Whatever Jared might have said was silenced by the rapping at the door.
"What now?" Jared shouted.
The door edged open to reveal a pale guardsman. "Sire, the Nargi emissaries have arrived."
Jared cursed. "Seat them in the audience hall. I'll attend when I'm free." He turned to Arontala. "If I can't have results from you, I'll find an ally who can honor a promise." He rinsed the last traces of blood from his hands in the basin near the bed and pulled his stained tunic over his head, shouting for a valet to assist him. Arontala said nothing during the process, standing in the shadows near the doorway. When Jared had inspected his image in the looking glass and called for his circlet crown, he met the vayash moru's eyes for a moment, then cursed and turned toward the door, giving tacit permission for the wizard to follow. Four Nargi priests waited in the audience hall, watching impassively while Jared ascended the throne.
"You may address the throne," he said with a trace of ennui.
"Why have you called us?" The speaker was the eldest of the priests, a bent, lined figure whose face looked more mummified than aged.
"I have a proposition for your king."
"Go on."
Jared felt his mood grow darker at the priest's complete lack of intimidation. "Half a century ago, your people swore allegiance to the Obsidian King. On the Hawthorn Moon, he will rise again, and I'm prepared to help Nargi regain the territories it once held… if," he held up a finger, "you'll prove to me your good faith and raise your army against one who would usurp the throne."
"How can this be?" The priest's dry voice was like the death rattle of a corpse. "The Obsidian King was destroyed."
"Not destroyed. Bound. What's bound can be loosed. At the Hawthorn Moon he will be free again, and his power can make Margolan a powerful ally… or a formidable foe."
"You would invite the armies of Nargi into Margolan?"
"Help me crush the usurper, and I'll reward your king richly."
"We will carry your terms to our king," the priest agreed. His companions whispered among themselves, their cowls shrouding their faces. "It is his to decide. Our armies cannot move before the snows melt. The worst of winter is now upon us."
"I understood that in Nargi, your king rules at the pleasure of the Crone and those who speak for Her. Can we not make an agreement now?"
Once more, the priest turned to his whispering companions, ghostlike in their hushed voices and hidden features. Finally, he returned his attention to Jared. "We will convey our endorsement to our king. But even for an ally, the king will not sacrifice his army. We cannot move until the snows melt."
