'Indeed,' she said coolly. 'And does our king return to us with similar haste?'
The sergeant bit his tongue, but a nearby youngster had apparently not yet learned the value of discretion. 'Not now-not for years, maybe!' he exclaimed.
Concealing her smile, Garimeth nodded somberly as she left the Hylar. Making her way to Baker's office, she knew beyond a doubt that her timing would be perfect.
The acting thane started guiltily as he heard the door open behind him, and then he sighed, no doubt realizing there was only one person who would presume to enter his sanctum without so much as a knock.
'Hello, Gari,' he said, his expression neutral behind the graying bristle of his beard.
'There was a message from Hornfel,' she said bluntly, accusing him with her eyes. Her suspicious look suggested she thought he was trying to keep a secret from her.
'Yes, I read it just a few minutes ago,' he agreed cautiously. 'But how did you know?'
'The whole city is talking about that courier. They say he looked like something a cave bear coughed up.'
Baker grunted. 'The poor fellow had quite a time of it: a shipwreck, attacked by a dragon. We are fortunate he arrived here at all. He told me he was the lone survivor out of a party of twelve Hylar.'
'And his news?'
She watched carefully, wondering how much he would tell. The acting thane drew a deep breath. He would reveal portions of the momentous news, but he was not yet prepared to discuss the whole matter with his wife. 'It's important, but I need some time to think-'
'Time to think? You could take half a century, and you still wouldn't know what to do,' she snapped.
Baker stiffened. 'If you came here to belabor me, you might as well leave right now. If you don't, I shall summon my-'
'You don't need to summon anyone. I'm going,' she sneered, and now she was exhilarated, ready to make her announcement. She smiled tightly as she sensed his bridled fury, and loathed him for his impotence. 'But first I'll say what I came here to say.'
He waited.
'I have decided to Break Bond with you,' she said, her tone blunt and devoid of any emotion. 'My things are packed, and I shall depart on the next lake boat for Daerforge.'
'You-you're going home?' Baker stammered.
'That's what I said.'
'But why?'
Garimeth relished the shocked tone of his voice, and snorted in dry amusement. 'Why not? In truth, you gave me cause to think before. I have decided that you bore me. The Hylar bore me. It's time for me to do something more… interesting.'
He squinted, adjusting his glasses in his typical and fruitless effort to see more clearly.
'Baker Bad-Eyes,' she mocked him. 'How can you ever expect to act like a thane of Thorbardin?'
Somehow he forced out the words. 'Then go, and good riddance to you,' he snapped. 'I don't suppose you have told Tarn?'
'Our son has known of my intentions for a long time. He has promised to visit me when I am settled in my old clanhome back in Daerforge.'
That, at least, was true. She reflected that her son was the one good thing to come from her overlong dalliance among the Hylar. Without further words she left Baker, and sent a message to her son as soon as she was back in her own house, the house that had been hers for too many decades, now.
Garimeth was thoughtful as she packed her most cherished clothes. She would send later for her full wardrobe, since she wasn't about to stick around here for another day. It would take several such days before the full array of her belongings could be gathered.
She passed into their sitting room, determined to bring a few boots and items of outer wear that she had left in the cedar wardrobe. Upon opening the door she noticed the familiar bronze gleam of the possession she had dubbed her husband's 'toy'.
In truth, she knew better. The Helm of Tongues, an artifact cherished through generations of the Whitegranite family, had uses that she herself had only begun to appreciate. Of course, it was useful for simple purposes: the wearer of the Helm could decipher text written in any language, reading it as though it were printed in precise mountain dwarf. That made it invaluable to a fussy scholar such as Baker Whitegranite.
But Garimeth had discovered something when she had first donned the metal object some three or four decades earlier. It had a benefit far more suited to her tastes. In addition to its powers of translation, the Helm of Tongues allowed its wearer to sense the deepest thoughts and feelings of other dwarves, without the target ever suspecting that he or she was being thus revealed.
Garimeth had learned through discreet questioning that the latter ability seemed to be unique to her, or at least, particular to dark dwarves. Perhaps the Hylar temperament was too naive for this use.
Now her first impulse was to cast the item aside and continue to gather her jewelry, but with a tight smile she paused, then picked up the metal helmet. Even after all these years it felt surprisingly light in her hands. She looked closely at the intricate scrollwork marking the smooth bronze surface. She couldn't resist placing the object on her head.
As always, it felt marvelously comfortable, as if it had been molded to fit her scalp, though, as far as she knew, it fit Baker's larger head with similar comfort. But the sensations she was feeling went beyond, far beyond, mere comfort. Already there was that familiar tingling in her nerves, like a caress of blissful delight quivering in her belly, tightening the focus of her mind. Her senses felt exceptionally keen. The rusty colors of the tapestry hanging in the room were brightened to a blood-red crimson that shimmered like a living, breathing thing. The deep-paneled oak seemed to have a texture like a dramatic landscape, all valleys and ravines and lofty crests.
These senses extended beyond the natural, and she suddenly felt a presence in the next room, knew that her husband's house-servant Vale was moving about in the dining chamber. Though that loyal dwarf made no sound, the helm allowed her to picture his exact position. A thick wall of solid stone separated them, and still it was like she stood right behind Vale, watching as he went about his cleaning.
The servant reached high with a feather duster, sweeping the top of a cabinet, and Garimeth was seized by a capricious impulse. The power of the helm augmented her thoughts. With her mind she reached out, grasped him by the wrist, and pushed. The feather duster hooked around the base of a delicate candelabra, moved sharply, and the glass object fell to the floor.
The shattering of crystal, and Vale's gasp of dismay, were audible even through the closed door. Under other circumstances the dwarfwoman would have hastened into the dining chamber and relished the chance to rebuke the clumsy servant, but now she merely shrugged. Her husband's possessions were no longer any concern of hers.
At least, his mundane possessions. Removing the helmet, she looked at it again, and made a sudden decision. With a barely concealed smile of pleasure, she tossed the object into her traveling trunk and continued to prepare for her departure.
Perhaps Baker wouldn't miss her, but by Reorx he would certainly notice that she was gone.
Chapter Three
Long and Short Views
Amid eggs of gold and bronze, of silver, brass, and copper, there was an orb of purest platinum, a spherical treasure blessed by Paladine himself.
Thai the Graygem came to the Grotto as it came to the rest of Krynn, as a harbinger of Chaos that reached into the substance of the world, and planted its wild seed. And the platinum egg was changed by the essence of Chaos, and changed it would remain.
While the other eggs hatched, and the dragons were born, the egg of platinum had been changed, altered by the chaotic force of the Graygem. And so it remained in the nest and so it would stay, until a true ruler of the
