Free The Chalice of Death by Robert Silverberg

Navarre. I hadn’t expected to be seeing you so soon.”
    â€œNor I you, Kausirn. Or is it Milord I should address you as?”
    The Lyrellan smiled apologetically. “In your absence, Navarre, we thought it wise—the Overlord did, I mean—to consolidate your post and mine into one more lofty rank, and so the office of the Lord Adviser was created. Joroiran handles little of the tiresome routine of state now, by the way. He spends his days in contemplation and profound study.”
    That was a flat lie, Navarre thought. If ever a man had been born less fitted for a life of contemplation and profound study, that man was Joroiran VII, Overlord of Jorus.
    Aloud he said, “I suppose you’ll be happy to have some of the governmental burden lifted from your shoulders, Kausirn. I mean, now that I’m back.”
    The Lyrellan sighed and inspected his multitude of fingers. “This must yet be decided, Navarre.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe workings of our government have been quite smooth in the time you have not been with us. Perhaps His Majesty will not see his way clear to restoring you to your past eminence, inasmuch as you’ve failed to bring him that which he sent you forth to find. I speak of the Chalice, of course, and the immortality he so greatly desires.”
    â€œAnd what makes you so sure I failed to find the Chalice?” Navarre demanded bluntly. “How do you know?”
    A faint smile crossed Kausirn’s cold face. “Obviously you were not successful. The Chalice is a myth—as both you and I knew before you undertook your little pleasure cruise around the universe.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Besides, if you had found the Chalice, would you bring it back for Joroiran, Earthman? No! You’d keep it for yourself!”
    Navarre shrugged. “As you say, Kausirn. I found no Chalices for His Majesty. Still, I don’t doubt but that he’ll welcome me back to his service. The Overlords of Jorus have always found the advice of an Earthman useful to them.”
    Stern frigidity replaced the mocking warmth in Kausirn’s eyes. “He has no need of you, Navarre.”
    â€œLet him tell me that. I demand to see him!”
    â€œToday is Fourday,” Kausirn said quietly. “His Majesty holds public audiences on Threeday, as you should be well aware … unless you’ve forgotten. I suggest you return next week. If fate should fall upon you, you’ll have ample chance to plead your case before His Majesty and myself at that time.”
    Unbelievingly, Navarre said, “You forbid me to see him? You want me to come like a commoner to seek his ear at a public audience? You must be mad, Kausirn!”
    The Lyrellan shrugged humbly. “His Majesty is deep in meditation. I wouldn’t dare break in on his contemplations—particularly since he made a point of telling me only last week that government was much simpler for him, now that he had but one adviser. You seem to be superfluous, Navarre.”
    The alien had done his job well, Navarre thought grimly. He started forward. “I’ll see Joroiran with or without your word, Lyrellan! I don’t need—”
    Kausirn’s fingers flickered almost imperceptibly. Suddenly Navarre felt thick Daborian fingers clutch each of his arms. He was drawn backward, away from the Lyrellan.
    â€œTake the Earthman out of the palace,” Kausirn commanded. “And don’t let him back in.”
    There was nothing to be gained by resisting; these Daborians would cheerfully break his arms at the first sign of struggle. Navarre scowled darkly at the Lyrellan and let himself be hustled out of the Lord Adviser’s office, up the stairs, and out into the open.
    End of plan one, Navarre thought bitterly, as he sat on a broad bench in the plaza facing the Palace.
    He had hoped to regain his old position as Joroiran’s right-hand adviser, with the eventual