“Braw boys, sire.”
The Vaich nodded. “I see no contest. I leave Dubmírn in your capable hands.”
The man grinned widely. “I do thank ye, sire.”
The chamberlain called the next.
“Clan Gairfenn of Baile Tór.”
A man stepped forwards, bowing low before sinking to one knee. He was broad-shouldered, but thick around the middle, dressed in a fine woolen mantle with a golden pin. His thick beard was braided respectably, but his eyes darted about the room as if looking to flee scrutiny.
“Clan Gairfenn,” the chamberlain continued, “submits to the Vaich’s hold—an offering of three sheaves of winter wheat, one gelded stallion, and three hundred gilds.”
“A noble tribute,” said the Vaich. “And your muster?”
“A fyrd of sixty men, sire,” said Gairfenn, his voice carrying a practiced ease. “As always, we answer the call of our king.”
The Vaich’s lips curled. “I have heard troubling things out of Baile Tór. Banditry on the southern road, tariffs raised against my patrol. They say you allow scoundrels to run rampant—so long as you get a cut.”
The laird stiffened, but his bow remained low. “Mere rumor, Majesty. Tales spun by those who envy. Tór has seen great prosperity.”
“Prosperity?” the Vaich flashed a stiff smile. “You mean the wealth you wring from my purse?”
Gairfenn’s jaw clenched.
“You fill your coffers while your folk starve,” the Vaich pressed on, voice sharpening. The druid watched him keenly. “You’d sell your son to raiders before you pay out full wages. You are their laird, not their leech.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Gairfenn’s face had gone red, but still, he bowed. “I am loyal to my king. I have always—”
“You weren’t before and you are no longer.” The Vaich’s words rang like steel on stone.
Gairfenn’s head snapped up. “Majesty?”
“I strip you of your title. Baile Tór will be placed under review, its land granted to one who does not mistake duty for profit.”
Surprise painted the druid's mind. A king against corruption? Such were stories he had never heard. But it interested him.
The chamber erupted, voices rising in shock and speculation. Gairfenn sputtered, his face dark with anger. “Sire, you cannot—”
“I can. And I shall.”
The laird looked as if he might protest further, but the weight of the room stole the words from his mouth. His fists clenched, but he retreated as the chamberlain called the next.
An awful silence blanketed the hall.
The man who came forth was the envoy from Dunn Kennigh, who had spoken for the southlands at the engagement feast. At once, both Vaich and druid went tense. In fact, the air in the chamber seemed to shift.
The envoy and the king shared a long, unblinking gaze, and the druid wondered who would break first. Finally, the envoy lowered to a knee. But he did not swear fealty upon his sword. This sent a shiver through the crowd. Rask, who stood to their right, curled his hand around the hilt of his blade.
“In my laird’s stead, I give myself unto the Vaich. I shall bring forth whatever decision is made to Dravoghan Ûvain—master in the south.”
Mutters spread like a plague and the Vaich gripped the rests of his throne in a bone-breaking hold.
“If your master were a sensible man, he would come and receive his appointment,” said the Vaich.
“Simply ill-timing,sire.”
“So you’ve said. I will speak with Dravoghan when I arrive in the south, and I will remind him that many good men could make use of his lands.”
