"You returned at a most opportune moment," observed Rianlle, his hazel eyes wide and luminous. "At least for yourself."
Efraim sat back in his chair and inspected Rianlle a full five seconds. Then he said in a cool unaccented voice: "I did not time my return on this basis; I was unaware that Jochaim had been murdered until my arrival in Port Mar."
"Allow me to offer my personal condolences and those of all Eccord upon this untimely death. Did you use the word murder?"
"The evidence indicates something of the sort."
Rianlle nodded slowly and looked thoughtfully across the room. "I came both to express my sympathy and to consolidate the friendly relations between our realms."
"You may take for granted my desire that they continue."
"Excellent. I assume that you intend a smooth continuity between the policies of Jochaim and your own?"
Efraim began to sense a pressure behind Rianlle's suave remarks. He said cautiously: "In many cases, no doubt this will be true. In others, the simple mutability of life and circumstance dictates changes."
"A prudent and flexible point of view! Allow me to offer my commendation! In the relations between Eccord and Scharrode there will be no mutability; I would like to assure you that I intend to honor to the letter every commitment made by me to Jochaim; I would like to hear that the converse holds true."
Efraim made an affable gesture. "Let us not talk high policy at this moment. I am not yet in command of all the facts and anything I could now say would be tentative. But since our two realms are so closely knit in amity, what benefits one benefits the other, and you may be assured that I intend to do my best for Scharrode."
Rianlle glanced sharply at Efraim, then stared toward the ceiling. "Agreed; large matters may wait. There is one rather inconsequential issue which we can easily resolve now, without prejudice to your program. I refer to that trifle of territory along Whispering Ridge where I wish to build a pavilion for our mutual enjoyment. Jochaim was on the point of signing the parcel over to me when he met his death."
"I wonder if there was any connection between the two events," mused Efraim.
"Of course not! How could there be?"
"My imagination is overactive. In regard to Whispering Ridge I must admit an aversion toward yielding so much as a square inch of our sacred Scharrode soil; still, I will study the matter."
"Not satisfactory!" Rianlle's voice had taken on an edge, and sang like a vibrating wire. "I am thwarted in my wishes!"
"Is anyone ever continually and completely gratified? Let us talk no more of the subject. Perhaps I can induce the Lissolet to contrive a series of stimulating atmospheres..."
At the great twenty-sided table in the Formal Reception Chamber, Rianlle sat stiff and glum. Sthelany formulated a series of fumes, somehow suggesting a walk over the hills - soil and sunlit vegetation, water and wet rocks, the perfume of anthion and wood violet, mold, rotten wood, and camphor. She worked without Singhalissa's deftness, rather seeming to amuse herself among the vials as a child might play with colored chalks. Sthelany's fingers began to move faster; she bad become interested in her contrivances as a musician suddenly perceives meanings in his music which he is forced to explicate. Gone was the hillside, away the forest; the vapors were at first gay, tart, and light; gradually they lost character, only to become sweetly melancholic, like heliotrope in a forgotten garden. And this odor in turn became pervaded with a bitter exudation, then a salt pungency, then a final despairing black reek. Sthelany looked up with a twisted smile and closed the drawers.
Rianlle uttered an ejaculation: "You have performed with enormous artistry; you have shaken us all with cataclysmic visions!"
Efraim looked around the table. Destian sat toying with a silver bracelet; Singhalissa sat stiff and staring; the eiodarks of Eccord muttered together.
Lorcas stared in wonder toward Sthelany. Efraim thought: he is totally fascinated, but he had better make his emotion less overt, or he will be accused of sebalism.
Rianlle turned to Efraim. "When you said murder, you used an inglorious word to describe the death of the honored Jochaim. How then will you deal with that dog Gosso?"
Efraim held his face immobile against a surge of annoyance. He had used the word murder perhaps indiscreetly; but need Rianlle blurt out the details of what Efraim had considered a confidential conversation? He felt the sudden interest of both Singhalissa and Destian.
"I have made no precise plans. I plan to end the war with Gorgetto on one basis or another; it is useless and it bleeds us white."
"If I understand you correctly, you intend to prosecute only useful wars?"
"If wars there must be, I intend to fight for only tangible and necessary goals.
I do not regard war as entertainment and I shall not hesitate to use unusual tactics."
Rianlle's smile was almost openly contemptuous.
"Scharrode is a small realm. Realistically, you are at the mercy of your neighbors, no matter how peculiar your campaigns."
"Your opinions of course carry great weight," said Efraim.
Rianlle went on in a measured voice. "I recall some previous discussion of a trisme, that the fortunes of Scharrode and Eccord might be joined. The subject at this moment is perhaps premature in view of the chaotic circumstances here in Scharrode."
From the corner of his eye Efraim noted a shifting of positions around the table, as tense muscles demanded relief. He met the dark gaze of Sthelany; her face seemed as pensive as ever, and - could it be true? - somehow wistful.
Rianlle once more was speaking, and everyone about the table fixed their gaze upon that unnaturally handsome face. "Nevertheless, all will no doubt sort itself out. Accommodation between our two realms must be achieved. An imbalance now exists, and I refer to the unfulfilled contract in regard to Dwan Jar, the Whispering Ridge. If a trisme will facilitate the hoped-for equilibrium, then I must give the matter serious consideration."
Efraim laughed and shook his head. "Trisme is a responsibility I do not care to assume at the moment, especially since Your Force displays such clear misgivings. Indeed, your perceptions are remarkable; you have correctly defined the situation here. Scharrode is a welter of mysteries which must be resolved before we can move onward."
Rianlle rose to his feet, as did his retinue of eiodarks. "Scharrode hospitality is as always correct, and induces us to prolong our visit, but we must take our leave. I trust that Your Force will make a realistic assessment of past, present, and putative future and act to the best interests of us all."
Efraim and Lorcas went out to the parapets of Deistary Tower and watched as Rianlle and his retinue climbed into the rented 1 aircar, which a moment later lifted high and flew north.
Lorcas had retired to his refectory to take a furtive meal; then he planned to sleep. Efraim remained on the parapets looking off over the valley, which in the light of half-and presented so entrancing a vista that his heart missed a beat.
From this land the substance of his body had been drawn; it was his own, to nurture and love and rule, for all foreseeable time; yet how useless! how forlorn! Scharrode was lost to him; he had broken the crust of tradition. Never again could he be a Rhune, nor could the damage be mended. He would never be a whole man in Scharrode, nor elsewhere; never would he be content.
He studied the landscape with the intensity of a man about to go blind. Light slanting down across Alode the Cliff illuminated a hundred forests; the irradiated foliage seemed to glow with internal light: bitter lime, intense gray-blue given pointillist fire by scarlet seedpods, dark umber, black-blue, black-green. Surrounding stood the great peaks, each named and known in ancient fable: aloof Shanajra bearded with snow, who, resenting the mockery of the Bird Crags, turned his face to the south to stand forever brooding; the Two Hags Kamr and Dimw, rancorous above Danquil, enchanted and sleeping under a blanket of murre trees; there, Whispering Ridge, coveted by Rianlle, where the Fwai-chi walked to their sacred places among the Lenglin Mountains. His land forever, his land never; and what was he to do? In all the realm was but a single man he could trust, the Port Mar vagabond Matho Lorcas. Gosso might or might not interpret his offer as an admission of weakness. Rianlle's not too subtle threats might or might not be intended seriously. Singhalissa might yet intrigue with sufficient finesse to cause him woe. Efraim decided that he must, without further delay, call together the Scharde eiodarks, to assist him with his decisions.