The Simbul's gift - Lynn Abbey [121]
Lauzoril settled in his chair behind the table. "Important enough that I will not entrust it to one who opposes me at every turn."
"I do not oppose you, Grandson. I test you. What else can a patriarch do?"
"I'm looking for someone."
"Someone dead."
"Very dead."
"Szass Tam," Chazsinal hissed, irrelevant as always, now that Lauzoril had Gweltaz's interest.
The zulkir pursued the hen into a corner, stunned it as before, and held it above his Grandfather's chair. A luminous golden stalk rose to Lauzoril's hand. It engulfed the feebly struggling bird and drew it whole within the linen bandages. Gweltaz was the more potent, more inventive of the pair. The zulkir returned to his chair and waited.
"Who do you seek?"
"A name. Ferrin."
"One of us?"
"Possibly. He's dead, that's all I know for sure. He might have died when we fought the Mulhorandi. He has achieved influence within the estate."
Gweltaz made a sound like a purring cat. "Release me. I will find him and bring him here."
Lauzoril made a three-fingered gesture. The golden light around his grandfather's linen flickered twice and was gone.
"Send me, too, son. I know where to look for cowards."
Another three-fingered gesture and Chazsinal was gone as well. Then Lauzoril waited, alone in the dark crypt, while his hungry ancestors hounded one of their own. He thought about Mimuay, about Wenne and his second daughter, Nyasia. How much longer could he keep them safely hidden in Thazalhar? How much longer should he try? Should he go to Aglarond's Yuirwood in search of power? In his heart, Lauzoril didn't believe Mythrell'aa was the Simbul's equal. Certainly Aznar Thrul's spies and his spy master were no threat to the witch-queen. The Simbul could take care of herself, her realm, and a mongrel boy, if she chose to.
So, why did he want to go? Why did he hope his ancestors couldn't find Ferrin or, in finding Ferrin, proved that the dead spirit had nothing to do with Mimuay's vision or his own disturbed thinking? In the end, how much was his own curiosity about Aglarond's mighty, Red-Wizard-killing queen? How much was his own yearning to be the hero for his daughter as he had once been the hero for Wenne?
The zulkir had not resolved anything in his mind when a glow returned to Chazsinal's chair.
"Oh, my son," the dead necromancer moaned. "Oh, my son, it is a terrible thing that you've done."
"That I've done? To send you off in search of a haunt named Ferrin?"
"Your daughter, Lauzoril. You're teaching your daughter and you haven't set the mark on her heart!"
Before Lauzoril could extract anything further from his distraught father, light swirled around Gweltaz's linen and, with it, the pale and shrunken spirit of a man. The zulkir expected the spirit of a man his own age or older, cunning, wise, and cruel who'd sensed Mimuay's talent, then exploited it for his own purposes. What he got was an apprentice, no older than his daughter, who dropped to his insubstantial knees.
"Mercy, my lord, mercy, I beg you! I would never harm her or you."
"He lies," Gweltaz hissed. "He spies on us. He pursues your precious daughter, mighty zulkir, and fills her silly head with our secrets." He spoke a necromantic word and Ferrin's spirit writhed on the crypt floor.
"How did you find her?" Lauzoril demanded.
Locked in Gweltaz's torment, the spirit couldn't answer.
"Release him."
"He lies, Grandson. He has corrupted your innocent. What more do you need? Let me have him."
If Gweltaz had been a little less eager. If Gweltaz had not despised Mimuay as female and weak. If Gweltaz hadn't been known to lie more often than not himself. "Release him, Grandfather, or I'll do it for you."
Tiny flames sprouted from the zulkir's fingers: un-subtle reminders of the damage fire could do to linen bandages. Gweltaz retreated. Lauzoril repeated his question to Ferrin.
"My lord, in the spring, Mimuay found my bones, my skull, and called me back-"
"Lies!" Gweltaz shouted. "We scour the bones Thazalhar heaves up each spring. He is from outside, Lauzoril. He is from Szass Tam! And