Amos pushed open the door and motioned for the brothers to enter. They were in a conference chamber of some sort, a large round table dominating the room. Against the far wall a massive fireplace sent forth warmth and light. Many maps covered the walls, save the left wall, which had more of the large windows, and overhead a circular candle holder provided more light.
Before the fireplace stood the blond man speaking with another, who wore all black, from tunic to trousers to the chain he still hadn’t removed. His clothing was covered in dust and his face was dominated by a large black patch over his left eye. His hair was grey and black in equal proportion, but his carriage showed nothing of age. For an instant Arutha was struck by a certain resemblance. He glanced at Martin, who returned the look. He saw it as well. More in bearing and manner than in physical appearance, this man resembled their father.
Then the man stepped forward, and Arutha could see clearly the blazon upon his tabard. A golden eagle spread his wings upon a sable field. Arutha knew the cause of the discomfort he had felt at glimpsing the flag atop the gate. Only one man in the world wore that crest. He was once counted the finest general in the Kingdom, then branded traitor by the King as being responsible for the death of Anita’s father. Here was their own father’s most hated enemy. The man called Protector by the men of Armengar waved toward a pair of seats. His voice was deep and commanding, though his words were spoken softly. “Won’t you be seated . . . cousins?” asked Guy du Bas-Tyra.
Arutha’s hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword an instant, but he said nothing as he and Martin sat. His mind reeled as a hundred questions crashed together.
Finally he said, “How -?”
Guy interrupted him as he took a chair. “It is a long story; I’ll leave it to Amos to tell you. I have other concerns for the moment.” A strange, pained look was briefly revealed. He turned away for an instant, then back to the brothers. He studied Martin. “You look a little like Borric did when young, do you know that?”
Martin nodded.
Guy said to Arutha, “You favour him somewhat, but you also look like . . . your mother. The shape of the eyes . . . if not the colour.” He said the last softly. Then his tone shifted as a soldier brought in mugs and ale. “We have no wine in Armengar, the making of it is a lost art here, as the climate is ill suited for grape arbours. But they do make stout ale, and I’m thirsty. Join me if you wish.” He poured himself a mug and let Arutha and Martin serve themselves. Guy drained his mug, and for a moment his mask fell again and he said, “Gods, I’m tired.” Then he looked at the brothers. “Well then, when Armand reported who Dwyne had fetched in, I could scarcely believe my ears. Now my eyes bear witness.”
Arutha’s gaze flicked to where the tall blond man hovered by the fire. “Armand?” He studied the blazon, a shield bend dexter, with a crouching red dragon chief on field gold, and an upraised lion’s claw in gold upon a field red.
Martin said, “Armand de Sevigny!” The man inclined his head toward the Duke.
“Baron of Gyldenholt? Marshal of the Knights of St Gunther?” wondered Arutha.
Martin swore. “I’m an idiot. I knew I had seen him. He was at the palace in Rillanon in the days before you joined us, Arutha. But he was not there the day of the coronation, the day you arrived.”
The blond man smiled slightly. “At your service, Highness.”
“Not, as I recall. You were not among those who swore fealty to Lyam.”
The blond man shook his head. “True.” His expression seemed almost one of regret.
Guy said, “Again, part of the story of how we came here. For the moment, I need concern myself with why you are here, and if that reason poses any threat to this city. Why did you come north?”
Arutha sat silently, his arms crossed before him, studying du Bas-Tyra through narrowed eyes. He was off balance from finding Guy du Bas-Tyra in control of this city. He hesitated in answering the question. The importance of finding Murmandamus might in some way run counter to what Guy saw as his best interests. And, Arutha was suspicious of anything involving Guy. Guy had most openly plotted to seize the throne for himself, almost precipitating a civil war. Anita’s father had died by his order. Du Bas-Tyra was everything Arutha had been taught to dislike and mistrust by his father. He was a true eastern lord, shrewd, cunning, and well practised in the subtleties of intrigue and treachery. Of de Sevigny Arutha knew little, save he had been numbered among the most capable rulers in the East, but he was Guy’s vassal and always had been. And while the Prince liked and trusted Amos, Trask had been a pirate and was not above lawbreaking. No, there was ample reason for caution.