“Well — I suppose so.” Thordin XI, Valtam of the Empire of Skontar, nodded his thinly maned head. “Though next week would be a little more convenient.”
“Tomorrow — please.”
The note of urgency could not be denied. “All right,” said Thordin. “But what will be going on?”
“I’d like to take you on a little jaunt over to Cundaloa.”
“Why there, of all places? And why must it be tomorrow, of all times?”
“I’ll tell you — then.” Skorrogan inclined his head, still thickly maned though it was quite white now, and switched off his end of the telescreen.
Thordin smiled in some puzzlement. Skorrogan was an odd fellow in many ways. But. . well. . we old men have to stick together. There is a new generation, and one after that, pressing on our heels.
No doubt thirty-odd years of living in virtual ostracism had changed the old joyously confident Skorrogan. But it had, at least, not embittered him. When the slow success of Skontar had become so plain that his own failure could be forgotten, the circle of his friends had very gradually included him again. He still lived much alone, but he was no longer unwelcome wherever he went. Thordin, in particular, had discovered that their old friendship could be as alive as ever before, and he was often over to the Citadel of Kraaka-haym, or Skorrogan to the palace. He had even offered the old noble a position back in the High Council, but it had been refused, and another ten years — or was it twenty? — had gone by with Skorrogan fulfilling no more than his hereditary duties as duke. Until now, for the first time, something like a favor was being asked… Yes, he thought, I’ll go tomorrow. To blazes with work. Monarchs deserve holidays, too.
Thordin got up from his chair and limped over to the broad window. The new endocrine treatments were doing wonders for his rheumatism, but their effect wasn’t quite complete yet. He shivered a little as he looked at the wind-driven snow sweeping down over the valley. Winter was coming again.
The geologists said that Skontar was entering another glacial epoch. But it would never get there. In another decade or so the climate engineers would have perfected their techniques and the glaciers would be driven back into the north. But meanwhile it was cold and white outside, and a bitter wind hooted around the palace towers.