Vo Astur was constructed of granite, and its grey walls were thick
and high and surmounted by grim battlements. It was a depressing
city that crouched on the southern bank of the Astur River. There
were centuries-old feuds going on in Asturia, and every nobleman
of any consequence lived inside a fort. The seat of the Asturian
government was no exception. Asturia was filled to the brim with
intrigue, plots, ambushes, poisonings, and surprise attacks, so
caution was the course of prudence, I guess.
There was no real point in going through the inevitable
interrogation at the city gate, so I spiraled down toward the ducal palace
instead as evening drew over the fortified city. I settled unobserved
in a secluded corner of the courtyard and resumed my real form.
Then I slipped around the outer edge of the flagstoned yard,
approached the ornate door of the palace, ‘encouraged’ the guards
to take a brief nap, and went on inside.
My father had frequently impressed upon me the idea that there
are times when it’s necessary for us to be unremarkable in the
presence of others, and he’s devised many ways to achieve that. My
own favorite is to exude a sense of familiarity. It’s a subtle sort of
thing. People can look at me without actually seeing me. They’re
sure that they know me, but they can’t quite remember my name.
In social situations, this can be very useful. In effect, I just become
a part of the background.
Kathandrion had advised me that the Asturians spoke an
‘outlandish dialect’, so I loitered in a long, dim corridor until a group
of gaily-dressed courtiers, both men and women, came by, and I
joined them and listened carefully as they spoke. I noted that the
Asturians had discarded ‘high style’ and spoke to each other in a
more commonplace fashion. Asturia was bounded on one side by
the Sea of the West, and she had far more contact with outsiders
than did either Wacune or Mimbre. The people here yearned to be
modern’, and so they rather slavishly imitated the speech of those
outsiders with whom they came in contact. Unfortunately, many of
those outsiders just happened to be sailors, and sailors probably
aren’t the best source of linguistic elegance. I devoutly hoped that
the giddy young ladies in the group I’d joined didn’t fully
understand the meaning of some of the words and phrases that tumbled
from their lips.
Since all three of the Arendish dukes had royal pretensions, each
of their palaces had a ‘throne-room’, and Astur was no exception.
The cluster of nobles I’d joined entered the central hall that served
that purpose here, and I drifted away from them and worked
my way through the slightly tipsy throng toward the front of the
hall.
Over the years I’ve had occasion to observe drunkenness in its
assorted forms, and I’ve noticed some variations. A man who’s
over-indulged in beer or ale is rowdier than one soaked in wine,
and those who prefer distilled spirits tend toward open belligerence.
The Asturians preferred wine, and wine-tipplers either giggle or
weep when in their cups. The Arendish fondness for high tragedy
made them lean in the direction of melancholy. A drinking party
in Asturia is a gloomy sort of affair, rather on the order of a funeral
on a rainy night.
Oldoran, the Asturian Duke, was a small ratty little man, and he
was obviously far gone in drink. He sprawled morosely on his
throne with a look of profound suffering on his pouchy little face.
A man in a Tolnedran mantle of an unappetizing yellow color stood
just at his right elbow, frequently leaning over to whisper in the
duke’s ear. I carefully sent out a probing thought, and the color that
came back from the supposed Tolnedran was not red. It appeared
that I had another Murgo on my hands.
I spent the next couple of hours drifting around the hall and
listening to snatches of conversation. I soon gathered that Duke
Oldoran was not held in very high regard. ‘Drunken little weasel’
was probably the kindest thing I heard said of him. I further gathered
that Oldoran was almost completely in the grasp of the counterfeit
Tolnedran at his side. Though I was fairly sure that I could sever
that particular connection, I couldn’t for the life of me see any
advantage to be had from it. I could probably change Oldoran’s opinions,
but I couldn’t change Oldoran himself. He was a petty, self-pitying
drunkard with very little intelligence and with that sublime belief
so common among the truly stupid that he was the most clever man
in all the world. I had a problem here.
The sodden little Oldoran kept calling for more wine, and he
eventually lapsed into unconsciousness.
‘It would appear that our beloved duke is a trifle indisposed, an
elderly courtier with snowy hair, but surprisingly youthful eyes,
noted in a dryly ironic tone. ‘How do you think we should deal
with this, my lords and ladies? Should we put him to bed? Should
we dunk him in that fishpond in the garden until he regains his
senses? Or, should we perhaps adjourn to some other place where
our revelry won’t interrupt his snoring?’ He bowed to the laughing
throng ironically. ‘I shall be guided by the collective wisdom of the
court in this matter. How say you, nobles all?’
‘I like the fishpond myself,’ one matronly lady suggested.
‘Oh, dear, no, Baroness!’ a pretty young lady with dark hair and
mischievous eyes objected. ‘Think of what that would do to the poor
carp who live there.’
‘If we’re going to dump Oldoran in his bed, we’d better wring
him out a little first, my Lord Mangaran,’ one half-drunk courtier
bellowed to the ironical old nobleman. ‘The little sot’s soaked up
so much wine that he’s almost afloat.’
,Yes,’ the Lord Mangaran murmured. ‘I noticed that myself. His
Grace has an amazing capacity for one so dwarfed.’
Then the pretty lady with the mischievous eyes struck an overly
dramatic pose. ‘My lords and ladies,’ she declaimed, ‘I suggest a
moment of silence out of respect for our poor little Oldoran. Then
perhaps we’d better leave him in the capable hands of Earl
Mangaran, who’s performed this office so often that he doesn’t really need
our advice. Then, after his Grace has been wrung out and poured
into bed, we can toast the good fortune that’s removed him from
our midst.’
They all bowed their heads, but the ‘moment of silence’ was
marred by a certain amount of muffled laughter.
I’rn sure that Lelldorin, and indeed all Asturians, will be offended
by what I’ve just set down, but it is the truth. It took centuries
of suffering to grind the rough edges off the crude, unscrupulous
Asturians. That was my first encounter with them, and in many
ways they almost seemed like southern Alorns.
The young lady who’d just proposed that moment of silence laid
the back of her wrist theatrically to her forehead. ‘Would someone
please bring me another cup of wine,’ she asked in a tragic voice.
‘Speaking in public absolutely exhausts me.’
The Murgo who’d been at Oldoran’s elbow had faded back into
the crowd, and so he was nowhere to be seen when a pair of burly
footmen hoisted the snoring duke from his throne and bore him
from the hall.
I withdrew to a little alcove to consider the situation. My original
plan when I’d left Vo Wacune had been to expose the resident
Murgo here to the duke and then let him deal with it, but Oldoran
wasn’t in the same class with Kathandrion, and I’ve observed over
the years that stupid people rarely change their minds. I fell back
on logic at that point. If Oldoran wouldn’t suit my purposes, the
siniplest course would be to replace him with someone who would.
The more I thought about that, the better I liked the idea. The
Murgo wouldn’t be expecting it, for one thing. My father and
uncle Beldin had described the Angarak character to me on
many occasions, and Angaraks are constitutionally incapable of
questioning authority of any kind. The word ‘revolution’ is simply
lot in their vocabulary.
The course of action I was considering was certainly not new.
Arendish history is full of accounts of what are called ‘palace coups,,
little disturbances that had usually resulted in the death of an
incumbent. I didn’t want it to go that far here, but I did want Oldoran off
that throne. What I’d seen that evening strongly suggested that most
of the nobles here at court shared that desire. My only problem now
was the selection of Oldoran’s replacement – and a means of getting
to him on fairly short notice.
I napped briefly in an unoccupied sitting-room and went back to
the central hall early the next morning to ask some questions about
the clever, dark-haired young lady who’d humorously proposed