"You never told him, your own son?" Asked the Coward.

Evar met the Coward's smug grin with a furious scowl, but turned to face his father once Daigon had reverted his attention to the Moot as a whole.

"He's full of horse shit," cocksure Evar snarled hoping his doubt would be immediately confirmed by Vignar. But the wizened old man was still wide-eyed and sobered from the Coward's words - the look of a murderer whose well-hidden victim had been uncovered by the village huscarl. Vignar and could do naught but meet his son's expectant stare with wide, guilty eyes.

"... isn't he, father?" Vignar finally managed a weak nod.

"May this greasy cur burn a full eternity in each of the fifteen hells," Evar growled to his thanes as he glowered furiously at the Coward. "How dare he say such a thing to an old man in such a state. Father can scarcely recall his own name, let alone recall events such a long time passed. I will not abide such slander. I will challenge this filthy coward to a duel, and cut that lying tongue from his mouth."

"My lord," one of Evar's thanes - a seasoned veteran old enough to be Evar's father - said with arresting solemness, "do no such thing. I implore you, drop this matter."

Evar gave an irritated grunt through gritted teeth and returned his gaze to the Moot. The Broken Hammer Jarless had taken the floor now.

"The Broken Hammer will not bend a knee to either Jarl Erlendr or Jarl Varvudda. We will do what we always have, live, fight, survive. Perhaps you too will survive if you can keep from stabbing each other in the back. We will part ways when this Moot has finished but you will see no support from me or mine."

With that, Evar's chances of earning the regency had died. With the northerners effectively abstaining from the vote, the Red Knot Jarl would surely win the majority of the votes now that Runecarver, Shattered Moon, and now Stonecutter had all thrown their support behind Erlendr's regency. Evar was never one to easily give up, but even the obstinate Jarl of Sentinel knew better than to persist in the face of mathematical impossibility. Seven clans - none very powerful - had voiced their support of Evar. He would not be named regent. Nothing remained for Clan Varvudda in Kingsport.

"Nor shall you see support from Sentinel!" Evar declared. "Clan Varvudda will find its own way forward. If the Coward is to be believed, and the Rainlanders mean to attack, then we shall look to our own defenses. The wealth of Sentinel will be spent fortifying our own ramparts, rather than those of the Stonecutter robber-barons. You will see not a single piece of silver from our lands."

The Varvudda thanes rose from their seats, helping frail Vignar to his feet as Evar made for the door. The petty jarls from the Chain of Fire, deciding that they had nothing more to gain from this Moot, filtered toward the exit as well. "Clan Varvudda takes its leave of this Moot, farewell and good riddence!"

"Now, give me my damned sword back," Evar demanded of the guards standing at the doors. "I'll be needing it."