10.1

“Tell us of your fallen leader, Kliet.” one of the nobles requested. “How did he die?”

“He didn't die,” Krina bristled.  

“He lives yet? Where is he?”

“Nasch recovers in the manor of Tyisch, his cousin,” she said. The noble bristled at this, because she put Nasch ahead of Tyisch, the commoner before the noble.

“I understand he was wounded beyond the skill of every physician in Bharrak to heal. Is this not true? Did you not dismiss the last this very morning?”

“Crelocthen, my gracious king, replaced them all. He presented a blood-healer from elven lands, who, even now, heals my captain.”

“Ha! I can see your foolish falsehood. What hope have you in an elven blood healer? Everyone knows blood magic belongs to the orcs alone.”

“To the orcs, yes, but not alone. Elf and orc were once one people; some are born with the other's blood even now. That is why he is an exile.”

“Then he will become an abomination!” The noble's mouth seemed permanently fixed in a sneer.

“No!” That elbow came to her side again. This time, Krina caught a tiny motion of the king, directing the hand of the huskarl. He was listening to her argue! “He will live, that is enough.”

“He has fallen, let him rest,” the noble said, “do not twist his life or deprive his spirit its fate.”

“He's not dead yet. The victor of Fuspmar, the first to face Eth...”

“Clan Redhorn is the first to fight, the first to charge!” The noble was on his feet.

“Not this time, you weren't!” Krina jump up after him. The benches rocked as others scrambled to get to their feet, or at least avoid being stepped on. 'so that's his beef. Your clan is minor now. And dwindling.”

The noble, he must be either Gathar, or his son (whatever his name was), laid his hand on his sword's hilt. Probably the son, rather than the patriarch.  A short indigo cape had covered the blade, and the man threw it back with a flourish.  The noble had a southerner's face, being very angular and completely bald.  

“Draw it, Gunthar, and you'll not need Eth's army to face a battle.” The King interrupted. He stood up, and there was a sound like rolling thunder as every boot in the hall hit the ground. Then he looked directly as Krina and said, “please, escort her elsewhere.”  

The huskarl at Krina's elbow led her outside, then to one of the bottom floor of one of the castle's towers, where they would not be overheard. “The king honored you by inviting you,” the huskarl began. His northern heritage was plain, as his hair [scalp and facial] was quite thick, black and relatively straight. In this close proximity Krina found it unsettling. It was at least as bothersome as his apparent rage. “He had planned an important mission for your Fusp. It won't happen now.” 

Krina could almost hear the huskarl say, 'fool.' “His daughter, Layonia, is assembling a bridal party. They're going to Wapanix. To Eth. Our best hope to win this war is not to fight it. Any fool can see that. And Nasch's Kliet was perfect for the task; a victorious soldier is always respected. But now Gathar will have his way. His pompus son will be escorting the bride's party, and the dowry... the odds of Eth accepting fall drastically. The king will do it anyway, Layonia set herself on it. But you'll have no part. Get out of here, go see to your dying captain. Keep the blood-healer away from anyone important, and try not to screw anything else up.” The huskarl turned to leave, then added, over his shoulder “at least we found out you're incompetent before you were assigned anything important.” For the moment, she was too stunned to cry.