Against a side wall of the teeming throne room, on this particular afternoon, stood Vokal, nobleman of Ammad. On his smooth, finely featured face was his accustomed air of dreamy disinterest in his surrounds, his soft gray hair was carefully arranged to point up its natural wave, his slender shapely arms were carelessly folded across the chest of his plain white tunic. There was no purple edging on that tunic now; in the palace of Jaltor only the king himself could display that color.
Beneath that serene exterior, however, was no serenity. Vokal was badly worried. Eleven suns had passed since the day word of Heglar's attempt to kill Jaltor had electrified all Ammad. Guards had hustled the old man roughly from the throne room—and from that moment on no one heard of him again.
But he should have been heard of! Four slaves of slaves—the lowest human element in Ammad—should have dragged his traitorous old body through Ammad's streets to be spat upon and reviled by loyal citizens.
And Garlud—what of Garlud? No one had seen him either since that day. Not that his absence caused much speculation—almost none in fact. It was not unusual for Ammad's noblemen to absent themselves from the city for days, even moons, on end. A hunting trip, a visit to friends in other of Ammad's cities—any of several explanations would have accounted for his disappearance.
The true reason should have been his involvement in Heglar's plot to do away with Jaltor. But only Vokal of all Ammad's thousands could know that—and he had no business knowing it. Garlud's affairs were going on smoothly in his absence, in charge of the captain of his guards. By this time, if Vokal's plans had not miscarried, the silvery haired nobleman should have been summoned by Jaltor, told of Garlud's perfidy, and his holdings and position handed to him in view of Jotan's continued absence.
And then there was Rhoa—Heglar's young and beautiful wife ... and Vokal's mistress. He had not seen her since the day her husband had made the attempt on Jaltor's life. This was agreed upon between them for safety's sake; the understanding was that once Heglar's death was known, Vokal could court and win her in the usual manner.
But what had been foreseen as only two or three days of separation had lengthened into eleven and still no word of Heglar's fate. Long before this those thousand tals paid to Heglar should have come back into Vokal's hands, accompanied by Rhoa herself. Vokal was becoming increasingly uneasy about those missing tals; let enough time elapse before he could take Rhoa as mate and she might reconsider, refuse Vokal and keep the thousand tals for herself. There would be nothing he could do about it, either. To threaten her or use force could anger her into betraying him.... Vokal shuddered. Only this morning she had sent word to him that she was tired of this uncertainty, that something must be done to learn what had happened to her husband.
Another thing: Ekbar and his men should have returned before this—returned with word that Jotan, Garlud's son, was dead and no longer in a position to step into his father's sandals as first ranking nobleman of Ammad. What was delaying the man?
Well, Vokal told himself doggedly, he could wait no longer. There were ways to get at the truth—ways that would not betray his interest in the matter. For instance, there was Sitab, an officer in Jaltor's own palace guard....