The Bronze of Eddarta by Randall Garrett

Lord. The High Lord, as Gharlas had informed us, was chosen from the descendents of Harthim—his
legitimate
descendents, which left Gharlas hanging loose on the wrong side of the blanket—and was the individual who displayed the strongest mind-power in some sort of test.
    I hadn’t been able to find an exact date for the building of Lord City, but I suspected that it had been built soon after Harthim’s arrival, to protect the Kä refugees from those Eddartans who were discontented with the transition from free enterprise to thinly disguised monopoly. I did learn that each of the seven families had an area of its own inside those massive walls, and that all those areas were linked through what Ricardo would have called a palace. It was a government building called Lord Hall, and it contained meeting rooms, an audience hall, a Council Chamber which had extra-special official significance and, according to the eager gossip of my drinking companions, the hidden entryway to the fabled treasure vault.
    “Gharlas it well known here in the lower city,” I told Tarani. “Apparently, he’s played up his hatred for Pylomel to the point where he’s sort of a ‘regular guy’ to the common folk. Word is that Pylomel isn’t fond of him, either, but family rules require that he give Gharlas a place to stay when he’s in town.”
    “Then Gharlas lives in Pylomel’s home?”
    “If you could call it that. The family areas inside Lord City are huge, with a lot of separate dwellings. Pylomel has probably given Gharlas the cheapest quarters he could manage.”
    Tarani worried one tusk with her tongue. “Do you remember what Gharlas said about Pylomel’s treasure?”
    “You mean the secret way he’s found into the vault?”
    “If we could find the vault, we could reach Gharlas secertly,” Tarani said. “Perhaps,” she suggested, “if Zefra knows how to enter the vault …”
    I laughed. Tarani’s face darkened, and I touched her arm in apology.
    “That’s the hard way,” I said. “At least, I think it is. Our first step has to be to find Zefra and get the two of you together. We can’t do much until we know for sure whether she can—or will—help us against Gharlas.”
    “She will help if she can,” Tarani said.
    Take this part easy
, I warned myself.
    “Tarani, please remember that you don’t
know
Zefra yet. The woman who wrote that letter to Volitar lived twenty years ago. This Zefra may not be the same person. For one thing, she’s been married to the High Lord all this time.”
    “You are saying that we should not trust her,” Tarani said. “Then why bother to seek her out?”
    Her bitterness hurt me. I wanted to put my arms around her, but the scene of the night before told me I had no right to offer her comfort now.
    “I believe she
will
want to help us,” I said. “But I’m not allowing myself to rely on her help until we know for sure.”
    That wasn’t quite true. The fact of the matter was, everything I had learned about Lord City made me realize that we
needed
some kind of inside help, and I had no idea where else to find it.
    “All I’m really saying,” I continued, “is that we should be cautious, even with Zefra. We can’t tell her the real reason we’re here.”
    She was silent for a few seconds. “I see the wisdom in what you say, Rikardon. I will not speak to Zefra of the Ra’ira. She will help us because Gharlas killed Volitar.”
    She set down her platter of fruit rinds and picked up the ledger again, the deliberateness of her movements revealing her tension.
    “But there is a problem,” she added. “These records show appointments in Lord City only at the request of the buyer.”
    “Something else I learned last night—there’s going to be some kind of fancy ceremony in a few days, and Lord City is really stirred up about it. Do you see a recent commission from Zefra?”
    She examined the book. “No. There was an appointment scheduled two seven-days ago, but there is no