Off Armageddon Reef (29 page)

“Your Grace, I'm sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor.”

Kahlvyn Ahrmahk, Duke of Tirian, looked up from the correspondence on his desk and raised one eyebrow at his majordomo.

“A visitor, Marhys? At this hour?” The duke waved elegantly at the window of his study and the pelting sheets of rain running down its diamond panes. “In this weather?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Marhys Wyllyms had been in Tirian's service for the better part of sixteen years. His expression was almost serene, but Tirian saw something else in his eyes, and straightened in his chair.

“And who might this ‘visitor' be?” he asked.

“It's Earl Gray Harbor, Your Grace.”

“
What?
” Despite himself, Tirian was unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice, and Wyllyms bowed slightly.

“The Earl himself?” Tirian pressed, and Wyllyms bowed again. “Did he—?”

Tirian cut himself off. Nothing he could think of would have brought his father-in-law out on a night like this one. Certainly not without having so much as previously hinted he might come to call! Which meant it had to be some sort of dire emergency, but the earl obviously—and not surprisingly—hadn't confided the nature of that emergency to Wyllyms.

“The Earl,” the majordomo said after a moment, “came by carriage, Your Grace. He is accompanied only by a single personal guardsman. I showed him and his man into the library and offered him refreshment before I came to announce his presence to you. He declined the offer.”

Tirian's eyebrows went up again, this time in genuine alarm. The first councillor of Charis had no business wandering about with only a single guard at any time, and especially not on a night like this! He started to speak quickly, then made himself stop and think for a moment first.

“Very well, Marhys,” he said after a moment. “I'll go to him immediately.” He paused long enough to jot a few hastily scribbled words on a sheet of paper, then folded it and handed it to Wyllyms. “I can't imagine what brings the Earl out in this sort of weather, but I'm sure he didn't set out lightly. Have his coach and coachmen sent to the stables. I have no idea how long the Earl will be staying—overnight, if I can convince him not to go back out into the storm—but at the least, let's get his horses and his coachmen out of the rain for as long as they're here.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“And after you've given instructions for that, please personally deliver that note to Captain Zhahnsyn.”

Frahnk Zhahnsyn was the commander of Tirian's personal guard, the only one of his senior servants who'd been with him even longer than Wyllyms.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the majordomo murmured yet again, and withdrew from the study at the duke's gesture.

Tirian sat a moment longer, gazing unseeingly at the rain-lashed window. Then he drew a deep breath, stood, and walked out of the room.

“Father!” Tirian said as he stepped briskly into the library.

Tellesberg's temperatures virtually never dropped below freezing, but they could get a bit on the cool side, especially in the winter, and a night with weather like this was sufficiently chill for a fire to have been kindled. It was as much for emotional comfort as to drive off the physical chill, and the Earl of Gray Harbor stood in front of the hearth, holding out his hands to the crackling flame.

The library was much larger than Tirian's study. In fact, if Wyllyms hadn't already ushered the earl into it, Tirian would have chosen a smaller, more intimate setting. The vast room had been added to the Tirian townhouse by the present duke's maternal grandfather, who'd been all but illiterate, as a wedding gift for his daughter. The old man had spared no expense to give his beloved oldest child the most impressive library collection in Tellesberg, and he'd insisted on providing proper housing for it, as well.

Many-paned skylights were set into both sides of the vast chamber's vaulted ceiling. They ran in a wide circle around the look-through fireplace's stone chimney, arranged to provide natural sunlight for the reading desks at the library's heart. Now deluging rain beat on the thick glass with endless, waterfall patience while thunder rumbled and crashed overhead, and fresh lightning glared beyond the skylights, like the very fury of Schueler, as the earl looked up at his son-in-law's entrance.

Tirian was shocked by Gray Harbor's expression. The earl's face was drawn, clenched around some heavy burden, and his eyes were laden with misery. The duke crossed to him quickly, holding out both hands, and his own concern deepened as he got close enough to smell his father-in-law's breath.

“Father,” he said more gently, putting his hands on the shorter, more slightly built earl's shoulders, “what is it? What brings you out on a night like
this
?”

He jerked his head at the water-streaming skylights, and his alarm clicked up another notch as he noted the water dripping from the earl's soaked ponytail. Had his father-in-law charged out into a raging storm like this one without so much as a hat?

“I—” the earl began, then stopped, staring up into his son-in-law's face, seeing the powerful family resemblance to King Haarahld. There was less of Cayleb in Tirian's features, but he could almost have been a slightly older mirror of the king.

“What?” Tirian asked gently, his eyes dark with concern and affection. Surely, Gray Harbor thought, that concern—that love—had to be genuine. He
couldn't
be mistaken about that! And yet…and yet…

“Tell me,” the duke commanded in a soft voice, simultaneously urging the earl away from the hearth and towards a leather upholstered armchair. He pushed his father-in-law gently down into the chair, just as Marhys Wyllyms knocked lightly at the library door and entered, personally carrying a silver tray laden with a bottle of the duke's finest Harchong brandy and two glasses.

Tirian hadn't ordered the brandy, but he nodded in approval as the majordomo set the tray on a small table by the earl's chair, and then withdrew as quietly as he'd appeared.

The duke unstoppered the brandy and poured two glasses, giving the obviously distraught Gray Harbor a few moments. Then he extended one glass to the earl, took the other, and settled into the facing armchair.

“Father,” he said firmly as Gray Harbor accepted his brandy glass. The earl simply held it, not even sipping, and Tirian continued in that same, firm tone. “You obviously didn't come out in weather like this on a whim. So tell me what brings you here. Tell me what I can do to help.”

To his astonishment, his father-in-law's eyes abruptly filled with tears.

“I shouldn't have come,” Gray Harbor said finally, and his voice was hoarse, his words more than a little slurred. Obviously, Tirian realized, he'd been drinking even more heavily than the duke had guessed.

“I shouldn't have come,” the earl repeated, “but I had to. I had to, Kahlvyn.”

“Why, Father? What's happened?”

“Kahlvyn, you've been…involved with some people you shouldn't have been,” Gray Harbor said. Tirian's eyes narrowed, and the earl shook his head. “I know you had no reason to suspect them,” he continued, “but some of the men with whom you've been doing business are…They aren't what you think they are.”

“Father,” Tirian said slowly, “I'm afraid I don't understand what you're talking about.”

“I know, I know.”

Gray Harbor looked away, staring into the crackling fire while Zhorzh Hauwyrd, his personal guardsman, stood uncomfortably behind his chair. Hauwyrd had joined Gray Harbor's service over twelve years ago. He'd become the earl's personal guardsman two years later, following his predecessor's accidental drowning on a fishing trip, and he'd long since proven his loyalty. Yet it was obvious Hauwyrd had no idea what had so perturbed the earl, although Gray Harbor's longtime retainer was clearly concerned about whatever it was.

Well, that was fair enough.
Tirian
was concerned, too. Despite the heavy smell of whiskey on the earl's breath, his sentences came out almost normally. The consequences, no doubt, of all of his years of political and diplomatic experience. That clarity of phrase could have fooled many people into underestimating the extent of his inebriation, but Tirian knew him better than that. It was obvious to him that Gray Harbor was unfocused, searching not simply for words, but for the thoughts he wanted to put
into
words.

Tirian had never seen him like this, and he reached out and laid one hand on the older man's knee.

“What do you know, Father?” His gentle question was all but lost in the next crash of thunder, and Gray Harbor looked back from the fire to focus a bit owlishly on his face.

“Kahlvyn,” he said, “some of your business partners, some of the men you think are friends, aren't. They're spies. Traitors.” He shook his head, eyes no longer filled with tears, but still dark with concern. “You shouldn't be associated with them.”

“Spies?” Tirian sat back in his chair abruptly, his eyebrows lowering. “Traitors?” He shook his head. “I don't know what you're talking about, Father!”

“I'm talking about men you do business with who also work for Nahrmahn of Emerald,” Gray Harbor said. “I'm talking about the man you buy hunting wyverns from. You're dealing with people who are the enemies of the King and the Kingdom, Kahlvyn. And,” he drew a deep breath, “there are some who suspect that you know you are.”

“People suspect
me
of treason?” Tirian demanded sharply. Behind the earl's chair, Hauwyrd's face went abruptly and totally expressionless. Clearly, the guardsman wasn't at all happy about the turn the conversation had just taken.

“Some people, yes,” Gray Harbor said.

“Who?” Tirian asked harshly. “Who are they?”

“I can't tell you that, you know that. I shouldn't have said as much as I already have. But I'm telling you, Kahlvyn, you have to disassociate yourself from those men.”

“I don't even know which men you're talking about!” Tirian protested.

“I can tell you that much,” Gray Harbor said. “Lahang, the wyvern trainer. He's one of Nahrmahn's people. And Tairehl and Thorsyn, the merchants—they are, too. And there are others.”

“
Which
others?” Tirian set his own brandy glass back on the tray, and his eyes were narrow, intent, as they focused on the earl's face.

“Those are the most important three,” Gray Harbor told him, waving his left hand. “Oh, there are a few others, but those are the ones we
know
are important to Nahrmahn's operations here in Charis.”

“Who knows?”

“Wave Thunder, of course,” Gray Harbor said a bit impatiently. “Seafarmer, others. Does it really matter, Kahlvyn?”

“Of course it matters, if they think
I'm
a traitor, too, simply because of men I know, men I do business with!”

“The point is to demonstrate that you
aren't
a traitor.”

“The point is that I want to know who would dare to accuse me of such a crime!” Tirian said hotly. “I'm Haarahld's cousin, for Langhorne's sake!”

“I don't blame you for being angry,” Gray Harbor replied, “but no one
wants
to believe anything but the best about you. You must know that! It's just that—”

He broke off, shaking his head, and Tirian glowered at him.

“Just what, Father?” he demanded.

“There's been an…accusation,” Gray Harbor said, after a moment, glancing back at the fire. “It's ridiculous, of course. But there it is. And given the…person from whom it came, Bynzhamyn had no choice but to consider it seriously.”

“‘The person from whom it came,'” Tirian repeated slowly, his eyes intent and thoughtful. Then he nodded to himself.

“It was the foreigner,” he said. “This ‘Merlin.' The one some people are calling a ‘
seijin
'? Wasn't it?”

“I can't tell you that. I won't.” Gray Harbor shook his head. “I think it's nonsense, that it may well be politically motivated, but I can't tell you its source, at least until Bynzhamyn's disproved the charges. And,” he looked back at Tirian, his own eyes narrowing, “the best way for you to help disprove them is to voluntarily disassociate yourself from Nahrmahn's known agents and tell Bynzhamyn and Seafarmer everything you know about them.”

“Everything I know? You make it sound as if you think I
have
been consorting with traitors!”

“Damn it, Kahlvyn!” Gray Harbor said, his voice sharper than it had been. He set his own untouched glass back onto the tray forcefully enough to slop brandy over the rim, and glared at his son-in-law. “You
have
been! Whether you knew you were doing it or not is immaterial, as far as that's concerned. We
know
they're Nahrmahn's men. What matters now is for you to demonstrate that, now that you've been told who they are, you want to help us prove they are.”