Kasarian at once grasped the sword, drew it with his left hand, and executed a sudden flurry of lunges and mock parries. As I had suspected, he handled the weapon with expert ease. Evidently satisfied with the blade, he sheathed it, then peered keenly at the wall hangings. Behind one of the great carved chairs, vertical folds of fabric covered a niche in the stone wall. Kasarian concealed the sword in the narrow space. After rearranging the tapestry, he turned to address me. “I warn you to avoid being scratched by any baronial blades—it is customary for all such to be dipped in poison. You did say you could wield your staff; can you also use a sword or dagger?”
I shook my head, and wrote on my slate, “Dart gun and staff—not sword. I could stab, if close.” I touched the hilt of one of the daggers at my belt, but Kasarian frowned.
“It is likely best if you attempt to stay out of dagger range,” he said. “Besides, all of us will be obliged to disarm—ostensibly—before our meeting begins. I have no doubt that both Gurborian and Gratch will carry hidden weapons, just as they will suspect the same of us, but custom is custom. They will not consider your staff to be a weapon, of course. Alizonder barons do not fight with staffs.”
“Dalesfolk do,” I wrote firmly.
Kasarian grinned. “So I have heard.” Instantly, he resumed his serious mien. “When Gurborian addresses you,” he said, “you must write on your slate as rapidly as you can, but in such a way that neither Gurborian nor Gratch can clearly see the results. I alone will interpret for you. That way, I can answer concerning matters which you might not know. Do not be fearful of Gorborian’s or Gratch’s lordly manner—you are Baron Volorian of the Line of Krevonel, and as such, you defer to no man save the Lord Baron himself.”
Bodrik appeared at the open door. He had donned a high-collared tunic to cover the bandage at his neck, and seemed fully alert and able to fight, should such action be necessary. “The Reptur party has arrived, Master,” he announced.
“We shall meet them in the hall,” Kasarian replied.
As I followed him toward the double doors, I noticed a heavy wooden beam lying along the interior wall beside the theshold. I had no opportunity to query Kasarian about it.
Just outside the doors, four of Kasarian’s armed retainers were rigidly drawn up in a line behind Bodrik. They faced four equally well-equipped Alizonders garbed in gaudy ocher livery piped with black. A sense of mutual hostility hung in the air as strongly as if a bottle of rank scent had been spilled on the stone paving between the two groups. Kasarian coldy ignored the underling intruders, striding out into the middle of the hall to intercept their approaching masters.
I immediately recognized Gurborian, having glimpsed him during my earlier vision at Lormt. He was a broad-shouldered, stocky man, with a wider face than Kasarian’s, flatter cheekbones and a more prominently hooked nose. His eyes were a murky green, reminding me of a pottery glaze that had gone wrong in the firing. I was repelled by the ostentation of his costume. His bloodwine-red velvet tunic was slashed with black satin inserts, whose seams were ribbed with pearls. The gold filigree chain draped across his shoulders glittered with red gems, as did the several rings he wore on both short-fingered hands. Even his black high-sided boots were decorated with gold inlays. He was not, however, wearing Elsenar’s jewel. If he had brought it with him, he had tucked it away out of sight.
The taller, thinner figure carefully keeping a pace behind him had to be the infamous Gratch. Like most folk from Gorm, he differed in coloring from the Old Race. With his wheat-yellow hair and blue-green eyes, he appeared out of place among the paler Alizonders. His features were fine cut, but as he drew closer, I could see lines of dissatisfaction around his mouth, as if he often scowled. His tunic was made of a dark red-brown corded fustian whose color and texture reminded me unpleasantly of Bodrik’s clotted bandages. The links of his neck chain, while discreetly smaller and less ornate than his master’s, were still clearly fine gold.
I could not avoid comparing the two opposing parties. Next to Gurborian and his men, the men of Krevonel looked severely plain. Kasarian had mentioned that he preferred a simpler style of life than some other barons; I now understood better what he had meant.
I quickly decided to imitate as best I could the outward demeanor of the most arrogant man I had known, a merchant from Karsten who had infuriated Uncle Parand with his haughty airs. I therefore measured Gurborian with an offensively unimpressed glance.
Gurborian showed his fangs in a patently insincere smile, and proclaimed, “When I received your message, Volorian, I knew that only a matter of urgent significance to Krevonel could lure you away from your hounds at so crucial a time.”
I scribbled busily on my slate for Kasarian to “read” my reply. He deftly held the slate out of Gurborian’s view while relaying my presumed remarks. “ ‘What better time for a covert meeting? I have not missed the First Whelping since the war overseas. No baron would expect me to desert my pack just now.’ ”
“An adroit stratagem,” Gurborian complimented me, “but might not word . . . sift out concerning your absence?”
“Certainly not,” Kasarian retorted. “Volorian’s Hound Master is completely reliable. No whisper concerning this meeting will ever be heard—at least, not from Krevonel.”
“Nor from Reptur, I assure you,” Gurborian heartily asserted.
Kasarian wiped my slate with his pocket cloth and returned it to me. “Let us now disarm,” he suggested, “so that we may commence our discussion.”
The four of us deposited a daunting array of knives upon the hall table outside the audience room.
Since I was both the eldest and the ostensible instigator of the meeting, I stalked into the chamber first, claiming the highest-backed master’s chair for myself. Kasarian waited for our two guests to enter, then closed the doors and stooped to raise the wooden beam whose purpose I had not known. I now saw its intended use, for he dropped it into iron brackets bolted on the inside facings of the double doors, effectively barring us within, while also shutting our armed retainers out.
21
Kasarian—events at Krevonel Castle
(20th Day, Moon of the Knife/21st Day, Month of the Ice Dragon)
As I preceded Mereth downstairs on our way to the audience chamber where we were to meet with Gurborian and Gratch, I weighed in my mind her reactions to events earlier that night. She had clearly been shaken by her unexpected confrontation with the dire wolf in my bedchamber, but, surprisingly, she had not fainted from fright. Considering that she had never before beheld such a beast, and must have initially assumed it was alive, she had responded well, lunging to one side while gripping her staff to ward off its attack. I was favorably impressed by her steadfastness—most unusual for a female. Later, she had also proved undaunted by the sight of Bodrik’s wounds when he returned injured. Indeed, she had offered useful assistance, pouring a timely cup of wine for him, and displaying an obviously experienced hand with the bandages. I judged that those actions provided evidence that her service during the Dales war was likely worthy of respect.
When Bodrik reported that he had killed Lursk, Gurborian’s Master of Arms, it was as well I could confidently trust my castellan. Otherwise, I might have been reasonably concerned that Gurborian had contrived, by bribe or threat, to shift Bodrik’s allegiance to Reptur, and send him back to Krevonel as a spy. I knew, however, that Bodrik was sworn to me. by an unbreakable blood oath. He had taken a notable risk in tempting Lursk to duel on Reptur’s ground, but his rashness had been rewarded. Immediately after Lursk fell, Gratch had intervened to prevent the Reptur troops from killing Bodrik. As Bodrik had calculated, he had been ushered directly to Gurborian, who rightly recognized that the loss of his Master of Arms was of far less import than the potential opportunity to woo Krevonel’s alliance with his faction. Instead of killing Bodrik, Gurborian had allowed him to return to Krevonel, bearing Gratch’s penned response to Volorian’s invitation. As we had hoped, Reptur would come to Krevonel at midnight.