So you want to know if I'll pay for it?"
He shook his head. "I want to know, my lady, what you will do with the information."
My first thought was that the Marquise would probably make any servant disappear who spoke thus with her. But I had given Azmus the right. He loved a challenge, this I knew, but he also loved the kingdom. When I first took charge of Tlanth's accounting books, I had discovered that Azmus had been paid only sporadically over the years. He had used his ostensible trade as goldsmith in order to pursue his clandestine vocation on our behalf. My father, and then my brother and I, had helped little, beyond sending him back to Remalna-city with a basket of fresh food and one of our good mounts after he'd made one of his reports.
So he was not in any sense a mere lackey to go silently and carry out my whims. He was a co-conspirator, and he wanted to discuss the goal.
So what was my goal?
Images fled through my mind, chased by phantom emotions: my descending on Shevraeth to inform him of whatever it was the Marquise was planning; my sending him an anonymous letter with the same information. Fine, triumphant gestures, but to what end? And why?
I shook my head, as if that would dispel the images. If I was going to dip my hand into public affairs, then I had to dismiss personal considerations.
"To help the new king," I said. "To make certain that no Merindar sits again on that throne, because none of them are worthy."
Azmus smiled, clapped his hands to his knees and bowed with slow deliberation. "I shall communicate with you as soon as I know something, my lady," he said, and slipped out.
He shook his head. "I want to know, my lady, what you will do with the information."
My first thought was that the Marquise would probably make any servant disappear who spoke thus with her. But I had given Azmus the right. He loved a challenge, this I knew, but he also loved the kingdom. When I first took charge of Tlanth's accounting books, I had discovered that Azmus had been paid only sporadically over the years. He had used his ostensible trade as goldsmith in order to pursue his clandestine vocation on our behalf. My father, and then my brother and I, had helped little, beyond sending him back to Remalna-city with a basket of fresh food and one of our good mounts after he'd made one of his reports.
So he was not in any sense a mere lackey to go silently and carry out my whims. He was a co-conspirator, and he wanted to discuss the goal.
So what was my goal?
Images fled through my mind, chased by phantom emotions: my descending on Shevraeth to inform him of whatever it was the Marquise was planning; my sending him an anonymous letter with the same information. Fine, triumphant gestures, but to what end? And why?
I shook my head, as if that would dispel the images. If I was going to dip my hand into public affairs, then I had to dismiss personal considerations.
"To help the new king," I said. "To make certain that no Merindar sits again on that throne, because none of them are worthy."
Azmus smiled, clapped his hands to his knees and bowed with slow deliberation. "I shall communicate with you as soon as I know something, my lady," he said, and slipped out.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Court Duel ]
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