Dan-Tor pursued his leisurely walk around the Palace grounds. It was a rare moment for him. A pivotal moment. It had the stillness of a pendulum at the height of its sweep. For a little while there was nothing he could do. For a little while he must sit and wait on the actions, the responses, of others.
It was not a circumstance he relished. To sit too long was to release thoughts that should be forever bound. Constrained as he was against the use of the Old Power, the True Power, it was better by far to be scheming, manipulating, subtly betraying, weaving his own patterns into the Great Design that was His, each tiny stitch imperceptibly bringing nearer the whole, as a wind carves its will into a rock over the centuries.
Dan-Tor consoled himself with the knowledge that masks and cunning could soon be dispensed with, at least in part, and knives could be sharpened and used. Now was a time of harsh and sudden reality.
As if echoing his thoughts, the setting sun emerged from behind a cloud and glared across the expansive gardens, dazzling the eyes and throwing long dark shadows which melted down the solidity of the trees and ornaments and cast a strange new landscape of their own.
But mine will be more permanent, he thought. Nei-ther passing cloud nor turn of the planet will change it.
A towering figure loomed ahead of him in the yel-low-white glare, and he had to move into its shadow to see more clearly. It was the Queen, sitting motionless on her favourite horse and staring into the distance. Even in stillness she had a harmony with the animal that irked him.
He walked forward and stood silently by the carved stone balustrade that edged the raised area they were on and curved down a broad flight of shallow steps into a garden laid out with innumerable paths and elaborate shrubberies and flower beds. The glaring sunlight had leached all the colour from the scene transforming it into an unrecognizable patchwork of light and shadow which stretched out towards the two watchers as if trying to escape the sun’s mockery.
‘Lord Dan-Tor,’ said Sylvriss, acknowledging him with a slight nod.
‘Majesty,’ he bowed. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was taking a stroll to clear my mind of the turmoil of these past days.’
‘Terrible events, Lord Dan-Tor,’ Sylvriss replied. ‘I’m afraid I’ve had to tell the King something of them. It’s made him very restless.’
Dan-Tor did not reply immediately. It was the first time he had thought of the King since the riot started. Now Rgoric figured even less in future plans than before, but he would still be needed for some time, and could still prove a considerable nuisance if handled wrongly.
He nodded sympathetically. ‘Forgive me, Majesty,’ he said. ‘I’ve been so occupied, I’m afraid my duties as Chief Adviser have displaced my duties as Physician. I’ll come to him immediately.’
Sylvriss looked at him and smiled sadly. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘He’s quiet again now, and sleeping. It eased him to know you were looking after his affairs. It may unsettle him if he felt you were neglecting State duties to attend to him.’
Dan-Tor feigned doubtfulness.
‘Have no fear, Lord,’ Sylvriss continued reassur-ingly. ‘I’ll seek you out if his illness worsens.’
‘Perhaps you’d care to tell him that I’ve plans afoot that will bring the four Lords to heel very shortly,’ Dan-Tor volunteered. ‘And further plans to root out the other traitors in our midst.’
Sylvriss’s heart froze, but she gave no outward sign of her fear. What did this… creature know? How many of her informants would be, had been, discovered? And Dilrap? Her horse shifted uneasily, aware of its rider’s distress. She reached forward and stroked its cheek. Dan-Tor edged away a little. He had no love for animals, nor they for him.
‘That will be a comfort indeed should he ask,’ Sylvriss said, with mild indifference. Then, gently backing her horse, ‘Your burdens have been greater by far than mine, Lord. I’ll not disturb you further. Enjoy the solace of the sunset.’
Dan-Tor bowed again, and watched her as the horse trod slowly down the narrow steps into the gardens. Soon she had disappeared into the glaring sun.
Later, Sylvriss discreetly sought out Dilrap. She studied him as he sat opposite her. Being constantly in the presence of Dan-Tor had, over the months, taken its toll on the Secretary. She remembered her entry into the Lords’ cell and the sudden shock of seeing them all so changed, so grim-faced and lean. Now Dilrap was wearing the same expression. She asked him about the plans to which Dan-Tor had referred.
‘I don’t know, Majesty,’ Dilrap replied. ‘But it wouldn’t matter if I did. I don’t think any of us will be able to do anything now.’
‘What’s happened?’ she said in a mixture of fear and concern.
‘Majesty,’ replied Dilrap, ‘Dan-Tor’s declared him-self Ffyrst.’
The news made no impression on Sylvriss. ‘My fa-ther’s title is Ffyrst,’ she said. ‘What’s significant about that?’
‘Majesty,’ said Dilrap, ‘the position of Ffyrst in Fyor-lund is very different from that in Riddin. It’s a legacy from the distant past. In times of grave national danger the Geadrol would appoint someone as Ffyrst to govern the country until the danger was past. Usually it was the King, and he would select a small group of senior Lords as advisers. But it was a temporary appointment and was constantly reviewed by the Geadrol.’
‘And Dan-Tor has appointed himself to this posi-tion, using the riots as an excuse?’ said Sylvriss.
‘I’m afraid so, Majesty,’ said Dilrap. ‘He’s using the Law to destroy the Law. The Geadrol is suspended. The Lords are in disarray, divided by conflicting loyalties and confused by rumour. The Mathidrin hold the streets in Vakloss and many other villages and towns. He has a sufficient veneer of legality in the title to satisfy many ordinary people… ’ He waved his hands in angry despair.
‘What of you then?’ Sylvriss asked.
‘I was of use to him only for dealing with the minu-tiae of the Law, Majesty. His word’s the Law now. He needs no guide there. All my tangling and twisting has counted for nothing in the end. The Goraidin’s bold stroke cut through them all. And the Law. And probably my neck.’ The comment sounded oddly flat, without bitterness or reproach.
Sylvriss looked away from him. ‘At least the Lords are free,’ she said eventually. ‘Dan-Tor may not be the gainer after all. He’s only changed the name of what he already had.’
Though what she said was true, she could not sound convinced. Dan-Tor’s power would undoubtedly grow the faster for being uncluttered by the trappings of the Law, and the direction of his achievements boded ill not only for the Honoured Secretary but for herself and the King if unchecked. Dilrap looked at her. ‘How is the King’s health, Majesty?’ he asked unexpectedly.
Ruthlessly she cut his last thread. ‘Better, Dilrap, but he’s still weak. We can look to no help from him, I’m afraid.’
In desperation he clutched again. ‘Majesty. I’m ill-fitted for the role Fate’s cast me in, but the man’s destroyed everything I valued, and will eventually destroy everything… everything I love.’ He pulled an ornate dagger from the folds of his robe. ‘For a little while I should still be able to get close to him. Physically close. One swift stroke and it would be done with.’
Sylvriss reached forward and took his wrists gently. She remembered vividly her own futile attempt to stab Yatsu and the contemptuous ease with which she had been disarmed and almost killed for her pains. And she was Muster-trained.
‘No, Dilrap,’ she said. ‘That would be a useless ges-ture. You’d die achieving nothing. You and I have no choices now. I shall continue to nurse my husband. Playing the foolish stable girl until times swing our way. Your task is harder. You’ve been useful to him of late and his very contempt for you may be your saving. You must become his lackey. Law or no Law, he’ll need men to administer his… stewardship. You’ve learned to dissemble. Continue. Make yourself of value to this… new order. For your sake, and all our sakes, Dilrap, allow no other underling to interpose himself between you and this demon.’
Then slowly, ‘As you love me, Dilrap, be as ruthless as he. No one must stand in your way. Our nearness to him is our only protection, maybe even Fyorlund’s only protection.’
When Dilrap had left, Sylvriss went over to the win-dow and, drawing back the tapestried curtain, looked out into the night sky. It was ablaze with stars. Beautiful, but cold and distant. A spartan solace for her. She stood there for a long time.