Book 3 - Water Sleeps Read Online Free PDF Page A

miles of Palace. Mostly in ruin.
    The Radisha Drah, having accepted that her brother, the
Prahbrindrah Drah, had been lost during the Shadowmaster wars, and
galvanized by the threat of the Protector’s displeasure, had
proclaimed herself head of state. Traditionalists in the
ecclesiastical community did not want a woman in the role, but the
world knew this particular woman had been doing the job practically
forever anyway. Her weaknesses existed mainly in the ambitions of
her critics. Depending who did the pontificating, she had made one
of two great mistakes. Or possibly both. One would be betraying the
Black Company when it was a well-known fact that nobody ever
profited from such treachery. And the other error, of particular
popularity with the senior priests, would be that she had erred in
employing the Black Company in the first place. The terror of the
Shadowmasters being expunged in the interim, by agency of the
Company, did not present a counterargument of any current
merit.
    Unhappy people shared the meeting chamber with the Radisha. The
eye automatically went to the Protector first. Soulcatcher looked
exactly as she always had, slimly androgynous, yet sensual, in
black leather, a black mask, a black helmet and black leather
gloves. She occupied a seat slightly to the left of and behind the
Radisha, within a curtain of shadow. She did not put herself
forward but there was no doubt who made the ultimate decisions.
Every hour of every day the Radisha found another reason to regret
having let this particular camel shove her nose into the tent. The
cost of having tried to get around fulfilling an unhappy promise to
the Black Company was insupportable already.
    Surely, keeping her promises could not have been so painful.
What possibly could have happened that would be worse than what she
suffered now had she and her brother helped the Captain find the
way to Khatovar?
    At desks to either hand, facing one another from fifteen feet,
stood scribes who struggled valiantly to record anything said. One
group served the Radisha. The other was in Soulcatcher’s
employ. Once upon a time there had been disagreements after the
fact about decisions made during a Privy Council meeting.
    A table twelve feet long and four wide faced the two women. Four
men sat behind its inadequate bulwark. Willow Swan was situated at
the left end. His once-marvelous golden hair had gone grey and
stringy. At higher elevations, it had grown extremely sparse. Swan
was a foreigner. Swan was a bundle of nerves. Swan had a job he did
not want but could not give up. Swan was riding the tiger.
    Willow Swan headed up the Greys. In the public eye. In reality,
he was barely a figurehead. If his mouth opened, the words that
came out were pure Soulcatcher. Popular hatred deservedly belonging
to the Protector settled upon Willow Swan instead.
    Seated with Swan were three running-dog senior priests who owed
their standing to the Protector’s favor. They were small men
in large jobs. Their presence at Council meetings was a matter of
form. They would not take part in any actual debate, though they
might receive instructions. Their function was to agree with and
support Soulcatcher if she happened to speak. Significantly, all
three represented Gunni cults. Though the Protector used the Greys
to enforce her will, the Shadar had no voice in the Council.
Neither did the Vehdna. That minority simmered continuously because
Soulcatcher arrogated to herself much that properly applied only to
God, the Vehdna being hopelessly monotheistic and stubborn about
keeping it that way.
    Swan was a good man inside his fear. He spoke for the Shadar
when he could.
    There were two other men, of more significance, present.
They were positioned behind tall desks located back of the
table. They perched atop tall stools and peered down at everyone
like a pair of lean old vultures. Both antedated the coming of the
Protector, who had not yet found a suitable excuse for getting rid
of either,