Only the view from the window, in the fading light of the late afternoon overcast, showed them the truth. A small lake, perhaps half a mile away, lay stagnant and brackish. No vegetation grew around it, while the mouths of many mine tunnels trailed red tailings to the water itself. These rusty scars showed the progress of Blackstone's excavation. Never, thought Alicia, had she seen such a lifeless scene.
When they had washed and dressed for dinner, they descended the stairs to find that the Great Hall, too, boasted of the earl's wealth and grandeur, if not his good taste. Blackstone had set out a massive table for the royal party, decked with white linen and plates of burnished pewter.
Alicia felt something scrutinize her from above. Startled, she looked up to the top of the dark-paneled wall. A great bear leered down at her, widespread jaws gaping in a soundless expression of lasting hatred. Only as she gasped and flinched away did she realize that it was merely the head of a bear. Looking along the wall, she saw the mounted heads of wolves, deer, several smaller bears, and-across the hall, above the massive hearth-a green dragon.
Below the grim trophies, the walls proudly displayed an assortment of finely crafted weapons. A great double-bladed axe hung near the dragon, its smoothly curved head of gleaming, highly polished steel. The weapon, like many of the swords, halberds, and spears mounted beside it, showed nicks and scrapes obviously inflicted during hard use.
Blackstone noted her reaction with a hearty chuckle, and Alicia felt a hot surge of anger. She took a deep breath, as her mother had taught her, bringing her temper under control while the earl blabbered about this stalk and that kill. Though she held nothing against hunting-indeed, with her own bow she had brought down many a deer, rabbit, and bird, whose meat had gone to the palace table-she found something vulgar, even sacrilegious, in the ostentatious display of the earl's trophies.
"Ah, my sons!" Blackstone's voice boomed as two men entered the hall. "Come and meet the Princess Alicia, heir to the crown of the isles."
The sons were even larger men than their father, one dark of skin and hair, the other fair. Their beards hadn't grown in so full as the earl's. The dark one wore a green tunic, the other a cloak of deep blue. Together they advanced and bowed.
"This is Gwyeth." The earl indicated the son in green, who had hair as dark as his father's as well as the same glowering eyebrows.
"And Hanrald," Blackstone concluded. The latter, who bowed with a shy smile, was not so huge nor so hairy as Gwyeth. His hair and beard were speckled with cinnamon-colored strands.
Alicia nodded her head politely as she watched the pair. "We have met, Lady," announced Gwyeth, rising and grinning crudely at her. His dark eyes flashed, and she suppressed a sudden urge to back away from him.
"It was our honor to be knighted by your father some years back, in the Great Hall of Callidyrr," Hanrald added quietly. The younger son seemed embarrassed by his brother's rude stare, but he finally met her eyes and smiled tentatively.
"Oh, yes-of course," she said, smiling in return. She did not in fact remember, for King Tristan had dubbed a good many knights during the last ten years or so.
Other guests filed in-a royal visit was cause for no small celebration-and Alicia and her companions saw the bald, pudgy Lord Ironsmith, who had accompanied the earl to Callidyrr before Tristan's departure.
"Who's that with him?" asked Alicia, indicating a large-breasted young woman a good foot taller than Ironsmith who clung protectively to the lord's arm.
"His wife," replied Blacksmith. He chuckled lewdly before remembering that he spoke to a maiden princess. He tried to swallow his humor by clearing his throat.
Others came, too, mostly wealthy merchants who had gained huge profits from the mines and forges, though a smattering of local nobles showed up as well. Blackstone introduced Alicia's party to Lord McDonnell, who was the mayor of Cantrev Blackstone and a loyal follower of the earl's, and to Lord Umberland, owner of extensive holdings in the mountains.
Alicia admitted to herself that the earl set a fine table. His wife had died years ago, at the time of her third son's birth, she recalled. Still, he maintained a kitchen full of servingwomen-young, beautiful servingwomen, the princess noted. Blackstone himself filled the role of the gracious host. He seated the princess to his right, while Keane and Tavish were placed farther down the long table. His two sons sat at the two places to his left. He made sure they would have the opportunity to speak with the royal daughter.
But the younger, Hanrald, spoke barely a word during the meal, preferring to remain silent. Alicia found him almost sullen, but nevertheless she liked him better than his brother, who proved vain, vulgar, and boastful. Gwyeth spent most of the meal reciting his own feats of arms or loudly exclaiming about his many quests and accomplishments.
The princess noted Keane, within earshot, listening to the young man. Finally the tutor could hold his tongue no longer.
"It's a wonder there are any firbolgs left in the hills. It sounds as though you have driven the race to extinction," he remarked dryly. Ironsmith's large-bosomed wife giggled hysterically at the comment, but the rest of the table fell silent.
"Do you call me a liar?" growled Gwyeth Blackstone.
Keane looked shocked. "Did I say that? Why, my lad, it was merely an observation-nay, an expression of gratitude-that you have made this country safe for those less accomplished than yourself to travel."
Gwyeth squinted, all but mouthing the teacher's words as he tried to follow Keane's response.
"Why-you mock me! A man who spends his days indoors, like a woman! I see those hands, far better fit for spinning wool than for holding a man's weapon. Come, sir. Dare you raise steel against me?"
Before anyone could react, Gwyeth kicked his chair over backward and stood to his greater than six-foot height. In his hand, seemingly from nowhere, appeared a long, steel-bladed dagger.
Keane blinked, nonplussed. He looked at Lord Blackstone, apparently wondering if that noble would rebuke his son's poor manners, but the earl remained silent, scowling at the two men.
"Come, I say. At least pretend you're a man!" Gwyeth took a step forward.
"My lord!" Alicia said firmly. "Is this the hospitality of an earl?"
But Blackstone appeared not to hear. Carefully sliding his chair backward, Keane stood. His face was calm. "I have no wish to fight you. It would be ungracious, in light of your father's hospitality. But you shall not insult me!"
Gwyeth's face lit in a fierce grin. "Hah! Frail as a girl, he is, and now he tries to hide with a woman's talk!"
Keane seemed to stretch-at full height, he was an inch or two taller than even Gwyeth, though the burly knight outweighed him by perhaps a hundred pounds. Still, something in the thin man's gaze gave his opponent pause.
But Gwyeth had staked too much of his manhood on this confrontation. He could not back down. He lunged sharply at Keane.
The teacher snapped his fingers, and Alicia saw something like dust or sand puff into the air from the thin man's hand. At the same time, Keane waved his other arm toward the charging figure of Gwyeth.
In the next instant, the burly Gwyeth tumbled face-forward onto the ground. He lay still, only the rapid pulsing of his torso showing that he still breathed. After a moment, he found his voice, croaking a hysterical shriek amid a spattering of drool on the floor.
"Remove him!" barked Blackstone, gesturing to four men-at-arms, all of whom were required to heft the huge man and cart him from the hall.
"Sorcery!" The whisper passed around the great table, and the guests looked at Keane with new, appraising eyes, their expressions a mixture of respect and fear.
"I beg my lord's pardon," Keane said, bowing to the earl before reseating himself. "He shall recover free movement in a matter of minutes."