As Sabira had hoped, Rockfist fairly preened at her use of the words “we” and “our.” Like anyone working in the shadow of a legend—and Blackiron had been that, and more—Rockfist wanted to know his work had value on its own merit. Sabira had seen little thus far to suggest that was the case, but if Rockfist thought she was putting stock in his opinion, he’d fall all over himself to prove he was worthy of that trust.
“I’ll request a copy of the journal be made available to us,” he said, scribbling a note on one of the many papers he still held. “The original is most likely still in Frostmantle, either with the authorities there or already released to his mother.”
Before Sabira could respond, the door opened again and the Narathun guard stuck his head in.
“Time to go, Tordannon,” he said gruffly. “You’re up next.”
As Rockfist gathered up the rest of his papers, Aggar pulled Sabira aside.
“Before we go out there, I need to know something.”
At her quizzical look, his gaze sharpened.
“Why are you going through with this, Saba? Orin entered into his contract with you under false pretenses. You can’t be bound by it under those circumstances. And we both know you couldn’t care less if the Iron Council had me drawn and quartered—Dolurrh, you’d probably ask for a box seat! So what else is going on here?”
Sabira regarded him for a moment, biting back her first impulsive response, which was to call him an ungrateful orc and question his ancestry.
It was a valid question. By rights, since Orin had lied about the terms of the contract, she was under no obligation to honor it. But the fact was that her being here no longer had anything to do with her contract. She wasn’t sure when the shift had occurred, or what had caused it. Maybe it had been Elix’s admonitions that Ned would have wanted her to do this, or Orin saving her life aboard the Dust Dancer. Maybe it had been the sight of Ned’s sword on Elix’s wall, or just being in Vulyar—being home—again after so many years.
Call it duty, or guilt, or stubborn pride. Call it stupidity, for it most surely was that. Call it all of those things, or none. Ultimately, the motivation mattered far less than the action itself, for she had committed to facing up to the ghosts of her past, and her course, at least, was clear.
She was going to defend Aggar, and hopefully lay Ned’s spirit to rest in the process, once and for all. Host help her.
Of course, there was no way she was going to tell Aggar all that. But he was a shrewd businessman with a nose for deception; he’d know if she lied to him outright. So she’d have to settle for telling him a partial truth, or they’d never get out of this room, which seemed smaller and more stifling by the moment.
“Voiding the contract also negates my fee. And, frankly, I find myself in a bit of debt at the moment and Orin offered me extremely generous terms. There was really no way I could reasonably refuse.” That was probably the easiest answer, for both of them.
Aggar stared at her hard for a long moment.
“So, you’re doing it for the money?” He grinned at that, though she couldn’t tell whether he actually believed her or not. “Now that’s the Saba I remember! Welcome back!”
He clapped her on the back, harder than was strictly necessary, using the jovial gesture to nudge her toward the door where Rockfist and the Narathun waited impatiently.
“Now let’s go find a way to pull my hide out of Onatar’s fire, shall we?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Back in the main audience chamber, the Narathun led them to one of the curved benches three rows back from the edge of the circular area that housed the eye of Aureon. Eleven of the thirteen thrones were now occupied—all save that of the Noldrun clan, which hadn’t been used in more than four centuries, and the Kundarak seat, which had been vacant since that clan became House Kundarak. The eye itself was also occupied by a male dwarf with black hair and eyes, who had been stripped down to his breeches, a tactic used both to ensure that those testifying were hiding nothing physical on their persons and to make them feel as if they could hide nothing—physical or otherwise—from the watchful eyes of Aureon and the Iron Council.
The dark-eyed dwarf was in the middle of reciting his lineage, an exercise that could take days if done correctly. Luckily, it seemed the Council was only interested in the dwarf’s maternal side, so they might only have to endure a few hours of the monotonous litany of begats and begottens.
Aside from the three newcomers and their guard, who stood behind Aggar caressing the cheek of his urgrosh’s axe-head, the gallery was mostly empty. Two well-armed dwarves stood on either side of the double doors, a matched set to those on the other side, and another pair stood at either end of the Council dais. Other guards stood at intervals along the walls—ten in all—their stony faces and rigid stances making them appear to be statues. The priestess of Aureon was there as well, sitting in a plain wooden chair to the right of the dais. Another priestess stood at her left hand—probably the perceptor, who would be monitoring the chamber for anyone using magic to either disrupt the proceedings or circumvent the eye’s power. A female gnome sat scribbling in the front row, either a court scribe or a chronicler. And a dwarf woman wearing black mourning veils sat across the aisle from the gnome, her hands hidden in the deep folds of an ermine-trimmed robe. Probably the widow or mother of one of Aggar’s alleged victims, hoping her grief would sway the Council’s verdict against the Tordannon heir. A wish that was, unfortunately, almost certain to be granted.
“That’s Hrun Noldrun,” Rockfist whispered, pitching his voice low and gesturing toward the dwarf standing on the eye. “He arrived in Krona Peak back in Therendor, badly burned and raving. He claims to be the last heir of the Noldruns, and they say he can correctly recite all the key lineages. Torlan himself supported his petition to speak in front of the Council.”
To Aggar’s disbelieving expression, the barrister replied with a plaintive, “What?”
“You know about the latest pretender to Noldrunhold, but you don’t know who the Shard Axe is?”
Rockfist shrugged. “Barrut liked to read the Krona Peak broadsheets. Sometimes I’d sneak a look at them when I was supposed to be studying.”
“Well, good. I’m sure your mastery of all the most recent local gossip will come in handy when we’re addressing the Council,” Sabira snapped, disgusted. She hoped Kiruk had significantly reduced the retainer when Rockfist took over Aggar’s case. When the gnome threw a dark glance over her shoulder at them, Sabira lowered her voice and directed her next words at Aggar. “Didn’t you once tell me about another Noldrun who addressed the Council? A few months after Ned and I arrived in the Holds?”
“Ah, yes,” Aggar said, stroking his beard in thought. “What was her name … Eddartha? No, Eddarga. She was half-duergar, they said, and looked it: bald, gray skin, black eyes. Her appearance even gave some credence to the widely dismissed theory that Noldrunhold was wiped out by a gray dwarf uprising. Like our newest aspirant here, she knew all the right lineages. Her petition was actually sponsored by Gunnett’s family, the Stonebloods. They’re affiliated with the Toldoraths, and their lands border Noldrunhold on the north. Gunnett’s father was the one who got the Council to agree to hear her, but he never showed up to speak on her behalf—remember, they found him dead later? He was the first of Nightshard’s victims. Anyway, without him to speak for her, they ultimately rejected her claim. My own father and Garrek Soldorak were the ones who spoke out most strongly against her ‘tainted’ blood. Though personally, I imagine their objections stemmed more from the fact that, as the only other clans with lands bordering Noldrunhold, they had the most to lose if that hold became active again.” Aggar didn’t look particularly distressed either by the thought of his father’s prejudice or by the idea that Kiruk might have had more avaricious motives. “Eddarga left the audience chamber in disgrace, but not before she vowed to reclaim Noldrunthrone and the vacant Noldrun Council seat. Oh, and to punish her detractors, too, of course—wouldn’t make a good story without that.”