Glen Cook - Sung In Blood

Absolute, deadly silence. Mouths worked but nothing came out.

"He was murdered before dawn, at the order of Khev Vlazos, by an assassin serving the sorcerer Kralj Odehnal. Vlazos, the assassin, and most of Odehnal's men have been dispatched. Odehnal remains at large, as do Vlazos' fellow conspirators. The web was damaged severely but has been restored. All is peaceful in Shasesserre—at the moment. I expect a wave of assassinations—reaching even the royal household—was planned for tonight. These attempts may go forward despite what I've done to inhibit Odehnal. End of report, except to note that an unlicensed airship is in the hands of the conspirators."

"Jehrke dead," one of the ministers breathed. "The gods forfend! Every barbarian on our borders will try to plunder the provinces."

The King noted, "We have more to fear from home-grown pillagers. They'll get the news first."

"What can we do?"

Rider said, "Do nothing. Nothing has changed except that I stand in my father's stead."

"Oh, no," the King countered. "Never again will any one man exercise that much power."

"Are you saying my father abused his?"

"Hardly. But ... "

"He did tend to be a check on royal excess? Yes. I know.

Though he seldom intervened even in your predecessors' blackest villainies." The King glowered.

King Belledon was accounted a good ruler, but had held the throne only a year. Some of Shasesserre's most terrible monarchs had entered their reigns auspiciously.

"There will be no more Protector," the King said. "The office dies with the man."

Rider had anticipated this exchange. Good or evil, no monarch willingly accepted a potential check on his power. "There never was such an office. As you know. 'Protector' is an honorific bestowed by popular acclaim. No one appointed Jehrke. He did what was necessary for Shasesserre.

As I will do. I have trained for the task since birth. I hope to achieve as much as Jehrke did."

The King went livid. "You defy me?"

Calmly, "Of course. As my father did you and every king before you." He raised a forestalling hand. "Save your outrage, your pride. Think about it when you're calm. Ask the people their wishes."

"The wishes of shopkeepers are of no consequence."

"That attitude is what makes shopkeepers and tradesmen hail a Jehrke Protector. I have done my duty to the state by giving warning. I'm going to get ready for the awards ceremony now."

The King stared at Rider, exasperated. "Like father, like son," he said. "Where are you going, Konstantin?"

"My people need to be alerted. I must tell ... "

"No one. You will tell no one, on your life. Rider at least sees the ramifications of Jehrke's death, if he is so vain as to arrogate his father's place."

The other man present, a greyhair whose role was informal and advisory, said, "There should be no announcement. Let Rider take over. There will be speculation but slight inclination toward adventurism and chaos. A formal announcement would unleash the hounds of fear Jehrke kept chained."

The King grumbled something.

"You have your enemies, Belledon. Are they more restrained by the numbers of your soldiers or by the Protector's approval of your reign? Has any ruler he approved been found by an assassin?

How many of the Bad Kings died natural deaths?"

"It is something to consider, Your Majesty," Konstantin observed.

The older man said, "You are a king, Belledon. Not a god. Never forget your oath. You serve Shasesserre. The city does not serve you."

The King continued to grumble, but admitted the truth. It was just such moments the old man was supposed to get him through.

Rider returned to his father's laboratory, thinking he had to get used to it being his.

"Everyone's still here?" he asked in mock surprise. "I'm amazed."

"Yeah," Chaz grumbled.

Spud said, "Rider, have you decided what to do about your father? Can't put it off much longer."

"Yes. It's grisly, but ... A pattern of spells of stasis and preservation, and leave him where he died. As his own memorial. And as a reminder to us that we're mortal. That we can't let our vigilance slip."

Chaz leaned out the window, tossed something. Rider asked, "What are you doing?"

"Throwing pop seeds at Su-Cha. He's down there waiting to see if anybody comes for that Emerald."

Spud snickered. "He's been doing it since you left."

Rider looked outside. There were torches on the uppermost platform of the diving tower. The crowd was noisy and restless. "Almost time to go down. Chaz, I want you, Soup, and Preacher to follow me. This would be a good time for our enemies to express their displeasure with us."

"Right."

"Spud, you stay and back up Greystone and Su-Cha."

"Hey! How come I have to miss out?"

Rider tended not to hear such protests. He stepped into the library, where Greystone was perched on a massive oak throne of a chair. It served as the heart of the web for those who, unlike Rider, were unable to make themselves part of it.

"Greystone. What have we got?"

"She's stopped moving." He tapped the map on the table with a pointer. "One of these tenements."

"Right against the river. Heart of the Protte rookery. Not a good place for a woman alone.

Fifty thousand foreign sailors and not a ghost of law."

"But a good place for a foreigner to disappear."

"A most excellent place. We'll go down in the morning."

"Why not tonight?"

"These ceremonies. And we're tired. When we're tired we make mistakes. We'll rest. Odehnal will wait."

Rider moved on through the library. Beyond lay a vast suite of rooms he and his father had used from time to time. There he would find apparel appropriate to the awards ceremony. He told Spud, "We'll refurbish these rooms so we can hole up here comfortably."

"Our lives are going to change, aren't they?"

"They have already. It'll be a long time before we comprehend how much."

There was a band to precede the King, and guards in flashy uniforms with ostrich plumes atop their helmets. In a tradition which antedated the celebration of Jehrke Victorious, the King scattered tiny, specially struck silver coins.

"Helps clear the way," he told Rider, who walked beside him. Citizens scrambled wildly as a dozen coins arced into the crowd.

"Cynical attitude."

"Only a cynic and pessimist will survive wearing the crown."

"Or a stoic?"

"My father was a stoic. A very patient stoic. He got a foot of steel stuck into his gizzard.

Philosophy means nothing to a dagger." The King seemed more companionable than earlier. Was that a good sign or bad?

As the procession neared the tower, where the medalists waited, onlookers began to murmur about the Protector's absence. Rider was not universally known. But he was recognized by some. His presence fueled speculation.

Shasesserre was a wild and rowdy city. More so on festival days. Fifteen minutes passed before there was order sufficient for the King to speak. He did so at length, dulling the edge of the crowd. He passed the stage to Rider without explaining his presence. Rider presented the victors'

laurels with amusing asides and humorous observations, and no more explanation. He finished swiftly, yielded the rostrum to the organizers of the contests.

"So your assassins turned out specters," Belledon said as they pushed through the crowd. "I wonder if half what you've told me isn't imagination."

"We'll see." During his presentation he had felt a tug at the web, just a tiny vibration.

Someone learning that the web had been made sound. The deaths of Emerald and Vlazos had not ended the game.

The attack came as the party passed behind an arm of the Rock and started up the incline to the Citadel gate. The King's guards were feeling safe.