embedded in the surface of the floor. Rendered in bits of colored tile, the mosaic depicted an ancient, forgotten battle in gory detail.
'Indeed, my lord baron,' said another voice. 'I suspect your lord inquisitor could find traitors under a stone if he attempted the feat.' The second speaker was a stout, broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes and iron-gray mustaches. He wore the midnight blue military coat of the baron's knights, but the golden braid coiled about his right shoulder indicated his superior rank. 'Lord Inquisitor Sirraun appears to have a talent for finding treachery in the most unlikely places.'
'And does that disturb you, Castellan Domeck?' Sirraun turned upon the muscular, gray-haired knight. The lord inquisitor was a gaunt man with small eyes and a mocking, almost lipless mouth. His tight-fitting garb of coal black accentuated the unhealthy color of his sallow visage. 'Perhaps you have something you wish to hide. I wonder what secrets you might reveal, good castellan, given the encouragement of a skillfully placed hot iron or a few judicious turns of a thumbscrew.'
Domeck gave Sirraun a look of open disgust. 'I have found that those most interested in discovering the secrets of others usually have the most to hide themselves.' He clenched a fist. 'No, the best way to avert betrayal is to defend ourselves with sabers, not with Hes.'
Sirraun shot Domeck a poisonous look, but before the castellan could respond, the third man interposed himself between the two.
'As usual, your squabbling grows tedious,' he said sourly. He was a tall man of graceful yet imposing bearing, dark haired and uncommonly handsome. His short, carefully trimmed beard was glossy with expensive oils, and his eyes glittered like emeralds above a proud nose. He wore a long coat not unlike the castellan's, but far richer. The garment was fashioned of purple velvet with silver trim, its sleeves gashed to reveal crimson silk underneath.
'I am sorry, my lord baron,' Domeck grumbled.
'Begging your forgiveness, Baron Caidin,' Sirraun fawned obsequiously. 'You know that I live only to ' serve Your Grace.'
'Yes, you do,' Caidin said darkly.
Sirraun's eyes bulged in alarm. The castellan shot him a satisfied smirk.
'Here is my will,' Caidin went on in an authoritative tone. 'Sirraun, do what you must in the name of the inquisition. A plot to assassinate me festers in my barony-we know that from the prisoners you tortured-and I want every trace of it found and excised.' He raised a hand before Domeck could protest. 'And you, my loyal castellan, will make certain my knights are prepared to defend me should an attempt be made upon my life. Understood?'
Sirraun and Domeck exchanged looks of loathing, then nodded reluctantly.
'Excellent,' Caidin pronounced with satisfaction. 'Then I shall expect-'
A sudden cry echoed about the vaulted Grand Hall. The three men looked up in surprise. Wort lurched from his hiding place, reaching behind himself to grab the creature that had leapt on him without warning. A sharp pain bit into his neck. With his powerful arms, he managed to yank the thing off and fling it across the hall.
'Baron Caidin,' the creature squeaked as it flew through the air. 'I have found an-'
Abruptly it struck a gilded stone column and slid slowly to tine floor.
'— intruder,' the creature finished dizzily.
Wort could see now that the creature that had attacked him was a small, wizerted being with purple skin and large, pale eyes. A gnome. It was clad in a frilly white shirt and a frock coat of purple and silver, styled in miniature imitation of the baron's garb. The gnome still clutched the small stiletto with which it had scratched Wort's neck.
'Good work, Pock,' Caidin said with a wolfish grin.
'Thank you, Your Grace,' the gnome said in a croaking voice. He struggled to his feet, wobbled, then fell back down. 'I've always excelled at being thrown.'
Wort watched apprehensively as the three men advanced on him. He wondered if he should run. Too late, he saw Castellan Domeck reach out to jerk back the hood of his black cloak. Wort cringed, holding up a malformed hand to shade his eyes from the dazzling brilliance of the Grand Hall's many-candled chandeliers. Domeck stepped back, taking in a hissing breath of revulsion.
'Wort,' Caidin said between gritted teeth.
'You know this grotesque creature, Your Grace?' Sirraun said in amazement, gazing at Wort as if he were a fascinating new species of insect.
Pock gained his feet and tottered toward the others. 'Do you take the baron for a fool, Sirraun?' he demanded pompously. 'Of course he knows his own brother
'Brother?' Domeck asked in curious disgust.
Caidin glared murderously at Pock. A hint of green colored the gnome's purple skin. He swallowed hard. 'Er, I think I had better go lie down, Your Grace. The blow to my head must have addled my brains, which isn't all that hard, mind you.' Quickly he scurried away, vanishing through an archway.
A knowing smile twisted Sirraun's mouth. 'I have heard rumors that the Old Baron sired a bastard or two. Of course, I cannot blame him for keeping such a wretched thing as this a secret.'
Wort tried to shrink away from the brutal stares of the others. He found himself backing up against the sharp stone antlers of the statue.
'Leave us,' Caidin told the castellan and lord inquisitor. Knowing better than to protest, they retreated from the Grand Hall, though not without* casting a few more contemptuous glances at the hunchback who had been revealed as the baron's half brother.
'I should have you beheaded for this, Wort,' Caidin said casually.
Wort tried to sketch a bow, but his twisted form made the action a mockery. 'Forgive me, Caidin. I did not mean to disturb you. I leave my tower so sel- domly. I forget… I forget sometimes how things work outside.'
'Then do not forget again.' Caidin moved to a table and poured himself a glass of blood-red wine, draining it in one draught. He did not offer any to Wort. 'Why have you come this time?'
Wort took a trembling step forward. 'A small thing, Brother. One of the bells in the tower has cracked, I fear. It causes a dissonance in the harmonics. i would like… I would like a new bell.'
Caidin laughed. The sound was harsh and sneering, a strange contrast to the baron's handsome face. ' You want something from me?'
'Please, Brother…' Wort stuttered.
'Do not call me that,' Caidin warned. 'I suffer you to live in the tower, Wort. In my kindness, I have food brought to you so that you need not leave to face the cruel jeers of others. Do you think the debt I owed you once has not been paid many times over? You would do well not to press my generosity. Otherwise…'
Caidin dropped the empty wine glass. It shattered, and several drops of crimsorl wine spilled upon the mosaic embedded in the floor. Suddenly the wine vanished, as if sucked into the mosaic, and as it did so the images formed by the shards of colored tile began to shimmer and move. With eerie silence, the battle played itself out beneath the baron's boots. The two armies clashed. Swords bit deeply, arrows flew, blood flowed in streams of undulating red-ochre tiles. Wort watched in dread fascination, sickened at the carnage played out in the swirling mosaic. At last the images grew still once more.
'What, don't you care for the mosaic, Wort?' Caidin said mockingly. 'Its enchantment is quite old, and quite rare.'
Jerkily, Wort shook his head.
'Truly? I find it… compelling.' A vicious smile curled itself about his lips. 'Now leave. And do not disturb me again. Brother.'
With a heavy sigh, Wort turned away. He pulled up the hood of his cloak once more and left the Grand Hall, passing servants and courtiers as he shuffled through the keep's corridors. It had been more than a year since he had last spoken to Caidin. He should have known his brother would have, as usual, grown crueler in the meantime. Why that was, Wort could never understand. Caidin had everything-a strong body, a handsome face, a rich fiefdom to rule. Could he not spare his unfortunate brother the cost of a single bell? — As he stepped into the courtyard, Wort saw Castellan Domeck moving across the open square. Quickly, Wort lumbered forward, kneeling in the cold mud and grasping the castellan's black-gloved hand before the surprised man could recoil.
'Please, Castellan Domeck,' Wort begged. 'You must speak to my brother…'
Domeck's lip curled back. 'Get away from me,' he snarled. He jerked his hand away, leaving the empty glove
