Читать книгу Crown of Destiny - Бертрис Смолл - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

OVER A HUNDRED years had passed since Lara and Kaliq had triumphed over the dark forces that shared their world. She had reluctantly accepted the cruel fate visited upon magic folk who must watch the mortals they love grow old and die. Dillon, her eldest son, remained young and vital on Belmair, where he ruled as king. His wife, Cinnia, remained by his side, still youthful, too. They had produced a single son, and six daughters, two of whom had shown a talent for their parents’ magical abilities.

Anoush, Lara’s second born, Vartan’s daughter, had lived to be ninety. She had never married, to Lara’s sorrow, nor even taken any lovers. Among the Fiacre clan family she had been respected for her healing abilities, but feared because of her talent for prophecy. She had come to suppress that gift for, gentle creature that she was, Anoush did not like distressing others. And as the years had passed, and those who knew her had died that particular talent had been forgotten and she was just considered a healer. She was content to be thought of in that way. Eventually none but a few elderly among the clan families recalled that she was the daughter of Vartan the Great, who had married a faerie woman.

Vartan’s exploits were believed nothing more than legend now. In the New Outlands of Terah the clan families had no need to fear for their survival. Separated by a range of high mountains from Terah proper they paid their yearly tribute to the Dominus while growing content with their lives as it was. There were no more great leaders among them. They came to believe their lives had always been as they were now and no longer believed that men like Vartan or the beautiful faerie woman he had wed even existed. They considered the tale of Lara’s rescue of the clan families from Hetar’s Outlands just a story. Nothing more.

The Devyn sang their songs of the past at the Gathering each Autumn as they had always done. But now the clan families gathered there smiled and nodded, considering most of what they heard fiction, or stories that, while they might have some truth in them, were not quite factual. They could not believe that their people had ever lived lives of such adventure, or known such magic. The names Rendor, Roan and Liam were no more than names to them. They thought of themselves as ordinary agrarian folk. Of late, however, the Taubyl Traders had begun coming over the waters of the Obscura from Hetar to offer the clan families fine goods and slaves for sale. They saw the New Outlands as a fresh new market for their wares, but they also brought with them the foibles of Hetar.

Over the previous twenty years a good-size town had sprung up before the castle of the Dominus. And at the head of each of the seven fiords a smaller town was now in existence. The trading ships from Hetar were sailing directly across the sea of Sagitta into those towns. They came for the fine fabrics, jewelry and crafts that the Terahn artisans created. They brought with them Hetarian vices. At first permission was requested for a single pleasure house in each of the small towns to service Hetarian seamen. But the curious Terahn males allowed to patronize those pleasure houses when there were no Hetarian ships in their own port decided they should have their own pleasure houses, too.

The then Dominus Amhar had requested seven pleasure mistresses from Hetar to come to Terah. They would create a single pleasure house for each of the fiord towns, manage them for three years, choose their own replacement from among their women and then return to Hetar. In return for this favor Amhar sent his youngest daughter, Mahault, named after his sister, as bride to Hetar’s Lord High Ruler Palben. Hetar and Terah were bound closer than they had previously been. Lara sighed. How could this be when she had struggled so hard to keep Terah safe from the decadent civilization of Hetar?

Zagiri, her third child, had survived her husband, Lord High Ruler Jonah, although Jonah had managed to live into his eighties. Frail of body but astute of mind, he had ruled with an iron hand, bringing Hetar back to its former prosperity. And Zagiri had never stopped loving him or supporting him in all he did. Though almost thirty years younger than Jonah, Zagiri had not lived long after her husband had died. It had always surprised Lara that her beautiful golden child, Magnus Hauk’s daughter, had followed Jonah so quickly, so easily. But then Zagiri had never had an ounce of magic in her.

As for Marzina, Lara’s youngest child, she had grown into an incredibly beautiful girl. And having spent two years with the Daughters of the Great Creator to learn self-discipline, Marzina had gone to her grandmother, Ilona, queen of the Forest Faeries, again, to learn how to properly use her magic. Then Kaliq had spent two years tutoring her. She was incredibly talented, being the child of two magical creatures, although Marzina had always believed that Magnus Hauk, her mother’s second husband, was her father. And thanks to Ilona, no one had ever questioned that Taj’s twin sister was so unlike him, being dark-haired while Taj was blond.

Marzina now spent a good deal of time in the forests of Hetar or the mountains of Terah for she and her mother did not always get along. Lara saw in her youngest child what others did not. She saw a ribbon of darkness that frightened her. The black blood of Kol, the former Twilight Lord who had sired her, could not be denied. It ran hot in Marzina’s veins along with a streak of faerie cruelty she had inherited from her grandmother. When Marzina had attained sixteen mortal years she had even attempted to seduce Kaliq. He had put her off, but things were never again the same between mother and daughter. Marzina quickly knew she had overstepped herself, and she blamed Kaliq. But Lara knew her lover and life mate far better than Marzina did, and she was not certain she could ever forgive her daughter’s lapse, although Kaliq did.

Lara sighed again. Her world was on the edge of something, but she did not know what, nor could she gain any preglimpse of it yet. Rising from the chair where she had been seated, Lara walked out into her gardens. She now lived in the southwest tower of the castle. Praise the Great Creator that it faced the fjord, and she didn’t have to gaze down upon Dominum as her grandson had dictated the town be called. It was modeled on The City. But of course few Terahns had ever seen The City. The royal Terahn architect had relied on Ambassador Amren’s description of Hetar’s capitol. Lara had visited it once, but it was nothing like The City as she remembered it. Dominum was a monument to excess with large building fashioned from marble quarried in the Emerald Mountains.

Both the Ore and Jewel gnomes had objected to this incursion onto their lands. But they were now fewer in number than ever before and could only protest vocally. Lara had spoken to her grandson, the Dominus Amhar, reminding him that the precious metals and jewels the gnomes mined were the raw materials Terah’s artisans needed for their jewelry and metalwork. If the gnomes refused to go into their mines, Terah would have no work for export to Hetar. She convinced the Artisans and Metalworkers Guilds to support her endeavor. The Dominus Amhar was not pleased to be chastised by the beautiful woman who was his grandmother. But the guild chiefs were another matter entirely. Amhar sent to the gnomes apologizing for intruding upon their lands without first asking, and requesting their permission to quarry for another two months. With his messenger went a dozen barrels of fine wine and six casks of oysters packed in ice. The gnomes grudgingly agreed. The damage was already done to a portion of their mountains.

And so Dominum was raised up with three broad avenues running north to south and three broad avenues that crossed them running east to west. The buildings, however, were mostly empty for the only government was the Dominus and he ruled from his castle. The council formed by Magnus Hauk had been dissolved decades ago by Dominus Taj. How Lara had argued with her son over that, but as Taj had pointed out, there was no need for a council. It had been an experiment and nothing more.

Terahns were used to one form of rule. They wanted no changes made. Their Dominus was good enough for them. It was his duty to make the decisions, not the people. Lara realized that Taj’s grandmother, and his three uncles whom she had appointed to be his council had done their job well while she had been off saving their worlds. Her son had been turned into a proper Terahn Dominus from the old school, and she hadn’t seen it until it was far too late. And her grandson and great-grandson had followed Taj in maintaining the ancient traditions.

When her mother-in-law had lain dying, she had advised Taj on the sort of wife he should take. A well-brought-up Terahn girl who knew her place, which was in the background, and her duty, which was to give Taj children. And Taj, despite Lara’s best efforts, had followed the advice given by Lady Persis. Lara could only silently despair. She considered if Magnus Hauk had listened to his mother Terah would never have been free of the curse of Usi, and it would have probably been conquered by Hetar or the Twilight Lord. But from the moment Magnus had died the Terahns had subtly worked their influence on Lara’s son. Perhaps had she been with him more it would not have happened, but there were so many problems that needed to be solved in those days. And it was the magic inhabitants of the world of Hetar who fought to save it.

So Taj had grown up, and married a suitable Terahn wife. Vineeta was pretty enough to keep her son interested long enough to sire the required children. Amhar had been born ten months after the marriage. He was followed by his two sisters, Elvyne and Casperia. Amren, the younger son, had been the fourth, born eight years later, and was followed the next year by Taj’s youngest daughter, Mauhault.

But while offering her mother-in-law outward respect, the young Domina Vineeta found it disquieting that her husband’s mother looked as though she could be one of her own companions. The daughter of a wealthy widower, she had been chosen by Taj’s aunts Anselma and Narda to be Taj’s wife. Motherless, she looked to them for advice. As neither of Magnus Hauk’s two older sisters had liked Lara, their opinions drove Vineeta’s attitude toward her mother-in-law. Taj’s youngest aunt, the Lady Sirvat, Lara’s best friend, had attempted to heal the growing breach, but the damage was done.

Anselma and Narda whispered a stream of ignorance and prejudice into Vineeta’s small ear. Vineeta had believed it all. She kept her children from their grandmother, clutching them to her dramatically when Lara entered the nursery. The children sensed that something was wrong, and grew to fear the beautiful golden-haired woman who came to see them. Eventually they became so hysterical at the mere sight of Lara that after complaining to her son, Lara had stayed away.

“Children are like that, Mother,” the Dominus Taj told her. “They have their shy moments even with their parents.”

“I have birthed enough children to know what they are like,” Lara had replied sharply. “Those two harpies who are your father’s older sisters have taught Vineeta to fear me, and she in turn teaches my grandchildren. Amhar actually hissed at me and made a sign with his hands, which I imagine he has been told is something to ward off evil. I’m afraid I laughed at him, which sent him into a flood of tears and shrieking as he ran from me.”

“It is a phase,” Taj defended his oldest son.

“It is prejudice,” Lara said quietly. “You have no magic in you, Taj, but you are still the son of a faerie woman. Be glad you are an ordinary mortal for if you were not you would face what I now face. It was never so in your father’s time. Or perhaps it was, and your father protected me for he loved me. I am your mother, my lord Dominus, and that alone should command respect. But if your wife and aunts are allowed to treat me so shabbily, then your children will, too. Once you stood by my side against those who would mistreat me. You no longer do. It saddens me, but I will always love you even if I no longer like you,” Lara told her son, and by the shocked look upon his face she knew she had made her point.

But she could not, would not stand between Taj and Vineeta. She would not demand that he make a choice between his mother and his wife. That was a mortal way; it was not the faerie way. And so her grandchildren had become virtual strangers to Lara. But when Taj’s younger son was to be sent to Hetar as Terah’s ambassador, he came to Lara for more knowledge than anyone else could give him.

“Tell me about Hetar,” he said.

“Why do you need to know?” Lara asked him.

“I am to represent Terah,” Amren said proudly. “You are Hetarian. You know what I need to know.”

“I am faerie,” Lara told him. “I was born in the forests of Hetar, daughter of Ilona, who is Queen of the Forest Faeries, and a Hetarian named John Swiftsword. Swiftsword was your great-grandfather. His memory is much respected in Hetar, and especially among the Crusader Knights.”

“What are they?” Amren inquired.

Lara explained.

“So in Hetar there is a distinct social strata, as there is here in Terah,” he said.

“Even more so,” Lara told the young man. “In Terah there is the Dominus, his family, and an underclass of merchants, farmers, artisans and the like. In Hetar there is the Lord High Ruler, the High Council made up of representatives from the provinces, as well as a Merchants Guild to which all merchants and shopkeepers belong. There is a Mercenary Guild, the order of the Crusader Knights, the Pleasure Mistresses Guild, the Guild of Pleasure Women. There are farmers and traders, healers and those who perform miscellaneous services.”

“It sounds very complicated,” Amren noted. “But you must teach me so I know it all, and do not embarrass my father.”

“Must? How dare you speak to me so, Amren, grandson of Magnus Hauk. In Hetar how one appears is paramount, and good manners are all-important. If you are loud and rude, Hetar will believe that all who live in Terah are the same way. Your first impression will be the most important impression you make. You cannot allow Hetar to continue their foolish fantasy of being the only civilized kingdom in our world. Still I must consider if I will educate you in the ways of Hetar. Is it even possible to do so, considering how you have been raised?”

Amren was a very handsome young man. In many ways he reminded her of Magnus Hauk with his dark blond hair and his blue eyes. But his lips were thin, and his jaw weak. Yet he had a certain charm, Lara thought, and perhaps he could be taught to represent Terah with dignity and elegance. He smiled at Lara now. “Please teach me what I must know, Grandmother,” he said.

Lara laughed aloud. “Never since any of you were born have I heard the word Grandmother directed toward me,” she said. “Come back tomorrow in the second hour after midday. I will have decided by then if I will help you.”

“Could you really turn me into a toad?” he asked her half-seriously.

Lara nodded slowly. “If I choose to,” she told him.

“The old aunts say you are evil,” Amren said.

“Narda and Anselma are a pair of dried-up old biddies. And they were the same in their youth. They know far more of evil than I do. Your aunt Sirvat was the only one among Magnus Hauk’s family who befriended me, and she is now gone.”

“My mother loves them,” Amren said.

“I am glad for them that someone does,” Lara remarked tartly. “Now, go away, boy. When you return tomorrow we shall talk again.”

“If I return,” he replied.

Lara laughed again and waved him from her. Of course the next afternoon Amren came, and for the next two months he spent time with his grandmother each afternoon learning all about Hetar. When she thought he was near to being ready, she called in the royal tailor and personally oversaw the creation of his wardrobe. The royal tailor, being a clever man, smiled and nodded in agreement with the Domina Vineeta and the Ladies Narda and Anselma when they told him what to do in regard to Amren’s clothing. Then, following Lara’s careful instructions, the tailor created a magnificent wardrobe of silks, velvets and satins, trimmed in gold and bejeweled with semiprecious stones and crystals. Shoes and boots of the finest leather, some of the shoes burnished with gold or silver. There were capes and cloaks trimmed with fur, some lined in cloth of gold or silver. His sword and the several daggers among his ambassadorial possessions had handles and hilts studded with precious jewels.

When Dominus Taj saw all his mother had done for his younger son, he felt both pleased and sad. Briefly he recalled the childhood before his father had been killed, when she had loved him, and indulged him shamelessly. He remembered warm Autumn days when she would put him before her on her horse, Dasras, and gallop across the plains of Terah into the blue skies above, so he might see their world as others could not. When his father had died she had been his strength, gently but firmly guiding him, putting his interests, and those of Terah, first. Taj now knew by virtue of his years that only his magical faerie-woman mother could have been that bighearted. He realized now that she had saved Terah far more than once, and he was ashamed of his behavior. Looking at her, he said, “I have not the words.”

“You do, and I hear them with my heart,” Lara replied softly. Then she turned to look at Amren. “He is an intelligent young man, and will serve Terah well, my son.”

Domina Vineeta sat nervously nearby with the Ladies Narda and Anselma, watching her husband and his mother.

“Which vessel is to conduct our Amren to Hetar?” Narda asked Vineeta.

“No vessel,” was the reply. “He will be accompanied by a Shadow Prince.”

Narda and Anselma both hissed their strong disapproval.

“It is practical, and swift,” Vineeta dared to say. “And he has been given two personal faerie post creatures to carry his messages back and forth.”

“And you allowed the faerie woman to corrupt your son, Vineeta?” Anselma said.

“I am astounded that after all these years of protecting your children from her you would do such a thing. Amren’s wardrobe indicates that she has already begun to corrupt him. It is obvious she ensorcelled the tailor into doing her bidding, and not following our most careful instructions. Your younger son looks Hetarian now, not Terahn.”

Lara had heard them. It had been years since she had spoken to either of her sisters-in-law, and she was surprised to find they still irritated her. “Amren is most handsome in his new garments. The richness of them gives him more value with the Hetarians with whom he must deal than if he had dressed himself in plain clothing. With Hetar it is always the first impression that is the lasting one. After all these years have you no concept of what Hetar is like?”

They had had no answer for her. Recalling it now, Lara remembered that day as if it were yesterday. Narda and Anselma were long gone of course. Magnus’s youngest sister, the Lady Sirvat, Lara’s dearest friend, was dead, too. And since her passing Lara had had no friend among the Terahns. Her mother had, some fifty years ago, sent her a serving woman, Cadi, as Lara’s longtime serving woman, Mila, had grown old, too.

Cadi was the daughter of a casual encounter between a faerie man and the strong spirit that inhabited an Aspen tree in the domain of the Hetarian Forest Lords. She had been found cradled in the aboveground roots of the tree one May morning by her father, who had been summoned by his former lover. The Aspen told the faerie man that the child was his, and he must take it as she could not raise it. He agreed, bringing the infant to his queen and begging for her aid.

Though he was a faerie of the lower castes, Ilona agreed to raise his daughter, educate her and one day put her in service with Lara. The queen of the Forest Faeries knew her daughter would need one of their own kind by her side eventually. Mortals died off much too soon. And their bodies became infirm, as well. So Cadi had come to serve her mistress when she reached the age of fourteen.

She was a delicate and slender creature with faerie green eyes that she had inherited from her father. But it was her hair that was her most interesting feature. It appeared leaflike. In summer Cadi’s head was a bright green that seemed to quiver and quake when the winds blew. In autumn her hair turned bright red and gold. By winter her head seemed nothing more than short brownish twigs that, once the spring came, began to sprout green buds that grew again into odd, flat, round pointed shapes that so resembled the leaves of the Aspen tree.

Ilona had trained the girl well. Sweet-natured, but intelligent, she served her mistress with loving kindness. And Lara was relieved to have a serving woman who understood her mistress and her magical ways, someone who could be trusted to keep Lara’s secrets. Cadi had traveled with Lara to the New Outlands to bid the friend of her youth a final farewell. It had been a poignant and difficult moment for Lara.

Word had come via faerie post that Noss was in her final days. She would not live, her daughter Mildri wrote, to see this year’s Gathering. No longer having any official duties in Terah, Lara had called to Cadi, newly come to her then, to join her. Going to the stables, they had mounted Lara’s great horse, Dasras, and together they had traveled to the New Outlands.

Seeing Lara again, Noss, now silver-haired and wrinkled, had laughed knowingly. “This journey I will take without you, Lara,” she said. “But Liam is waiting for me.”

“Do not go just yet,” Lara begged her friend. “We are only newly come.”

“Who is the girl with the odd hair who accompanies you?” Noss wanted to know.

“Her name is Cadi, and she is my new serving woman,” Lara answered.

“Come here, child.” Noss beckoned to Cadi, and when the girl knelt next to the old woman Noss chuckled. Her hand reached up to ruffle the faerie girl’s head. “She is magic,” Noss said. “’Twas past time your mother sent you someone. How difficult it must be to have us all dying about you, dearest Lara. I remember your mother saying ’twas the curse of being a faerie who loved mortals.” Noss lay back upon her pillows, and closed her eyes briefly. Then she sighed. “I know my time has come, Lara, and though I am now ancient and crippled I am still loath to leave this world. What lies beyond for us? Do you know?”

Lara shook her head. “I know no more than you, dearest Noss. They say for those good mortals, and you are surely one of them, there is another, but different world of joy, where you will be united with those you love who have gone before you. And for those wicked mortals an entirely different place of punishment exists. ’Tis all I know.”

“Will you live forever?” Noss asked.

“I don’t know,” Lara said. “My grandmother Maeve died after many hundreds of years in this world, but where she went, or if her essence disappeared entirely forever I do not know, Noss.”

“Does Ethne?” Noss wondered, referring to Lara’s spirit guardian, who lived in a crystal Lara wore about her neck.

“I never asked her,” Lara replied. “And I am not certain I am ready to, or to know the answer she might give me.” The crystal at the end of the chain about her neck glowed briefly, and Lara was certain that she heard Ethne’s tinkling laughter.

Noss gasped, for she had heard the light laughter, too. “I heard her!” she said excitedly. “I heard Ethne laugh! I did!” Noss sat up.

That and the words I now speak to you, Noss of the Fiacre, are my parting gift to you. You have loved my mistress well for lo these many years. Your friendship has been a faithful and true friendship. When you are ready, go into the light unafraid, Noss of the Fiacre, for your mate is eagerly awaiting your arrival. Have no fear of the door now opening for you. Step bravely across it, knowing you have done well in this life, and you go forth carrying many faerie blessings with you.

And Noss felt just the lightest of kisses upon her cheek. Her faded brown eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Ethne,” she managed to say. Then she turned her head to look at Lara. “My time has come,” she told her oldest and dearest friend with a sigh. “Will you remain by my side until I am gone, dearest Lara?” The old woman closed her eyes and lay back again upon her pillows.

“I will, dearest Noss,” Lara responded, taking Noss’s hand in hers. “I will not leave until you have.” And the faerie woman sat by the side of the only mortal friend remaining to her as the day waned. Finally, as the sun sank away in a blaze of reds, oranges and golds edged in pale green, a deepening blue sky above it filled with small gilt-edged purple clouds, Noss of the Fiacre, widow of Liam, lord of the clan family, stepped bravely through the open door to leave this life for the next. And as she did, Lara heard the joyous cries of welcome for Noss from those beyond that door. She smiled, and looking to Noss’s daughter, Mildri, said softly, “Your mother has left us.”

Mildri wept quietly for some minutes, and then, her mother’s daughter, she arose, saying to Lara, “You will remain for the Farewell Ceremony, of course.”

And Lara had. She and Noss had been friends since they were mere girls. They had shared slavery together. Had been reunited by the Shadow Princes. Had traveled across the plains of the old Outlands together encountering adventures Lara would never forget. She had protected Noss, who had been three years younger than Lara. And when Lara’s first husband’s cousin had fallen in love with Noss, and Noss with him, it had been Lara who had arranged their marriage. And it had been a happy marriage, producing several sons and a daughter. Noss’s destiny had been to be a wife, a mother, a Fiacre clanswoman. And while Lara’s fate had been a far different one, their friendship had never wavered. But now Noss was gone.

Remembering that day so many years ago, Lara wept again briefly. How many mortals had she lost? And now she found herself in a world that did not remember who she was, or her many accomplishments that had helped the mortals inhabiting the world of Hetar to survive and stay within the light. But something was about to happen. Something was going to change. The uneasiness she felt did not bode well. She needed to go to the oasis of Zeroun to think. To escape all the mortal emotions that surrounded her and could divert her thoughts.

“Cadi!” she called to her servant.

“We are going to Zeroun,” Cadi said as she came forward to join her mistress.

Lara laughed. “Is it that you read my thoughts now?” she said.

“Nay, I should not presume, my lady. But I know that when you get that certain look upon your face, we are going to Zeroun,” Cadi answered with a smile.

“I would ride Dasras,” Lara said. “But I will send you now to prepare my dwelling ahead of time.” With a wave of her hand Lara opened the magical golden passage saying but one word, “Zeroun!” And without another word Cadi stepped into the tunnel and hurried down the shimmering passage. The tunnel closed. Taking a white silk cape lined in soft natural-colored wool from her wardrobe, Lara draped it about her and with another wave of her hand transported herself to the stable where Dasras was housed.

The great white stallion looked up, nodding a greeting to her as Lara magicked his blanket, his saddle and bridle on. “In a hurry, are we?” Dasras asked drily as the cinch magically tightened itself about his belly. “Where are we going?”

“Zeroun,” Lara told the horse. “Your stall is dirty. Has it not been cleaned?”

“The grooms are careless now,” Dasras said. “Ever since Jason’s grandson died I have not had a personal servant.” He stamped a hoof and shook his head. “My mane has not been combed recently,” he said. “The time draws near, mistress, for us to leave this place. Terah is no longer a home to us.”

“I know,” Lara half whispered, and felt the tears springing to her eyes. Taking up a currycomb she ran it through the stallion’s thick mane, tears now falling softly. “That is why we go to Zeroun. I must think on what to do.”

“We should go to Shunnar,” Dasras responded. “You know the prince has wanted you there. He was even willing to raise up a palace for you so you might maintain your cherished independence.”

“Perhaps I should go to the Forest Kingdom of my mother,” Lara suggested.

The big stallion snorted derisively. “Nonsense,” he told her. “Besides I cannot run free in the forest with all those trees. Climb upon my back now, mistress, and let us be off to Zeroun. I am eager to take to the sky today.”

Lara did as Dasras bid her, pointing at the stable doors, which flew open allowing them to exit. The stallion burst forth from the stables into the open courtyard, gaining a certain satisfaction as the stablemen and grooms scattered, making a path for him. They were afraid of him, he knew, feeding and watering him grudgingly because they were more afraid of Lara. But his stall was not cleaned as often as it once had been, nor was he curried and combed. His great wing extended, and Dasras took to the skies.

“Do you think he’ll come back this time?” one of the stablemen asked another.

“Who knows with that wicked lot,” his companion said. “I hope they’re gone for good. But we had best clean the beast’s stall while we have the opportunity.”

Above them Dasras turned in the blue sky, setting his direction toward the Emerald Mountains.

* * *

IN HIS LIBRARY the Dominus Cadarn happened to gaze out the large window in his library and saw Dasras as he gained altitude. He squinted, then grabbed for his peering tube, setting it to his eye. As he guessed, Cadarn thought with a frown. The faerie woman who was his great-grandmother was upon the stallion’s back leaning low over the beast’s neck urging him onward. Where did she go when she disappeared from the castle? He was actually afraid to ask her, but each time she went he half hoped she would not return.

Cadarn turned away from the disquieting sight. He was expecting his uncle Amren, who had just returned from Hetar. There was a new trade agreement to be discussed. He had already seen the paperwork, and was not pleased with it. Hetar could no longer continue to take advantage of Terah as they had been doing. And it was going to be up to Amren to tell that to Hetar. The young Dominus considered it might be time to retire his uncle. Amren was elderly now. He had lived most of his life in Hetar. Of late Cadarn had begun to consider his uncle’s loyalties lay more with Hetar than with Terah. The Dominus had placed a spy in his uncle’s household. His spy believed that Terah’s ambassador was taking large bribes from the Merchants Guild and possibly from the Coastal Kings. And his uncle’s wife was a Hetarian woman from the important noble house of Ahasferus. Oddly, he could understand Amren’s duplicity, but if he could gain confirmation of it, his uncle would be replaced. He would not embarrass Terah or their family by exposing Amren’s sins, of course. As Dominus, he would simply say that his uncle was entitled to a comfortable retirement, and thank him publicly for his long and faithful service. But of course the difficulty would lie in finding another to serve who would not be corrupted too soon. He considered his own younger brother, Cadoc. Cadoc already had a wife, and his loyalties would not be torn, although eventually, Cadarn thought cynically, he could be bribed.

A knock sounded upon the library door.

“Come!” the Dominus barked, and the door opened to reveal Amren. “Ahh, uncle, come in, come in,” Cadarn invited the older man. “We have a great deal to discuss today. I do not like the new trade agreement, and so it must be renegotiated.” He smiled toothily at Amren’s obvious distress even as he waved him to a chair. “We must do better for Terah, uncle. For Terah is our first priority, isn’t it?”

Ambassador Amren smiled weakly. “Of course, of course!” he agreed.

Dominus Cadarn restrained his laughter. Aye! It was past time to replace the old fool. With or without further proof of his dishonesty, it was time for a change.