The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [62]
“I said His Highness would find you. He asks that you retire to the Great Hall to assist Ranos in staving off the wolves, as he put it.”
“Where has he gone?”
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Isaak asked.
The sounds of screaming came to Nikandr again. Closing his eyes only made matters worse.
Isaak stepped forward, lowering his voice. “Are you quite well, My Lord Prince?”
Nikandr waved him away. “It’s nothing.”
“There is trouble afoot, My Lord. Your father, the Duke, is with the Matra, and he’ll return as soon as he is able. If you’re well, as you say, then best you get to the Great Hall now, before things turn sour.” He turned and walked briskly away, and when he reached the end of the hallway, he turned. “The Great Hall, My Lord, the Great Hall.”
Flanked by the old seaman, Nikandr made his way there. The doors stood open, and Nikandr entered as an argument played out at the head of the hall. Some noticed his entrance, but they remained silent as Nikandr and the crewman made their way to the dais. The screams of the men on the rocks, the silence as his man slipped free of the mast and fell to the sea, the clawing feeling he’d experienced as if his very soul had been held in the balance, all of it still swirled within his mind as if it were still happening.
He paused, nearly retching at the discontinuity. He took deep breaths as Ranos shouted over the noise of the crowd. “I have told you thrice, Vostroma. We have secured Radiskoye, Nikandr and Grigory are attempting to find any survivors, and our Aramahn are searching for signs of foul play.”
“Foul play?” Zhabyn barked. “Can there be any doubt?”
“Spirits have crossed randomly before, Duke.”
“And if you believe that’s the case here, then you’re less prepared to follow in your father’s footsteps than I thought.” Zhabyn stabbed a finger toward the eyrie. “What happened out there was murder. No more, no less.”
Nikandr reached the dais. When Ranos took note of him, he tipped his head, indicating Nikandr should join him. “We don’t know that yet. Your blood is boiling, I know. Mine is as well. But we can discuss this further once more is known.”
Voices rumbled about the room, clearly perturbed that Ranos was questioning the obvious.
“Discuss?”
This came from Duke Leonid of Dhalingrad, a heavyset man with a crooked shoulder and a long white beard that shook as he spoke.
“You wish to discuss when the Grand Duke himself has been murdered on your very doorstep? This is a time for action, not wandering about asking polite questions while you hide your cock with your hand.”
“Spirits cross when they will, Dhalingrad,” Ranos replied.
“Not only when they will,” Duke Leonid said. “They can be summoned, as you very well know. It happened to your brother. This might have been planned days before Council”—Leonid opened his arms wide—“from within these very walls.”
Ranos’s face turned hard, mirroring Nikandr’s own feelings. “If you have something to say, Dhalingrad, you’d better come out from hiding and say it.”
“Dhalingrad hides behind nothing!”
Then, striding through the open doors at the rear of the hall, came Grigory, his face a study in anger and indignation. When he reached the open area before the dais, he spit upon the floor and pointed his finger at Nikandr. “You have much to account for, Khalakovo.”
Before Nikandr could speak, Ranos strode toward him. “Watch your step, Bolgravya.”
“I will not, not when my father burned before my eyes, not when my blood has been offered to the sea.”
“I told you what happened, Griga,” Nikandr said.
Grigory’s look hardened at the use of his familiar name. “Do you expect me to believe that hezhan were attacking you?”
“I do.”
“When your own Motherless slaves say they felt nothing?”
“I felt the hezhan as I feel my own thoughts. They were clamoring for us. Our man felt the same.”
Nikandr motioned for the crewman at the head of the crowd to speak, but before he could summon the courage, Grigory scoffed. “He will spout any story you’ve fed him.”
“I saved lives, including yours! They took one of