was intercepted by a silent monk who indicated he should follow. He was led to the Abbot’s quarters and found the Abbot and Brother Anthony waiting for him.

 

“It is good you took time to visit with Micah, Highness,” said the Abbot.

 

Suddenly Arutha became alarmed. “Micah will recover, won’t he?”

 

“If Ishap wills it. He is an old man to be withstanding such an ordeal.”

 

Brother Anthony seemed incensed by the notion and almost snorted. The Abbot ignored the sound and said, “We have given some thought to a problem that needs be dealt with.” He pushed a small case toward Arutha, who reached over and lifted it from the table.