I could expunge you at my whim, woman, he thought, unconsciously echoing his Master. But this way was better. Her suffering would be long and terrible, and made all the worse because it would be for someone else’s pain, not her own. You’ll carry a burden beyond your imagining before we’re finished, woman. So it would be with everyone who opposed His will.
Dan-Tor closed the door behind himself gently and turned to face a twitching Dilrap. He watched coldly as the secretary executed a cadenza of flutters and jerks prior to delivering his message.
‘Lord… ’ Eventually, ‘A Captain of the… King’s High Guard has requested an audience with you. He says it’s urgent. Something about a prisoner.’
Dan-Tor’s eyes flickered briefly. ‘Where is he?’ he demanded.
‘He’s been put in your ante-chamber. He’s been there for some time.
‘Why didn’t you find me earlier, Honoured Secre-tary?’ Dan-Tor’s voice was quiet but its tone was peculiarly alarming and there was another small spasm which Dilrap could only still by seizing the front of his robe in both hands and holding them firmly against his chest.
‘Lord, you weren’t in your chambers, Lord, and no one knew where you were.’
Dan-Tor did not reply. ‘This Captain has a name?’ he asked. Dilrap’s hands fluttered momentarily, like plump butterflies. He did not like these uncouth and arrogant Guards. Dealing with them always upset him. ‘Urssain, Lord,’ he said finally.
Dan-Tor grunted and nodded dismissively. Dilrap bowed and wobbled off down the high arched corridor, deftly drawing in his robe for the protection of the many ornaments that lined his path. Dan-Tor’s still, lank frame stood watching him for a moment and then turned and moved in the other direction.
Urssain. With a prisoner. A faint hope sprang within him, but he quelled it. Soon he would have a real measure of the damage the King had wrought.
Chapter 12
Urssain, travel-stained and with his right arm in a sling, looked round enviously at the luxuriously appointed chamber he had been shown into. Everywhere were objects and furnishings of a quality which indicated the wealth he aspired to. And the power.
The Mathidrin had been trained secretly in Narsin-dal and in the further reaches of Fyorlund. They were recruited from the malcontents and misfits that any ordered society breeds, however benign its government, though there were a few kindred spirits who had travelled from far distant lands. The darker traits of all had been assiduously cultivated, in the King’s name, under the covert direction of Dan-Tor.
The move into Vakloss and the displacement of the traditional High Guards had been the fulfilment of a promise to them and a token that they had joined a winning side. Men began to see new vistas opening before them, and ambition grew apace. Fertile ground for such as Dan-Tor.
But city work was new to them and their harshness and arrogance had not endeared them to the people. Reactions ranged from stony politeness to outright abuse and anger, although a growing taint of fear was beginning to colour almost all responses.
In the Palace, the tension was at its most marked. The many Palace servants and retainers made little effort to disguise their contempt for these loutish newcomers, although one or two might grudgingly concede the quality of their discipline.
Urssain, however, had noted immediately how the attitudes of both servants and officials had changed from surprise to near alarm when he first appeared and produced his special pass bearing the Lord Dan-Tor’s mark. It was said that the Lord Dan-Tor was the real force behind the Mathidrin, though those who said it did so softly and carefully, and with many admonitions to secrecy. Undoubtedly however, power lay in this man. Power that would lead to this wealth and, Urssain reasoned, wealth to those who knew and served him well.
He relished the soft creak of the expensive uphol-stery as he stood up to walk over to the window. The carpet too was soft and deep under his feet, feet that had known only rocks, stirrups and barrack-room floors, and its touch drew him further along the path he realized he had begun to tread: the path towards the acquisition of this power and this wealth. His hand clenched in excitement. He looked out of the window, but there was little to be seen other than a courtyard some way below, marked out in harsh light and deep shade by the globe lights. Shadows to hide in, he thought. Hide indeed.
He went over his speech again. It would be impor-tant with this Lord. He had little illusion about why Aelang had sent him instead of coming himself. Ostensibly it was because he had to accompany the Mandrocs on their clandestine return to their barracks hidden deep in the bleak northern mountains bordering Narsindal. There was some truth in this as the Mandrocs had been greatly disturbed by what had happened in Orthlund and were proving very difficult to handle. But the reality was that the venture had nearly been a disaster. Finding Dan-Tor unexpectedly absent, Urssain had mishandled his initial approach to Jaldaric and Aelang had done little better. Then those High Guards had fought like fiends, inflicting appalling losses on the Mandrocs. Urssain patted his sling unconsciously. And those Orthlundyn! What a trail they had left. The capture of Jaldaric had been the sole saving grace. His forehead wrinkled as he struggled with the words that he hoped would present him in the most favourable light and, with luck, ensure it was Aelang who bore any odium. Let him end up training Mandroc recruits in Narsindal, Urssain thought. He pulled a bitter face at the prospect and pressed his left hand on to the polished and finely worked windowsill as if for comfort. Orthlund might give you the creeps, but the interior of Narsindal…
Looking up he saw himself reflected in the night-backed window. He straightened up to examine his image critically. Not bad, he thought. At one stage he had considered changing into formal uniform to impress this Lord but, on reflection, he had decided that the dust of travel and the rough field bandage would serve him better. It would add just that extra to his account of his heroic actions. Yes, he reflected, he’d done the right thing. This Lord certainly wouldn’t be impressed by a parade-ground uniform. Nevertheless, as he looked down at his tunic he straightened out a crease with his left hand.
When he looked up to examine himself again in the window, he found he was looking into the eyes of Lord Dan-Tor. The man had entered the room unheard and was standing watching him. Urssain spun round, eyes wide and mouth hanging open momentarily. He stammered.
‘Lord… ’
Dan-Tor neither spoke nor moved. He simply con-tinued to stare at Urssain, as if the sudden flurry of movement had never happened. Urssain found his eyes fixed by this tall still figure. Though he had heard much about this strange Lord and seen him distantly on occasions, he had never before met him face to face. Now he felt the awesome force of the man as he stood impaled on his gaze like a fish on a spear. His carefully rehearsed speech evaporated. To tell this man anything other than the truth would be pointless and foolish, not to say dangerous. Yes, very dangerous. Here was some kind of fountainhead. Urssain could not have found the words for what he wanted out of his life, but he knew beyond doubt that it flowed from this man.
The spear was withdrawn.
‘Captain Urssain. You’ve news of a prisoner I be-lieve.’
‘Yes, Lord,’ said Urssain, recovering himself some-what and coming smartly to attention. ‘We’ve taken the man Jaldaric, son of the traitor Eldric.’
Dan-Tor seemed to grow a little smaller and a look of angry disappointment passed briefly across his long face. He lowered himself into a chair.
‘No other prisoner?’ he demanded harshly.
Urssain looked a little puzzled. What had he missed?
‘No, Lord,’ he replied.
Dan-Tor sat in silence for a moment. Urssain be-came aware of the hiss of the globe lighting the room.
‘Make your report, Captain,’ Dan-Tor said eventu-ally. His voice was matter-of-fact, but the eyes again impaled Urssain and, not a little to his own surprise, he told his tale truthfully.