The Magestone

22 Mereth—events at Krevonel Castle (21st Day, Month of the Ice Dragon/20th Day, Moon of the Knife)

As soon as Gurborian had seated himself, I became aware of a curious sensation emanating from his end of the table. And then I knew as if my fingertips had brushed the very stone: Elsenar’s jewel was concealed upon Gurborian’s person. Never before had I felt such a certainty, or detected an object’s presence without physically touching it.

It was impossible for me to alert Kasarian that Morfew’s devious message had succeeded. Gurborian now had to be pricked into openly presenting the jewel as his crowning enticement.

I had to be aware of judging the attraction of a bribe by the Dales’ standards. As an experienced trader, I had already assessed the wealth of the House of Krevonel. Its castle fittings might be spare, but they were all of the highest quality. My association with Kasarian caused me to doubt that lavish riches or sensual pleasures would appeal to him. The other Alizonder barons craved brute power—or in Volorian’s case, pre-eminent mastery of those accursed hounds.

When Gratch sought to take advantage of that weakness by proposing access to hound breeding rights, I stared scornfully at him as if he were proffering me a tub of rancid butter. Undeterred by my negative reaction, Gratch drew a rough map on the table top with a finger dipped into his bloodwine. I had to suppress the urge to shudder at the raw memories that action evoked. The table’s wood was pale, bleached like the Alizonders themselves. Against that ivory surface, the wine’s crimson streaks ran like real blood, reminding me unbearably of other long-ago tables covered with wounded Dalesmen. I forced myself to concentrate on Gratch’s hateful voice. His Alizonian was tinged with a Gorm accent which he constantly strove to disguise.

My heart lurched when Gurborian actually began to reach for his tunic pocket, but he hesitated, spreading his hands flat on the table. Jarred from his wine-soaked reverie, Gratch peered from Gurborian’s hands to mine. Before I could evade him, he stripped off my left glove, roaring that I was not Volorian, but a female.

We all leaped to our feet, seeking positions of advantage. I discarded my right-hand glove so that I could take a firmer grip on my staff.

Just as Kasarian had predicted, both Gratch and Gurborian had smuggled in concealed weapons—Gratch pulled from his pocket as small a dart gun as I had ever seen, while Gurborian drew a thin-bladed dagger from his sleeve. Kasarian immediately snatched his hidden sword from behind the wall tapestry.

Even despite his copious bloodwine consumption, Gratch still moved with unsettling agility. He lunged toward me, snarling, “Out of my way, useless female!”

In backing away from him, I caught my boot heel against the chair leg, throwing myself off balance. Gratch struck at my shoulder as I swayed, shoving me to the floor. He desired a clear dart shot at Kasarian, who was completely immersed in his life-or-death duel with Gurborian. I knew Gratch’s darts had to be poisoned, probably rendering any bare-skin impact deadly.

Gratch did attempt one shot, but Kasarian’s keen side vision must have registered our movement, for he dodged to one side even as Gratch lifted his gun to fire. Unwittingly, Gratch stepped within range of my staff. I reached up from my prone position on the floor and smashed the staff across his forearm, sending the dart gun careering over the stone paving. Colliding with the table support, the gun rebounded toward me. I snared it with my staff, seized it, and fired point-blank at Gratch’s looming face, as he was diving to retrieve his weapon. The dart lodged beneath his left eye. He gave a horrid shriek as he fell atop my legs, but I kicked out and rolled away from him, under the table. In case he pursued me, I spun around as quickly as I could, but I need not have troubled on Gratch’s account. His dart poison must have been instantly lethal. Gratch lay where he had fallen, his eyes still staring in disbelieving horror, his limbs twitching like those of a beheaded lizard. It occurred to me that he had never expected a “useless female” to fight back.