Two servants sufficed to manage and maintain Lord Faringoth’s residence in Bernan. He dispatched the male attendant to retrieve certain instruments he had prepared, as he had already resolved to commission a portrait from one of his friends, rather than from me. We made our way to the lobby, our intentions unspoken, yet his wife and the visiting Lord Zajardo swiftly discerned the truth through their own means and brief inquiries; all that remained unclear were the precise terms of our wager.

  Some time passed before the Baron, now adorned in military regalia and meticulously groomed, was ready, and my station was duly prepared. During this interval, I conversed with Princess beneath the amber reflection of an oil lamp resting upon a table.

  “You went too far!” she had recriminated. “I don’t care how sure you are of your painting; you can’t bet my name, Dubart!” she raged at me. “How do you even dare? He could easily say he doesn’t like your art, no matter how good it is. What happens then, hmm?”

  “There is nothing to fear, trust me,” I reassured her, though I knew she remained unconvinced. “I am sorry to say that the territory of Niberrath is neither a high priority for reclamation nor likely to return to its former Master. In essence, I have wagered nothing.”

  “Nothing, save for the prospect of marrying me off to a commoner with ties to that insufferable oaf!” she shouted through the mirror, persisting in her objections until the Baron was ready for his portrait.

  The armor of a typical Irghuminian soldier differed markedly from that worn by a Lord. Commanders were generally clad from head to toe in plated steel. The Baron desired his proud helm to be included in the portrait, cradled beneath his arm. His armor was meticulously maintained, polished to a gleaming finish, and adorned with angular engravings and simple motifs. His gauntlets were articulated, with metal plating covering the back of the hand, while the palms were made of fine leather, permitting a firm grip and the manipulation of delicate objects.

  The Baron wore a sleeveless tabard in yellow and white, emblazoned with his personal coat-of-arms—a checkered shield with stars on the upper left and lower right—secured by a leather belt that also bore the sheathes for a sword and dagger. As much today as in the days of old, spears and swords remained the principal weapons of the battlefield, and while generals did not engage in front-line combat, they still bore fully functional arms with them as symbols of their status and readiness.

  Lord Faringoth was somewhat stocky, but in armor, this translated into a broad-shouldered and imposing figure. He appeared fierce and dignified. His facial hair had been trimmed and oiled, each detail carefully attended to, despite his doubts that my portrait of him would ever be displayed.

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  Once more, he inquired whether I was certain of my course. I responded with a silent nod, then requested quiet, for I required full concentration to begin. Time was of the essence.

  With swift, measured strokes, I sketched the essential forms, capturing the Baron’s dimensions and proportions. I made a few ‘notes’ of several features to ensure I would not forget them, even if his posture or the reflection of the intense candelabra light shifted. Although it took little time to create a faithful outline of the man, the piece would be lacking without the details, which would demand much more effort.

  “By Ivinis and Sabiens!” Lady Orzwa exclaimed. “Look at her hands move!”

  “I have not even seen seasoned seddeveri moving so fast,” Lord Zajardo added.

  Though my technique, utilizing Princess’s hands, was still evolving, it had become an increasingly polished skill. The realization that I had successfully completed Rascal’s portrait had emboldened me, spurring my desire to experiment and refine my style further. There were flaws in my earlier work—subtle, perhaps, but discernible to my own critical eye. This current piece, while not perfect, would surpass the previous, and the next would be even better.

  Our audience had little to do but watch me paint. They frequently commented and praised my rapid progress, yet refrained from engaging in deeper conversations that might have distracted me. The passage of time was marked by the clock standing directly behind. I had never been fond of clocks; the sound of their pendulums ticking was detestable, a relentless noise that never allowed me to rest. Lord Faringoth possessed a particularly ostentatious one, taller than myself, which taunted me with its three little hands, moving ever forward, step by step.

  When the time came, I halted my brush and stretched my left hand by repeatedly clenching and unclenching it, as I was still unaccustomed to the rigors of painting. There was no need to summon the Baron to evaluate my work.

  The easel had been positioned slightly askew for his convenience, and the gathered onlookers drew closer to inspect the canvas. Pride swelled within me at the sight of what I had achieved. Though the background remained unfinished, and the shadows required refinement, I had already captured the Baron’s likeness, and I would no longer need him to pose. His stern visage, framed by a bushy beard streaked with brown and white, his silver sword at his hip, even the glint of the golden button atop his tabard—all had been rendered with conviction.

  Awaiting his verdict, all eyes turned to the Baron. He flared his nostrils, dabbed his brow with a handkerchief, and released a long sigh.

  “Well, rookie, I guess sometimes you young people do more than boast and talk big,” he began with that, but we could all already tell he had approved. “As much as I’d like your name, I can’t possibly look at this picture and not call it a fantastic job. Well done. You beat me.”

  He began to applaud, and the others quickly joined him. I acknowledged their unspoken praise with a nod, pleased with myself—or rather, with what I had achieved within Princess’s strong and healthy body.

  “Some details remain unfinished,” I declared before anyone could assume I was ready to conclude. “It shall not take long, and I would be most grateful if you could provide me with more paint and a bit more time.”

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