Prophecy by Sharon Green Page B

there was
nothing
for them to do. Delin’s secret had had to be preserved, and the cost of a single peasant life was a small one to pay for that preservation.
    That had been just a few short days ago, but Delin had filled the following time with quite a bit of work. He’d been able to leave the palace only when his groupmates were asleep, but at least he’d been able to use the secret exits he’d learned about that Kambil apparently hadn’t yet found. The man really was an incompetent fool, and all the intrigues he imagined himself in the middle of were nothing but childish dabblings. Delin had been finding out about those things, and he wasn’t in the least happy with Kambil’s arrangements.
    “But I’m not doing anything to change them,” he muttered aloud again, still pleased with the actionless course of action. “I intend to be there when all his marvelous plans come crashing down on his head, and it turns out that there’s no one to blame but himself. The scene will be pure delight, and he won’t even have someone to go to for comfort and support.”
    That thought made Delin laugh soundlessly, so delightfully delicious was it. Kambil had made the mistake of boasting about the help he’d gotten from his grandmother, the marvelous “Grammi” he felt so close to. Well, dear Grammi’s days were numbered, and in fact were down to a mere few hours. When Delin left the palace tonight, his first task would be settling her hash in the most permanent and painful way. But it would look perfectly natural, and therefore be considered an unfortunate but ordinary death.
    “But the same won’t happen to Kambil’s enemies, no indeed,” Delin murmured, watching his hands as he fit the tips of his fingers together in various patterns and poses. Kambil’s enemies would not only live but thrive, especially since Delin was prepared to heal them wherever necessary. And Delin knew just who those enemies were, thanks to the scribes who wrote down everything the Five did, even including things said at the most private meetings. That was another thing Kambil didn’t know about, the detailed history that had been kept for each and every Seated Five for the last hundred years or more.
    Again Delin laughed, finding it impossible to argue the contention that some people just should not drink. It had been at a party right here in the palace some years ago that Delin had learned about the scribes, after starting a conversation with an old man who had been well on the way to being completely in his cups. The old man had sat alone, ignored by the glittering guests at the party, and Delin had discovered that the man was a minor noble and secretary to one of the most important Advisors on the board. He’d wheedled an invitation to the party, expecting to be treated as an equal by those who also attended, and had been most upset that that long-desired acceptance hadn’t come.
    “It’s ’cause they don’ know how ’mportant I am,” the old man had mumbled, waving his wine glass at the partying crowd. “Took over th’ whole thing all by m’self, I did, an’ made it even better’n it was. The fools don’ know who they’resnubbin’, an’ me th’ man who knows every move th’ Five make.”
    Delin, who had made it a habit to befriend all apparent outcasts for whatever secrets they might have, had been intrigued. He’d coaxed and flattered the man to explain what he meant, and so had gotten the story about the scribes. The walls of the palace were honeycombed with service passageways, with no area or room being left without at least one. From the time the first chosen Five had been Seated, nothing the Five did was unknown to the ones who had put them in their exalted place. Mute scribes were scattered throughout the passageways in the places the Five frequented the most, and any and all conversation and happenings were written down for the powerful men of the empire to peruse later.
    Which was why Delin had done away with