Jungor laughed again, tilting his head forward until the stone rolled out of his face and dropped to the desk. It rolled slowly across the polished mahogany surface before dropping soundlessly to the soft carpet. “I am thinking of having a golden orb made,” the Hylar thane stated with a jolliness that seemed incongruous with his recent defeat in the Council Hall. “Of course, I’d want it etched to look like a real eye, perhaps even with a blue enamel iris and a bit of black onyx set into the gold for a pupil. What do you think?”
“I think Tarn Bellowgranite should have died in those tunnels with his army,” Rughar said grumpily, then tossed back the last of his brandy. His face flushed with the heat of the strong liquor.
“Naturally, my new eye shouldn’t appear too real,” Jungor said as he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “I think gold is just the thing. It won’t tarnish or rust or crack, and it can be polished to the smoothness of butter.”
“I don’t see how you can sit here and make jokes at a time like this, Thane Jungor!” Rughar exclaimed. “Tarn defied the Council and look what has happened—the loss of an entire army. What was gained by this sacrifice? A rumor of Beryl’s death? A piece of loose dragon scale that may have fallen off as she razed the city of Qualinost down to its foundations?”
“It would take ten armies and more elves than there are in all Krynn to kill Beryl,” Astar Trueshield scoffed. “What galls me is that Tarn was defeated and lost his entire army almost to the last dwarf, and yet we have practically begged him to remain as king!”
Jungor leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows atop his desk. He pointed languidly at the Daewar thane. “You asked how I could make jokes at a time like this. How can you not? This has been a banner day in dwarven history. A spectacle, a well-written play, memorable theater if you like! I thought I’d continue the celebration with a little levity among conspirators.”
“Thane Stonesinger, you go too far!” Rughar exclaimed.
“Oh, I haven’t even begun, and you’ve no idea how far I’ll go,” Jungor said, his voice deadly calm. “I say this was a day of high theater. So masterful was the director that we all played our unwitting parts in Tarn’s little play. It is as you say, Astar. Tarn returned in defeat and should have been stripped of his crown and tossed from the North Gate in disgrace, yet in the end we begged him to remain as our king! What inspired drama!”
He burst out in such a mad fit of laughter that it was some minutes before Jungor could catch his breath. His two companions looked at him as though he had gone completely insane. This only made him laugh the harder to see the foolish looks on their faces. “Oh, are your hearts so cold that you cannot admire him? Hate him, yes, for what he has done to us, for what we have become under his rule—a diminished people of diminished expectations. But still, you must admire his boldness. I could not have scripted a more sensational drama, and the people were mightily pleased by it. His confession and redemption before the Council were worthy of the Palanthian stage. Did you not want to applaud?”
“I must admit that I did not see it in that light before now,” Thane Delvestone said skeptically.
“That is only because you are such a fool,” Jungor laughed. “But I need such fools as you, Rughar. Please do not take offense.”
“None taken, my lord,” the Daewar thane conceded with a bow of his head.
“But what are we to do now?” Astar cried, slamming his fist down on the arm of the couch. “Have we lost everything? Has all this been for naught?”
“Have a care with the furniture, Captain Trueshield,” Jungor chided. “Do not worry about the future. Nothing has changed, except perhaps that we are in a better position than we were before. Yes, even better!”
At his companions’ dubious looks, Jungor shook his head in dismay. Could they be so blind? Like a teacher instructing children, he said, “The people needed comfort today. Any upheaval coming on the heels of their tremendous loss would only have made our jobs more difficult in the long run. But mark my words in stone, they will not always feel so kindly toward the king who led their sons and daughters, wives and husbands to their deaths. Give them time to mourn their dead, and to brood. In a few months, they will begin to wonder if the elves’ rescue was worth the price we paid. And if they should not begin to wonder, then we shall remind them. We shall renew their grief, keep it fresh.”
Rughar smiled as he began to understand where Jungor was leading them. The Hylar thane nodded. “Yes, you see now, don’t you? I never expected Tarn to lose his entire army. Defeat seemed inevitable, but who could have imagined that so many should die so suddenly? We were going to have to create a crisis to exploit, but now a disaster has been dropped into our laps—and like a gift of the gods, greater than anything we could have arranged.”
Jungor rose from his chair and stood looking out the window. His gaze was not on the beauty of his garden or the light of his torches. He was gazing into the future and its many possible paths. “And though I have lost my eye in the arena, this too has only added to our chances, enhanced my mystique. With all the things we have already arranged, plus with Thane Quickspring leading my cult, my power and influence will continue to grow while Tarn’s erodes under our ceaseless campaign of propaganda. He will not even know that it is happening until it is too late.”
A soft knock at the door ended Jungor’s lecture. He motioned for Astar to open the door. With a scowl, the Hylar captain stood aside to allow Ferro Dunskull to enter. “Ah, Ferro, good of you to come. Thank you, Thane Delvestone, for stopping by. Everything will proceed as intended. Do not be frustrated or impatient. Remember that Thorbardin was carved one chip at a time. Captain Trueshield, will you show the thane to the door?”
Rughar bowed and took his leave, and Astar closed the door behind them as they left Ferro dropped back to the corner farthest from Jungor, his dark eyes nervously darting around, taking in every object and item of furniture, every avenue of escape. Jungor eased around the desk and settled himself on the couch beside the fire. He pointed to a crystal decanter on a silver tray on a table by the wall. “That’s very good brandy,” he said. “Have some.”
“No thank you, my lord. Brandy unsettles my bowels,” the Daergar softly answered from his dark corner.
Jungor turned, his one eye twinkling in the firelight. “Then sit down and tell me how you… failed.”
Ferro slunk around the wall until he reached a small chair standing beside the table with the decanter of brandy. He seated himself on the chair’s edge, his hands nervously fidgeting at the edges of his studded leather vest.
“Don’t be shy,” Jungor said. “I know you have something to tell me, some tidbit of explanation. If I thought you had betrayed me, you would already be dead, dear Ferro.”
Ferro started in his chair, nearly bolting for the door. With a supreme effort of will, aided by his stubborn Daergar pride, he was able to control his fear. “The draconians that I hired attacked Tarn’s party before my agent could deliver the killing blow to the king. Stupid, stupid of them! Still, things might have gone as planned if General Otaxx had not appeared with a large force of the Pax Tharkas garrison. He was traveling behind the king, his soldiers being burdened with a large consignment of supplies for Thorbardin. When he heard the fighting, he quickly gathered his troops and rushed to the attack, turning the tide of the battle.”
“So, what you are saying is, you failed to properly reconnoiter the situation and see what forces were arrayed against you,” Jungor said with a pleasantness that belied the edge in his voice.
“I am afraid so,” Ferro reluctantly admitted.
“I cannot abide a fool, especially if he is to be my master of scouts, Master Dunskull,” Jungor said. “I assume all the draconians were killed to prevent them telling who hired them.”