“Baron Oralian preferred that color,” Gennard remarked. “I thought that perhaps the Worthy Baron. . . .”
“Just so,” Kasarian interrupted. “We shall consider your selections. You may retire.”
Once Gennard had shut the door, Kasarian held out the tunic to me. “I was five when my sire last wore this, just before his murder,” he mused. “It is unlikely that Gurborian would recall it. Try it on, together with these proper boots.”
I was relieved that only outer garments had to be exchanged, since Kasarian showed no intention of leaving the room. The genuine Alizonian clothing and boots fit me passably well.
While I dressed, Kasarian had paced back and forth. When my outfitting was complete, he surveyed me critically and nodded. “I commend you,” he said. “No man could deny that in such garb, you present the appearance of a true baron.” Suddenly he tensed, motionless except for a deliberate inclination of his head. Had he been one of his appalling hounds, I thought, his ears would have pricked up, he was listening so intently. From immobility, he erupted into a blur of motion, snatching a knife from his belt with a horrid facility, and throwing it with the sureness of a striking snake toward a shadowy corner where the brocaded bedskirt brushed the carpet.
I flinched inadvertently at the thud of the knife’s impact, which coincided with a shrill animal cry of pain.
Kasarian bent to retrieve his knife, jerking it free from a fold of fabric, and disclosing the body of a large brown rat he had impaled against the wooden bedstead.
As he walked toward the door, Kasarian drew a strip of cloth from his tunic pocket to wipe his knife blade before resheathing it. Opening the door, he called Gennard, who appeared so quickly that he must have been waiting nearby. Kasarian gestured at the carcass and said, “An extra morsel for Wolkor’s evening feeding.” Gennard tidily grasped the dead rat by its tail, bowed to us, and withdrew.
Kasarian must have sensed my disquiet, for he surveyed me speculatively. “Have you no rats?” he asked.
I countered on my slate, “Have you no cats?”
He read my words, and smiled. “I have heard of such beasts,” he remarked. “They are kept, I believe, to hunt rats and mice within inhabited structures. Our hounds are superb ratters, but are far too high-spirited and valuable to be allowed to run loose indoors. They must be reserved for hunting truly significant game. For controlling vermin, we find that a ready knife is quite adequate . . . and the sport instructs the young, exercising the agility of both hand and eye.” His smile faded. “We may have scant time left before Bodrik returns with Gurborian’s reply. Pray sit down. You must be informed of certain matters before Gurborian and Gratch arrive—for I cannot believe that they will avoid falling into our trap.”
19
Kasarian—events at Krevonel Castle
(19th Day, Moon of the Knife/20th Day, Month of the Ice Dragon)
I was not at all certain how well Mereth would accommodate herself to our Alizonian food and drink, particularly to those singular items which we never allowed beyond our borders. It was vital that her reactions not betray her before Gurborian. I knew that she would have to accustom herself—if that were possible—to our potent bloodwine, which was always served copiously at any baronial meeting. Mereth sipped the portion I poured for her with commendable caution, then wrote that it made her eyes water, and she preferred to avoid drinking much of it. I deemed it prudent to accept her superficial response; she could not be seen by Gurborian to choke upon or swoon from imbibing our primary baronial drink. I suggested that we would ascribe her otherwise inexcusable rejection of the bloodwine to her loss of taste due to the ague.
Mereth appeared to experience no other difficulty with our Alizonian food. In case she might be suspicious of the presence of poison, I tasted some of each dish to allay her fears, then left her briefly to fetch my hound pup Moonbeam, who had been whelped early, between the year’s two regular Whelping Moons. He already showed considerable promise of becoming a pack leader like his sire. When I placed him on Mereth’s lap, she held him acceptably. Even when he nipped her hands through her gloves, she refrained from striking him. She was, of course, incapable of crying out, but I was favorably impressed by her forbearance. To my considerable relief, Moonbeam freely endured Mereth’s presence and attentions—indeed, he actually rumbled in response to her stroking! I trusted that his scent would cling to her sufficiently to assuage the pack when we proceeded to the Kennels.
I was most gratified by the fine display of my pack arranged by Wolker, my Hound Master. When all of my beasts had been shown to their best advantage and we rose to depart, Wolker whispered to me that Krevonel’s Kennels were honored to be inspected by such an experienced visiting authority. His reaction encouraged me to think that Mereth might just possibly deceive even Gurborian.
Upon arriving at the guest’s bed chamber, Mereth dressed herself with admirable dispatch, requiring assistance with only the bestowing of weapons. Arrayed in one of my sire’s complete outfits, she could easily have been mistaken for a genuine baron. I had been carefully weighing in my mind how much to reveal to Mereth. I could not know what Morfew might have told her about Alizon and our ways. Although he claimed to have been cut off from news of Alizon during all his years of exile in Lormt, I was not certain whether that was a deliberate attempt to deceive me. I decided that in order for Mereth to be properly wary of Gurborian and Gratch, she had to be more fully informed about their reputations. Because Volorian was well aware of Gurborian’s plotting, Mereth dared not appear surprised by facts known to Volorian. It was now therefore vital that I disclose to her Gurborian’s and Gratch’s intentions to depose of Lord Baron Norandor.
“I must warn you first about Gratch,” I began. “He is a shadowy figure, much dreaded due to his mastery of rare poisons. Little is known about his past except that he escaped from his birthsite on Gorm shortly before the island fell to the Kolder thirty years ago. Doubtless his intense hatred for the Kolder stems from that time. Ten years ago, he appeared in Alizon, and after assessing the relative prospects for advancement among the primary barons, allied himself with Gurborian. I had just assumed the mastery of Krevonel Castle when word began to circulate that Gratch had become Gurborian’s principal advisor, contributing to and participating in all of his schemes. A year or so after Lord Baron Mallandor’s accession, both Gratch and Gurborian retreated to the Reptur Line’s estates along the coast. They conducted their plotting in general seclusion there for some five years, allowing Mallandor’s suspicions ample time to cool.”
Mereth held up her hand, and scribbled on her slate. “After war, Mallandor replaced Facellian,” she wrote. “Why would Mallandor suspect Gurborian? Was he not friend?”
“Gurborian had openly supported Mallandor’s overthrow of Facellian,” I confirmed. “That was the chief reason why Mallandor rewarded Gurborian with the jewel we now know to be Elsenar’s.”
“But you said at Lormt you did not know details about gift of jewel,” Mereth objected on her slate. “You said you were only pup at time.”
I could not entirely suppress my amusement at the gullibility of the Lormt folk. “When you first inquired,” I said, “it was not advisable to divulge the full extent of my knowledge. We Alizonders learn early that information can be as precious as gold, and should be as closely guarded. It is now necessary that you be thoroughly informed about the foes we must vanquish.
“At Lormt, I spoke the truth to you—a limited portion of it. As a twelve year old whelp-of-age, I had been presented to Lord Baron Facellian. Volorian accompanied me to that New Year’s Assembly to stand in my murdered sire’s stead, then we returned to his manor where I had been fostered. Shortly after we left Alizon City, Facellian was overthrown and executed for losing the Dales war. Mallandor bestowed the jewel upon Gurborian as partial payment for his support, but soon realized that Gurborian’s loyalty to him as Lord Baron might be no more trustworthy than it had previously been to Facellian. Gurborian prudently withdrew to his coastal estates to allow Mallandor’s doubts to subside. Even after Gurborian returned to Alizon City five years ago, he deliberately shunned the Lord Baron’s close scrutiny. To disguise the true intentions of his travels, he occasionally pleaded for leave from court to attend to various matters at his estates.