Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [76]
Talthaliel did not move.
His anger spent, Greyt returned the amulet to the inside of his tunic and stepped off Talthaliel. The elf seer didn't make a sound as he climbed to his feet.
"Now, are you maintaining the barrier to magical communication?" asked Greyt.
"Yes… Lord!' The word came hesitantly.
"Have you learned anything new of Walker or his protector?"
"Nothing, lord."
"Why do I keep you? A seer who never sees anything I need!" Greyt fumed.
"My sight is keen at times," the diviner said. He did not mean to continue, but the words came out before he could stop them. Emotion was so rare that it startled him. "Even if your son did not see it, I saw what truly passed between you in those moments."
Greyt's eyebrows rose, though whether in surprise or fury was unclear.
The elf hesitated, but the Lord Singer glowered at him. Anger, then.
"Speak, seer," he muttered, pulling at the chain around his neck.
"The balance of power is upset, Lord," Talthaliel said. Greyt pulled the amber amulet out again, but the diviner could not stop himself. "A time is coming when that balance will shift, and it will not be in your favor."
Greyt held the amber amulet in his open hand, but his hand twitched to crush it. He was trembling with barely restrained hate. "And?"
"I read the Wayfarer's heart," said Talthaliel. "His decision is made. As of now, he is your enemy. He could have loved you before, but he will never love you now."
Greyt's fist snapped around the amulet and Talthaliel's jaw closed with an audible clack. The two stared at one another for a long moment, their wills struggling across the short distance that separated them.
It was the Lord Singer who broke the silence first. His challenge was low and cold. "By all means, slave, keep speaking." His fist was closed tight around the amber gemstone, and Talthaliel could almost feel the hungry pressure of his fingers.
The diviner bowed, indicating that he had nothing to say.
"Well, if you're finished," said Greyt. He held the amber amulet up between them. "I suggest that if you want this gem to remain intact you still your impudent tongue and get out of my sight." He turned away.
"I only give counsel based upon what I see," Talthaliel reminded him. "You should listen. After all, you are the one, Lord Hero, who said I never err."
The Lord Singer whirled, gem in hand, ready to curse the diviner for his impertinence, but Talthaliel was nowhere to be seen.
The Lord Singer sighed, loud and long, and shuffled to his throne. He slumped down, threw his cape wide, and rested his chin on his left hand. The Greyt family wolf sparkled on his hand in the afternoon sunlight from the high windows. Sitting there brooding, Greyt seemed to have aged years in just the past day.
* * * * *
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come," Greyt called absently.
The door opened, and a woman's face peered through. "Husband?" asked Lyetha in a tentative voice. "May I speak with you?"
Greyt did not look up, but he did wave slightly-it was an almost imperceptible movement. He was thinking, and she didn't even distract him.
Lyetha, dressed in a shimmering red gown, swept in. Her dark, mourning colors were gone and her hair, which had been simply pulled back and seemed dull brown before, was a gleaming, golden cascade down her back. Even her words had lost the cold formality they once had. She approached the throne with a spring her step had not known for over a decade. The change that had come over her the last few days was startling-it was as though she had gone back in time fifteen years.
Greyt hardly noticed. "What is it?" he asked, disinterested.
The half-elf stopped at the foot of the dais and paused, looking up at him. She had weighed matters in her head and in her heart, and now she hesitated to do what she had intended.
"I… I wanted to tell you something," she said.
"Yes?" He did not look at her.