Realms of Infamy - James Lowder [18]
Seated in the dining hall of the victorious Lord Teelo of Rysheos, Chane felt a sense of urgency tickling the tiny hairs of his forearms. While the city as a whole appealed to him, this one room expressed all the qualities he found so desirable. Rich scents of mulled wine, spiced meats, warm whole-nut bread, stale sweat, leather, and exotic perfume drifted comfortably into his nostrils. Closing his eyes for a moment, he listened to the sounds of laughter, music, clanking steel from mock fights, and toasts to good health.
He raised his eyelids again and focused briefly on a silver bowl brimming with a bright array of fruit. So much wealth here, and so few who knew how to use it. His mouth watered, but he did not hunger for the taste of food. Warriors, wealthy merchants, and barbarians-at least to Chane's perspective-occupied every chair. A wide array of humans, elves, dwarves, and gnomes surrounded him. It was not the mix that differed from that of the Twilight Hall; it was the feel and mood and code of dress. There were no minstrels here. No loremasters. No bards. No teachers of any kind. And for once, all gazes drifted to him. Here he was no perfect rose hidden behind a dozen other nondescript flowers. These people of Rysheos were thorns in the truest sense. Here he was truly appreciated.
"How is your lovely highlady, Cylyria?" Lord Teelo asked politely.
By the gods, Chane thought. Look at him sitting there in chain mail armor with food in his beard, trying to make pleasant conversation. "She is well and sends her greeting."
Everyone who knew anything of Berdusk was well aware that Highlady Cylyria had little do with the governing of her city. She relied on the mages, thieves, bards, and loremasters of Twilight Hall to govern it for her.
"Then why have you requested an audience?" Teelo continued. "Does some other matter need my attention?"
This was the crux of the matter, the heart of Chane's lie. He had not been called to Rysheos for diplomatic reasons. He had written to Lord Teelo a few tendays past, requesting an audience. This hand must be played carefully. Teelo may have possessed the manners of a Shadowdale goat, but he was no fool.
"I am concerned, my lord," Chane began, "about the state of education in your vast city."
"Education?"
"Yes, there are no churches here, no loremasters to teach the knowledge of Oghma. You don't appear to even possess a bard who might teach your people music, art, or ancient history. Does this not concern you as well?"
Chane noticed a pretty, dark-haired merchant's daughter hanging on his every word. Perhaps she was interested in the conversation. Perhaps she was simply overcome by his charm. He enjoyed the company of women, but only if they were completely enamored of him. Pursuing a romantic challenge held no interest whatsoever. He liked to be adored.
"What are you suggesting?" Lord Teelo asked.
"Suggesting? Why nothing. The recent past of Rysheos has been colored by bloodshed. Now that you have brought order and justice, should not the next logical step be education? What will become of your people without music and history?"
The lines of Teelo's wide forehead narrowed. He had once been a warrior. Now he was a strong leader, and the welfare of his city took precedence over all else. "Yes, I see truth in your words. Should I bring in loremasters and bards, teachers to set up churches and schools?"
Chane smiled his warmest smile, turning his face toward the candlelight to make his smooth skin glow softly. "A brilliant idea, my lord. If you would, let me look into this matter for you. Perhaps a few members of Twilight Hall would be willing to relocate for the chance to undertake so worthy a challenge?"
"Good," Teelo's gaze shifted to a dwarven mock fight that appeared to be growing less mock each moment. "Do that for me, Master Chane. I appreciate your counsel."
Chane sipped his mulled wine as though the exchange meant nothing to him, but his heart beat fast beneath the tan cloak he