Jyrbian brushed at his soiled tunic, at the bloodstains on his sleeves, and wished he’d taken the time to change before reporting to Teragrym. But the closer the group had come on their trek back to Takar, the more urgency he’d felt. Too many people knew what was going on, and Teragrym wasn’t going to reward him for information he might pick up in the dining hall.
“Did you tell him how important it is that I see him?” he demanded of the Ogre, shaking free. “Did you tell him I’ve just come from Khal-Theraxian, and that we were attacked by a band of escaped slaves?”
Not to be brushed off so easily, the younger one smiled politely, bowed, and readjusted his grip on Jyrbian’s elbow. “Yes, of course, I did. But the lord is very busy. Perhaps tomorrow… “
Jyrbian gulped the glass of wine he’d snatched from a slave in the hallway on his way to Teragrym’s quarters, not caring that he appeared mannerless. The smooth, sweet liquid soothed his dry throat, his agitation.
“I realize the lord is busy, but I have news that I must pass on! Information about Governor Igraine-”
“Not today.” The Ogre’s pleasant voice disappeared, became as cold as stone. “Lord Teragrym has heard enough of that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you heard? The council has issued a warrant for the governor’s arrest. He has been charged with heresy.”
Jyrbian was so surprised that he allowed the aide to push him out the door. Khallayne was waiting in the hallway. Unlike him, she had bathed and changed clothes, her long black hair brushed to a high gloss. She wore a silk tunic and embroidered vestrobe.
She smiled politely, as if she barely knew him, and allowed Teragrym’s aide to usher her through the door.
Fury welled up in him beyond his capacity. He could imagine Everlyn slipping through his fingers. His hopes for estate dashed. He threw the wine glass at the wall across from Teragrym’s door. Shards rained down upon the floor.
Inside the chamber, Khallayne, pausing as she heard the glass burst, smiled.
“What was that?” Teragrym’s aide asked.
“Jyrbian venting his frustration, I would imagine.”
Teragrym didn’t keep her waiting long.
As he entered, she placed her hands on the floor, palms up and open in the posture of supplication, and bowed low. Only when the lord’s shadow had passed over her did she slowly sit up.
Teragrym was seated before her on the stool.
“Lord, I-”
“You have come from Khal-Theraxian,” he interrupted.
She hesitated, stammered. For the whole trip back, she’d rehearsed what she would say to him. She wanted what he could teach her, more than ever. She needed his sponsorship more than ever.
The words had been rehearsed over and over again in her head even before she’d seen the bone-white ribbons on the city gates, the funeral colors for the Keeper.
Now she had to struggle to find her voice. “Y- yes. I’ve b-been to Khal-Theraxian.” She struggled to regain her composure. “Some friends were visiting, and I went along. I’m sorry, Lord. Should I have informed you?”
“Tell me what you saw there.”
“What I saw-? I don’t understand. We saw the estate and the mines. Governor Igraine’s-”
“Do not test my patience!” Teragrym snapped. “I believe you know what I mean. What did you see of Igraine’s behavior? Was there anything you would deem treasonous?” He hesitated, drawing that last word out, almost as if he expected to trap her.
“Treason-” The word choked her, got lost in the quickening of her breath. “My lord, I…” An image of Igraine flashed through her mind, of him in the darkness saying, “Perhaps someday you will be in a position to benefit me.” But if she lied to Teragrym and was discovered… “I-”
“Did you or did you not discern any treasonous activity?”
“My lord, forgive me. You’ve startled me with so strong a word. We saw… I saw Igraine and his holdings. And I met his family. And he showed us his new methods for increasing production among his slaves.”
“And did these methods strike you as treasonous?”
She made her choice. Her allegiance had to go to Igraine. She took a deep breath. “No.” The word was out of her mouth before she realized it, irretrievable.
Teragrym nodded, his expression unreadable.
“Lord, about the test. I have something for your consideration.”
“Test?”
“You said if I could prove myself worthy, you would consider taking me into your household.”
“I could not possibly concern myself with that now.” Teragrym stood. “I’m sure you understand. I have simply too much to attend to, with all this going on about Igraine.”
“Going on?” She looked at him, stunned, disbelieving. Not interested in the test? How could he say he was not interested?
“Yes. Igraine has been charged with treason and heresy. An envoy and guards have been sent to arrest him and bring him before the council. But surely everything will turn out fine, since you’ve been to his estate and seen nothing extraordinary.”
“Captain.” The envoy of the Ruling Council stood on the slope behind the tree cover, but where he could see Khalever, the estate of the governor of Khal-Theraxian. A blanket was draped over his uniform to keep out the dewy chill of the morning.
Not many weeks to go and fall would turn to winter. Already some of the higher mountain passes were impassable. Even at this lower altitude, the mornings and the evenings had grown cold.
There were five guards accompanying him, one from each council member, just enough for protection from the dangers of the trail. Even those five had been hotly debated among the council, with Enna arguing that they could simply send a summons to Igraine. In the end, Narran’s report had swayed them. The envoy was glad for the protection.
The captain of the guards strode over to him, carrying two cups of steaming tea. She needed no blanket, for the guards had winter uniforms with heavy cloaks.
He accepted the tea gratefully and wrapped his cold fingers around the metal cup before sipping. “I think it would be better if you remained out of sight and allowed me to go in alone. After all, Igraine is the governor. We should allow him the dignity of obeying without coercion.”
The captain, a female Ogre who was half a hand taller than the envoy, shrugged. “This is your mission.” She said it as if she didn’t envy him a bit.
She took the cup back and walked with the envoy to his horse, then stood watching as he rode away into the woods. The sun was visible on the horizon when she spotted him emerging from the woods and heading toward the long drive that led to Igraine’s home.
She went back to her troops, to check that they were faring well after another hard night on the trail. Like her, they were unaccustomed to nights spent in the wild, in the cold, but she was proud of the way they had adapted.
It was late afternoon when one of the sentries came running to her and announced that he had seen the envoy returning along the same road from the house.
“Was Igraine with him?” she asked.
“He was alone, Captain,” the young one said breathlessly. “But I’m sure it was him. I recognized his horse.”
Sometime later, the horse trotted up the trail with the envoy tied to the saddle, his head slumped backward at an impossible angle. The insignia of the Ruling Council had been ripped from the breast of his uniform.
It took the council guard only four days to make the trip back to Takar. They arrived, exhausted, barely able to sit their horses, and went straight to the council.
A second envoy was dispatched, with a guard of ten with instructions by Narran to take Igraine prisoner. A flurry of arrows took the guard by surprise before they ever left the woods on the border of the estate. One of the first lodged between the eyes of the envoy.
