skill.
"The only talk of rebellion appears to be coming from you," the Duke said, his eyes drilling holes into Gwyn.
Gwyn sat up a little straighter. The Duke was perhaps not as obtuse as he had first suspected.
"I don't think you appreciate the severity of this." He motioned to another adjutant. The elfkynan stepped forward carrying a long, leather tube which he upended on the table. A beautifully tanned sheepskin hide slid out, which the adjutant carefully unrolled.
"Fortresses have sprouted up along the river," Gwyn began, standing to better point to the map,
"here, here, and here. Worse, my spies report that elfkynan rebels have occupied
the fortress Taga Nor and are rebuilding its walls. Truly, the situation is
grave."
The Duke leaned forward slightly to get a better look at the multihued sheepskin and snorted loudly.
Peasant , Gwyn thought, staring lovingly at the map.
The entire Calahrian Empire was laid out like a jeweler's wares. Strips of real gold foil delineated the outer boundaries of the territory controlled by the Empire, while beaten silver represented the major rivers. Mountain ranges made of crushed rubies gleamed and Celwyn, the Calahrian capital, sparkled with all four carats of a rare obsidian diamond.
"You could feed a village for a year with the baubles on this thing," the Duke murmured.
"Whatever for?" Gwyn asked. Diplomacy was art, something the Duke clearly didn't understand. Monarchs had broken down and wept as they looked at the map and realized the wealth and power arrayed against them. Often it was enough to offer the map as a gift, making sure that a particularly impressive jewel, though never as large as the one representing Celwyn, was placed on the capital of the ruler in question. Her Majesty wishes to assuage any concerns you have that your voice will not be heard within the Imperial Empire. You can see the importance She gives to your voice…
The map was oriented so that Celwyn was perfectly centered, the seat of power around which the world turned. That it was in reality several thousand miles north of the equator had been easily fixed by the royal cartographers.
"Pretty. Can I get one of those for my daughter? She's turning five next month," the Duke remarked.
"It's no laughing matter," Gwyn continued, scanning the faces of the elfkynan. If even one of them smiled …"The
Empire is facing a significant threat."
"I'm still waiting for the part where you tell me why I'm here," the Duke said. He began tapping the table with his boots, dislodging bits of material that Gwyn chose to believe were mud.
Gwyn motioned for his retainers to leave and the elfkynan quietly exited the ruined throne room, leaving him alone with the Duke.
"Tell me, how is your land these days?"
The Duke said nothing, but his eyes flashed bluer than any gem on the map.
"I've heard stories of pastures lying fallow and a disease infecting the herds," Gwyn continued, careful to keep the smugness out of his voice.
"A most disconcerting event for Her Majesty's primary supplier of fine horses,
is it not?"
"It's nothing," the Duke said through clenched teeth.
"Really?" Gwyn asked, with what he knew sounded like genuine empathy. He'd certainly practiced the tone enough.
"I was concerned that so many sick and dying horses would unduly affect your fortunes. Still, rumor has it Her Majesty has been forced to seek mounts for her cavalry units from more far-flung parts of the Empire. I shudder to think what that would mean should the trend continue. What a terrible shame it would be to have to sell off Greendale Manor," Gwyn said, knowing damn well the Duke had put the manor and most of his land up as collateral to borrow against his losses.
The Duke's right hand slid slowly across his body until his hand rested on the pommel of Wolf's Tooth. Gwyn judged his distance. He was well within the arc of that vicious blade. He pressed on quickly.
"Strange days. I only mention it because I've received reports that