[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The King scowled darkly at the air of his chambers as he thought of his soon-to-be son-in-law. The prospect of a meeting with Korak was never a pleasant one, but distasteful a duty as it might be, a duty it remained. No other noble had the money and the position to support the construction of a new High Temple, and more importantly, if he were to become King some day, he would need to gain at least some sense of how to deal with matters more important that selecting the finest silk for a new robe. Not for the first time, Faroz hoped that some misfortune would befall the man. And not for the first time his mind flitted to the idea that as King, he could see to it that some misfortune would seek him out. But he dared risk nothing against Korak, not even something secretive and dark…not yet. He was a fool, but a cunning fool. And in matters such as these, cunning and bravery could match wit and power – for a time.

He toyed with the idea of consulting Ashnaz on the matter of Korak, but rejected the idea. Some secrets were not for anyone to know, no matter how dear a friend. But at the thought of Ashnaz, Faroz remembered the Ring. With a flash a new idea occurred to him. A slow smile marred his features, and had his wife been there, she would have known that the King was contemplating something cool and terrible.

~*~*~*~

Jarult went first to the home of the Lord Korak with the idea of summoning him and sending on one of the servants there to bring the Lady Arshalous, whom he disliked with the intensity reserved for an unreasoning disapproval. So it was with no small measure of distasteful surprise that he was ushered into the presence of the Lady Arshalous and the old madwoman Hababa. He stood in the doorway, trying to look important, despite the fact that he had been sent as a messenger – a task that he felt to be far beneath the dignity of the Chamberlain. He tried to assuage himself with the reminder that his King considered this meeting to be of the utmost importance.

“Jarult!” the old woman said happily, obviously remembering the days – long past – when they had been on good terms in the court of the former King. She had been there much in those days, and he had cultivated her good opinion. Indeed, it had been one of the factors that had seen him successfully elevated to his present role. But his feelings toward her had always been self-serving rather than warm. A consummate courtier, he had always been able to fool her of the contrary.

The Lady Hababa rose and came to him, with the Lady Arshalous immediately behind. “What brings you to see me?” she asked. “Why, first Arshalous and now you, I am becoming popular.”

“I am sorry, lady, but I am not here for pleasure. My King has sent me to bid your son and, as it happens, the Lady Arshalous to attend upon him in his apartments this morning. He has a matter of some importance that he needs to discuss with them both.”

“What matter could that be?” the Lady Arshalous asked, looking faintly alarmed.

“I do not presume to speak for the King, my Lady,” the Chamberlain replied coolly.

“Of course,” the Lady replied, flushing. “I will come immediately, of course, but my cousin is gone this morning for a ride.” The Chamberlain frowned at this, as though at the rebellious behaviour of a miscreant servant.

“That is no problem,” the Lady Hababa put in. “I shall send Morashk to seek him out. My son is not very imaginative and always rides along the same route. He will soon be found. In the meantime, I will attend upon the King in his place.” And she smiled beatifically as though she had solved an intricate problem with great subtlety.