by Mark Eller
Chapter 10— Queen’s Challenge
Elise stamped her foot, shifted her shield, and backed away from the attack. Her left arm ached horribly from holding her shield, and her right wrist fought a losing battle against the weight of her sword’s point. Panting, she struggled to bring the point up, but exhaustion left her barely enough energy to breathe. Her only consolation was her opponent was not in much better shape.
“Milady,” a small voice said to the side.
Tired or not, Pol Swordbreaker did not let up. Face grim, Pol stepped in and struck. Elise barely blocked his overhand attack. The attack was swiftly followed by a second. His weapon swept at her side, flickered towards her face, an instant before Pol came after her in a low line. Elise shifted her weight, partially blocked the blow, and chuckled when Pol’s sword became tangled in the voluminous folds of her clothing. There were, it seemed, some advantages in having to dress like a queen. Still chuckling, she lowered her shield, drew back her arm, and thrust her point straight toward the man’s chest, already tasting victory.
“My Queen,” the small voice tried again.
Damn. Apparently she had tasted too soon. Dropping his shield to his waist, Pol knocked her rapier aside, and the pointed top of the shield swept up toward her belly in a move too quick for her to avoid. She tried to twist away, but the shield’s sharpened peak pressed against her belly, stopping before it laid open her skin.
“I declare this match a draw,” Pol grinned.
“A draw?” Elise panted. “How so? You just gutted me.”
“And you very handily sliced open the veins under my shield arm,” Pol replied, lowering the shield.
Elise shook her head. “I did no such thing.” Pol raised his arm, showing her where a line of the chimney black she had rubbed on her wooden practice sword resided. “Or at least I don’t remember doing it.”
Pol placed his sword on the wall braces where it belonged when not in use, turned back, and brushed her cheek with gentle fingers. “That’s because you have the instincts of a warrior. You knew you were going to die so you decided to take me out, too.” Smiling ruefully, he handed her a towel he had earlier tucked into his belt. “You did a good job, My Queen. I’ve not faced many opponents your equal.”
As always, his smile, and the sound of his approval, sent a warm rush through her. Though they had known each other for only two weeks, Pol had quickly become an important part of her life. He was her friend during trying times, her confidant, and he sometimes hinted he would not mind becoming more. He was, in effect, everything she had always wished High Priest Calto Morlon could be, but that was a hope she had given up long ago. Though attentive and efficient, Lord Morlon was far too impressed with himself to be anybody’s true friend.
“Damn it, Elise!” the voice, no longer small, demanded.
With a shake of her head, Elise drew herself away from her reverie. Wiping sweat off her face, she turned to look at her irritable and last remaining maid. Wenda, a pale, dark-haired woman of thirty years stood with awkward self-consciousness in the castle’s abandoned, historical armory. Hung on the pale, polished wood wall above her head was Wynderfyte, the war hammer carried by Olnac, King Vere’s grandfather, when he first won kingship of Yernden. To Wenda’s left was the common soldier’s sword used by Vere’s father when he killed Olnac after Olnac refused to abdicate the throne until he was dead. Though she stood surrounded by the bloody history of Yernden’s successions, Wenda remained oblivious, and for this Elise loved her. Wenda was a simple soul. Loyal and hardworking, it sometimes seemed like she went out of her way to ignore the ugliness surrounding them, though even she could not ignore everything.
“Yes, Wenda?”
Wenda’s expression showed more than her usual impatience with Elise’s eccentricities. Her normally smooth face was twisted into lines of near panic. “The king searches for you, Majesty.”
“Oh damn indeed,” Elise muttered, abruptly thrusting her sword and shield into Pol’s hands. “He’ll try to exile me if he discovers I still practice at weapons.”
“Only because you’re twice the warrior he was even before he became so fat,” Pol’s smile grew. “Or so rumor says.”
“Why do you risk yourself?” Wenda demanded.
“Because my father would disown me if I quit training,” Elise explained. “What does my husband want of me now?” She swept her hair back with a quick motion of her hand and tied it up with a length of ribbon she ripped free from her dress. While grabbing her wig from a peg on the wall, the exhaustion she had felt moments before disappeared in a wave of irritation.
“He knows of the child,” Wenda whispered, but her hands quickly fastened the wig to Elise’s head. “I heard Helace say she hasn’t smelled your courses for more than three months. Oh, Milady, what will we do?”
“The whore is an unnatural woman,” Elise cursed. “There’s no help for it. We’ve no choice but to brazen it out. After all, Vere never ordered me not to produce an heir, and the gods know I couldn’t have got this way without his help.”
“You know he’ll claim it isn’t his. The entire world knows he seldom calls you to his bed. He’ll use this in another attempt at divorcing you.” Wenda jabbed one last pin into place. “There! That will hold it.”
Elise patted her hair and then nodded. “Seldom is the operative word, but the one time was enough after Lord Morlon granted me the goddess’s blessing. I’ve already been to two temples to have its parentage verified. This child belongs to the king. I’ve a dozen of Anothosia’s priests and three of Omitan’s who say so. A king’s divorce without proof of infidelity or his wife’s consent is against the laws of the gods and the land. My husband will not be allowed to divorce me. He will not gain my consent no matter how desperate he is to marry his mistress. My father paid a dowry for me to become queen. I refuse to allow it to be money ill spent.”
“Go!” Pol snapped. “The king waits.”
“She stinks of common labor!” Wenda wailed.
“I’ll grab a quart of rose water along the way,” Elise said. “I’ll not give Vere reason to accuse me of ignoring my duties.”
