WindSeeker (32 page)

Tribunalist said. "We only have your word that he has caused you trouble."

"Isn’t my word good enough?" He was amazed they would dare question his honor. The Prince

Regent’s honor.

"Unless you have specific charges that can be corroborated by an impartial witness, it is your word

against the Arch-Prelate’s. Are there specific charges, Majesty?" The Tribunalist’s thin mouth stretched

into a fine line of sneering contempt.

Conar had gone to the Judiciary Committee of the Tribunal to have Kaileel Tohre censured. He knew he

couldn’t give the Tribunal any hold over him by mentioning the Domination’s attempt to possess him.

They would have reported it directly to his father and that was something he couldn’t permit. It would

have been tantamount to having himself declared an outcast, disowned by his kin if anyone found out he

had allowed himself to be touched by the Domination. What he had wanted to do was have them order

Kaileel Tohre to stay away from him, and even in that he had been thwarted by Tolkan’s arrival at the

hearing.

Tolkan’s leering eyes had impaled Conar with a warning. He smiled at the seven-member panel. "Kaileel

Tohre is under my supervision, Your Worships. I would know if he bore any animosity toward our young

prince. If anything, Sirs, Tohre loves the boy dearly."

Conar jerked as though he had been slapped. The warning was clear…Say one more word and the

Tribunal will know how well Tohre loves you!

"I asked if there were specific charges against Cardinal Tohre," the Tribunalist said.

To keep from screaming his anger, Conar had to clench his teeth. "No, Your Worship, I have no

specific charges."

"Then why are you bothering us with this?" one of the other Tribunalists asked. "If you have a personal

grievance with Cardinal Tohre, take it up with him. We do not get involved in personality clashes, Prince

Conar."

Conar looked at the little man and saw his defeat in the hard expression. Tolkan’s friends, he thought

with fury. If they weren’t brethren of the Domination, they should have been. He bowed his head in

impotent rage, his fists clenched at his sides. "My apologies to you, Your Worships," he mumbled. "I will

handle it as you suggest."

"May I also suggest you not come to the Tribunal again unless there is something worthy of these

gentlemen’s attention, Conar," Tolkan told him with reprimand.

Conar stared at the old man. "I won’t," he whispered and could feel the sweat dripping down his sides

and breastbone. He couldn’t get out of the Tribunal Hall fast enough to suit him. Once outside, he took a

steadying breath and wondered again why the place terrified him so.

"What were you doing in there?" his father asked from the walkway leading to the Temple.

Conar jumped, his heart slamming painfully in his chest with fear that his father might suspect something.

"Nothing."

King Gerren raised one thick brow in disbelief. "Nothing? To my knowledge, you have never stepped

foot inside those doors and yet you tell me you now went inside for
nothing
?" He fixed his son with a

hard stare. "No man goes to the Tribunal for
nothing
. I ask you again—what were you doing in there?

Were you trying to undermine my authority by asking leniency for Galen’s perfidy? His punishment has

already been decided!"

"Galen is being punished far more than you know."

"Surely you did not ask for further punishment for him." He flung out a negating hand. "Having his

stewardship of the Southern Zone revoked and banishment from this court for two years is sufficient, I

would think, for what he did. He is still second in line to the throne, although that was not my wish, but

the Tribunal’s. I would have disowned the treacherous little snot, but the Tribunal merely wanted him

reprimanded."

Conar ground his teeth. "I believe that is a fitting judgment, Your Grace. I would not have presumed to

interfere with their authority." He looked at his father. "Or yours."

"Then why the hell were you in there?"

If he could have stopped himself, held his tongue, kept down the boiling temper inside him, he would

have. But he spoke before he thought, before he knew he had done so, and he caught a glimpse of his

father’s astonishment. "It’s none of your gods-be-damned business why I was in there!"

Gerren’s mouth dropped open. Never had his son spoken to him in such a way; and to make matters

worse, the ill-mannered ass simply trounced away, turning his back on his father, his
king
, as though

Gerren was of no consequence. Adding insult to the injury, when the King called after him, the little

bastard ignored him.

"Conar! Come back here! This instant!" His face turned beet-red as Conar continued on.

Gerren spun around, caught the arm of a passing servant. "Fetch that fool back here to me!" It didn’t

take long for the servant to come back with word that Conar would not come. "I’ll geld him!" Gerren

bellowed and stormed after his son, but search though he did, Gerren could not find Conar anywhere in

the keep. Grabbing the first Elite he saw, the King ordered him to find Legion.

"He’s outside, Highness," Storm Jale said.

"I want him to talk with that shitty brother of his!" Gerren shouted before storming off.

Storm didn’t need to ask which brother. "About what, Highness?" Storm called after him.

"Everything! Anything!" Gerren screamed, banging shut the library door behind him.

* * *

From his place on the steps of the Temple, Kaileel watched Conar and his eldest brother, Legion,

arguing. As soon as his father had gone in the main doors to the palace, Conar had come out a side door

and headed for the medical wing. His brother had stopped him and they had immediately begun arguing.

Conar laughed as A’Lex threw his hands into the air, stomped across the courtyard, and stormed his way

to the stables.

Kaileel kept his eyes on the young prince until he knew Conar had noticed him. He lowered his head in

greeting and grinned as Conar hurried to the medical wing and slammed the door to the infirmary behind

him.

"Not in a very good mood, is he, Your Eminence?" asked Tohre’s young postulant-valet, Robert

MacCorkingdale.

"I would say not." Kaileel patted the boy’s shoulder. "I would imagine he is going to see the Healer for

something to calm his nerves, wouldn’t you?"

"It would appear so, Eminence."

"Too bad," Kaileel sighed, tugging on the sleeve of his long robe. "Healer Cayn’s potions are not good

for him. Perhaps I should give him something to make him feel better, eh?"

"I would be most happy to see he receives any medications you wish him to take, Eminence."

Tohre put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. "You’re a good boy. A good boy, indeed."

* * *

"What’s in it, Robbie?" his grandmother asked as the young boy poured Kaileel’s potion into a cup of

mead that was to be taken to Prince Conar. "Ain’t nothing to harm him, is it?"

"Not at all, Granny." Robert smiled, patting her cheek. He handed the old woman the vial of tyrian fluid

Kaileel had concocted. "Just see he gets a teaspoon of it in everything he drinks, except milk. The Master

says he’s not to ever have this mixed in milk."

The old woman’s eyes grew hard with speculation. "Would that kill him, Robbie?"

The boy shrugged. "That’s just what the Master said."

"So long as it don’t kill him," she sniffed and dropped the vial of liquid into her vast apron pocket. "He

ain’t to die just yet."

"Why don’t you like him, Granny?"

Sadie studied him for a long time. "Maybe it’s time I told you. I think you’re old enough."

* * *

Kaileel stood up from his workbench and replaced the ingredients he had used to brew the tenerse. He

picked up a dark amber vial, uncorked the purple-colored drug, and sniffed. It smelled of wild cherries,

but was not detectable when mixed in a strong beverage such as ale or mead or brandy. When mixed

with water, it turned a milky-green and could cure the mightiest of hangovers. If mixed with wine, the

cherry flavor deadened the tongue, and caused a buzzing, ringing sensation in the ears that brought about

confusion and mind-numbing obedience. It was most effective when mixed with plum brandy, and that

was the young prince’s favorite libation.

A strong soporific when given entirely by itself, as he had given it to Conar at the Abbey, tenerse was

the drug of choice for most of what magic Kaileel had used against Conar through the years. Secretly, the

High Priest had administered the drug, or had one of his henchmen add the potion, to Conar’s wine and

brandy on many occasions. The brandy-tenerse mixture instigated anger and stubbornness. Never before

had he given the drug to the young man on a daily basis and he was most anxious to see the results as

Conar’s system absorbed the drug over a long period of time.

He had cautioned Robert to tell his grandmother that the drug was never to be given in milk. Should that

dangerous mixture enter the prince’s system, it could cause serious complications. In the Brotherhood’s

pharmacopoeia, tenerse was most often used as a philter, a powerful love potion, that, when mixed with

the secretions of any female animal’s mammary glands, could cause instant and violent sexual arousal.

The Hasdu had used it for centuries before attacking neighboring camps; the brutal rape of the

womenfolk of the captured encampments was the result.

Recorking the vial, Kaileel put it on the shelf and smiled. With each increased dosage, with each

residual-building intake, Conar McGregor’s behavior would start to alter drastically from the normal. The

boy would think himself going mad, for he would not be able to overcome and control the powerful anger

that would begin ripping through his system, an anger caused primarily by the effect of the tenerse. As the

drug permeated his body, that anger would build to furious proportions until Conar would no longer be

able to keep in check the evil side of his nature.

Power or no power, Conar McGregor
could
be controlled!

Chapter 17

"I don’t give a damn what you used to do!" Conar yelled at Thom Loure.
"I don’t want it done that

way now
!" He turned a frosty stare to Marsh Edan and Storm Jale. "Get the hell back to the barracks

and stay there!
I don’t need bodyguards in my own home
!" He started to walk away and then spun

around to point a finger at the three men. "And stay the hell out of my fucking way!"

Thom stared at his Overlord’s retreating back. A huge scowl was on his usually cheerful face as he

watched Conar shout at Lin Dixon, another Elite Guard. He’d already been chewed out by Legion

earlier; he didn’t need both brothers shouting at him. "What the hell did I do?" Thom asked.

Marsh shook his head. "I don’t know what’s got into him lately, but no one seems immune from his foul

temper. I heard him and Teal going at it earlier. Du Mer moved out, bag and baggage. Went back to

Downsgate."

"He works us like we’re dogs," Storm snapped. He looked at the ugly bruise on his left forearm where

Conar had slammed a pike across the flesh. "And he’s going out of his way to hurt the recruits whenever

he goes to workout with Hern. He broke Patrick’s nose yesterday."

"Hern told me this morning he was going to have a talk with him." Thom nodded to the Master-at-Arms,

who had fallen in behind the prince as Conar stalked toward the guard stables.

"He tried to send Heil to his farm, but the lady wouldn’t hear of it," Storm mumbled. "She had Sentian’s

missus move into the servants quarters with him. Now,
that
was a brawl when Conar heard about his

lady countermanding one of his orders. You should have heard the shouting!"

Marsh rolled his eyes. "I heard her tell him to take a flying leap."

"I heard him tell her not to interfere in royal business, too," Storm reported.

"Aye, but the lady gave as good as she got. I thought he’d blow his top when she stamped her foot and

told him to grow up." Marsh hooted with laughter.

"It’s not funny," Thom grunted. "He’s worse than he was when she used to disappear."

"Used to be just us he’d yell at. Now it’s her, too." Storm shook his head. "And the lady don’t like it

one bit."

Thom watched Hern follow the prince inside the stable. He was glad he wasn’t going to be on the

receiving end of that vicious scowl covering the old warrior’s face.

* * *

Conar took hold of the ladder’s sides and jerked himself into the hayloft. He sat down hard on the

planks and stared morosely at the tack stored along the far wall. He shivered from head to toe, his heart

raced, and he felt as though he would, indeed, explode. His head throbbed with blinding pain and sweat

drenched him although it was deep into December and there was at least eight inches of snow on the

ground, the wind-chill lowering the temperature to well below freezing. He held his hand up to his face

and marveled at its unsteadiness. He stared at the trembling fingers and snarled. Wrapping his arms

around himself, he tried to still the shivering, to calm his fraying nerves.

"What’s wrong with you?" he mumbled.

He had never felt this way before. He felt alien. He felt unnatural. His outbursts over the months since

coming home from the Abbey had grown increasingly more destructive. He fought with everyone who

came in contact with him.

"Are you going mad?" he asked.