Shayna glared at him with the icy chill of flat eyes. “You would lower my station to a whore.”
“No. I didn’t say that. You’re exaggerating.”
“Exaggerating? You think I play the strumpet. I’m not a scavenger for gold and status.”
“I never said that! I’m only pointing out that it seems the best scenario.”
“Scenario? Scenario? This is real life, you weasel. Not some mind game.”
“You make me a child.”
“I merely state what I’m seeing.”
“Well, you know what? You’re not all tough, you know. You’re just a naïve little girl that thinks everything should be as it is your home!”
“I have never stepped from the Citadel before! This land is strange –”
“– inferior?”
“Now who is twisting words? I never said anything like that!”
“You never had to. It’s plain in your voice. You think these people are backwards farmers that “need” help from you to meet your standards! Not everyone thinks as you do!”
“Would be better if they did! These gentlefolk are madmen! I have never seen such gross laziness and savagery. They act as though they own the world.”
The quark of birds told the pair they had reached the garden, and with the sound came the realization they had probably woken the manor’s tenants with their “conversation.” Mykel controlled his breathing for a moment. “Shayna. This is how these nobles act. They are brought up with wealth. Everything’s provided for them. They are used to getting what they want. It’s the only life they know. To defy them...well, they are known for their temper.”
Instead of the clarity the librarian hoped for, the chambermaid’s face grew the dark of a storm cloud; her words, dripping with venom. “You justify their acts?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I merely understand their way of thinking.”
“Thinking, thinking, thinking! That’s all you do! Would you be thinking when Lucas rapes me? Oh, don’t act so surprised. I know how to read people as well. And he will, someday. When the slights boil his patience away, he will take me by force.”
“I’ll never let that happen, Shayna. He won’t touch you. I swear. We’ll just talk to Lazarus. I know he’ll come up with a plan.”
Rage set her words aflame. “Running behind a father’s shadow is a coward’s chore.”
“What do you want me to do? Take him in a duel?”
“Yes! I want you to go to him and expose him as the lesser man!”
“Shayna, the man is three times bigger than me. I’d be defeated before you could blink.”
“Your fear seems to parallel your facts. Are you so craven to abandon me to your analysis?”
“Shayna –”
“Shut your teeth!” Throwing her hands in defeat the chambermaid stalked from the garden. Mykel burned to follow her, but the exchange would be of the same meaning. Anger made one a formidable enemy, but time cleansed all wounds. It was merely a matter of waiting.
“That did not go well.”
Mykel blinked. Lazarus as usual, with no mark of his footsteps. “What do you want?”
Lazarus went on as if the young librarian had never spoken. “To agree with the enemy’s tactics was to boast your agreement with their policy. You became the object of her madness.” A pause. “You are a damn fool.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Answer mine. You have a choice to make. Will you do nothing? Will you let her tend to your wounds? Or will you fight for her?”
“She’s not a trophy to be won. It is she that will make the decision, not I.”
“I thought that way too, when I was a lad. I waited when I should have done something. The day when I finally steeled enough courage, she was married. I saw the woman of my dreams slip through my fingers like sand. It hurt. It hurt like hell.”
“I know.” Mykel squeezed his eyes shut against the inferno of memory, only to have the eyelids blackened and peeled away. Caryl, turned to darkness. The scream. Her scream. Wil’s scream. Blended together in a shrill cacophony that was daggers to the ears. Their shadows twisted in pain as the fire devoured them bit by bit. They screamed. Gods, why won’t they stop screaming?
“Does it ever go away? The pain, I mean.”
“I have spent most of my life towards that question. I do not know. I do know I was alone. No one to leave me, no one to hurt me. Just alone.” He twitched, and Mykel’s blood ran cold. Oh no. Not that. Not the Face. The old man had a prophetic power of sensing danger. The dark augurs passed the length of the courtyard, finally stopping at the tall doors at the opposite of the chamber. “Shit.”
The silence shattered with a sound of cracking thunder, and suddenly the dirty-cloaked men at the doors grabbed any maiden within reach and pressed a short-sword to her neck. “Give me your leader!” came a shrill voice.
Even at this distance Mykel could see the trembling hand upon the steel.
“He’s just a boy.”
“A boy with the means to kill.” Lazarus said grimly. Lucas was striding towards the knot of toughs as though at a picnic. Mykel did not need to glance up to know the archers posted all along the stone-toothed bridges from tower to tower. Lucas would not expose himself otherwise.
“Aren’t we going to help him?”
“You’re a firebrand, lad. You cannot go daring a rescue at every corner. That’s a fool’s errand.”
But by then it was too late. Lucas had already reached the rebels, and begun a conversation, sneering all the way. Lords did not sup with the unclean.
“This is my citadel, you fool. You have no authority to the comings and goings of my house!”
The kidnappers were boys. Boys drunk on the heady taste of false courage. They looked like ghosts, every one of them. If nothing was done, they would die. Unless...the familiar desperation of a stupid plan came over the librarian. Very stupid. Mykel stepped directly between Lucas and the peasants. “Anyone who would think murder on these children must kill me first.”
Lucas smiled as though Mykel was never there, as though humoring a child. “What is your game, William?” The peasants started as though stung. “Yes, I know your name. I know all your names. Your ancestors have served my family for generations! I gave your people food, homes, and protection! And this is how you repay me? With rebellion?”
“It’s not rebellion!” answered William, who bore a great resemblance to Lucas. “Our families are starving! We haven’t the strength to work anymore! And you never lifted a finger to help!”
“Why come to me with your troubles? I did not make the mines run out of coal, or the silkworms’ extinction. Your families were under one charge, one task. It is not my folly that you no longer serve your purpose.”
“But it is your fault that you did nothing to aid them.” Lazarus stepped into the fold, his eyes aflame. Lucas took a step back, then, angry at the slight, firmed his composure. Lazarus ran over whatever words the noble was about to spill. “You might be their lord, but you are my vassal. I’ve been wondering why the mines have closed. They should have been full for ten generations.” He took a step closer, his voice but a whisper. “You’ve been stealing from me, Lucas. My mines. My investments. You’ve broken the law, and I will not stand by it. You!” William jumped. “It’s all right son. I remember your father. Roger Deovid. Overseer at the mine, was he not?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good.” The eyes that met Gaogin now were twin furnaces. “As of this minute, I take back the Gaogin lands. I strip you, Lucas, of your titles, your inheritance, and everything you hold under my name.”
<
br /> Lucas went deathly pale. “You cannot do this.”
“But I can. I gave your family your riches.” The next words rang throughout the whole citadel. “The lands I give to the Deovid family.”
It took a few moments for the declaration to sink in, but when the realization came into full bloom the peasants exploded with cries of relief and victory. Lucas was double the pale now, his eyes a mix of rage and disbelief.
“Guards!” From out of nowhere two men appeared, taking Lucas by either arm. “Escort this vagabond from my castle. Make sure he understands his new station.” Lazarus took a step closer. “If I see you on my land again, I will have your head spiked before my gates!” A gesture, slight but oh so powerful. “Take him away.” Lucas wailed as he was booted from the front gates.
“I knew you wouldn’t truckle, old man.” Mykel came to his side, rounding an arm about his master’s shoulder. “I knew it.”
“Do not look shocked. I am not totally without emotion.” A moment passed. “It was you who risked everything.”
Mykel swallowed. Even with the distance between them he felt the prick of those arrows as though they were singing towards him. “I learned from the best.”
Lazarus laughed. “Does this flattery ever work on me in your time?”
“Uh...no. Not really, actually.”
“Good. I was afraid I’ve gone soft. And while we’re on the subject, I would advise you not to run headfirst into trouble that would have your head.”
“Yes Master.”
“Good. Now, there’s a lady who wants to speak with you.” Mykel followed his gaze to Shayna, waiting with hands clasped at the small of her back. Time and again he hunted for the right words. I could have told you he was an idiot. Then what did that make Shayna, since she came to him willingly? Listen, you can’t blame yourself. Lucas has probably doing the same on girls for years now. No, that would make her be the victim, which would probably ignite her stubborn streak. When at last he arrived at Shayna, suddenly all his plans fell apart. “I’m sorry.” Again, came the attraction, like iron to lodestone, closed eyes awaiting the passion –
– and Shayna pulled away. Mykel saw wide eyes deep with hurt, and a frame that trembled uncontrollably. Her lips parted to speak; instead of words there were the whimpers of a broken beast, afraid and yet charmed to the thing that hurt her. Finally, Shayna burst to the safety of the castle, where no eyes could witness the memories flogging her every thought.
The rape. God damn it, LeKym. You forgot the damn rape.
This time there was no hesitation. Mykel tracked her all the way across the field. Things would only worsen should she came aware of being followed, so the librarian’s path was limited to patches of weed-laced grass. Hiding in such grass was the equal of shrouding an elephant with a cloak. Thank goodness Shayna was too maddened by fright to notice. That came out wrong.
Mykel entered to a hallway of servants glancing behind them. Then he followed the maze of their glances corridor by corridor, until finally the path ended at a washroom designed specifically for women. Mykel slowly opened the door.
The scene was plain. A bath-house without tubs, replaced by long tubes that wove a jagged web on ceiling and ground and even wall, where rivulets of water would shower down upon the occupant. All interest withered when he spotted Shayna. She was huddled like a newborn, her sobs just barely above the hissing of the water overhead.
Mykel slowly, oh so slowly, edged to Shayna’s side. She didn’t even know he was there until he slid down next to her. For a time, all he could do was watch her. Every sob was a quarrel in his heart. Others might give pity and false assurances, but he knew how meaningless charades hurt more than healed. So, he simply slid the dead arm to her shoulder. She tightened against him instinctively, her head drooping on his shoulder. Soon the water became cold. They stayed there, wet and silent and sobbing. Just them and time.
XIX
John Stromgald sat within the lean-to, reading Mykel’s journals. Though the theme was the same old hack and slash, mystical artifact quest, there was enough sly charm to make old plots new again. The man’s got talent. He found himself smiling when he came upon a character that was obviously based off the ranger himself, having the same mannerisms and such. There were three other characters, one for each ranger, and a princess that was a caricature of the soon-to-be Queen. The Queen. Frustration clenched the other fist, and the parchment within it. Gods damn Lazarus.
It was Raptor that broke the silence. “What are we going to do, Boss?” Raptor asked –asked, not shirked – yet it was hard to guess between the two. “Boss?”
Stromgald fought to keep his temper reined. “We shall escort the Queen to Paree Vinaz.” A noble endeavor, to be sure; though he would like it better had it not smacked of baby-sitting. The looks on his rangers’ faces showed he was not alone. It did not matter. They were still going to do their duty.
“Why are we wasting our time with these cretins?” Raptor asked. “Boss, I don’t think I can stand that witch another minute.”
“Neither do I,” Stromgald said. “But Lord Lazarus asks us to do this, so we will do it.”
They were sitting in the shadow of a cliff overlooking a tired, dusty path. It had taken most of the day and a good quarter of the night to reach this point. The Queen needed to be at her throne as quickly as possible; hence the mad dash. There was also a personal need for the rangers to hurry, for their charge was horrendous, indeed.
“I don’t see any reason why we must take this loathsome path,” said Christina around the fire late that night.
Stromgald bit back a sigh. “If one nobleman were to recognize you, milady, we run the risk of being entangled in some game.” In truth Stromgald agreed with the princess, but noblemen were a strange folk; they seemed to play their games with unbounded obsession.
And then there was the matter of the Companion.
“What do you mean she’s not here?”
“She was not with you upon our departure,” said Stromgald. “Speed is of the essence. We could not risk a second.”
But of course, the future Queen was not happy with that explanation, eyeing each ranger in turn as if they had engineered the maid’s absence. There was no pity in that quarter, so she stomped to her tent in a huff.
“Didn’t I say this was going to be trouble?” Raptor asked.
“Shut up,” replied his comrades.
It took them a fortnight to arrive at the jade gates of Paree Vinaz. The giant double doors that barred the castle entrance were scored with dragons and wyverns battling each other, as were the armor of the guards stationed there.
“Finally!” Christina exclaimed as she dismounted. She marched right up to the guards and puffed up before them with an air of arrogance. “I am Christina Lansplex, daughter of the Mace Throne and your new Queen. Open the doors.”
The guards exchanged glances. “You don’t look like a Queen,” one said.
It was true. The ride had left her fancy wardrobe torn and dirt-dark. She looked more a common peasant than the daughter of kings, and from the way she shook she knew it to be true. “I will have your head on a platter! Open the doors, damn you!”
“That isn’t any way to ask for help,” said the second guard. His eyes slid down Christina’s body; even in dirty raiment the male libido plied for sex. “Perhaps we can work out a deal...”
“No.” Stromgald said, nudging the princess aside. Pulling a document free from his tunic pocket, he handed it over to the first guard. The soldier barely gave it a glance before crumbling it in his fist. “Do you realize how many scrolls we get in a day?”
“Thousands of them,” offered the other guard.
Christi
na looked flabbergasted. “B-but I am your queen! How dare you –”
“How dare us?” mocked the first soldier. “Look at it, she’s being cute. Well, in any case you can’t come in without a permit.”
“A permit?” Raptor echoed.
“That’s right. All foreign citizens need a letter of pliability that confirms their loyalty to the kingdom’s laws and execution thereof.”
“I have never heard of such a law.”
“The king signed it not a week ago. Bandits are aplenty, you see.”
Stromgald opened his mouth but Christina elbowed her way to the forefront and pulled a sigil she hoisted in the air for all to see. “I demand entrance.”
The balcony was all aflutter as guards hurried this way and that, trying to find one that could prove the symbol’s worth. Finally, someone was located; a man so shriveled he could pass for an apricot, who in-between hacking and wheezing said the claim was true, and finally the castle gates slowly opened.
“Can we go now?” Raptor asked. Sylver silenced the knife-man with a look, but she wore the same face as her comrade. Not now, said the look on Stromgald’s face. We have a little bit more to go.
Servants appeared out of thin air, offering dates, hot towels, and sleek-bodied women. Raptor drooled a tunnel’s worth of water, and Sylver snorted, but beyond that the rangers ignored the servants, who dissipated like smoke to new guests.
The castle’s inner sanctum was as the rangers expected. Velvet curtains draped every wall, with golden lining weaving from place to place. Taken all together the curtains told a story of Amden’s past, of the warrior kings who built the kingdom with blood and sweat. Situated at the center of the mural was a golden throne, run through with emeralds and sapphires, crowned with twin heads of dragons and griffins. The man who sat there was the opposite; looking so withered and tired and frail a breath would keel him over.
Chased By War Page 20
