The men in the hall hung on her words, holding their breath as though afraid she would say more, afraid she would tell them some horrible detail of the story at which she hinted. But the queen was lost in her own thoughts, her face tight and closed as though she listened to something no one else could hear. Iubdan, his face still covered in his hand, did not look up.
At length Glomar crossed his arms and cleared his throat loudly. “What can dragons have to do with any of this? It’s the Black Dogs we’re after.”
Eanrin nearly burst from hiding then and there to rain insults upon the captain. But he was spared by King Iubdan, who put up a silencing hand and turned a near-violent face upon his guard. “My lady knows of what she speaks, badger-man. Do not take so disrespectful a tone in her presence. Of course there’s a dragon involved in all this mess! Who but a dragon could spin a spell so powerful as to trick all Rudiobus?”
“And of all Death’s offspring, only one has the power to deceive me,” said his queen.
“The Flame at Night!”
Which of the councilmen whispered the name remained unknown. But everyone heard it, and all traces of amusement vanished from their ruddy faces. This was not a name to be spoken lightly, and each man desperately hoped Queen Bebo would contradict the assertion, would assure them that no, such a dire suggestion was unwarranted.
She did not. She said only, “Hri Sora, the Flame at Night, firstborn of her kind. She alone, the onetime Queen of Etalpalli, could blind my eyes to her true self.”
“But she is dead!” said one of the councilmen. “Did we not all see her fall flaming from the sky? Sir Etanun of the Farthest Shore slew her twice with the sword Halisa. Then she fell from the vaults of Hymlumé’s Garden and lost her third life. We saw the fire of her fall ourselves!”
“It seems she did not die after all,” said King Iubdan in a voice as dark as his eyes. “The Flame at Night still lives her final life.”
“But why the Black Dogs?” someone else asked. “Why would she call them into Rudiobus? If she is indeed the Flame at Night, why did she not transform and fly from here herself?”
“That,” said Queen Bebo, “I do not know. Nor do I know why the Black Dogs obey her. But of all Death-in-Life’s children, she is the only one with the strength to command them. So it must be she who has taken my dear cousin, not into the Netherworld . . . no! No, she would not venture into the realm of her Dark Father. Not yet. She must have ridden the Dogs into the realm that once belonged to her. Into Etalpalli.”
“But why?” Glomar’s voice boomed in the hall, and he clenched both fists in his fury. “Why would such a monster steal away Lady Gleamdren? I don’t understand!”
Bebo turned her mild eyes upon the captain. Though her voice was gentle, it carried more force than his bluster ever could. “Gleamdren knows the secret of Rudiobus. She knows the whereabouts of the Flowing Gold.”
A silence like a trance held the room captive as the truth of this statement soaked in. At last Iubdan said quietly, “Aye, that must be it. Even Hri Sora would not dare attempt to wrest the secret from you or me, my girl. But your cousin is not so strong. How could she hope to withstand the firstborn’s fire?”
For the first time since the commencement of the meeting, Captain Glomar turned a baleful glare up to the gallery shadows where Eanrin stood. He shook a fist, crying, “And you carried the monster right through our gates!”
“And just what do you imply?” Eanrin appeared at the railing, leaning so far out one would have thought he’d lose his balance. Then, with a catlike yowl, he leapt right over the rail and landed in a crouch just in front of Glomar. He paused a moment, his knees up and elbows out, catching his breath, for the fall was greater than he’d anticipated, before he rose and grabbed Glomar by the front of his jerkin, pulling him nose to nose. “Dare you imply that it is my fault my lady has been placed in such dire peril? Dare you insinuate that my actions have led to this terrible state?”
“That I do!” Glomar snarled.
Eanrin narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. Then he smiled and released his hold, leaving Glomar to stagger backward a few steps. The poet gave a dismissive toss of his head and addressed himself to his sovereigns. “He may be right, my good king, my fair queen. But I put it to you and all this wise council that the fault came only from a heart too easily moved to compassion at the sight of one apparently helpless! Can you lay guilt upon intentions so pure if so misled?”