The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [116]
LXXIII
AS THE REDHEAD’S angry departure leaves the three men and the body alone on the steps to the keep, Hyel shakes his head. “Never . . . asked to accept so much—”
Creslin snorts loudly.
“You find this—” Joris gestures at the body “—amusing, Lord Creslin?”
“No. He got what he deserved. Maybe not even that. Megaera’s opposed to unnecessary violence.” Creslin’s voice sounds weary, even to himself.
“He was tired of living without women. Can you blame him for that? Isn’t this sort of death a bit much?”
Creslin wants to shake his head. Is attempted rape enough to condemn someone to death? Then again, he himself has killed to forestall murder. He answers the dark-haired man slowly. “There will be women here before long. And, yes, I can blame your man. If not just for trying to violate a woman against her will, then for gross stupidity. Anyone who attacks a wizard should be prepared for the worst. Megaera is a White Wizard, and she could have burned him on the spot.” He pauses but sees that Joris is not satisfied. “Sometime, when she is preoccupied, look at the scars upon her wrists. Those come from practicing her art when bound with cold iron.”
Joris shivers. “She is that strong?”
Creslin sighs. “We may be young and untried in many ways, guardsmen, but do you think truly that the Duke would entrust Recluce to us just so he could buy a few blades and supplies?”
Joris clears his throat. “You mentioned women?”
Creslin nods. “Women, supplies . . .”
“How do you propose to pay for supplies, Lord Creslin?” asks Hyel sardonically. ” With dried fish? That is all that is in your treasury.”
“Some of it will be a gift of sorts. Some,” Creslin shrugs, thinking of the gold chain that Lydya had recovered and Klerris has presented to him, “I’ll have to pay for.”
“You have high plans for this desert island.”
Creslin is tired of the veiled warnings and cautions, of the skepticism, and of Hyel’s doubting tones. His eyes flash, and he turns full on the tall man. For a moment he says nothing, and when he speaks, his voice is soft. “You doubted my skills until I murdered your tool. You doubt my co-regent’s abilities until she leaves a corpse at your feet. Will you then continue to doubt? Or must I leave you as a corpse before you will dream again?”
Hyel does not attempt to meet Cieslin’s eyes. “No one yet has succeeded in Recluce . . . my lord.”
“I am scarcely no one, Hyel.” Creslin laughs harshly. “And Megaera is certainly more than no one.” He nods to both of the men. “I would like parchments and quills in the cot shortly. I trust that you will think about my words, deeply.”
His first steps follow those of Megaera, but he has no interest in finding her quite yet. For all that he has said in her defense, Joris’s question still rings in his head. Should a man die for lusting after what he cannot have? Is the act of forcing such lust upon another enough to justify murder? Yet what choice did Megaera have? And what is the difference between one death and another? She has said it: “Dead is dead.”
He stretches his legs, then lets his booted feet carry him uphill and along the trail toward the eastern cliffs.
How is he that much different from the nameless guard? Certainly he has thought about forcing his attentions on Megaera. How thin is the line between thought and action?
Behind him, two men watch him and his shadow for a time, their eyes falling occasionally to the corpse at their feet.
LXXIV
“CAN YOU INSTILL order in plants?” Creslin studies the drawing that Klerris has set before him. “Isn’t that what you did with that blue flower the other day?”
“Order? Blue flower?” Klerris smoothes the paper into place over a set of drawings that show the needed expansions to the keep. The Black Wizard places small stones on the coarse paper to hold down the