«I know very little beyond what is in the letter, Sire», Sir Robert said, after an audible gulp of the warm wine, as the king scanned the letter. «The Hort of Orsal sent what word we have. His envoy said that rumors had reached the Orsal’s court midway through December that the prince was ill. Given the vague nature of the report, and the state of the weather at this time of year, that alone did not seem to justify sending urgent word to Coroth or to you». He paused to fortify himself with another gulp of wine, then set aside the cup and held his shaking hands closer to the fire.
«Then, four days ago, a fast galley arrived in Coroth with word that Prince Nimur had died, just before Christmas, and that Prince Károly had been proclaimed the new heir, to be installed at Torenthály on the first day of the new year».
«Károly?» Lord Seisyll blurted, as Donal gaped in astonishment. «Not Prince Torval?»
Sir Robert shook his head, still collecting himself. «There was no mention of Prince Torval».
«But Károly is the third son. How can that be?» Duke Richard murmured.
«I don’t know», Donal replied, numbly handing the missive to his brother. «Something must have happened to Torval as well. There is no mention of him in Sobbon’s letter. But as news of Prince Nimur’s death spreads, I have no doubt that further details will eventually become available».
«Perhaps from a Torenthi ambassador at tomorrow’s court, Sire», Seisyll murmured distantly, though he could guess at the cause of Nimur’s death, and thought he might have access to more immediate information that, unfortunately, could not be shared with the king.
Donal sighed, briefly gazing into the fire as if far, far away.
«A chilling thought has come to my mind», he said after a few seconds. «One perhaps not worthy of me, in the face of another father’s undoubted grief over the death of his son». At his ministers’ looks of question, he went on. «Prince Nimur was in his prime, trained from birth to be a king one day. He would have made my heir a formidable adversary. Károly is a decade younger than his brother was, and would never have expected to be the heir. That could make all the difference, when I am gone».
Murmurs of agreement whispered through the room, along with protests that the king’s demise was surely far in the future, all subsiding as the king rose.
«We’ve done enough for tonight», Donal said, heading for the door. «I must think further on this new development. This undoubtedly will unsettle the balance of power in Torenth. Pray God that it delays any realistic plans for making a move against Gwynedd».
The king’s early adjournment of their meeting enabled Seisyll Arilan to begin his own inquiries immediately, regarding the death of Torenth’s crown prince. Fortunately, Michon de Courcy was always resident in Rhemuth at this time of year, because of Twelfth Night Court; and this year, unlike the previous year, Seisyll had been able to arrange for Michon to occupy the guest room next to the king’s library, where the castle’s Portal lay.
He made his way up to the library corridor and knocked on Michon’s door, at the same time probing beyond the door with his mind. Within seconds he heard the latch lift as Michon opened the door and admitted him.
«What’s happened?» Michon asked, as he closed the door again, for Seisyll’s expression was deathly somber.
«I’ll assume you haven’t yet heard that Nimur of Torenth is dead — the son, not the father».
«What?» It was not really a question, but Seisyll held out his hand and, when Michon took it, gave the answer his colleague was really seeking, reiterating in an instant the revelations of the meeting he had just left. Michon briefly closed his eyes as he assimilated the information, then shook his head and sighed in resignation.
«He’s gone and killed himself attempting forbidden spells», he whispered. «I shall be very surprised if that is not the case. And Torval — something obviously has happened to him as well. Oh, Camille, Camille, what have you wrought?»
He drew himself up with another heavy sigh, then briskly drew Seisyll onto the Portal square in the center of the room, a hand slipping up to clasp the back of Seisyll’s neck. Without need for prompting, Seisyll lowered his shields and yielded control, only vaguely aware as the other quickly gathered up the strands of energy surrounding them and reached out for the signature of their destination. Between one heartbeat and the next, they had bridged the two locations and were standing on the Portal square outside the Camberian Council chambers.
«I’ll ask you to summon the Council», Michon said, nudging Seisyll in the direction of the great double doors. «It has occurred to me that Rhanamé should know if Prince Nimur really is dead, and perhaps some of the circumstances. I’ll return as soon as I can».
Seisyll turned to give a nod of agreement. «Very well. It is also possible that Khoren knows something, or can quickly find out. I’ll ask him, and brief the others while you’re gone».
«Excellent». In the next breath, Michon had disappeared — and reappeared standing in the dimness of a trapped Portal at the great university of Rhanamé, on the river that marked the border between Nur Hallaj and the Kingdom of R’Kassi. It was very near where he and Oisín had traveled the previous summer to find a royal mount for Prince Brion, and in fact, both he and Oisín had paid their respects then in the school’s great chapel.
The red-robed man seated at the writing desk just opposite the Portal rose as the newcomer appeared on the Portal’s base, slowly and deliberately setting aside an elegant swan-feather quill. Michon could feel the faint brush of his shields being subtly probed, but he did not resist, only showing his empty hands to either side and then tracing a pattern known only to initiates of the inner school at Rhanamé.
«Michon de Courcy», he said quietly, identifying himself. «I should like to speak with Master Isaiya, if he is available. It is a matter of some urgency».
With a nod of permission granted, the man beckoned Michon forward, across the Portal boundaries, which Michon could not have passed without leave. It was a more subtle trap than many, that protected the semipublic Portal at Rhanamé, but no less powerful for being less obvious.
Even as Michon complied, a door opened into the room to reveal another red-robed man framed in the doorway, shorter than the first. The man bowed deeply from the waist, hands crossed on his breast, then indicated that Michon should follow.
Michon knew the corridor down which he was led, and followed obediently to a familiar door, where his guide set a splayed hand flat on a symbol in the center of the door, then pushed it open and stood aside. The man inside, who came slowly to his feet, was small and slender, with skin like polished mahogany and white, tightly curled hair cropped close to his head, as was his closely trimmed beard. The eyes were a rich chocolate brown in which Michon knew he could easily sink, looking out at him with the wisdom accumulated in nearly a century of study and contemplation.
«Dear Michon», the man said, holding out both his hands to his visitor, eyes smiling as well as lips. «Allow me to guess the reason for your late-night visit. You have come about Prince Nimur».
Inclining his head both in agreement and respect, Michon came to take the two slender hands in his and kiss them, looking up then into the brown eyes.
«Is it true?» he asked quietly.
«Yes, it is. Please, sit», the man replied, at the same time signing for Michon’s guide to leave them.
Michon did as he was told, settling into a high-backed chair with broad arms, similar to the one in which Master Isaiya now resumed his seat, but he knew it was not his place to speak further, until the master proceeded.