“I—that is, he’s certainly quite impressive,” I said, very weakly.
“Nonsense. He’s a hideous creature from the darkest pit of hell. Not even a snarl could stand against him, except perhaps an ancient forest snarl. Snarls are just great natural killers, while he’s been bred for it, generation after generation.”
He gazed at the affectionate embrace, took a puff on his cigar. Then, with a gesture, he drew me out of the hut. Once in the clearing, he drew another puff on the cigar, and shook his head.
“You don’t understand Grotum yet. You may never. It’s a handicap, being Ozarine.”
I started to speak. He held up his hand.
“Please, please. I was not criticizing. Your uncles were fine officers. Two of the best that ever served with me. Bitter men, of course. Couldn’t really accept Grotum. And born at least a century too late to be Ozarine. Not the least of Ozar’s many crimes, that it drives its best to become mercenaries.”
He took a last puff on his cigar and threw the butt away. “Enough of that. You’ve a lifetime to learn these things, and you seem to be off to a decent start. Very good start. Precious few men in this world have a heart big enough to give to Gwendolyn. Fewer still have a heart big enough to win hers. I congratulate you, sir.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t know what to say? Excellent, excellent. It’s a fine and proper thing for bold young men to be tongue-tied by the sagacity of their elders. A fine and proper thing.”
He turned back to the hut. “And now, I need to speak to Gwendolyn. I have news.”
At that very moment, Gwendolyn herself came out. “I need to talk to you, General. I just found out a few weeks ago that the Ozarine are sending a Rap Sheet to—”
“I know, Gwendolyn, I know.”
Gwendolyn was stunned. “How did you—”
The General smiled. “I found out about it the same way I found out that the problem’s already been taken care of. From Hildegard.”
Gwendolyn was speechless. The General’s smile widened.
“Don’t know what to say? Excellent, excellent. It’s a fine and proper thing for bold young women to be tongue-tied by the sagacity of their elders. A fine and proper thing.”
He took Gwendolyn by the elbow and moved her toward the horses. “Why don’t you go up to the house? Hildegard’s there. She can tell you about the whole thing.”
Gwendolyn leapt on her horse and took off toward the mansion at a gallop. I followed at a somewhat less precipitous pace. By the time I reached the front door, Gwendolyn had disappeared inside. I was in such a hurry to hear the news myself that I didn’t take the time to examine the building. Only an impression of great size registered.
I entered through a pair of double doors and found myself in a large foyer. There was no one present. Down a hallway to my left I heard voices—Gwendolyn’s, and others. I followed the sounds, and found myself in a large room with high ceilings. My artist’s eye was at once drawn to the marvelous paintings on the ceilings, which depicted scenes from various great operas.
The room was sparsely furnished. A grand piano stood toward the far wall, a few chairs and music stands scattered about it. At the near end of the room were several large and comfortable looking sofas and easy chairs clumped around a couple of low tables. Most of the space in between was empty, exposing a beautiful parquet floor. The room was very brightly lit from an entire wall of windows. The other walls, covered in a pale apricot watered silk, were decorated with an extensive collection of antique musical instruments.
Gwendolyn was standing by the piano, her back to me. A middle-aged woman, rather pretty, was sitting in a chair nearby. Another woman, elderly but very vigorous looking, was standing behind the piano. She was almost as tall as Gwendolyn. Her hair was white as snow, drawn back in a tight bun. A serene smile graced her face.
“But, Gwendolyn, I insist!” she said. “You must hear this aria first.”