If indeed such thoughts were uppermost in the count’s mind, then he would be dreadfully concerned about the ramifications of Gord’s imprisonment, Gellor’s discovery of the action, and intelligence reaching King Archbold-all supposing that the once one-eyed man actually was the king’s general, and that Gord was one of His August Supremacy’s most valuable agents. Gord knew, of course, that the latter was totally fallacious, but Lord Blemu thought it the truth. If he indeed plotted to renounce his vow of fealty and seize independence, then he would most likely over-react to this minor situation, which would be to Gord’s advantage. Interesting, indeed….
Eventually the conversation waned to desultory remarks, as full belly and fine wine took blood from brain to stomach. It had grown late besides, and the evening was finally ended by the constable wishing all a good night’s rest and cheerful morrow. As Gord and Gellor made ready to leave, Sir Mellard came to them and assured the two that all would be in readiness for them at dawn, just as the Lord General had directed.
“It is most regrettable that the officers of His August Supremacy will be unable to remain a few days at the castle,” Sir Mellard said without conviction. “Although the facilities will be strained to capacity with all the wedding guests, personages such as yourselves, representing the Royal Court, would be most welcome and well-quartered for the event.”
“Wedding guests?” queried Gord.
“Never mind that, captain,” said Gellor quickly. “I am tired, and we must be away on business of the king by first light! Come along, and I’ll inform you of the happy event that Sir Mellard referred to as we go-you’ve been a bit out of touch, shall we say?”
Gord was unwilling to let the matter drop, for he did not quite trust Gellor to give him the whole truth, and wished to get to the bottom of it by questioning the obsequious constable then and there. However, he recognized a firmness in Gellor’s urging, despite its friendly tone, and in the way his “general” turned abruptly and headed for the door, expecting Gord to follow. His wisdom told him that silence and patience were the wiser course, so he turned on his heel and also left the dining room swiftly, doing as he was ordered.
Gellor refused to say anything at all on the matter, however, when they arrived at the small suite assigned to them. Using the Thieves’ Cant, and hand signs, Gellor cautioned Gord to mind his tongue, for walls hid many things, including listeners. Once they were well away from the castle, said Gellor in the secret tongue, he would tell Gord everything he wished to know, but for tonight they must remain stolid officers of the King of Nyrond, here now merely to refresh themselves with a night’s sleep before going on next day to carry out the secret affairs of His August Supremacy. Grudgingly, Gord agreed, and soon both men were tucked in their beds, located in adjoining chambers behind unlocked doors. Gord, unused to anything softer than a bit of mildewed straw scattered on a stone floor, thought the softness of the bed would prevent slumber. He was quite mistaken, for sleep overtook him in a moment, and he barely stirred for the rest of the night.
A restrained tapping on the door of his room brought Gord awake. This was followed by a rustling sound as someone moved into the chamber. Gord opened his eyes, his muscles tense, his hand going instinctively to the dagger at his bedside even as he turned to see who had intruded upon him. It was merely the fussy valet who had attended to him yesterday, now engrossed in his morning ministrations. It was still dark outside, and the servant carried a candle with him. He had deposited a stack of garments on a nearby stand and was now in the process of setting flame to a half-dozen tapers so as to illuminate the room. When the task was finished, he turned and saw Gord watching him.
“Good morning, sir,” said the servant. “It is nearly first light, and I have come to assist you in dressing and preparing for your departure.”
Gord harrumphed but swung his legs out of bed and arose. As the valet fussed with the stack of garments, separating things and laying them out, Gord washed and otherwise went through his unaccustomed morning toilet. In the meantime, the fancy clothing he had been given to wear yesterday, and which he had tossed casually aside when retiring, had been picked up, brushed, and painstakingly folded and stowed in a small leather pack-evidently for Gord to take along when he departed. The valet handed him new linen and then insisted on helping Gord dress.
The apparel he had been given today was designed for rougher activity: heavy stockings, short breeches of leather, with a like doublet worn over a linen blouse. This ensemble was all in black, and completed with high riding boots, gloves, soft cap, and cloak. Another set of small clothes was packed away as Gord broke his fast with fresh bread, cheese, salty-sour galda fruit, and watered wine. The valet hastened to hand him a napkin as soon as it was evident that he was through, and then whisked away the remains of the meal, leaving Gord alone in the room and wondering what would happen next. He went to his weapons and began buckling the shortsword to his waist when another rap sounded on his bedroom door, this one much more important-sounding than the servant’s taps.
Gord called for the entrance of the one so knocking, and in came Sir Mellard, followed by a churl bearing several bundles. The constable ordered him to place his burdens gently on the bed, dismissed the fellow, and then spoke to Gord.
“The busy affairs of the coming celebration again prevent my master, Count Blemu, from personally attending to your wishes ere you depart. He has sent me personally to see that all is satisfactory, however, and I am at your disposal.” At the last portion of his speech, the constable appeared pained indeed. He managed to go on, though, with only a slight grimace and a swallow.
“Humblest apologies are given you for having… detained you in so unkind a fashion. Had you but mentioned your service to His August Supremacy-but no matter! I am instructed to personally crave your pardon, and humbly beg forgiveness for my part in the… ah… misunderstanding….” Sir Mellard paused expectantly.
“Get on with it, man!” Gord ordered him, allowing his pent-up anger and general dislike for the fellow to permeate his tone.
The constable winced and nearly flew into a fury himself at the outrage of a mere soldier speaking to him in such a manner. But then he recalled his mission, the instructions of his lord, and the supposed station of Gord as captain and agent of the King of Nyrond’s personal corps. Composing himself again, Sir Mellard resumed his speech.
“Lord Blemu, in his generosity, and to emphasize the depth of his regrets, bestows upon you the following gifts.” The constable paused here and turned to the packages, lifting them one by one as he talked. “First, here is a purse of coins to assist you comfortably on your return to Rel Mord.
“Next, this blade,” the constable continued, unwrapping and holding forth in near-formal presentation a beautifully crafted small sword, “is a prize captured from a brigand chieftain from the northern border. It is wrought from an alloy of steel and adamantite, I am told, and then enchanted so as to pierce dragon’s scale or foeman’s plate without losing any of its point or edge.
“Last, but by no means least, my Lord Count gifts you with this silver neck-chain, a piece taken from his personal coffer, and set with garnets highly polished to enhance its beauty.” Sir Mellard held it out toward Gord. “See, it bears the arms of Count Blemu himself as its chiefmost decoration! It will show that you have his noble favor.”
“Is that all?” Gord asked icily.
“All? AM?” sputtered the constable. “You so dare as to-” and then he again recalled his mission. He took one deep breath, forcing a smile to his lips and calmness into his tone, and then said, “There is one more thing which comes from His Lordship…. May I speak freely as gentleman to… ah…gentleman?”
“You may, sir,” Gord allowed graciously.
“In the matter of your… ah… stay here. Need it be emphasized in your report to the king? Lord Blemu
At that moment, Gellor came in from his adjoining chamber. Gord immediately suspected that he had overheard the conversation and was timing his entrance accordingly.
“It is not a matter worth any further consideration, or note,” Gellor boomed in a hearty voice. “Be a good fellow and tell your good Count just that. General Gellor and Captain Gord understand the whole affair was an error, and who amongst us errs not? It is a trivial thing of history, best forgotten,” he said reassuringly as he guided the constable to the door. “But do relate to His Lordship that his generosity will long be recalled whenever Blemu Castle comes to mind!”
Beaming, Sir Mellard departed, assuring the two that they would have the swiftest and finest of coursers, with appropriate trappings, awaiting upon their departure. He then hurried away, and Gord looked at Gellor to see if he could determine what the fellow was up to.
