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Jareth’s reputation indeed served them well. Though hostile and distrustful, Kilion agreed to grant him an audience. Two days later, Yandro accompanied the ambassador to Tharasin, the capital city of Teraz in the northeast of the principality.
Teraz reminded Yandro of Losshen in many ways. Its forests were largely coniferous and even in the southernmost regions of the principality, the climate was cool and quite dry with only a very short, blazingly arid summer midyear and a slightly longer wet season a few months later. It was more mountainous than Ylandre’s northernmost fief with most of the flatlands concentrated in the central region or distributed along the principality’s borders. All in all, Yandro thought it one of prettier countries he’d visited.
Their translocation portal opened on a grassy plain through which ran the pebble-bottomed remains of an ancient stream. The Terazian capital lay a short distance away, predominantly wrought of gray stone which made the city appear cold and aloof even in the sunlit warmth of a summer morning.
A quick survey of their surroundings told Yandro the city was fairly remote from other communities or settlements. Very unlike Rikara, which was within hiking distance of towns, villages, and hamlets and a number of vineyards and farmsteads. Tharasin was also surrounded by thick and inordinately high walls. All an approaching traveler could see were the roofs and towers of the taller city structures.
Yandro compared Tharasin to other major cities elsewhere. Virtually every metropolis of considerable age bore evidence of prior fortification. These were especially evident in the oldest sections of the cities which comprised the buildings and roads in existence during Aisen’s formative years when the ascendant Deiran tribes battled it out for territory and their share of Aisen’s natural resources.
When one explored Rikara for instance, one inevitably came across some if not all of the walls that originally protected the capital. As the city expanded beyond an existing wall, a new one was raised farther on. The old walls now formed nigh concentric circles within the city. Instead of tearing them down, subsequent Ardane had simply removed obstructive sections or built archways into them.
In any case, most rulers strove for near impregnability of their walls rather than nigh impractical loftiness. After all, what would it serve if the city defenders themselves found it difficult to do their duty at such dizzying heights or climb them in timely fashion in the first place? As a result, cities such as Rikara or Shenze looked bright and inviting from afar, their structures and main avenues partly visible from beyond their walls.
Not like this place, he thought, as they passed through the main gate.
He wondered what it must be like to live each day as if one were under siege. At least, that was what he felt as they made their way down the central avenue. The high walls seemed to close in on the city, especially along the perimeter, which probably lay in the ramparts’ perpetual shadow.
A closer look at them made him realize however that the higher portions were not the same as the lower. The upper stonework was slate gray as opposed to the brownish gray beneath it, the blocks were cut more evenly and the mortar seemed to be finer in texture. It appeared the wall had been raised further at a later point in time than when the city was first fortified.
“These walls, Dyhar?” he asked Jareth. “They were made higher after the subjugation of Varadan, weren’t they?”
Jareth nodded, his eyes scanning the parapets as well. “Given their close ties to the Ferrendas, the Hamaras feared they would be invaded next. They didn’t understand Diorn Essendri had no interest in forced expansion and only conquered Varadan to prevent another invasion of Ylandre from that quarter.”
As they ventured farther into the city, the sense of being caged grew stronger. Yandro wondered if and how the residents had got used to it. He doubted he ever would.
“What a way to live,” he murmured. “Verily, I can’t breathe freely.”
Jareth sighed in agreement. “When one fears one’s neighbors, it isn’t a surprising consequence,” he said.
The feeling of closeness did not abate when they took the road to the castle given the defensive earth banks and wooden palisades on either side the whole length of it. When they finally passed through the bailey into the spacious front courtyard, it was almost a relief. But it proved short-lived as well.
The courtyard was paved with pale gray stone and adorned with fountains and decorative hedges and shrubbery. But again, surrounded by lofty walls manned by grim-faced, fully armed guards, Yandro felt as if he was about to enter a prison, albeit a luxuriously appointed one.
The Hamara castle was akin to many royal keeps harking back to ancient times. It had started life as a fortress. Once they were inside, Yandro could see vestiges of the original structure in the lower levels of the building.
It had been built next to the road which would one day become the city’s main avenue. The road was a very busy one and partially encircled the hold. Thus there had not been much room for expansion of either building or its surrounding grounds. When later generations enlarged the keep, they built upward rather than outward. And in the wake of the conquest of Varadan, open galleries and terraces were covered or enclosed.
Like the city it dominated, the Hamara residence hid behind its walls, appearing more like the forbidding fortress of old than the main residence of the nation’s rulers.
Part of Yandro was annoyed by the inconvenience the Hamaras’ paranoia had resulted in. But the other part knew pity for them that the family should still feel so beleaguered generations after the events that sparked their ancestors’ fears. It was no small burden for a ruler to carry from birth until death.
––––––––
Kilion Hamara, sovereign Prince of Teraz, received Jareth and Yandro in the royal audience hall, his throne flanked by members of his Council and officers of the Castle Guard and Royal Army. It was a show of force meant to intimidate and emphasize the Terazians’ hostility against all persons and things Ylandrin.
A less-seasoned envoy would have been adversely affected by such an unwelcoming reception. But Jareth was a veteran of many years standing while Yandro had experienced greater foreign hostility though he’d served in the corps for less than a decade. They were far from comfortable with the animosity shown them, but they were not unnerved by it.
The prince was fair in coloring with light gray eyes and pale lips. This lack of color made him appear rather washed out but for the nervous energy that revealed itself in his tendency to tap his fingers on the arms of his throne or bounce the heels of his feet. Yandro suspected the young royal preferred to be anywhere but at court making decisions on matters of life or death.
“Rohyr Essendri must deem you the least of his kin to send you here,” Kilion remarked after Jareth was presented to him.
Jareth let the insult slide and said, “If only that were true. I’d be back in Ylandre right now, safe and unburdened by so vital a mission.”
The implication of Rohyr’s utmost trust in Jareth was not lost on the prince. Kilion regarded him with equal parts suspicion and admiration.
“You think highly of yourself, Ambassador,” the Chief Counsellor, a Deir of middle years remarked somewhat snidely.
Jareth shrugged ever so slightly. “The Ardan knows from long experience what I’m capable of. Eventually His Highness might be able to say the same of you.”
The advisor turned quite red at the subtle reminder that Kilion was so new to the throne, he did not yet know the members of his late sire’s Council and whether he could trust them as fully as Rohyr trusted Jareth. The deep flush almost melded with the rose wine stain that covered his left cheek and much of his jaw.
Yandro tried not to look too long at the wine-hued birthmark. It was difficult though because the blemish was so prominent, it made an otherwise pleasant-featured but rather ordinary face memorable. Yandro was sure were it not for the birthmark, he would not recognize the Deir if they met elsewhere.
“What does Rohyr hope to accomplish in sending you here?” Kilion asked. “Surely he doesn’t think you can persuade us to refrain from retaliating against my father’s murderers.”
“My cousin knows full well that isn’t a viable option,” Jareth replied. “If the case against Ambassador Leyhar is ironclad.”
Kilion scowled. “What are you suggesting?”
“That it isn’t unreasonable for the accused to desire a review of the evidence against him.”
“Leyhar fled instead of protesting his innocence and presenting evidence to back him up. Isn’t that enough proof of his guilt?”
“Your accusation isn’t against the Ambassador alone, but encompasses the whole of my country,” Jareth reasoned. “Your threat of war has made all Ylandrins the accused in this case. Hence our desire to learn the details of the crime you accuse Theron Leyhar of committing and by extension all citizens of Ylandre.”
While Jareth spoke, Yandro lowered his shields enough for him to sense the emotions radiating from Kilion and his people. Almost at once, he noted a distinct difference in the Chief Counsellor’s reaction from the military officers and even his fellow advisors.
The others displayed varying degrees of anger at the perceived slight to Terazian integrity. But the Chief Counsellor’s ire was tinged with apprehension. Yandro wondered what the Deir feared should Xeren’s slaying be investigated further.
“Very well, what do you want from us?” Kilion asked.
“For now, a comprehensive account of what happened,” Jareth said. “All we received is a bare-bones report of the incident which gave us no clue as to where or how the purported assassination occurred or who the witnesses were if any.”
Kilion frowned. He looked as the Chief Counsellor and said, “Is it true? Were they not sent a complete account?”
The Deir swallowed before replying. “I may have been remiss in writing out a full report. But you see I believed them unworthy of more consideration given their complicity in this despicable crime against Your Highness.”
“It wasn’t your decision to make,” Kilion pointed out. “Even our worst criminals are fully informed of the charges against them.” He sat back and commanded, “Recount the incident to Ambassador Hadrana.”
After darting a wide-eyed glance at Jareth, the advisor then stared at Kilion, aghast at what was required of him. “I beg pardon, Your Highness, but do you mean for us to indulge them right now?”
Kilion glared at him, obviously annoyed the Deir had dared question his order. “I mean for you to do your duty, Counsellor,” he snapped. “Here and now.”
The advisor caught his breath and paled, as if realizing he’d gone too far. He swallowed again and nodded meekly. He faced Jareth and started to speak.
“Prince Xeren’s servants told us he left the castle that evening to meet with Ambassador Leyhar at his residence, which I would have you know His Grace was generous enough to provide him. Indeed, he insisted on it rather than have Leyhar impose on the Ballar embassy,” the advisor said somewhat haughtily. “In any case, His Grace mentioned Leyhar’s reason for the invitation was so that they could discuss the treaty the ambassador submitted for Prince Kilion’s consideration earlier. It was no secret His Grace opposed several articles in the draft. Apparently, Leyhar hoped they would be able to reach a compromise on those points. Or at least, that’s what he led Prince Xeren to believe.
“Well, His Grace never returned here,” the advisor said with a sniff. “And Leyhar, his aide and his secretary—they all vanished that night. We questioned the servants very thoroughly; threatened them with torture, I admit. But none knew or admitted to knowing what had happened. Likely they told the truth since they weren’t live-in staff. They admitted to seeing His Grace arrive, but they left for their homes an hour or so later.”
“Evidence of foul play came to light when our searchers discovered Prince Xeren’s cloak washed ashore on the banks of the Arfalos River. Sadly, the searchers didn’t find His Grace’s body since the current is strong and swift. But all the clues point to his being killed and his corpse then thrown into the river.”
Jareth frowned. “You would declare war on Ylandre on the basis of one cloak, the disappearance of your suspects, and mere hearsay?”
“Hearsay?”
“None of Prince Xeren’s servants actually saw the invitation or spoke to the messenger who brought it,” Jareth pointed out. “What they told you was in turn told them by His Grace. So how do you know Theron Leyhar truly requested a meeting with him? And why did you at once conclude that the ambassador’s disappearance has to do with the prince’s demise? For that matter, why assume that His Grace is dead when he could have been abducted along with the ambassador? As you said, all you have on which to base that supposition is his cloak, which could very well have been left there as a ruse.”
When Jareth started to speak, the advisor had blanched quite alarmingly. But red splotches darkened his face, and he was seen to tremble in righteous indignation when the ambassador finished speaking.
“Wha-what are you insinuating, Dyhar?” he sputtered angrily.
Jareth regarded him with cool disdain. “I insinuated nothing. I only question your prudence. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to counsel His Highness to conduct a more thorough investigation, unearth more clues and perhaps locate Ambassador Leyhar or his supposed accomplices, before undertaking something as far-reaching and ruinous as war?”
“Are you telling me how to do my duty?” the advisor retorted.
“Nay, I’m asking why you acted with such haste considering the severity of the circumstances,” Jareth countered.
The Chief Counsellor bristled. “How dare you suggest that I acted with less than Prince Kilion’s best interests in mind!”
“I suggested no such thing,” Jareth calmly said. “But I do wonder why you react thusly to a reasonable question. Wherefore your defensiveness, Counsellor?”
“I will not be insulted in front of—”
“Enough!” Kilion exclaimed, his voice harsh with anger. He glowered at Jareth and then at the Chief Counsellor. “It is unseemly of you to quarrel in my presence. I think it will best if you confine yourselves to your quarters for the present, Ambassador Hadrana, you and your aide. And you are much too overwrought, Counsellor. You’re hardly in the right frame of mind to give good counsel to anyone. Go home and get your temper under control.”
In the tense silence that followed, Yandro once more sensed the Chief Counsellor’s fear mixed with ire, the former stronger than ever that it overtook the latter. The Deir was definitely afraid. Whether it was of someone or something, Yandro could not tell, but the advisor’s fear was intense.
He said as much to Jareth just as they were escorted from the hall to their rooms.
“He’s guilty of something, I’m sure of it,” he murmured. “Perhaps he knows more about Xeren’s slaying than he’s let on.”
Jareth pursed his lips. Slipping into mind-speech, he mused, Or maybe he had a hand in it. Exposure of his role in that event would certainly be cause for fear.
But what would he gain from Xeren’s death? Yandro swiftly pondered the possibilities. The removal of someone who undermined his influence on Kilion?
Possibly. I do recall that Xeren removed several Deira from the Council when he became regent.
So he may have threatened the Chief Counsellor with dismissal if he didn’t fall in line with his wishes.
He may have. But on the other hand, I don’t remember any reports of friction in the Council after its reordering.
Yandro sighed. Then there might be nothing more to this than delusions of persecution. It seems to be the prevailing atmosphere hereabouts.
Jared’s eyes narrowed. I tried to probe his thoughts to gauge how truthful he was being and, lo, his shields were so rigidly raised it gave me reason to wonder what he wasn’t telling us. You sensed real fear, not just the trappings of it. We may be mistaken about the cause, but I don’t believe you’re mistaken about its existence. He’s afraid of something concrete. Now whether it has aught to do with Xeren’s death...
The thought trailed off as they turned into a long gallery with a high ceiling covered in delicate, almost lacy stucco. Its sand-hued walls were adorned with portraits of varying sizes and painted in the styles of different eras. Yandro scanned the paintings and quickly realized they were of previous Terazian princes and their consorts.
Jareth paused in front of two that hung side by side. Yandro thought the Deir pictured in the portrait on the right looked a lot like Kilion.
“This is Prince Xeren, am I correct?” Jareth asked one of their escorts, indicating the painting on the left.
“Yes, Dyhar, that is His Grace,” the guard confirmed.
That meant the first portrait was of Prince Anri, Kilion’s sire and immediate predecessor. Yandro studied the portrait of Xeren Hamara. It appeared Kilion had inherited more features from his sire for he had physically little in common with the Deir in the painting save for his cleft chin and pale skin.
Frankly, Yandro thought the young ruler fortunate not to have inherited his birthing father’s eyes if the artist had captured the late consort accurately. He had not seen a colder pair in all his years and he hoped never to meet someone with eyes like those in the flesh.