“When I established my residence here at Krevonel about ten years ago, I had heard about the initial awarding of the jewel to Gurborian, but I had not seen the gem until it was for the second time bestowed upon him by Norandor at this New Year’s Assembly just past. To my knowledge, Gurborian had never publicly displayed the jewel after he first received it from Mallandor. I had wondered why he had refrained from wearing such a rumored prize, since he is famed for his lavish show of baubles, but I concluded that during those intervening years, Gurborian likely dared not remind Mallandor of the reason for his possessing it. After all, one successful overthrow of a Lord Baron might lead to thoughts of another such removal . . . and indeed, we now know that Gurborian was already scheming to depose Mallandor.
“Three years ago, when Estcarp’s Witches forestalled Karsten’s impending invasion by their horrendous magical assault upon their southern border’s mountains, Mallandor longed to attack Estcarp while it was distracted and vulnerable. The Witch-spells sealing their northern border with us held firm, however, preventing any incursions from Alizon. Mallandor then witlessly acceded to the pro-Kolder faction’s arguments, resulting in last spring’s bungled raid into Estcarp led by Esguir, his trusted Hound Master. When all the remaining Kolder were killed and the Witchlings had escaped back into Estcarp, Gurborian recognized his opportunity. He united Mallandor’s enemies in a plot to elevate Norandor, Mallandor’s littermate—brother, as you say—to the throne. To recompense Gurborian for his essential aid, Norandor then officially conferred the jewel upon him for the second time—although only for his lifetime’s use. Esguir and Mallandor were, of course, fed to the hounds.”
I was interrupted by the sudden grating of Mereth’s chalk. She held up her slate for me to read her scrawled query, “Fed to the hounds?”
“Surely Morfew has described to you our traditional method of disposing of failed Lords Baron and traitors to Alizon,” I replied. “Obviously,” I hastened to add, “the bodies are never given to the better hounds because of the poison residues.”
Mereth’s hand faltered slightly as she wrote, “Poison?”
“All prominent barons and their primary retainers must guard themselves against being poisoned by regularly consuming small amounts of the more usual poisons,” I explained. “The practice naturally renders the human bodies unfit for houndmeat. Traitors’ bodies are fed to only the less able hounds, so that their illness or death would not diminish the effectiveness of the pack.”
I regarded Mereth closely for any other signs of deplorable weakness, but aside from her initial hand tremor, she seemed to have recovered her resoluteness. “One of Norandor’s men, Sherek, has been lately named the new Hound Master,” I resumed, “to Gurborian’s bitter disappointment. Gurborian had mistakenly assumed that he could influence Norandor by bribery and coercion. Soon after Norandor’s elevation to the throne, Gratch came forward with the cursed notion of seeking an alliance for Alizon with the Dark mages of Escore to replace our former, failed alliance with the Kolder. With Gurborian’s approval, Gratch probed about in the mountains near Volorian’s estate this past summer, occasioning those letters from Volorian that first alerted me to the Escorian threat.
“I must tell you that I have private reasons I may not discuss which convince me that Gurborian and Gratch intend to depose Norandor, if they can secure sufficient backing from other disaffected barons. Volorian suspects as much—ever since the murder of my sire, he has harbored boundless enmity for Gurborian. You must bear that enmity constantly in mind during your impersonation. Despite the fair words of Morfew’s message, Gurborian will not be easily persuaded of Krevonel’s willingness to ally with him. You and I must appear to be both outwardly cold—as he will expect—and yet plausibly prevailed upon by the strength of his arguments to accept his proposals.”
Looking bleakly determined, Mereth nodded, then wrote yet another query on her slate. “If Volorian known for rejection of all magic, how can I in his place . . .” She hesitated, groping for a usable Alizonion word, I presumed. After a pause, she finished the query, “bend to endorse any alliance with Escore?”
“The potential for irresistible gain should overwhelm our objections, or so Gurborian will likely insist,” I predicted. “If I appear to press you forcefully on behalf of the younger whelps of the Line of Krevonel, then your skillfully timed change of attitude may satisfy them. Your initial revulsion toward Gurborian’s suggestions can moderate into reluctant acquiescence. Under the circumstances, we are compelled to risk all—we must say anything necessary to pry Elsenar’s jewel away from Gurborian. As soon as the stone is within our grasp, we must withdraw as rapidly as we can, to convey the jewel through the postern to Lormt, where it will be safely beyond the control of Gurborian or the Dark mages.”
Bodrik should have returned by this time, I thought, unless he had encountered difficulties in delivering our message. I chastised myself for my impatience. Gurborian would weigh each word Morfew had written, and surely take equal pains—and time—in composing his reply.
I glanced at Mereth. She did not appear to be unsettled or visibly nervous, but it might be well to keep her occupied so that she would not have time to brood or indulge in fretful female imaginings. “You are suitably garbed for our baronial meeting,” I said, “but I am not. Come through into my quarters and refresh yourself with another . . . feebler wine while I array myself.”
20
Mereth—events at Krevonel Castle
(19th and 20th Days, Month of the Ice Dragon/20th and 21st Days, Moon of the Knife)
As Kasarian described to me the two enemies we were likely to confront, I blessed my long years of trading experience that enabled me to listen without exhibiting any outward signs of my true feelings. My beloved Doubt had often accused me of cultivating a facial expression of bland indifference. He was forced to concede that at times, I could extract better prices than he because the other merchants could not discern which particular goods I especially desired.
Listening now to Kasarian, I was appalled by the history of repeated intrigue and murder that he recounted. It was all the more chilling in its impact because of his matter-of-course style of speaking. I found it horrid to contemplate that for him and all the other Alizonder barons, their chosen way of life had grown out of such a bloody tradition.
When Kasarian mentioned Gorm, I felt a surge of painful memories. We Dalesfolk had once conducted a lively commerce with that island stronghold offshore from Estcarp. In my early years of trading, I had established fruitful ties with many merchants based in the warehouses crowding Gorm’s ports. Moored like a great vessel of rock in Estcarp’s coastal bay, Gorm was sheltered from all but the rare northwesterly storms by the peninsular arm crowned by Sulcarkeep, the Sulcar fleet’s home port. During my first overseas voyage with Uncle Parand so many years before, our ship had anchored for a time at Sippar, Gorm’s primary city, which also served then as Estcarp’s main port.