Echlar stood there for a moment. He just stood there, analyzing the taste of the phial's contents. Somehow, he managed to look confused, disappointed, and extremely annoyed all at the same time as he shot Pahjal a look."It's a potion of healing," he admitted grudgingly. "And probably the purest potion I think I've come across in a long time."
The Emir bowed again, rising this time with a hard smile and narrowed eyes. "Truly is the courtesy of Yarfell a thing of legend and fabulous," he spoke bitterly, "and like other fables, not to be found every day. I know not which is the greater offense -- that ye take me for an assassin, or that ye take me for a fool. Ill, I think, shall fare the murderer who poisons his foe, and stays to dinner with his kinsmen!"
"Good Pahjal, be pacified," spoke the Princess, soothingly. "Many strange mischances have dogged us in these days. It is but one of the sorrows that Venger has brought upon us, that we cannot trust even the hand of the friend stretched out to help us. I pray you, pardon us. Good Echlar, be reconciled with our guest."
"Hmmmph. Well. I suppose," growled the old magician, grabbing and shaking the stranger's hand, letting it go with an air of disgust, and recrossing his own arms, all in about three seconds. (Those near him heard him mutter, 'But, ten thousand hells! I STILL don't like it...') "Well," he barked, " I suppose I had better get SOME use out of this muck, and heal that young fathead Tolan with it." And savagely thrusting out his eyebrows, he turned on his heel and stalked from the chamber.
"And you, our well-loved Kirriam," continued the Princess smoothly, "I am sure you will show your gratitude to our guest."
The lady in question courtsied deeply, and held out her hand to the dark stranger. He took her hand, bowed, and kissed it, and said, very quietly, "Happy indeed would be Pahjal, if he thought that he had earned the gratitude of a lady, who is as the Crescent Moon shining among the stars of the Western sky." Kirriam smiled, pleased, though not overwhelmed by the compliment. Suchlike pretty speeches were often whispered to her at court. "I thank you, good Pahjal," she said, "both for my brother's sake and for mine."
She was a bit startled by the intensity of the gray eyes that lifted to her own. She drew back half a step...perhaps even a little afraid.
"YOUR HIGHNESS! YOUR HIGHNESS!"
A pair of guards burst into the chamber, one carrying an ugly looking curved knife, the other a long strip of parchment.
"Your Highness, this has been found, nailed by this knife to the palace gates! Look!"
Diana took the parchment with a grim countenance. She read silently for a moment, then aloud to the assembled hearers.
" 'The Gods give vision to their servants, but destruction to those who offend them. Go down into this Wicked City, into the street called the Street of the Silversmiths, and dig beneath the stones of the House called that of the Guildhouse of the Cloth-Merchants. There find the remains of One who favored the Children of Another World, there where the Gods struck him down in their Wrath. A Spirit has brought to me this word, and I give it to you, that ye may know My Words are the Words of the Gods. Seek this, and prove this, and Know this. This, from ZHARVASH' "
All stood silent for a moment. Then Pahjal said, in a grim, flat voice, "Let me see this blade, wherewith the message was pinned to the gates." The guard glanced an inquiry at the Princess, and she nodded silently. The Emir took the knife. It was a black, crooked blade, ending in a vicious hook, and scrawled with crooked letters.
He looked at the Princess. "A qatar of Khadish," he said. "Even such a blade is used by the priests of Shemash and of Ultor the Terrible, of whose number Zharvash is one."
The Princess turned with a pale face to the guard. "Has inquiry been made as to the truth of this meassage?"
"Highness, we have despatched a troop to look into this, but so far we have not heard--"
Suddenly there was a clamor at the door. Several guardsman came hustling in, and one fell on his knees before the Princess. "Your Highness!" he cried.
"Well" she said, "is there a body found?"
"Aye, Princess -- even as the Old Man's message foretold," faltered the guard.
"Has he murdered man been identified?"
"Princess, at first we did not know. The corpse was that of an older man, but so badly rotted that none could tell the features well. But we questioned up and down the street, and finally there came one who knew, by the garments and the rings, whose body it was."
"And whose was the body?"
"Your Highness," said the guard, "it was the Head of the Cloth-Merchants Guild, old Yodel."
