The marriage, of course, had made him rich. The union had also served to advance and solidify Garimeth's status, for in Hybardin she had been able to wield influence and prestige in the highest social circles. Despite her dark dwarf ancestry, her intelligence and wit, biting though it often was, had briefly made her popular among the wealthiest and most powerful dwarves in the Hylar capital. In Daerbardin or Daerforge, the two cities native to her clan, Baker knew his outspoken wife would have been relegated to a mere listener, perhaps gossiping about the masculine powers of her realm but unable to exert any real influence.

"Why can't we be more like the Daergar?" he muttered in disgust, suddenly captivated by the notion of a wife who treated him with courtesy and who feared the blow of his clubbed fist should she act improperly.

Immediately he flushed, ashamed by the traitorous thought. Or was he really ashamed by the knowledge that there were times he would like to punch her right in her savagely critical mouth? Such an attack would be most un-Hylar, at least insofar as a Hylar would let his neighbors know his true nature. But who could long conceal from himself the yearning of his own dark thoughts?

Lady of the House

Garimeth had made up her mind, and now everything she had to do was laid out for her in a neat pattern, like a road carved into bedrock. She made the necessary preparations around the house, then took the lift down to Level Ten, where she expected to find Baker in the Thane's Atrium. Humming absently to herself, she was comfortable with the distance the other passengers, all Hylar, gave to this dark dwarf who uncustomarily lived in their midst.

In the outer rooms of the royal garrison she found a number of young Hylar warriors gathered around an obviously fatigued traveler. The latter had a bloody bandage over one eye, and though he wore no tunic his britches and boots were stained with the mud and dust of the outer world.

"What happened?" she asked.

Despite her Daergar ancestry, she was well known as the wife of the acting thane, and thus the guards answered her willingly enough.

"Redstone here flew all the way from Palanthas on dragonback, with a message from Glade Hornfel for your husband."

"Indeed," she said coolly. "And does our king return to us with similar haste?"

The sergeant bit his tongue, but a nearby youngster had apparently not yet learned the value of discretion. "Not now-not for years, maybe!" he exclaimed.

Concealing her smile, Garimeth nodded somberly as she left the Hylar. Making her way to Baker's office, she knew beyond a doubt that her timing would be perfect.

The acting thane started guiltily as he heard the door open behind him, and then he sighed, no doubt realizing there was only one person who would presume to enter his sanctum without so much as a knock.

"Hello, Gari," he said, his expression neutral behind the graying bristle of his beard.

"There was a message from Hornfel," she said bluntly, accusing him with her eyes. Her suspicious look suggested she thought he was trying to keep a secret from her.

"Yes, I read it just a few minutes ago," he agreed cautiously. "But how did you know?"

"The whole city is talking about that courier. They say he looked like something a cave bear coughed up."

Baker grunted. "The poor fellow had quite a time of it: a shipwreck, attacked by a dragon. We are fortunate he arrived here at all. He told me he was the lone survivor out of a party of twelve Hylar."

"And his news?"

She watched carefully, wondering how much he would tell. The acting thane drew a deep breath. He would reveal portions of the momentous news, but he was not yet prepared to discuss the whole matter with his wife. "It's important, but I need some time to think-"

"Time to think? You could take half a century, and you still wouldn't know what to do," she snapped.

Baker stiffened. "If you came here to belabor me, you might as well leave right now. If you don't, I shall summon my-"

"You don't need to summon anyone. I'm going," she sneered, and now she was exhilarated, ready to make her announcement. She smiled tightly as she sensed his bridled fury, and loathed him for his impotence. "But first I'll say what I came here to say."

He waited.

"I have decided to Break Bond with you," she said, her tone blunt and devoid of any emotion. "My things are packed, and I shall depart on the next lake boat for Daerforge."

"You-you're going home?" Baker stammered.

"That's what I said."

"But why?"

Garimeth relished the shocked tone of his voice, and snorted in dry amusement. "Why not? In truth, you gave me cause to think before. I have decided that you bore me. The Hylar bore me. It's time for me to do something more… interesting."

He squinted, adjusting his glasses in his typical and fruitless effort to see more clearly.

"Baker Bad-Eyes," she mocked him. "How can you ever expect to act like a thane of Thorbardin?"

Somehow he forced out the words. "Then go, and good riddance to you," he snapped. "I don't suppose you have told Tarn?"

"Our son has known of my intentions for a long time. He has promised to visit me when I am settled in my old clanhome back in Daerforge."

That, at least, was true. She reflected that her son was the one good thing to come from her overlong dalliance among the Hylar. Without further words she left Baker, and sent a message to her son as soon as she was back in her own house, the house that had been hers for too many decades, now.

Garimeth was thoughtful as she packed her most cherished clothes. She would send later for her full wardrobe, since she wasn't about to stick around here for another day. It would take several such days before the full array of her belongings could be gathered.

She passed into their sitting room, determined to bring a few boots and items of outer wear that she had left in the cedar wardrobe. Upon opening the door she noticed the familiar bronze gleam of the possession she had dubbed her husband's 'toy'.

In truth, she knew better. The Helm of Tongues, an artifact cherished through generations of the Whitegranite family, had uses that she herself had only begun to appreciate. Of course, it was useful for simple purposes: the wearer of the Helm could decipher text written in any language, reading it as though it were printed in precise mountain dwarf. That made it invaluable to a fussy scholar such as Baker Whitegranite.

But Garimeth had discovered something when she had first donned the metal object some three or four decades earlier. It had a benefit far more suited to her tastes. In addition to its powers of translation, the Helm of Tongues allowed its wearer to sense the deepest thoughts and feelings of other dwarves, without the target ever suspecting that he or she was being thus revealed.

Garimeth had learned through discreet questioning that the latter ability seemed to be unique to her, or at least, particular to dark dwarves. Perhaps the Hylar temperament was too naive for this use.

Now her first impulse was to cast the item aside and continue to gather her jewelry, but with a tight smile she paused, then picked up the metal helmet. Even after all these years it felt surprisingly light in her hands. She looked closely at the intricate scrollwork marking the smooth bronze surface. She couldn't resist placing the object on her head.

As always, it felt marvelously comfortable, as if it had been molded to fit her scalp, though, as far as she knew, it fit Baker's larger head with similar comfort. But the sensations she was feeling went beyond, far beyond, mere comfort. Already there was that familiar tingling in her nerves, like a caress of blissful delight quivering in her belly, tightening the focus of her mind. Her senses felt exceptionally keen. The rusty colors of the tapestry hanging in the room were brightened to a blood-red crimson that shimmered like a living, breathing thing. The deep-paneled oak seemed to have a texture like a dramatic landscape, all valleys and ravines and lofty crests.