The kyree looked at Jadrek -- seemed to look through him-his eyes glowing like topaz in the sun. Then he bowed his head once in respect to the Archivist, and mindspoke to all three of them.
:I am Warrl. We are Captain Idra's friends; we want to kelp her, but we cannot if we do not know what has happened to her. Wise One, you are one of the few honest men in this place. Will you not help MS?:
Jadrek stared at the kyree, his jaw slack with astonishment. "But -- but -- "
:You wonder how I can speak with you, and how I managed to remain concealed. I have certain small powers of magic,: the kyree said, nearly grinning. :You may have heard that the barbarian brought her herd dog with her. I chose to appear somewhat smaller than I am; the stahlehands think me a rather large wolf-dog cross.:
The Archivist reached for the back of a chair beside him to steady himself. He was pale, and there was marked confusion in his eyes. "I-please, ladies, sit down, or as a gentleman, I cannot -- and I feel the need of something other than my legs to support me -- "
There were only two chairs in the room; Tarma solved the problem of who was to take them by sinking cross-legged to the floor. Warrl curled behind her as a kind of backrest, which made the room look much less crowded. While Kethry took the second chair and Jadrek the one he had obviously (by the book on the table beside it) vacated at their knock, Tarma took a quick, assessing look around her.
There were old, threadbare hangings on most of the stone walls, probably put up in a rather futile attempt to ward off the damp chill. There was a small fire on the hearth to her right, probably for the same reason. Beside the hearth was a chair -- or rather, a small bench with a back to it -- with shabby brown cushions. This was the seat Jadrek had resumed, his own brown robes blending with the cushions. Beside this chair stood a table with a single lamp, a book that seemed to have been put down rather hastily, and a half-empty wineglass. Across from this was a second, identical seat; To Tarma's left stood a set of shelves, full of books, odd bits of rock and pieces of statuary, and things not readily identifiable in the poor light. At the sight of the books, Tarma felt a long-suppressed desire to get one of them in her hands; she hadn't had a good read in months, and her soul thirsted for the new knowledge contained within those dusty volumes.
In the wall with the bookcase was another door, presumably to Jadrek's bedchamber. In the wall directly opposite the one they had entered was the window.
Pretty barren place. This time Tarma was thinking directly at the kyree.
:He has less -- far less -- respect than he deserves,:
Warrl said with some heat. :This man has knowledge many would die for, and he is looked upon as some kind of fool.:
"I ... had rather be considered a fool," Jadrek said slowly.
The kyree raised his head off his paws sharply, and looked at the man in total astonishment. :You hear me?:
"Yes -- wasn't I supposed to?"
Tarma and the kyree exchanged a measured glance, and did not answer him directly. "Why would you rather be considered a fool?" Tarma asked, after a moment of consideration.
"Because a fool hears a great deal -- and a fool is not worth killing."
"I think," Kethry said, leaning forward, "you had better begin at the beginning."
Some hours later they had a full picture, and it was not a pleasant one.
"So the story is that Stefansen intended some unspecified harm to his brother, and when caught, fled. In actuality, Tindel and I overheard some things that made us think Raschar might be considering assuring that there would be no other male claimants to the throne and we warned Stefansen."
"Where did he go?" Kethry asked.
"I don't know, I don't want to know. The less I know, the less I can betray." His eyes had gone shadowy and full of secrets.
"Good point. All right, what then?"
"Have you had a good look around you?"
"Raschar's pretty free with his money," Tarma observed.
"Freer than you think; he supports most of the hangers-on here. He's also indulging in some expensive habits. Tran dust, it's said. Certainly some very expensive liquors, dainties, and ladies."
"Nice lad. Where's the money coming from?"
Jadrek sighed. "That's the main reason why I -- and my father before me -- are not in favor. King Destillion began taxing the peasantry and the merchant class far too heavily to my mind about twenty years ago; Raschar is continuing the tradition. About half of our peasants have been turned into serfs; more follow every year. Opposing that was a point Stefansen agreed with me on -- and one of the reasons why Destillion intended to cut him out of the succession."
"But didn't?" Kethry asked.
Jadrek shook his head. "Not for lack of trying, but the priests kept him from doing so."
"Idra," Tarma reminded them.
"She saw what Raschar was doing, and began to think that despite Stefansen's habit of hopping into bed with anything that wiggled its hips at him, he might well have been a better choice after all. He certainly had more understanding of the peasantry and how the kingdom's strength depends on them." Jadrek almost managed a smile. "Granted, he spent a great deal of time with them, and pretty much with rowdies, but I'm not certain now that his experience with the rougher classes was a bad thing. Well, Idra wanted an excuse to go after him -- I unearthed the old story of the Sword that Sings. Raschar has one chink in his armor; he's desperate to prove he's the rightful monarch. Idra took Raschar the old Archive books and got permission to look for the Sword. Then -- she vanished."
The fire crackled while they absorbed this. "But she'd intended to go after Stefansen?" Kethry asked, finally.
Jadrek nodded. "It might well be that she decided to just go, before Raschar could change his mind -- "
Tarma finished the sentence. "But you aren't entirely certain that something didn't happen to her. Or that something didn't happen right after she set out."
He nodded unhappily, twisting his hands together in his lap. "She would have said goodbye. We've been good friends for a long time. We used to exchange letters as often as her commissions permitted. I... saw the world through her eyes...."
There was a flash of longing in his face, there for only a instant, then shuttered down. But it made Tarma wonder what it must be like, to have dreams of adventuring -- and be confined to the body of a half-lame scholar.
She stood up, suddenly uncomfortable with the insight. The tiny room felt far, far too confining. "Jadrek, we'll talk with you more, later. Right now you've given us plenty to think on."
"You'll try and find out what's happened to her?" He started to stand, but Kethry gently pushed him back down into his chair as Tarma turned abruptly, not wanting to see any more of this man's pain. She turned the latch silently, cracked the door open and checked for watchers in the corridor beyond.