A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [97]
There were sour mutters of agreement from the others around the table-tersepts all, and most of them as new in their offices as this smoothtongued new Baron of Cardassa. Haeltree knew for a fact that some of them didn't even know the difference between an armaragor and an arms-man. Not that knowing who was a knight sworn personally to you and who was a warrior of the barony would matter much if you were a tersept ignorant even of your own obligations of office, and never intended to keep the peace or draw sword in battle against anyone.
This moon-faced, oiled-haired Maevur, for one, wouldn't soil his hands in battle if he could possibly avoid it. A distant cousin of the Old Crow, this new Baron Cardassa had spent all his wastrel, formative days in Elmerna-which city, popular Cardassan belief held, was far enough downwind of Aglirta for the Old Crow not to gag at the stench of his perfumed, always-idle relation.
Maevur gave Haeltree a condescending smile and said, "If I may continue-?"
Haeltree became aware that the baron was actually expecting a response. From him. "But of course," he said, leaning forward to better feign apologetic, hearty eagerness.
Maevur beamed like the brightest sun of a hot day, reached behind him to receive the bundle a guard stepped forward to place in his open palm, and swept this mystery around in front of him with a nourish, unrolling the tube of bright new parchment grandly.
Ah, yes, of course. The map. Fledgling conspirators were nothing without a map. Every man here knew each bend and twist of the Silver-flow, and every way inn and horse pond on the overland roads, too-but they all crowded forward to look, as if the map held new revelations. A barony they'd never noticed, perhaps, or town or two someone had flung up overnight, or when they last took time to bathe-whatever decade ago that might have been. Some even reached out to put their ringers on their home castles, as if reassuring themselves that all of this was real, and they really did hold tides.
Well, they'd lose both tides and their heads if any slips were made on the road ahead-and possibly even if not, when this Maevur decided to be rid of the most capable of his fellow conspirators and replace them with underlings just as falsely loyal but incompetent enough ever to rise as rivals. He'd be on that "have accidents happen soonest" list, Haeltree knew. Maevur knew he was too clever to be left alone-and had already clearly judged him disobedient, to boot.
Ah, but obedience was always the problem, wasn't it? Whether you ruled a sty full of hogs or a barony full of people…
"Behold Aglirta," Maevur announced, as proudly as if he'd created the whole realm himself, this very morning. "A realm that can be ours, once this upstart Bloodblade and the justly feared and hated regent have slaughtered each other. They butcher each other even as we speak, and even if one is left standing at the end of their bloodbath, he'll be too weak to do more than sneeze without the permission of a wizard."
The Baron of Cardassa turned away from the map he'd been so grandly waving at and commenced to strut across the cellar, hands clasped behind his back. Gods, but you could see how his belly had grown since their last moot! The man must be a veritable boar at the trough…
"Now, wizards" Maevur of Cardassa said with supercilious authority, "have been the bane of Aglirta all my life-and these last three centuries at least, if half the tales I've heard and read can be credited with truth. Hired in by this baron and that tersept, they worm their ways to the best wine, the most gold-and true power, using spells and fear to rule in fact even if someone else holds the local tide. Many of them hail from Sirlptar or even farther afield from Aglirta, and none of them love the land as we honest men do, or care for it, except as a source of food to gorge on,