storm (58 page)

            Pellaz fled the chamber, his vision a red mist.  The Freyhellan's gesture had been disrespectful and over-familiar, but also spontaneous.  Observation of formal protocol obviously played no great part in the Freyhellan psyche.

            Only when Pellaz was far from the room and the night air had claimed him could he release what he felt inside.  It wasn't just weeping; it was like vomiting up his heart.  He found his way to Caeru's apartments, almost witless with grief, although he'd managed to stop the tears by then.  Long ago, Orien had advised him never to weep in front of others, and it was advice he'd always tried to heed.

            Caeru, sensitive as to what was wrong, shooed away the friends who were visiting him and planted a large glass of liquor in Pell's hands.  “You don't know the reason Cal didn't come back here,” he said carefully.

            “I do,” Pellaz said.  “That's the trouble.  I am not Pellaz Cevarro.  But he is still Cal.  He is better than he was, whereas I am somehar completely different.  He ran from me, Rue.  I know it.”

            Caeru sighed and knelt by Pell's chair.  He winced a little, for his body was still sore inside.  “You don't know that.”

            “Damn Ponclast!” Pellaz snapped.  “I should to go Galhea.”

            “But the Parasilians have already left there,” Caeru said softly.  “I think you should be thankful you can't go.”

            Pellaz laughed bitterly.  “I am supposed to be strong and dispassionate; to inspire hara in these troubled times.  But I have a heart, Rue, and it's bleeding.  I can't give myself the time to grieve.”

            Caeru curled his fingers over one of Pell's hands, which lay limply on the chair arm.  “Pell, I don't know what to say to you.  Your grief is a monster, it always has been.  The love you and Cal have for each other is often destructive.  I understand it now, but it also frightens me more.”

            “I don't think he loves me, Rue.  He loves a dead har.  It's so cruel.  I wish I looked as different on the outside as I am within.  Thiede should have taken it from me.  Why didn't he?  He could have done anything to me.  He could have dissolved that love.”

            “Perhaps there was a reason he didn't.”

            Pellaz sighed and stroked Caeru's fingers.  “Maybe.  But I have to go on.  I cannot let it consume me.  I managed to control it before, I can do it again.  Maybe Cal and I will be together, maybe not.  I am Tigron.  I haven't got the time to indulge myself wondering about it.”

            “It's not over, Pell.  Trust me on that.”

            Pellaz kissed Caeru's hair.  “I could never have imagined a day I could come to you like this.  I am grateful, Rue.”

            “Cal gave us that,” Caeru said.  “Stay here tonight.  Talk as much as you want, so that tomorrow you can work with a clear head.”

            Pellaz nodded.  “I will.  Thank you.”  He paused.  “The Freyhellans are strange.  Galdra, their leader, affected me.  He made this emotional outburst happen, although it wasn't intentional.”

            “Tell me,” Caeru said.  “Tell me everything in your heart.”

The following day, Pellaz attended to the Hegalion once more as the tribe representatives applied themselves to devising some kind of strategy.  Self-defence was of prime importance.  What had happened in Freygard could happen anywhere.  As in Megalithica, the strikes could be swift and devastating.  The leader of the Sulh representatives, a tall, dark-haired har named Heron, said to Pellaz, “Even you might not be safe, tiahaar.”

            They would all have heard rumours about the attack on Rue, and Cal's disappearance, of course, although Pellaz resolved to play it down.  “Nohar is safe,” he said.  “Status is irrelevant.”

            During a break for lunch, Pellaz sought out the Freyhellan leader.  The Sulh appeared to have struck up quite a friendship with the Freyhellans, perhaps because of similarities in their spiritual outlook.  When Galdra saw Pellaz heading over, he excused himself from his companions.  “I understand I behaved inappropriately last night,” he said, before Pellaz could speak.

            “A little importunate maybe,” Pellaz replied.  “Might I ask why you felt impelled to do that?”

            “You have suffered a loss,” Galdra said.  “My words brought it back to you.  Anyhar could see that.”

            “And anyhar can pick up gossip in the streets of Immanion,” Pellaz said.  “My private life is not that private.”

            Galdra smiled.  “It seems strange to be able to converse with you like this.  I imagined we'd be commanded to prostrate ourselves before a statue in a temple, or something.  I didn't for one minute imagine you as a har of flesh and blood, or one whose eyes would carry such pain.  That is honest of you.”

            “Careless, more like,” Pellaz said.

            “Am I forgiven the indiscretion?”

            “Yes.  I have already forgotten it.”

            “If you should ever want to talk, I can provide a friendly ear.”

            “And I thought a
kiss
was importunate?  Really, tiahaar, you are presumptuous.”

            “So I've been told.  I can't see the point of twisted words.  I can't play the Gelaming game of intrigue and duplicity.  It is part of the reason I was reluctant to come here.”

            “Then remember to whom you speak,” Pellaz said.  He inclined his head and turned away, conscious of the Freyhellan's gaze even when he reached the other side of the room.

It was two weeks later that Pellaz finally gave in to Caeru's suggestion for an informal evening reception in Phaonica for visitors to the city.  In truth, he had quite enough of the tribal delegates during the day, when it seemed he spent most of his time smoothing ruffled feathers and nurturing fragile egos.  He had no wish to continue that in a social setting.  The discussions had brought home to him how much the other tribes saw the Gelaming as a threat.  They seemed to need constant reassurance that they were regarded as important.  This was not easy because, despite outward appearances, Pellaz was impatient with the way so many of them were easily offended, and in fact seemed to thrive on finding reasons to be affronted.

            They Freyhellans had acquired celebrity status among the delegates, but much as Pellaz strove to find it, there was no indication that Galdra, or any of his colleagues, were fomenting dissent among the others.  The talks went back and forth, endlessly, yet all they were waiting for really was the ability to send
sedim
to Megalithica or for Ponclast to commit another atrocity nearer to home.  Talk did nothing really.  Pellaz wished the tribes would just agree that the Gelaming were most suited to commanding the situation and let them get on with it, but that was not going to happen.

            Caeru flittered around the edges of the Hegemony meetings, being a charming host and, along with the ever present Velaxis, entertaining who he referred to sarcastically as the 'VIH's (very important hara) in various hotels around the city.  He was in his element, and Pellaz was amused when he realised that quite a few choice specimens of foreign harishness ended up in the Tigrina's bed.  These distractions had succeeded in ridding Caeru of the last traces of illness, and he appeared to be in constant high spirits.

            One morning the Tigrina came to Pell's office and repeated his plea for a party in the palace.  “Pellaz, you are becoming curmudgeonly,” Caeru said.  “What happened to your desire for some sparring?  Invite the Freyhellans here.  You might not have noticed, but that Galdra has his eyes glued to your back.  It's about time you brought a little light into your life.”

            Pellaz had indeed noticed Galdra's constant scrutiny, mainly because his eyes always tended to seek out the Freyhellan in any gathering.  He usually found an excuse to talk to Galdra at formal meetings, even though part of him wished he could resist it.  “If you are so keen to meet them informally,” he said, “invite them to
your
apartment.”

            “I'm thinking of you, not me.  Lighten up.”

            “I don't want Galdra here, Rue.  That's an end to it.”

            “Why?  You talk to him every day.  He flirts outrageously.  You like him, don't you?”

            “Look, I have work to do.  I have a meeting in less than an hour.  I am sick of meetings.”

            Caeru grinned.  “I think I shall organise a party without you.  Then I'll make you attend if I have to drag you there by your hair.”

            “Do what you like.”

            “Oh, I
see.
  The decision has to come from me.  I quite understand.”

            “Get out, Rue.  I'm busy.”

            Caeru laughed and went his way, so much more like the har Pellaz had met in Ferelithia so long ago.  Pellaz sat at his desk and put his face in his hands.  He didn't know why he felt so hot.  It was nothing.

Caeru sent Velaxis out with invitations for a select group of hara to attend the event.  Velaxis was adept at tracking hara down when they were alone to make sure only the right ones were informed.  However, his plans went slightly awry concerning the Freyhellans.  Caeru was not pleased to hear that when Velaxis had cornered Galdra, literally as he was walking down the street, the Freyhellan had accepted the invitation and then demanded to bring a companion.

            “Who?” Caeru demanded.

            “Heron har Sulh,” Velaxis replied.  “I could hardly refuse ebcause Heron was also on your list.  Do the implications of this interfere with some strategy of yours?”

            “I don't know,” Caeru said.  “It probably doesn't matter.”

            Velaxis paused, very slightly, before saying, “You should know the Hegemony look favourably upon the Freyhellan.”

            “What do you mean?” Caeru asked archly.

            “Life goes on,” Velaxis said.  “Alliances are important.  You know exactly what I mean.”

            “If Pellaz wasn't Pellaz, he'd have had a breakdown by now,” Caeru said, more openly than he intended.  “He deals with things in his own way.  He won't be forced.”

            “He is har,” Velaxis said.  “And he's not a raw inceptee who can sustain himself with fantasies.  He needs to wake up.”

            “You're the vizier – try telling him that.”

            Velaxis laughed coldly.  “The Tigron would much appreciate an opportunity to have me locked up.  I'm not so stupid.  Just think about what I said.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Pellaz knew the party had started because he could hear music drifting up from the lower floor of Phaonica.  It wove in through the open windows like an enchantment. 
There is no reason not to go,
he told himself.  But even so, it felt like entering the salon below would be a betrayal.  It made no sense.  He didn't know what he feared.