The Crown and the Sword tros-2

by Douglas Niles

  “The damage was bad, yes. But much of the population has moved back, and the rebuilding is coming along very well.”

  “And you’ve driven the barbarians from all the western plains? This half-giant, Ankhar, he just holds on to the area around Solanthus?”

  Jaymes nodded. “And soon he won’t even have that.”

  “Yes, you’ve come a long way from the outlaw I discovered hiding in a shadowed cellar on the plains,” she remarked wryly.

  “My life has taken a few unexpected turns,” he admitted.

  A maid entered and curtsied. “Would you care for something to drink?” asked the princess. Her manner had warmed a little.

  “What will you have? Red wine, perhaps?” he asked.

  “Yes, actually. That sounds good. Marie, will you bring us a bottle of that Nordmar Rose-some of the vintage from two years ago?”

  “Yes, my lady. At once.”

  The servant departed, and Selinda turned back to the lord marshal. Her eyes were narrow, appraising. After studying him for a few breaths, she spoke. “I think you are still a very dangerous man.”

  “Sometimes the world needs dangerous men,” he replied with a shrug. “Ankhar’s horde isn’t about to be defeated by a group of perfumed gentlemen or pompous nobles.”

  She looked at him archly. “Do you think I’m a pompous noble?” she asked accusingly.

  “When you found me hiding in that dark cellar, and you came in there to talk to me… that was about as far from pompous as a person can get.” He paused for a moment. “I’m still amazed by what you did. Did you think I was a dangerous man then?”

  “I knew it, immediately.”

  “But you weren’t afraid?”

  “Oh, I suppose I was terrified.”

  “Why? What is so frightening, so ‘dangerous’ about me?”

  She frowned and was spared from answering by Marie, returning with a decanter of red wine and two crystal glasses. “Shall I pour?” asked the servant, setting her tray on a nearby buffet.

  “Allow me?” Jaymes asked, rising smoothly to his feet.

  “Be my guest,” Selinda replied. “That will be all, Marie.” The princess took a seat in the chair next to where Jaymes had been sitting.

  Jaymes crossed to the buffet as the servant girl departed, closing the door behind her. The marshal spoke over his shoulder to the princess. “So-you were going to tell me why you think I’m dangerous,” he prodded.

  The tiny vial was in his hand, screened by his body from Selinda’s view. He lifted the decanter and swirled it gently, allowing the dark liquid to circle within the goblet. He looked as though he were admiring the exquisite cut of the crystal as he smoothly poured the potion into one of the two glasses. Then he carefully added the wine, filling first her glass, then his own about three-quarters of the way to the top.

  “I guess…” Selinda was preoccupied, struggling to reply to his question. “I guess it’s because you don’t wait for things to happen; you make them happen. You take whatever it is that you want, and to the Abyss with the consequences.”

  He turned around and walked slowly back to her, extending one of the glasses. She took the wine and he sat beside her. Then he raised his glass. “Perhaps I could offer a toast to a new beginning? One that doesn’t start in the dingy cellar of a burned-out house?”

  “I’ll agree to that,” she said lightly. They clinked their glasses gently, and each took a sip of wine. It was indeed a rare vintage, smooth and rich without a hint of bitterness. Jaymes nodded approvingly, watching her as he took another sip.

  “But I’d like to get this one thing straight,” Selinda continued. “I find you a dangerous man but an interesting one. I recognize that you are good for the future of Solamnia. If our nation is ever to be united and grow powerful again, we need to have a strong army and a strong commander of that army. But I hope that you’re not here to court me, as my father has warned me because I’m not interested in that.”

  “Fair enough,” Jaymes replied, staring at her as she took another sip. “May I ask-are you not interested in being courted by me or in being courted, period?”

  “Both, I should say.” Selinda leaned back in her chair, swirled the wine in her glass, and looked at him over its rim. “My indifference to courtship may seem foreign to you. But there are lots of men, the most powerful nobles in all Solamnia, who seem to view me as some kind of prize, like the trophy that might be claimed at a royal joust. Lord Frankish practically drools over me. And I hate that feeling; I absolutely hate it.”

  “I think I can understand,” he allowed.

  “My father knows how I feel. As soon as I reached my majority, which was just two years ago, I made him agree that I would marry whomever I choose, whenever I choose. I’m under no pressures from him. There will be no political match in this house!”

  “And how did the lord regent react to that?” Jaymes inquired, raising his eyebrows. “I should tell you-Bakkard du Chagne seems to me like another man who takes what he wants, rather than just sitting around and waiting for it to be offered.”

  She giggled involuntarily then clasped her fingers over her mouth in surprise. “I can’t believe you said that. I’ve never heard anybody speak about my father like that!”

  “That’s because he’s a dangerous man too,” the marshal replied bluntly. He was still leaning back in his chair, gently swirling the wine in his glass. After another sip he continued. “Are you frightened of him?”

  “No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. She met his stare with a confident look, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Of course not. He’s my father. And I just realized something: I’m not frightened of you either.”

  “I’m glad,” replied the man. He set his glass on a table and leaned forward to study her. Most women would have fidgeted, looked away under that intense scrutiny, but not the princess of Palanthas. Instead, she giggled again.

  “I wish… I wish I had a big brother like you.”

  He blinked, sitting back in surprise. “A… brother? ”

  “Yes. Oh, not that you’re not a handsome man. Do you know, I think the Lady Coryn is in love with you? And Dara Lorimar certainly thought she was!”

  She looked surprised at herself after she uttered the last statement, and her eyes clouded with painful memories.

  “Dara Lorimar was but a girl. A lovely girl, to be sure. However, she didn’t live long enough to learn the meaning of love.” His tone was harsh.

  “I know that she died too soon! But I told you before, we were friends, had been since we were little girls. And she talked about you when she came to Palanthas that last winter, when you worked for her father, protecting him, his house, his family.”

  “Some protector,” snapped Jaymes. He made no effort to keep the bitterness out of his voice. His memories were also painful. “She died trying to keep the assassins away from her father, and I failed them both. I didn’t even realize they were in danger!”

  “But when you found out, you honorably avenged them… and gained a whole army in the process,” Selinda said. “And didn’t you love Dara, just a little?”

  “I told you, she was a young girl-a mere child!”

  “She was a year older than me!”

  “Well, that was a long time ago,” he countered flatly. His wine glass sat on the table beside him, forgotten. She had nearly finished hers, he noted with interest. Abruptly he tossed back the contents of his glass, rose, and crossed the room. He came back with the decanter. Selinda mutely emptied her own glass and extended it so he could pour another. This time he set the decanter between them as he once again took his seat.

  “What about Lady Coryn?” Selinda asked coyly.

  “What about her?” he asked sharply.

  She didn’t flinch. “I… I mean… do you love her?”

  “She’s a good friend, a powerful ally. She helps me, and I help her. But she wears the white robes-she loves virtues, ideals, truths that I can never wholeheartedly embrace.”<
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  “What do you embrace?” Selinda asked. Her eyes were moist, her tone almost pleading. “Why did you take up the banner of the Lord of the Rose? Why do you lead the Army of Solamnia against the horde, when you could go any place, do anything you want? I confess you are a vexing mystery to me.”

  He rose and paced around the room. He flexed his hands unconsciously, his fingers curling into fists until he forced himself to stretch them out again. For a long time he was silent, seemingly unaware that she was watching him, waiting for his answer.

  “Solamnia could be the greatest country on Krynn,” he said at last. “But none of the leaders born to their roles-including your father! — have the will or the strength to forge its greatness. Coryn, because she is good, envisions a Solamnia such as once existed, defended by knights who are pure of heart, noble of deed.

  “But I know that history has come too far for a realm like that to exist, except in storybooks. The world is a new place, changing more every day. It is filled with dangerous men. The greatest of the old gods are gone, and even magic is giving way to new technologies, knowledge that places power in the hands of industrial strength…”

  “Technologies such as the substance that everyone talks about, your black powder?” she asked. She was staring at him, rapt.

  “Yes. With that black powder, when I learn how to channel it properly, and with an army made up of natural leaders and courageous, motivated soldiers, I think that Solamnia can reach heights of greatness she has never before attained.”

  “What about Solanthus?” she asked, surprising him. “Those poor people there, starving, surrounded. Do you think you will be able to free them without disaster?”

  “I am going to do everything in my power to free Solanthus.” He went back to the chair and sat down, looking at her earnestly.

  “I believe you are!” she exclaimed. She leaned toward him, placed her hand on his knee as she stared into his eyes. Powerful emotions shone in her look, feelings that brought a flush to her cheeks. “I do believe you are the only one who can do what you say! I don’t know why it took me so long… but it’s so clear to me, now. You are the man who might succeed where others failed… I could help you. I want to help you. I want…”

  Her voice trailed off. She was breathing hard now as she looked at him, her lips parted. Nervously she moistened those lips with her tongue.

  He stood up. She rose as well. Her body moved as if of its own will until she was pressed against him. She reached up to his shoulders, her eyes staring into his. Her eyes glowed with warmth and something else… Hope? She tilted her head back.

  Jaymes Markham took the princess of Palanthas in his arms, and he kissed her. She was willing and kissed him back with a fury that took him by surprise. Her hands went around his back and down to his waist as she pulled him close, trying to merge her body with his.

  And he made no move to push her away.

  An hour later Jaymes was making his way through the vacant hall of the regent’s palatial residence. He headed for the stable, having already sent a servant to saddle his horse. It was late, and the great building was quiet and dark.

  He stiffened abruptly as he approached the door. A man, armored in a rose breastplate and wearing a long red cloak, appeared from the shadows to block his path. Jaymes recognized Lord Frankish, the commander of the Palanthian Legion.

  The lord marshal stopped. He was unarmed, except for a small dagger, not that he feared attack. Nevertheless he was taken aback when the other man, without warning, raised his hand, and sharply slapped a leather gauntlet across Jaymes’s face.

  “You are a scoundrel, sir!” snapped Frankish. “All the palace is aware of your outrageous conduct behind closed doors with the princess. I warned you, and her father warned you. You have no business with her!”

  “Do you think you have business with her?” Jaymes growled, raising a hand to rub his cheek. “Or is your true business with me?”

  “Think what you will-you are a wretched fellow. I demand satisfaction!”

  Jaymes snorted. “You’re challenging me to a duel? I urge you to think again. You would be out of your depth.”

  “Your impertinence is astounding,” replied the lord.

  “Then, sir,” Jaymes said, more irritably than angrily, “I will match you. How long will the arrangements take?”

  “I have already notified my second, the wizard Sir Moorvan. He will be ready momentarily. I assume that your own wizard-”

  “The Lady Coryn?”

  “I know that she is within these walls, as we speak. Perhaps you would care to speak with her?”

  “I’ll leave it to you to make all the arrangements, then,” Jaymes said, pushing past the man roughly enough that he knocked him off stride. In two steps the lord marshal was out the door, standing alone in the quiet of the night. Then, with a sound that was a cross between a snort of amusement and snarl of anger, he turned back to the palace.

  Once again, he would slip in through the kitchen door.

  Baron Dekage apologized for interrupting Coryn in the palace library. “It’s Sir Moorvan, the Kingfisher,” the baron explained. “He begs your pardon for disturbing you but insists he must see you on a matter of urgent and grave importance.”

  A few moments later, dressed in her immaculate white robe with her black hair combed loosely back from her face, the wizard greeted the mage knight as he entered and bowed.

  The Kingfisher wore the expression of a man burdened with ill tidings. “I was thinking that, perhaps, you had not heard the news,” he suggested to the white wizard.

  “And what news would that be?” Coryn retorted, rather disagreeably. She knew Moorvan, and in fact they had worked together when the Solamnics had reclaimed Palanthas from the Dark Knights. She knew that he was a schemer and that his primary interests lay not with magic and justice, but with the ambitions of Lord Regent du Chagne.

  “There is to be a duel shortly after midnight, in the palace courtyard. Between Lord Marshal Jaymes and the Rose Lord Frankish. Ah, I see, you had not heard.”

  “No,” Coryn said, her face betraying her shock. She turned away from him, staring across the room, the darkly elegant study chamber in the regent’s palace. The Kingfisher waited for her to say something, but turning back, she merely glared at him.

  “I am sure you agree that it is imperative that such a match occurs without interference from interested parties,” the wizard-knight ventured as politely as possible.

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” Coryn agreed, thinking furiously. A duel? How could Jaymes have been so stupid?

  “To that end, I was hoping that you and I could second the match, together. We will keep an eye on, uh, matters. Is that acceptable to you?”

  She frowned. She needed time-time to consult her auguries, to consider her options, simply to think. “When did you say this duel is to occur?” she asked numbly.

  “At one bell. Three hours from now.”

  There was little else to say, then, and virtually no time for any preparations. “Very well,” she said. “I will meet you in the courtyard and bear judgment.”

  “You’re going to fight Lord Frankish? No! You can’t! You mustn’t! You might be injured, even killed!” Selinda sobbed as she threw herself into Jaymes’s arms, clenching him so tightly that he had to unclasp her arms just to draw a breath.

  “Are you so sure I’m going to lose?” he asked with a very slight smile, holding his arms around her, looking down at her tear-filled eyes.

  “You don’t know very much about Lord Frankish, do you? He’ll do anything to win-anything! You can’t trust him! He’s killed many men already! Oh, this is all my fault!” She broke away and turned to stomp across the anteroom of her chambers. The duel was an hour or two away. Selinda whirled angrily. “I’ll bet my father put him up to this-I’m certain of it! But I’m not going to allow it! Do you hear me? I won’t allow it!”

  “I hear you,” Jaymes said, striding over to her, again pulling her close. Willingl
y, she melted against his chest. “But this is not something you can, or cannot, allow. I’ve given my word. It’s something that’s going to happen. And”-he pulled back to look into her eyes-“don’t worry. I don’t intend to lose.”

  “But-why?” she cried. “Why are you doing this?”

  “More or less because Lord Frankish forced me into it,” he conceded abashedly. “It was not my idea. But I believe I can turn this to my-to our — advantage.”

  “He’s only doing this because he’s jealous-he knows how much I care for you. He thinks he can commit legal murder this way. He intends to kill you!”

  “He won’t. And I told you, this will work out in our favor.”

  She shivered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “How could it possibly work in our favor?”

  “That hasn’t been entirely settled yet. I needed to talk to you first, and afterward I will pay a visit to your father. That’s why I came here before going to the combat field. I needed to ask you something.”

  “What? What is it? What did you want to ask me?”

  He stared into her eyes, placed his strong hands on her trembling shoulders. “In the event of my victory in this fight, I mean to ask, with humility and affection, if you will consent to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

  Her eyes grew wide. She gasped for breath. In the next instant she pulled him close, nearly strangling him again.

  “Yes!” she cried, her voice a mixture of sobs and laughter. She would always remember what had happened this night, before and after the duel, she thought.

  “Yes,” she repeated through the laughter and tears. “Yes, I will!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE KING OF THE UNDERWORLD

  A nkhar gradually noticed the warmth, which struck him as unnatural in this dark, sunless place. For timeless miles and uncounted days, the trio had trudged through chilly blackness, cloaks wrapped tight against the penetrating cold. Deep into the world they went, far away from the sun, and still they descended. Ankhar shivered when he slept, longed for the comfort of a campfire. But there was no fuel, no light beyond what their little party carried.