His valet knocked again, and Sergen called, “Come in.”
The door opened, and his servant showed in a tall, dark-haired moon elf with striking violet eyes and a subtle, crooked twist to the right side of his mouth. He was dressed in fine gray and lavender, with a gold-embroidered doublet and a heavy hooded cloak. When he stepped into the room, he raised his hands to push back his hood, and Sergen saw that the elf’s right hand was not flesh at all, but instead a perfect replica made of gleaming silver, scribed with tiny runes. The metal hand flexed and moved just as a living one would have-a most unnerving sort of magic, really.
“Good evening,” the elf with the silver hand said. “Are you Sergen Hulmaster, nephew to the Harmach of Hulburg?”
Sergen frowned, wondering what the elf wizard might possibly want with him, but nodded. “I am,” he said. “Might I ask your name and business with me, sir?”
“I am Rhovann Disarnnyl, of House Disarnnyl,” the elf replied. “And as far as my business with you, well, that is a simple matter. You and I have something in common, Lord Sergen. We have both been grievously wronged by your cousin Geran Hulmaster. I am here to determine how best the insults and injustices we have suffered at his hands might be set aright.”
Sergen raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t say what he might have expected his strange visitor to begin with, but that was certainly not it. With a small gesture, he invited the elf to sit, and said, “You have already piqued my interest, sir. Please-continue.”