“Time will tell,” the elf replied to Miralissa, and put his dagger back into its sheath.
Time! Accursed time. We lost too much of it in Hargan’s Wasteland, and now we’re losing more of it in Ranneng. If it goes on like this, we won’t get the Horn back to the capital before the start of winter.
Meanwhile our carriage was ascending the memorable incline that I had ridden down in the cart only a few days earlier.
“We’re almost there,” Kli-Kli murmured with a shudder.
Oho! So even the goblin is feeling nervous! And there he was trying to reassure me.
“Right, Harold, you know what to do. Put on a miserable face and pray to that Sagot of yours to help you find out where the Key is.”
Put on a miserable face?
“Will this do?” I asked, squinting sideways at the jester, and he gave me a thumbs-up.
“Whoa there!” we heard Arnkh say.
The carriage stopped. A man with a gold nightingale emblem on his formal uniform came up to the door.
“Name yourselves, my worshipful lords.”
“His Grace Duke Ganet Shagor, the honorable Milla and Erala of the House of the Black Moon, and Dralan Par!” the jester barked as crisply as a dozen royal heralds. “And, of course, the duke’s favorite jester. That’s me, in case you didn’t recognize me.”
Miralissa and Egrassa had changed their names for simpler ones, and that’s something quite unheard of. The pride of the race of the Secondborn does not, under any circumstance, allow an elf to use a name that is not his own. So today’s event must be very special indeed, if two elves from the highest families of the House of the Black Moon decided to change their names.
Members of a noble family could attract close attention of an unwelcome kind, so for the time being the elves had dropped their proud
“May I see your invitation, Your Grace?”
The jester insolently thrust an envelope under the guard’s nose. The light blue paper bore an embossed seal with a clear image of a nightingale.
“There! Any more questions? Or do you want to make His Grace angry?”
“I beg your pardon,” the soldier muttered in fright and started backing away, almost tripping over the scabbard of his own sword. “Proceed!”
Up on the coach box, Arnkh clicked his tongue to urge the horses on and the carriage set off, but then stopped again before it had even gone a yard.
Another guard came up to us. Unlike the first, he was dressed all in silk, not chain mail. His bald cranium could have been the envy of all the warriors of the Border Kingdom. He had a nose like a mountain eagle’s beak, thick bushy eyebrows, ears that stuck out, and a long beard. His eyes were the color of blue steel, and they slid over us with a piercing gleam, remembering our faces.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but may I take a look at the invitation?” this man asked drily.
“We have just been checked! You forget yourself, guard! You see a duke before you!” Eel snapped in a cold voice.
“My most humble apologies yet again, milord, but this is Balistan Pargaid’s order, and this check is for your own safety.”
“Give him the paper, fool!” Eel hissed. “Bear in mind that your conduct will be reported to the count, and I shall personally give you a flogging!”
“As Your Lordship wishes,” the man said indifferently.
“Yes, the seal is genuine,” he said with a nod after examining the letter carefully. “My most sincere apologies for the inconvenience.”
There was not even a hint of regret in his voice.
“Take this for your pains,” Eel said acidly, and tossed the man a copper coin. He automatically caught it and his eyes glinted in fury.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said with a bow. “I shall remember your generosity.”
The carriage moved on and the gates of the estate were left behind. Now we were driving slowly through a small park.
“There was no need to humiliate him,” Miralissa said after a pause.
“In Garrak the nobility are not used to dealing politely with commoners. I do what my character requires,” Eel said with an indifferent shrug.
“This is not Garrak, and that man is dangerous.”
“I know, but even so I did what had to be done.”
“That man is called Meilo Trug,” the jester said in a quiet voice.
“You know him?”
“Yes, I saw him five years ago at a tournament held in honor of the birthday of Stalkon’s younger son. He won the section for open combat on foot. A master of the long sword.”
“He might have recognized you,” I muttered anxiously.
“I don’t think so. I was watching him from the grandstand, but it’s not very likely that he saw me.”
The carriage stopped in front of the mansion house, in which every window was brightly lit. The door of the house opened and servants with golden nightingale emblems on their clothes bowed low and respectfully to us.
Kli-Kli was the first to jump out of the carriage, and he immediately started making faces.
“Milord, noble gentlemen!” said a man clutching something like a massive, richly decorated mace or staff as he bowed to us. “In the name of Count Balistan Pargaid I am happy to greet you! Follow me, you are expected.”
Eel nodded, which seemed to be exactly what the lad was waiting for. He swung round and led us into the building along a carpet runner. Kli-Kli overtook our guide and skipped along in front of him, jingling his little bells merrily. The herald tried to take no notice of the goblin twirling about right under his feet.
The reception hall began immediately inside the door, and it was bursting at the seams with guests. I didn’t know there were so many nobles in Ranneng and the surrounding area! And this was just one of the warring parties! There were all the Oburs and Wild Boars, too, almost as many of them as the Nightingales!
The hall was crammed to the breaking point, groaning and screwing up its eyes at the bright colors of the guests’ rich costumes, swooning over the vast diversity of hairstyles, choking on the smell of perfume. I glanced round the hall with a practiced eye, trying to keep an expression of disdainful boredom on my face. Yes, the valuables on the ladies would have made up a dragon’s treasure hoard. There were plenty of spoils on display.
Thousands of candles were burning and it was as bright as day. Beside the fountain that had been set in the very center of the hall on somebody’s insane whim, musicians were playing to amuse the gathered guests. There were servants darting about, carrying trays with goblets of sparkling wine. I could hear voices and jolly laughter on all sides.
The lad who had showed us in struck his staff on the floor three times and yelled so loud that I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Duke Ganet Shagor of the House of Shagor! The honorable Milla and Eralla from the House of the Black Moon! Dralan Par!”
“And the jester Krya-Krya, you simpleton!” Kli-Kli shouted, bowing elegantly to the guests.
People turned to look at us and bowed respectfully. The goblin skipped over to me.
“Now what?” I asked him, barely even opening my lips.
“Drink some wine and put on a clever face, and that’s all that’s required of you. I’ll go and get to know the people.”
Before I could open my mouth, Kli-Kli had disappeared among the ladies and gentlemen. Miralissa quickly got talking with a pair of rather tipsy ladies, speaking with surprising expertise about male elves and the intricacies of elfin fashion. She batted her eyelids and twittered away as recklessly as if she was a total fool, and if I didn’t know her, I would never have guessed that this was all just pretense. The ladies listened to her, open-mouthed.
