Carol Berg - The Bridge of D'Arnath 2 by Guardians of the Keep

Author:Guardians of the Keep
Language: eng
Format: mobi, pdf
Published: 2012-09-13T12:48:58+00:00

CHAPTER 23

They had taken Karon’s body—no, more properly, D’Natheil’s body—away by the time Paulo and

I stumbled onto the fine rug laid before the council table. The patterned wool square, hastily moved, did

not quite cover the fresh blood that stained the white stone floor. They had kept us waiting in a bare

anteroom for several hours, able to hear only hurried footsteps and bursts of unintelligible conversation

through the door. The exclamations of dismay were clear enough, though, as the word of D’Natheil’s

death spread.

Gerick and Darzid were no longer present—only the six Preceptors in their high-backed chairs. The

one chair sitting empty at the end of the dais would have been Dassine’s. I wondered, somewhat

foolishly, who would be chosen to sit in the chair. Maybe no one. Maybe the Preceptorate would no

longer exist now that Gerick, a ward of Zhev’Na, was to become the Heir of D’Arnath.

“Who is this woman? Where did she come from? And another boy? Is this one your own long lost

son, Exeget?” said Ce’Aret.

“We should get on with our important business and interview spies later,” said Ustele. “Everything is

changed, now.”

“Not ordinary spies,” said Y’Dan, still red-eyed from his weeping, as he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“These two are not Zhid.”

“Ustele is correct,” said Exeget. “We have two matters of utmost urgency: how we are to announce

the Heir’s death to the people, and what provision we must make for the boy’s care until he comes of

age—approximately a year, so I understand.”

Madyalar joined in. “Would that we could anoint the child right away.”

“Are you planning to destroy this young Prince the same way you ruined D’Natheil, Exeget?” said

Ce’Aret. “I pray this Exile Darzid is trustworthy as you assure us. The boy must not be compromised

either by the Zhid or our own foolishness. We must find him a proper protector and suitable mentors.”

“This Exile is eminently trustworthy,” said Exeget. “And he’s already taken the young Prince to a

place of safekeeping. I propose we leave him there. . . .”

As the six of them wrangled, a low mutter rose from beside me. “He’s not dead . . . not dead . . . not

dead.” Paulo was staring at the blood fading from red to brown underneath the edge of the rug. A tear

trickled down his freckled face. I reached for his hand, and for once he didn’t refuse it. When he looked

at me, I gave him a slight shake of the head, warning him to be silent.

“Now,” said Exeget. “Let us dispose of these spies, so we can get to our business. Not only are these

two strangers not Zhid; they are not even Dar’Nethi.”

“Not Dar’Nethi? No ... I see not.” An itchy warmth crept behind my eyes as old Ustele peered at me

across the table. One might have thought I had three heads. “Mundanes.”

Ce’Aret sat up straighter. “Mundane spies? Who is this woman?”

“As a spy she has severe lacks,” said Exeget. He tapped the ends of his smooth, white fingers

together lightly. “And one has only to look at the woman to know who she is— even if certain people are

too deaf to have heard her maudlin cries.

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