The lord regent retreated to his private drawing room, lamplight gleaming from the windows of a single large room high up in the sprawling palace. This was the sanctuary du Chagne used to retreat from the myriad pressures, concerns, and complications of his office. The room was stoutly barred and when he was not present, securely locked. Whenever he was here, two burly axemen-lifelong veterans of the Palanthian Legion, sworn to serve du Chagne-stood on guard outside the door.
Inside the room were three other men. The temperature in the drawing room was stifling, for the day had been hot and the flames of the many oil lamps added warmth to the chamber. Nevertheless, the lord steadfastly refused to open the windows, and his guests, each a trusted subordinate, had long ago learned not to ask.
“They spy upon me whenever they can!” said du Chagne. “The White Witch seeks to know my every plan and intention, and the marshal has agents everywhere in the city-I’m sure of it! This is why I had you inspect, by magic, every inch of this room!”
“Of course, Excellency,” Sir Moorvan replied in a soothing voice. “And there are no threats now.”
Du Chagne nodded, not entirely convinced. “Even so, we will open no window, allow no gap that will ease their espionage by a single whit!”
The other three men exchanged glances. Sometimes du Chagne’s excessive caution verged on the absurd. On this night, however, he had good cause for his paranoia.
“The lord marshal arrived in the palace this evening, hours ago.” The chubby, balding regent continued to fume, pacing back and forth before one of the lofty windows. He was staring at the third man, the high priest of the Knight Clerists, for the other two in attendance had been privy to Jaymes Markham’s presence in the palace.
Du Chagne stared out the window, his soft hands curling into fists. His city sprawled below him, mostly dark but brightened by the street lamps in the wealthier districts and by torches and other fires that glittered from tavern windows and from the guildhalls that were common gathering places. These were mere flickers in the vast, inky darkness.
A bell, probably on the temple of Shinare, dolefully tolled the eleventh hour.
“I must say he was insolent, contemptuous as usual. And he left only under persuasion-magical persuasion-from our Kingfisher here.”
Moorvan shrugged modestly. “I merely clouded his thoughts for a little while, causing him to forget why he had come here.”
“You cast a spell on him?” Inquisitor Frost, the Knight Clerist, expressed mingled surprise and admiration, but his expression was scolding. “Surely he will not let this insult go unchallenged!”
“Bah-I have greater things to worry about than insults to the lord marshal’s dignity,” the lord regent interjected snappishly. “He announced his intentions to see my daughter, and as soon as he comes out of his mental fog, he is bound to return!”
“My lord!” Lord Frankish leaped to his feet in unseemly agitation. “I must protest! He cannot be allowed to sully the reputation of the Princess Selinda!”
“No, I agree, Frankish. He certainly cannot. Who can guess his plans? He could at this moment be scheming to send some kind of secret message to my daughter. I admit she has had a soft spot for him, ever since he was acquitted of his crimes.”
“If you wish, my lord,” offered the Kingfisher. Sir Russell Moorvan was late of the order of White-Robed Mages but recently had been appointed as the new master of the order of Solamnic Auxiliary Mages-the Kingfishers. “It would be a simple matter to cast an enchantment such that we will be able to observe the princess in her chambers, here in the palace. If you could but provide me with a mirror, or even a bowl filled with clean water-”
“That’s enough!” squawked du Chagne. “Spying, spying! Too much spying. I will not have you spying on my daughter!”
“Very well. I apologize, my lord,” said Moorvan with a gracious bow.
“But we have to do something!” declared Lord Frankish peevishly. “The lord marshal grows too bold; he is a rogue and an upstart. Today he menaces your daughter. Tomorrow he may menace all of us. How do we know that he won’t bring his army over the mountains and lay siege to us after he has finished with Ankhar and Solanthus.”
“We don’t. And that is precisely why I have called you here tonight,” the lord regent said. “He must be stopped!”
“There are several ways we could proceed,” Moorvan began, choosing his words carefully. “Of course, public perception must be taken into consideration. And timing. But I suggest that while have an opportunity to, we act now, while he is here in Palanthas.”
“Can’t you just order him arrested?” asked Frankish. “He does represent the Army of Solamnia, after all, and as such, should be expected to hold to the traditions of the knighthood. Everyone knows he blatantly ignores the tenets of the Oath and the Measure. We could challenge him on his disgrace to the knighthood.”
“No,” du Chagne answered curtly, shaking his head. “Nothing would be more certain to inflame the people to support him.”
“Perhaps a more direct approach, then?” said the Kingfisher. “Some of my agents have, of necessity, established contacts with some of the more unsavory elements of our fair city-those who lurk in the darker sections of the waterfront. It has been reported to me, for example, that there is even a fledgling Assassin’s Guild taking shape…”
Again, du Chagne shook his head. “He is alert to treachery. I am familiar with a case-one of the late dukes was to blame, of course-where an assassin tried to waylay him. Even though Jaymes Markham was chained and a prisoner of the knighthood at the time, he succeeded in vanquishing the killer and making his escape. All around it was an embarrassment to those”-he coughed nervously-“involved.”
“Er, yes, I had heard something of that as well,” said the magic-using Kingfisher. “At the time, he was suspected of being the Assassin of Lorimar, was he not? He’s a slippery one, that’s for sure.” He chuckled almost admiringly.
“Don’t you have anything to suggest, mage?” demanded Frankish.
“I suggest we continue to cast the lord marshal in an unfavorable light so that public opinion gradually turns against him. Your speech at the recent harvest festival, Excellency, did a nice job of laying the groundwork. The people grow weary from the long war; certainly, they are tired of paying for that war. And it is well known that the lord marshal rose to his current position without birthright, without noble entitlement.”
“No-unfortunately it was a matter of acclamation by the knights, after he had saved the army from Duke Walker’s ineptitude,” the Clerist said. “Really, it was a simple matter of momentary popularity. And he is certainly popular.”
“Unfortunately,” du Chagne said, “his popularity shows no signs of waning.”
“All the more reason why we should not delay. If he returns to the front, benefits from some good fortune on the part of his troops, some signal victory, the marshal will be the people’s darling.” Moorvan stood and paced. “That cannot be allowed. We must arrange to have him removed, at least from his position of power, and possibly more.”
“We decided that assassination is out of the question,” the priest noted dryly. “At least, this was His Excellency’s firm position!”
“Yes!” du Chagne said. “The risks-to us-are too great!”
The thin-faced magic-user gazed pensively at Lord Frankish. “You, my lord, are among those who would court the fair daughter of our regent, are you not?”
“The fact is well known! But what does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s just that… if anything should impugn the honor of the princess… well, it seems to me that she might need a loyal and accomplished champion to defend her honor. That might supply an honorable solution to this whole predicament.”
“You mean, take on Jaymes Markham in a duel?” demanded Frankish. He stood and paced toward the door. Dueling was rare in Palanthas, but it had a long tradition in Solamnic culture. It was structured around ritualized combat and frequently resulted in the death-or at least crippling-of the loser. It was a testament to the lord’s courage-and to the fervor of his interest in the Princess Selinda-that he did not immediately discount the idea.