“Well met,” the man on the other side of the desk said dryly, stroking his mustache. “I am Lord Constable Gelnur Farland, and you will be Lord Arclath Delcastle and, ah, Goodwoman Amarune Whitewave.”
“We are indeed,” Arclath agreed eagerly, with a wink.
Farland eyed him coldly. “You have something in your eye, lord?”
“Ah, no, no,” Arclath replied, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial croon.
“You have a nervous tic?”
“No.” Arclath winked again, firmly.
“You fancy me?”
“Ah, well,
“Then why are you winking at me?”
Arclath hesitated. “I was, ah, attempting a nonverbal signal, saer.”
“I rather thought as much. Why?”
“In order to communicate with you.”
“Yet your tongue seems in fine working order, your vocabulary adequate …”
“What is said can be overheard, saer, and we are not alone.”
“Nor are any of us here in Irlingstar, ever, except when locked in cells for slumber. This is a prison, lord, not a club or a rest retreat for idlers. Anything you want to say to me can be said before these two loyal Purple Dragons, who are present to witness all that befalls between us. And the
Arclath glanced at Rune, who gave him a helpless shrug. The lord constable watched this exchange, and asked politely, “Is there anything you wish to say to your fellow prisoner, Lord Delcastle?”
“Much,” Arclath said happily. “She is my partner.”
“In crime? Worry not, you’ll be kept far apart. For her own safety, Goodwoman Whitewave will be confined far from the other prisoners, for at the present time she is Irlingstar’s only female guest.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Lady Raelith succeeded in starving herself to death a tenday ago.”
“Excuse me, Lord Constable,” Rune said firmly, “but the king told us we would remain together in Irlingstar, Arclath and I, when he sent us here.”
The man behind the desk stared at her incredulously, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. The guards standing behind the prisoners’ chairs joined in.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lord Constable?” Rune asked politely, when all the laughter had died down. “Just what is so amusing?”
Farland regarded her almost fondly. Grinning from ear to ear, he asked her, “You expect me to believe you?”
“I have no expectations whatsoever regarding you, saer,” she replied calmly, “yet I
This produced a fresh explosion of laughter. It died down into Farland asking her, “D’you
“Why not? He
“As is every prisoner here except you, Goodwoman Whitewave. Yet I’ve somehow failed to acquire the habit of believing any of them.”
Rune sighed and looked at Arclath. “What do you think the king will do to this man upon learning he refused to cooperate with us?”
“Hand him over to Vangerdahast,” Arclath replied. “Or Glathra.”
Farland’s face changed. “Glathra?” he snapped.
“Wizard of War Glathra Barcantle. You know her?”
Farland’s hand strayed toward his throat then fell back.
“Leave us,” he ordered the two guards curtly.
“But lord-”
“They’re both chained,” Farland said testily. “If you hear furniture crashing, rush in again. In the meantime, stand well away from the door and
He waited stonily until the guards had gone out and closed the door behind them, then said, “Vangerdahast is dead and gone, or turned into a dragon if you believe the legends. So that much I know is no more than a false threat … but how did you know of my connection to G-Lady Glathra?”
“We did not,” Arclath assured him. “But we were sent here after a discussion with King Foril, Royal Magician Ganrahast, and Lady Glathra.”
“Oh, just the five of you?”
“No. My mother-Lady Marantine Delcastle-was also present.”
“To plead for royal clemency?”
Arclath sighed. “I don’t think you quite understand, Lord Constable. Rune and I are merely posing as prisoners. We’re here as agents of the Crown, under orders to promptly report back to the king himself.”
Farland sat back, smirking. “Of
“Your disbelief is obvious,” Arclath said politely, “but we were given watch phrases to prove our claims. I was told to say my father gave me a message for the seneschal.”
“And I was told to say: Glathra remembers,” Rune added.
That name brought a glint of anger into Farland’s eyes again. “I know nothing of these phrases,” he said shortly. “Perhaps Seneschal Avathnar did, but he’s dead-murdered. So as far as I’m concerned, you are prisoners and will be treated as such.” Before either Arclath or Amarune could reply, he raised his voice. “Guards!”
The door banged open and the two guards hastened in, swords drawn.
“Put those away,” the lord constable told them sourly. “These two are liars, not bloodthirsty constable- slayers. Take them to the cells assigned to them.”
Arclath frowned. “So you’ll not even take the sensible step of sending a message to the Royal Magician, or King Foril, or Lady Glathra to check on what we’ve said?”
“No,” Farland said bluntly, as the guards began unhooking the prisoners’ chains from their chairs. “Nor will I sit here sharing any confidences with you.”
“Lord Constable,” Arclath said sternly, “this is less than wise.”
The man behind the desk chuckled. “D’you know how many of my prisoners-high-and-mighty nobles, every last one of them-claim to be sent here by Ganrahast or Vainrence or the king himself as undercloak inspectors, to see what we’re up to? Almost all of them, that’s how many! You’re more subtle than most, I must say, who demand command of the castle almost before they’re done saying their names! I-”
A door boomed open somewhere in the castle below, and an imperious voice gave angry orders just too distant for anyone in the lord constable’s office to make out the words. Other voices disagreed, sternly, and the imperious voice spoke again, more sharply. Booted feet hurried up stairs, coming nearer.
“What
“Pray pardon the interruption, lord,” a guard puffed, shouldering his way into the room, “but there’re three men at the gates who won’t heed commands from any of us. They say they’re war wizards sent from Immerford, though they look more like traveling tinkers to
