The Wizardwar - Elaine Cunningham [12]
Matteo took this in. "The elephant told you these things?"
The king sent a quick, amused look over his shoulder. "Our large, gray friend did not offer an opinion concerning Jaharid's business practices. Few elephants are well versed in Halruaan law."
"I see. You know this Jaharid, then."
"Never set eyes upon the man. A simple divination spell yielded his name, along with an interesting image: Jaharid bartering with a Mulhorand pirate for a baby elephant. If you'd had dealings with the Mulhorandi, would you want them brought to light? Mark me, Jaharid will treat the animal well and give it no cause for complaint."
Matteo considered this. "According to what I know of the Art of divination, this seems an unusual insight. Divination is the study of the future."
The king lifted one shoulder dismissively. "The seasons pass and return.
The future can often be read in the patterns of the past."
Though the words were prosaic, they sent an image jolting into Matteo's mind: Tzigone, deep in trance as she sought her own earliest memories, accidentally moving past her own experiences to witness events occurring long before her birth. Zalathorm, it seemed, had unconventional talents of his own.
"You are more than a diviner," Matteo observed.
Zalathorm stopped and turned. "I am king," he said simply. His lips twisted in a wry smile, and he added, "At least for the moment."
He waved away Matteo's attempted protests. "No wizard has stepped forward with a challenge, but it is only a matter of time. We both know this. Your former patron, Procopio Septus, stands tall amongst the waiting throng."
Matteo secretly agreed. Still, "Sire, you know I am sworn not to reveal one patron's secrets to another."
Zalathorm sent him an inquiring look. "Did I ask you to? Procopio is ambitious. I need no jordain to tell me what my own eyes perceive."
"Of course not, my lord." Matteo hesitated, then asked the question that had been harrying him since his appointment. "Forgive me, but why exactly do you need me? I have lived twenty-one summers, hardly enough time to gain the wisdom a king's counselor requires."
The king smiled faintly. "Surely you've heard the whispers questioning my fitness to rule. Do you agree with them?"
This question startled Matteo, and the answer that came to mind stunned him. Zalathorm waited for him to speak, studying him with eyes that needed no magic to measure a man.
"I'm not sure," Matteo said at last.
Zalathorm nodded. "Therein lays the answer to your question. An older, wiser jordain would have told me what he thought I wished to hear."
"If I offend, I beg pardon," Matteo began.
The king cut him off with an upraised hand. "If you apologize for each outbreak of candor, we'll have little time to speak of other matters. Honesty is a laudable trait, but let's agree now that it's best appreciated long after the advice is given."
This blunt speech conjured in Matteo's mind an image of Tzigone's pert face, her expressive mouth twisted in exasperation at his inability to add "interesting color" to the truth, her big brown eyes cast skyward. Matteo swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and banished the wistful smile from his lips.
"Perhaps you disagree?" the king inquired. "Not at all, sire," he said, inclining his head in a small, respectful bow. "Indeed, I have heard that sentiment expressed before."
By highsun, all the petitioners had been heard. The street song dimmed to a somnolent murmur as the residents of Halarahh sought shelter from the midday heat. Sunsleep hours were both custom and necessity in this sultry land.
The king and his counselor, however, did not take time to rest. Matteo followed Zalathorm through a maze of corridors and up winding stairs, past armed guards and magical wards guarding the high tower where Queen Beatrix was imprisoned.
Her small chamber was comfortably appointed but as starkly white as a greenmage's infirmary. The walls were freshly whitewashed and the carpet quilted from thick pelts of lambskin. White satin cushions heaped the bed, and a long settee had been