“I take it,” the king said to him mildly, “you are not drawn to this
quest?”
“No. I mean, yes, I am. I wasn’t so much at first, until Niles Camden
inspired me. He’s gathering a group of us he calls Knights of the Rising God.
He used to be an acolyte in Severen’s sanctum, when he was young, and was
very torn, he explained, between the two callings when he decided to become a
knight. That’s why he takes this quest so seriously. His idea is to find the
holy artifact and use it to proclaim Severen’s ultimate power over
Wyvernhold.” He paused to cut a bite of meat, oblivious to his father’s
sudden stillness. “He wants to separate us into various groups, some to
search the headwaters of the Severen, others to the more important sanctums
across the realm, maybe another to stay here and search Calluna’s cave.
Anyway, after we find the artifact, the worship of Severen will be the
dominant sacred force over this kingdom.” He raised the bite to his lips,
then became aware of the silence around him. His eyes flickered from face to
face; he put down his fork. “What? What did I say?”
“Beyond threatening to offend every other ancient god and goddess in this
land?” the king said dryly. “None of you seem to have listened at all to
Lord Skelton.”
“I tried,” Ingram said earnestly. “I really did.” He looked at Lord
Skelton, who was tugging one mustache and gazing incredulously at him. “I
didn’t really understand much of what you said. Niles put things much more
simply.”
“He won’t find it,” Lord Skelton predicted abruptly. “None of you will,
with your hearts blinded with power.”
Prince Ingram flushed, but said doggedly, “I’m sure you’re right, Lord
Skelton. But there’s no reason we can’t look anyway.”
The king’s eyes moved to Leith. “You’ll go, of course.” It sounded to
Pierce like both a command and a plea. “And your sons?”
“Yes, my lord,” Val answered eagerly, for them all. “We can travel together
to this mysterious Friday Nite Fish Fry.”
I just got here, Pierce protested silently.
Leith opened his mouth, then closed it, and gave Val a quick, warm smile. “I
yield to my son’s fervor and to your bidding, my lord. I doubt that I’d
recognize such a complex object, but at least we can promise not to disturb
even the slightest of the old powers in this land.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Lord Skelton warned. “Wandering
around in the realm in search of its oldest power is liable to cause all kinds
of disturbances and consequences. There were always unexpected dangers on
those early quests.” He sipped wine and added more cheerfully, “Very
colorful, sometimes deadly, often mysterious, random, occasionally verging on
the ridiculous. No quest was ever safe. They exist to reveal.”
“Reveal what, exactly?” Leith asked in his deep, sinewy voice that Pierce
was coming to love. “Lord Skelton?”
“The landscape of the heart.”
There was a little silence that sounded, Pierce thought, bewilderingly like a
comment. Then the king murmured, “Indeed an unpredictable place.” His eyes
went to his daughter. “And you, Isolde? Are you joining Niles Camden’s
expedition?”
She shook her fair head, her face, unlike her father’s, expressing exactly
what she thought. “I am so underwhelmed by Niles’s ambitions. I’ve made
plans to travel with Maggie Leighton. We haven’t yet decided where to start
looking.”
“Good.”
“I want to go,” Prince Roarke said, taking his knife to the small bird on
his plate. “There’s something compelling about this quest, even if, as Lord
Skelton says, you may not know what you’re looking for until you see it, and
if you look for its power, you may miss it entirely. It’s like taking the
wyvern in the north. Maybe you glimpse the ancient memory of it, maybe not.
But you bring home its shadow in your heart and the feeling that you have been
seen.”
The king’s face loosened toward a smile. “I do remember that. It’s
something you never forget. But no. You’ve been away from court long enough.
I want you here with me.”
Prince Roarke looked at him silently, surprised. The king regarded his
youngest son, who had scarcely said a word after greeting Pierce. Prince
Daimon, busily deboning his bird with a culinary precision and eating very
little of it, laid down his fork and met his father’s eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “I will go. I’m not yet sure where. Or with whom.”
Expression flowed through the king’s eyes, surfaced on his face, complex and
fleeting; he studied Daimon with a stranger’s scrutiny, as though, in that
moment, he did not recognize his son.