merely lay in utter misery, unconscious of anything except for the awful pain and the horrid feeling in his mouth. He might have slept again or faded from awareness-he couldn't tell for sure-but when he finally forced his gummy eyelids apart he again saw the figure, squat and rotund, sitting beside his bed.
This time he could make out details: a pair of bright eyes, close set and sparkling, stared at him with unblinking attention. The rest of the room was large and well-chiseled. He could see a brass latch on the door, and gradually became aware that the covering of his mattress was a fine bearskin, a pelt very rare and treasured in Thorbardin. From these facts he deduced that he wasn't in some squalid gully dwarf hovel. He took this fact as no small relief.
But it still didn't answer the rest of his questions. He forced himself to reach backward in his mind, trying to reconstruct events. He saw Belicia, frowning at him, then turning her back. She was displeased. Why?
Because he was going away! The answer came like a stab of light, even though he realized that he had not defined the exact reason for Belicia Felixia's displeasure. But part of it was true-he had been going away. He remembered now. The lake, the crossing from light into darkness.
His mother's house. That was the last memory he had and it came to him with full and vivid recollection. The discussion in her parlor, the mead-the mead, by Reorx! Especially the second bottle, the special brew she had asked Karc to bring. Had Garimeth taken any drink from that bottle? He hadn't been paying careful attention, but he was pretty sure that she hadn't.
Of course-his mother had drugged him! His own mother! And now he was no doubt in some chamber of her house.
How could she do such a thing? And why? Why?
For a time he berated himself for his own stupidity. Certainly no self-respecting Daergar would accept a drink from one who refused to partake of the same beverage! How could he have been so careless, so disregarding of the most basic precautions?
The answer was clear: he had spent so much time among the Hylar where trust and goodwill were widespread. He had lost the edge needed to make one's way through dark dwarf society. He thought of the Helm of Tongues, how he had argued with his father over the possibility of his mother's having stolen the artifact. Of course Baker Whitegranite must have been right. He remembered his mother regarding him through narrowed eyes, subtly encouraging him to drink. What had they been talking about? Had he given away any of the thane's secrets?
'Why? Why did you do it, mother?' he croaked the question aloud, through the painful splitting of his dry lips.
'I not your mother, silly. You say thirsty, I give drink. You say 'dragon piss' and I no give you more drink. That why.'
In spite of everything, Tarn uttered a harsh bark of laughter. He had entirely forgotten his odd companion. After all, once he had realized that he was in his mother's house, it had seemed more likely than anything that the gully dwarf was a figment of his fevered imagination. Certainly Aghar-bashing was considered fine sport among the Daergar. Even the lowliest of his mother's servants would have had free rein to strangle or crush the little wretch if his presence were discovered.
'Who are you? And where are we?' His voice rasped painfully. He craved a draught of any liquid, no matter how vile. With a groan he forced himself into a sitting position, swinging his sturdy legs over the edge of the bed. He realized that his boots had been removed from his feet.
'Regal Wise-Always. That my name. We in the Big House.'
Tarn regarded the Aghar, observing the sparse beard straggling from a rounded chin, the small, rotund figure, and a face dominated by a pair of bright, curious eyes. 'What 'Big House'? Is this Daerforge, the manor of Garimeth Bellowsmoke?'
'Big Big House. And you in Agharhome, buddy. Best next best place in all Thorbardin!'
'No! I've seen Agharbardin. Nobody but a gully dwarf would go there, and I can tell you that it's not like this.'
Tarn made the denial with a great deal of conviction. He could tell that this was a fine sleeping chamber, with a bed fit for nobility. Now that he was upright, he also noticed a settee, garment wardrobes, and a dressing table. It all looked vaguely familiar. This was not his usual room, but he was almost certain that he was somewhere within his mother's house in the port city of the dark dwarves.
'Well, you come to Agharhome here. You right by dark dwarves-they take you boots and plop into bed.'
Forcing himself to think, Tarn reviewed his memory of Thorbardin, including the large gully dwarf slum called Agharbardin-or Agharhome, as the wretched inhabitants called it. He remembered that the gully dwarf city was a sprawling wasteland adjacent to Daerforge, but the two cities were distinct entities and clearly unalike. As a youngster during his visits to his mother's home city, he had joined Daergar youths in pitching rocks from the balconies and plazas of their city, hooting with derision as the missiles had tumbled through the crowded Aghar hovels that lined the lower elevations of the cliff. Come to think of it, he had thrown some of those rocks from the ramparts of this very manor. The squalid lairs of the gully dwarves had not been terribly far away.
'Regal. That's a good name, I have to say. How did you get here?'
'I walk. Me good walker, for sure.'
'I'm sure you are.' Tarn winced, knowing he could be in for a long conversation. 'I mean, where did you go to come to this part of… er, Agharhome?'
'Over there… where I go now!' Suddenly the sturdy little fellow bounced to his feet and dashed with startling alacrity across the sleeping chamber, disappearing into one of the wardrobes that had been standing open. The door shut with a loud clunk, but then he realized that the noise had come from the large door to his room.
His mother stood in the portal now, staring at him with a pinched, thoughtful expression. 'I see that you're awake. Actually, one of the guards thought he heard you talking to yourself.' She looked around suspiciously.
'Yes,' he stated in a controlled angry voice, 'I make better company than most people.'
Garimeth sniffed as she came into the room followed by a pair of armed guards. 'You could do with a bath,' she declared acidly.
Vaguely Tarn smelled the lingering aftermath of Regal Wise-Always.
'I didn't sleep very well,' he complained. 'Something got hold of my stomach. Maybe you can tell me what it was?'
'It was Aminus Hybrythia.' She gave the name of a rare fungus, widely known for its soporific effects. 'It served its purpose, I have to admit.'
'And what purpose was that?' demanded Tarn, rising to his feet and staggering in spite of his determination to show no weakness. He clamped his jaws against a swelling wave of nausea. 'Why did you knock me out? My orders were to speak to Uncle Darkend, the new thane, and I must do so right away.'
His mother's expression remained stoic, though the two guards who held small but lethal crossbows raised their weapons fractionally. Finally the truth dawned on Tarn.
'What day is it?' he asked dully.
'You've slept for the last three cycles. Poor thing, you seemed to be terribly tired.'
'Then he's visited Daerforge and gone back to his palace already?'
'Yes, of course.'
'Then I must go to Daerbardin and talk to him!'
'You'll do no such thing.' Now the guards stepped forward to flank his mother as she moved closer to him. 'For two reasons-one of which is for your own good-though you're probably too thick-headed to see it.'
He waited, saying nothing, numb even to the retching of his stomach and the aching in his head.
'First, you're on a fool's errand. Darkend Bellowsmoke has no more intention of listening to Hylar counsel than he does of taking a goat for his wife.'
'You can't know that!' Tarn protested.
'See-too thick, like I said. But it's true. In fact, after hearing you out, your uncle would have to kill you before letting you run back to Hybardin.'
'That is why you knocked me out for three days?' he asked sarcastically.
'Don't tempt me to make it longer,' she warned.
'How long do you plan to hold me here?'
'I can't have you talking to Darkend. This is not a good time for such a family reunion. And believe it or not, this is the only place you'll be safe.'
