Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [26]
A perch had been placed for him instead of a chair, but Beccaroon did not sit. He continued across the room to a map of the country. “I have received intelligence through a network of friends about each region of Chiril. My informants tell me that men from Baardack are gathering in small groups within our borders.” He pointed to the map with a wingtip. “Here, here, and here, there are as many as two dozen congregated, evidently with no business to warrant their presence. Between these spots, smaller groups of a half dozen each are loitering in our country. If you draw a line through these localities, you can see they are strategically placed to interrupt trade and damage our supply lines.”
Advisor Cornagin, an o’rant of noble birth, held up a letter and shook it. To Beccaroon, the fluttering pages sounded like wing feathers rattling as a large bird took flight.
“My subordinates,” said Advisor Cornagin, “also noted an influx of strangers into the local guilds. Of course, they have met with resistance. Our people aren’t happy to give up their jobs to foreigners.”
Beccaroon nodded. He also had this news on his list. Cornagin, no doubt, wanted the king to know that he was doing his job. The three advisors were part of the king’s inner circle. They probably chafed at having a meeting called by an outsider.
The marione advisor, Malidore, cleared his throat and shifted back and forth on his seat. “As quickly as the amazing story of the three statues spread among the populace, the disturbing news of the theft followed. People are alarmed that the rebellion led by Runan rose up with no one in our government aware of the threat. The tale is”—he glanced at Paladin and Verrin Schope—“that outsiders had to save our skin, so to speak. Follow that with the statues being easily lifted right out of the Amber Palace, and we appear to be a most inept government.”
King Yellat ground his teeth. “For hundreds of years we manage to keep peace. At the first sign of trouble, before we are even given the chance to counteract, we are labeled buffoons.”
The three advisors reacted with assurances that the king was still highly esteemed. Beccaroon tuned out the four-way conversation that pulled the men away from their business at hand.
Sir Beccaroon studied his old friend Verrin Schope. The parrot expected him to speak up at any moment and explain some of the unusual circumstances of the day. But he sat there, brooding. Paladin looked far more interested in the discussion than Verrin Schope did.
Chief Advisor Likens tapped his fingers on the table. A fine network of wrinkles crisscrossed his dark complexion, reflecting his age as an emerlindian.
Sir Beccaroon deferred to the man who was the oldest in the room. He waited a moment, knowing the advisor would have something of value to contribute.
“The harbor masters tell me a disturbing tale. Our traders are not returning from Baardack. Those who normally make monthly trips from our coastline to theirs went out but did not come back. I had thought it too early to be concerned, but with these other developments, I fear foul play.”
Sir Beccaroon bobbed his head and moved back to the table, hopping onto the perch. “I, too, have unsettling reports. The correspondence from my district is sketchy. Whereas in the past, my constables have sent very lucid accounts, this last batch contained rambling, disjointed information. From what I could pull out of these notes, either discontent or a malaise has captured my countrymen. They either stew verbally about their lot in life, or they sit in a morose stupor.”
Verrin Schope’s head came up, and he looked directly into Beccaroon’s eyes. “For some reason, the statues are no longer in line. I feel the effects as well.”
The king made a scoffing noise and deliberately ignored his son-in-law. He placed his hands flat on the table and looked at each of the other men sitting with him. “We must first