Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [59]
“Ah, but they might make an exception in our case,” Simkin replied.
“Simkin’s a fool! Simkin’s a fool!” croaked the raven from the branches above, hopping nearer in hopes of more sausage.
Is he a fool? Saryon asked himself. No, the catalyst decided uneasily. If what he said was correct and Joram had insulted the Prince, then — for once in his life and probably without knowing it — Simkin may have spoken the truth.
The storm broke at midafternoon, rain pouring from clouds hanging so low in the sky it seemed they might have been punctured by the tall, prong-branched trees. With the Cardinal granting him Life, the Prince used his magic to create an invisible shield over the glade, protecting them from the deluge. In order to have energy enough to perform this magic, however, it was necessary for Garald to remove the warm springs. Saryon saw the steaming pool go with regret. The shield kept them dry, but it was not particularly warm. And it gave the catalyst an odd feeling to look up and see the rain slashing down at them without touching them; watery spears that were suddenly deflected and turned aside by the unseen shield.
“I miss the warmth of the springs, but this is much better than being cooped up in a stuffy tent all day, wouldn’t you agree, Father?” Garald said conversationally. “Under the shield, we can at least move about in the open air. Come nearer the fire, if you are chilled, Father.”
Saryon was in no mood to talk, however, although he did walk over to sit by the fire, and even managed to mumble a polite rejoinder. His gaze continually strayed through the curtain of steaming water into the forest. Hours had passed and Joram had not returned.
The Cardinal also attempted conversation with Saryon, but soon gave it up, seeing the catalysts worried preoccupation. Radisovik, with a meaningful glance at the Prince, retired to his tent to study and meditate.
Gathering near the fire, Garald, Mosiah, and Simkin played at tarok. The game got off to a slow start; Mosiah was so overawed at playing cards with a Prince that he fumbled his cards — dropping them twice — misdealt a hand, and made such glaring errors in play that Simkin suggested the bird take his place. But Garald, without losing any of his dignity or the quiet, regal air that surrounded him, soon made Mosiah so relaxed and at ease that the young man actually dared laugh in the Prince’s presence and once made a feeble, blushing attempt at a joke.
Saryon noted uneasily, however, that Garald managed to lead the conversation more than once to Joram, urging Mosiah — during breaks in the game — to tell him stories of their childhood. Having never truly conquered his homesickness, Mosiah was only too happy to recall his early life in the farm village. Garald listened to all the tales with an air of grave interest very flattering to the young man, sometimes allowing him to range far afield, yet always, with a seemingly offhand question, subtly leading the talk specifically to Joram.
Why this interest in him? Saryon wondered with growing fear. Does he suspect the truth? The catalyst thought back to their first encounter. He recalled the strange, intense way the Prince had looked at Joram, as if trying to remember where he had seen the face before. Garald had been to the court of Merilon often as a child. To Saryon, burdened with his secret, it seemed that Joram’s resemblance to his true mother, the Empress, grew daily. There was a way he had of throwing back his head in haughty dignity, a way of tossing the rich, luxuriant, wild black hair that made Saryon want to scream at them — “Can’t you see, you fools! Are you blind?”
Perhaps Garald did see. Perhaps he wasn’t blind. Certainly he was intelligent, shrewd, and — for all his disarming charm — he was Albanara, born to politics, born to rule. The state and its people came first in his heart. What would he do if he did know or suspect the truth? Saryon couldn’t imagine. Perhaps nothing more or less than he was doing now — until time came to leave. The catalyst pondered until his head ached,