Bundled up in an ermine-trimmed cloak, his breath steaming and his cheeks ruddy, Thamalon waited by one °f the ice-sealed horse troughs, chatting with Erevis Gale, his butler. The Uskevren lord was a man of average height with a slight stoop, still muscular and fit despite his more than sixty years. His arresting dark green eyes set off his white hair, but his brows were vivid black. He stood and moved rather stiffly and deliberately, in a manner that somehow conveyed a sense of his authority and strength of character.
Pasty and bald, his severe garments too voluminous for his gaunt frame, Erevis loomed over his employer like some sort of apparition. He too carried himself stiffly, but in his case, the rigidity reminded one of a jointed wooden doll. Some of Thamalon's servants made fun of the butler behind his back, mocking his awkward appearance and somber demeanor, but Brom recognized just how competently Erevis performed his duties, and the high regard in which Thamalon held him. In consequence, he rather admired Gale.
Two grooms clad in white and gold Uskevren livery led a handsome pair of saddled horses forth from the passage that ran to the stable. The roan gelding was one of Thamalon's favorite mounts. The jet-black mare, an exemplar of the celebrated line of horses bred by the Fox-mantle family, was one of Shamur's.
"Well," said Thamalon, smiling, "my wife's horse is ready. If she herself were here, we could get underway. Not that I'm such a fool as to expect a woman to arrive on time."
Erevis smiled ever so slightly in acknowledgment of his master's humor, and then, as if on cue, Shamur Uskevren appeared, the hem of her hooded russet mantle sweeping along just above the pavement.
Though half a century old, Thamalon's lady was one of the most striking women Brom had ever seen, tall and slender with long, ash-blonde hair, lustrous eyes, and a fine-boned, intelligent face. Her clear, unlined skin made her look younger than her years, though at the same time, her austere manner could make her seem older. In Brom's opinion, Shamur was a cold one, who, though courteous and often even kind, never shared her innermost self with anyone. Though she played the role of a grand dame of Selgaunt society with skill and seeming relish, the wizard suspected she was profoundly lonely and unhappy underneath.
Shamur greeted Thamalon and Erevis, thanked the groom who was holding her mare, then swung herself into the saddle. She was an expert rider, but it seemed to Brom that on this occasion, she didn't mount quite as nimbly as usual. He thought he detected a hitch, as if something had momentarily impeded the action of her legs.
Thamalon climbed onto the gelding, and two servants opened the sturdy, iron-bound gates. Someone had swept the hexagonal paving stones of the courtyard clean, but Rauncel's Ride, the thoroughfare outside, still wore a shroud of snow, its whiteness much defaced by footprints, hoof marks, and wheel ruts.
Brom had grown up a cooper's son and was still learning the ways of a great House of the Old Chauncel, as the nobility of Selgaunt called themselves. Thus, it only now occurred to him that, though he'd been informed that Lord and Lady Uskevren planned an excursion into the countryside, they evidently intended, in breach of the usual practice, to ride forth without an escort.
With the realization came a pang of unreasoning apprehension. He scurried out in front of the horses, slid on a stray patch of ice, and had to flail his arms to keep his balance. Thamalon's reddish gelding whickered and shied.
The Old Owl smiled wryly down at his retainer. "What is it now, Brom?" he asked in his pleasant bass voice.
"I don't think you should venture outside the city walls without a contingent of the guards."
Thamalon arched an eyebrow. "Why not?"
Brom hesitated, for in truth, he couldn't explain why not. He simply had a feeling, and he suspected that alone would carry very little weight with Thamalon, whose life was in large measure founded on logic and common sense. He was still trying to frame a persuasive reply when, rather to his surprise, Erevis shambled up to support him.
"Master Selwick does have a point, my lord," the butler said. "It might be prudent to take an escort."
Ever willing to consider advice, especially from Erevis, Thamalon tapped his chin with his forefinger, pondering. Shamur gave him a melancholy smile. "Perhaps they're right, my lord. I was hoping we could enjoy these next few hours alone together, but there will be other chances, I suppose." Her frosty breath veiled her mouth as she spoke.
Brom's brown eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Among the Uskevren retainers it was generally believed that if Shamur had ever loved Thamalon, that love had withered long ago. The wizard couldn't imagine why she suddenly seemed to crave her husband's company.
But apparently Thamalon, who, gossip held, still yearned for Shamur's affection, wasn't disposed to question his good fortune. Smiling, he said, "It's all right, love. We'll have our outing as planned." He gazed down at Brom and Erevis. "I appreciate your concern, but we'll be all right. Things have been peaceful ever since the city got rid of that infestation of ghouls. Perhaps our rivals have finally resigned themselves to the fact that the Uskevren have returned to Selgaunt to stay. And if Shamur and I should encounter any trouble, we both have fast horses, and I've got this." He tapped the scarred nickel crossguard of his long sword, a plain blade in a worn leather scabbard whose lack of ornamentation stood in contrast to the richness of his garments.
"As you wish, my lord," said Erevis. The butler stepped clear of the horses and Brom reluctantly did the same.
As his lord and lady rode out, Brom felt another upswelling of dread, this one even stronger than the first. He almost cried a warning, then realized that Thamalon and Shamur were already gone, and the servants already pushing shut the gates.
When she and Thamalon reached the street, Shamur breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment she'd feared that Brom and Erevis would ruin everything. But happily, her scheme was still on track, and, intending to keep it that way, she turned and gave her husband another smile.
“Well," he said, grinning back at her, "I hope we don't come to grief. Otherwise we'll look like proper fools."
"I know," she said, guiding her steed around an ox cart heavily laden with rolled carpets. "But I think you'll agree that what I've found is unusual. Unusual and possibly so valuable that for the time being, it might be wise to keep it a secret even from our own retainers."
She'd told Thamalon that on a social outing the previous day, when she'd momentarily strayed from her fellow gentlewomen, the lackeys, and the guards, she'd noticed a fallen pillar lying almost invisible within a thick tangle of brambles. The cracked, weathered column bore Elvish inscriptions, and when she'd curiously approached and touched the stone, she'd experienced a rapid, dizzying succession of visions. Though she hadn't truly understood them, it had seemed to her they might be glimpses of the future. If so, then who knew, perhaps the column could be induced to provide foreknowledge that a merchant lord, a speculator in grain, wine, olive oil, and other commodities, might exploit to his profit.
She fancied it was a clever lie, just the bait to lure the man riding along beside her. But now, rather wistfully, he said, "And that's why we truly set out alone, to safeguard a treasure. Not because my wife is eager to have me all to herself." He sounded as if the pleasure of her society, not the prize she'd dangled before him, was his primary reason for accompanying her.