cape and deposited a small, crystalline statuette onto the same table. The chamber that he had chosen for his work—and his privacy—had evidently once been the equivalent of a Quel library, but only a few loose fragments of scrollwork and crystal still remained. D’Rance was of the opinion that the rest had been spirited away by diggers that still remained at large, but he had so far not seen any reason to share his theory with his companions. “I have been here some time, Orril D’Marr, yes, and what I do is not rummaging. My lord has instructed me to inspect all questionable items of the diggers. There may be artifacts of power, talismans, yes, among what you so blindly label ‘garbage.’”
The young officer responded with an indifferent shrug. The blue man silently cursed the Quel for being unable to rid his life of the insolent little martinet. He had a knack of stepping in at the wrong times, almost as if he had a sixth sense. Steeling himself, D’Rance grated, “I must assume, D’Marr, that you have some reason for disturbing me, yes? Or is it that you have come to love my company?”
“Something happened . . . some surge from the beastmen’s thing, that magical device. Our Lord D’Farany requests your presence so that you might aid him in unraveling the mystery. He’s been requesting your presence for several minutes now and he doesn’t like being kept waiting. You and I both know that.”
The blue man turned away from D’Marr and, using the same hand as before, picked up another of the artifacts the blindly obedient soldiers under his command had gathered for him. He pretended to study it, but in reality he had been forced to turn because at that moment it had come close to being impossible to hide the truth of what he was actually doing. The strain would have shown on his face. Unlike D’Marr, Kanaan D’Rance was a creature of emotions, more so than even many of his own kind. But just this once and only in this matter, I would wish to wear a mask with the skills that you do, little man, yes!
“I will be but a moment. You need not wait, yes.”
“Lord D’Farany’s waiting. I think he has something.”
Forcing his hand not to shake, the blue man put down the second figurine. He looked over his shoulder. “As I said, I will be but a moment.”
A thin smile played fleetingly across D’Marr’s countenance. D’Rance knew that it was because one took a deadly chance when one did not leap to respond to a summons from the Pack Leader. It was something that D’Rance had never adjusted to and he knew that only his usefulness to his master had kept him from being punished for his continuous transgressions. D’Marr, he knew, was hoping that this latest might be the final straw. The blue man did not care. He needed a few more minutes before he could dare go before Lord D’Farany. Summons or not, he risked more by responding now rather than waiting until he was better able to compose himself. His secrets had to remain his secrets.
He noted how one of Orril D’Marr’s hands touched the pommel of the Aramite’s favorite toy, the magical rod he liked to use too often on others. The scepter would be the death of him if D’Rance did not kill him first.
“I’ll inform our lord of your response.”
“Do that, yes.”
With obvious anticipation, a silent D’Marr departed. The blue man watched him disappear from sight, then exhaled sharply. He thought of how his counterpart would relate his response to the Pack Leader. There would be much embellishment. D’Rance would have to speak with a silver tongue, but he had always been good at that. It had gotten him across the vast sea to the land of his goals and it would keep him in the good graces of the Pack Leader until the blue man was ready to abandon the raiders to whatever fate was in store for them. You have shown me much, yes, my Lord Ivon D’Farany, and I thank you, although you could not know just how much you truly taught me, no . .
The young officer responded with an indifferent shrug. The blue man silently cursed the Quel for being unable to rid his life of the insolent little martinet. He had a knack of stepping in at the wrong times, almost as if he had a sixth sense. Steeling himself, D’Rance grated, “I must assume, D’Marr, that you have some reason for disturbing me, yes? Or is it that you have come to love my company?”
“Something happened . . . some surge from the beastmen’s thing, that magical device. Our Lord D’Farany requests your presence so that you might aid him in unraveling the mystery. He’s been requesting your presence for several minutes now and he doesn’t like being kept waiting. You and I both know that.”
The blue man turned away from D’Marr and, using the same hand as before, picked up another of the artifacts the blindly obedient soldiers under his command had gathered for him. He pretended to study it, but in reality he had been forced to turn because at that moment it had come close to being impossible to hide the truth of what he was actually doing. The strain would have shown on his face. Unlike D’Marr, Kanaan D’Rance was a creature of emotions, more so than even many of his own kind. But just this once and only in this matter, I would wish to wear a mask with the skills that you do, little man, yes!
“I will be but a moment. You need not wait, yes.”
“Lord D’Farany’s waiting. I think he has something.”
Forcing his hand not to shake, the blue man put down the second figurine. He looked over his shoulder. “As I said, I will be but a moment.”
A thin smile played fleetingly across D’Marr’s countenance. D’Rance knew that it was because one took a deadly chance when one did not leap to respond to a summons from the Pack Leader. It was something that D’Rance had never adjusted to and he knew that only his usefulness to his master had kept him from being punished for his continuous transgressions. D’Marr, he knew, was hoping that this latest might be the final straw. The blue man did not care. He needed a few more minutes before he could dare go before Lord D’Farany. Summons or not, he risked more by responding now rather than waiting until he was better able to compose himself. His secrets had to remain his secrets.
He noted how one of Orril D’Marr’s hands touched the pommel of the Aramite’s favorite toy, the magical rod he liked to use too often on others. The scepter would be the death of him if D’Rance did not kill him first.
“I’ll inform our lord of your response.”
“Do that, yes.”
With obvious anticipation, a silent D’Marr departed. The blue man watched him disappear from sight, then exhaled sharply. He thought of how his counterpart would relate his response to the Pack Leader. There would be much embellishment. D’Rance would have to speak with a silver tongue, but he had always been good at that. It had gotten him across the vast sea to the land of his goals and it would keep him in the good graces of the Pack Leader until the blue man was ready to abandon the raiders to whatever fate was in store for them. You have shown me much, yes, my Lord Ivon D’Farany, and I thank you, although you could not know just how much you truly taught me, no . .
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