Reef looked to his companion, holding Wulfgar's other arm, and together they unceremoniously threw the barbarian into the mud.
Wulfgar climbed back to his feet, sheer willpower alone forcing him back into a state of readiness. He turned back toward the closed door, but Morik was there, grabbing his arm.
"Don't," the rogue commanded. "They don't want you in there. What will you prove?" Wulfgar started to argue, but he looked Morik in the eye and saw no room for debate. He knew the rogue was right. He knew that he had no home.
Chapter 4
A LADY'S LIFE
"Ganderlay," Temigast announced as he entered the room to join Priscilla and Feringal. Both looked at the steward curiously, not understanding. "The woman you saw, my Lord Feringal," Temigast explained. "Her family name is Ganderlay."
"I know of no Ganderlays in Auckney," Priscilla argued.
"There are few families in the village whose names are familiar to you, my dear lady," Temigast replied, his tone somewhat dry, "but this woman is indeed a Ganderlay. She lives with her family on the south slope of Maerlon Mountain," he explained, referring to a fairly populated region of Auckney some two miles from the castle on a step-carved mountainside facing the harbor.
"Girl," Priscilla corrected condescendingly. "She's nowhere near to being a woman." Feringal didn't even seem to hear the comment, too excited by the steward's news. "Are you certain?" he asked Temigast, jumping up and striding determinedly to stand right before the man.
"Can it be?"
"The gir-the woman, was walking the road at the same time your coach rolled through," the steward confirmed. "She matches the description given by several people who know her and saw her on the road at the time. They all mentioned her striking long, black hair, which matches your own description of her, my lord. I am certain she is the eldest daughter of one Dohni Ganderlay."
"I'll go to her," Feringal announced, pacing back and forth eagerly, tapping one finger to his teeth, then turning fast, and then again, as if he didn't know where to go or what to do. "I will call the coach."
"My Lord Feringal," Temigast said quietly in a commanding tone that seemed to steady the eager young man. "That would be most inappropriate."
Feringal stared at him wide-eyed. "But why?"
"Because she is a peasant and not worthy of . . ." Priscilla began, but her voice trailed off for it was obvious that no one was listening to her.
"One does not go unannounced to the house of a proper lady," Temigast explained. "The way must be prepared by your steward and her father."
"But I am the lord of Auckney," Feringal protested. "I can-"
"You can do as you like if you desire her as a plaything," Temigast was quick to interrupt, drawing a frown from both Feringal and Priscilla, "but if you desire her as a wife proper, then arrange things properly. There is a way, my Lord Feringal, a manner in which we are all expected to act. To go against the etiquette in this matter could prove most disastrous, I assure you."
"I don't understand."
"Of course you don't," Temigast said, "but I do, fortunately for us all. Now go and bathe. If the young Ganderlay doe stood downwind of you she would run away." With that he turned Lord Feringal toward the door and gave him a solid push to start him on his way.
"You have betrayed me!" Priscilla wailed when her brother was gone. Temigast snorted at the ridiculous assertion.
"I'll not have her in this house," the woman said determinedly.
"Have you not come to realize that there's nothing short of murder you can do to stop it?" Temigast replied in all seriousness.
"The murder of your brother, I mean, not of the girl, for that would only invite Feringal's wrath upon you."
"But you have aided him in this foolish pursuit."
"I have provided only what he could have learned on his own by asking questions of any peasant, including three women who work in this very house, one of whom was on the road yesterday."
"If the fool even noticed them," Priscilla argued.
"He would have discovered the girl's name," insisted Temigast, "and he might have embarrassed us all in the process of his undignified hunt." The steward chuckled and moved very close to Priscilla, draping one arm across her shoulders. "I understand your concerns, dear Priscilla," he said, "and I don't entirely disagree with you. I, too, would have preferred your brother to fall in love with some wealthy merchant girl from another place, rather than with a peasant of Auckney-or for him to forget the concept of love altogether and merely give in to his lust when and where it suited him without taking a wife. Perhaps it will yet come to that."
"Less likely, now that you have so aided him," Priscilla said sharply.
"Not so," Temigast explained with a wide smile, one that caught Priscilla's attention, for her expression changed to intrigue. "All I have done is heightened your brother's trust in me and my judgments. Perhaps he will hold fast to his notion of loving this girl, of marrying her, but I will watch him every step, I promise. I'll not allow him to bring shame to family Auck, nor will I allow the girl and her family to take from us what they do not deserve. We cannot defeat his will in this, I assure you, and your indignation will only strengthen Feringal's resolve." Priscilla snorted doubtfully.
"Can't you hear his anger when you berate him about this?" Temigast demanded, and she winced at his words. "If we distance ourselves from your brother now, I warn you, the Ganderlay girl's hold over him-over Auckney-will only heighten.
Priscilla didn't snort, didn't shake her head, didn't show any sign of disagreement. She just stared at Temigast long and hard. He kissed her on the cheek and moved away, thinking that he should summon the castle coach at once and be on with his duties as emissary of Lord Feringal.
*****
Jaka Sculi looked up from the field of mud along with all the other workers, human and gnome, as the decorated coach made its way along the dirt lane. It came to a stop in front of Dohni Ganderlay's small house. An old man climbed out of the carriage door and ambled toward the house. Jaka's eyes narrowed slightly. Remembering suddenly that others might be watching him, he resumed his typically distant air. He was Jaka Sculi, after all, the fantasy lover of every young lady in Auckney, especially the woman who lived in the house where the lord's carriage had stopped. The notion that beautiful Meralda desired him was no small thing to the young manthough, of course, he couldn't let anyone else believe he cared.
"Dohni!" one of the other field workers, a crooked little gnome with a long and pointy nose, called. "Dohni Ganderlay, you've got guests!"
"Or mighten be they've figured you for the scoundrel you are!" another gnome cried out, and they all had a good laugh.
Except for Jaka, of course. Jaka wouldn't let them see him laugh.
Dohni Ganderlay walked over the ridge behind the peat field. He looked to those who yelled for some explanation, but they merely nodded their chins in the direction of his house. Dohni followed that movement, spotted the coach, and broke into a frantic run. Jaka Sculi watched him run all the way home.
"You figuring to do some digging, boy?" came a question beside Jaka. When he turned to regard the toothless old man, the fool ran a hand through Jaka's curly brown hair. The young man shook his head with disgust, noting the black peat encasing the old digger's fingers. He shook his head again and brushed his hair robustly, then slapped the man's hand away when it reached up to give another rub.
"Hee hee hee," the old man giggled. "Seems your little girlie's got a caller," he snickered.
"And an old one at that," remarked another, also more than willing to join in the play at Jaka's expense.
"But I'm thinking I might give the girl a try meself," the dirty old duffer at Jaka's side remarked. That drew a frown from Jaka, and so the old man only laughed all the harder at finally evoking some response from the boy.
Jaka turned his head slowly about, surveying the field and the workers, the few houses scattered on the mountainside, Castle Auck far in the distance, and the dark, cold
waters beyond that. Those waters had brought him, his mother, and his uncle to this forlorn place only four years before. Jaka didn't know why they had come to Auckney-he had been quite content with his life in Luskan-except that it had something to do with his father, who used to beat his mother mercilessly. He suspected that they were running, either from the man or from the executioner. It seemed to be a typical tactic for the Sculi family, for they had done the same thing when Jaka was a toddler, fleeing from their ancestral home in the Blade Kingdoms all the way to Luskan. Certainly his father, a vicious man whom Jaka hardly knew, would search them out and kill his mother and her brother for running away. Or perhaps Jaka's father was already dead, left in his own blood by Rempini, Jaka's uncle.
Either way, it didn't matter to Jaka. All that he knew was that he was in this place, a dreadful, windy, cold, and barren fiefdom. Until recently, the only good thing about it all, in his view, was that the perpetual melancholy of the place enhanced his poetic nature. Even though he fancied himself quite the romantic hero, Jaka had passed his seventeenth birthday now, and had many times considered tagging along with one of the few merchants who happened through, going out into the wide world, back to Luskan perhaps, or even better, all the way to mighty Waterdeep. He planned to make his fortune there someday, somehow, and perhaps get all the way back to the Blade Kingdoms.
But those plans had been put on hold, for yet another positive aspect of Auckney had revealed itself to the young man.
Jaka could not deny the attraction he felt to a certain young Ganderlay girl. Of course, he couldn't let her or anyone else know that, not until he was certain that she would give herself over to him fully.
*****
Hurrying past the coach, Dohni Ganderlay recognized the driver, a gray-bearded gnome he knew as Liam Woodgate. Liam smiled and nodded at him, which relaxed Dohni considerably, though he still kept his swift pace through the door. At his small kitchen table sat the steward of Castle Auck. Across from him was Dohni's ill wife, Biaste, whose beaming expression the peat farmer hadn't seen in a long, long time.
"Master Ganderlay," Temigast said politely. "I am Temigast, steward of Castle Auck, emissary of Lord Feringal."
"I know that," Dohni said warily. Never taking his eyes from the old man, Dohni Ganderlay made his way around the table, avoiding one of the two remaining chairs to stand behind his wife, dropping his hands on her shoulders.
"I was just explaining to your wife that my lord, and yours, requests the presence of your eldest daughter at the castle for dinner this evening," the steward said. The startling news hit Dohni Ganderlay as solidly as any club ever could, but he held his balance and his expression, letting it sink in. He looked behind the words into Temigast's old, gray eyes.
"Of course, I have suitable clothing for Miss Meralda in the coach, should you agree," Temigast finished with a comforting smile.
Proud Dohni Ganderlay saw behind that smiling facade, behind the polite and respectful tone. He saw the condescension there and recognized the confidence within Temigast. Of course they could not refuse, Temigast believed, for they were but dirty peasants. The lord of Auckney had come a'calling, and the Ganderlays would welcome that call eagerly, hungrily.
"Where is Meralda?" the man asked his wife.
"She and Tori've gone to trading," the woman explained.
Dohni couldn't ignore the weak trembling in her voice. "To get a few eggs for supper."
"Meralda can eat at a banquet this night, and perhaps for many nights," Temigast remarked. Dohni saw it so clearly again, the wretched condescension that reminded him of his lot in life, of the fate of his children, all his friends, and their children as well.
"Then she will come?" Temigast prompted after a long and uncomfortable silence.
"That'll be Meralda's to choose," Dohni Ganderlay replied more sharply than he had intended.
"Ah," said the steward, nodding and smiling, always smiling. He rose from his chair and motioned for Biaste to remain seated. "Of course, of course, but do come and retrieve the gown, Master Ganderlay. Should you decide to send the young lady, it will be better and easier if she had it here."
"And if she doesn't want to go?"
Temigast arched a brow, suggesting he thought the notion that she might refuse absurd. "Then I will have my coachman return tomorrow to retrieve the gown, of course," he said. Dohni looked down at his ill wife, at the plaintive expression on her too-delicate features.
"Master Ganderlay?" Temigast asked, motioning for the door. Dohni patted Biaste on the shoulders and walked beside the steward out to the coach. The gnome driver was waiting for them, gown in hand, and his arms uplifted to keep the delicate fabric from dragging in the dusty road.
"You would do well to urge your daughter to attend," Temigast advised, handing over the gown, which only made Dohni Ganderlay steel his features all the more.
"Your wife is sick," Temigast reasoned. "No doubt a meager existence in a drafty house will not do her well with the cold winter approaching."
"You speak as if we've a choice in the matter," Dohni replied.
"Lord Feringal is a man of great means," Temigast explained. "He has easy access to amazing herbs, warm beds, and powerful clerics. It would be a pity for your wife to suffer needlessly." The steward patted the gown. "We shall dine just after sundown," he explained. "I will have the coach pass by your home at dusk." With that, Temigast stepped into the coach and closed the door. The driver wasted no time in putting whip to horses to speed them away. Dohni Ganderlay stood for a long while in the cloud of dust left by the departing coach, gown in hand, staring at the empty air before him. He wanted to scream out that if Lord Feringal was such a connected and beneficent lord, then he should willingly use his means for the welfare of his flock. People like Biaste Ganderlay should be able to get the aid they needed without selling their daughters. What Temigast had just offered him was akin to selling his daughter for the benefit of the family. Selling his daughter!
And yet, for all his pride, Dohni Ganderlay could not deny the opportunity that lay before him.
*****
"It was the lord's coach," Jaka Sculi insisted to Meralda when he intercepted her on her way home later that same day. "At your own front door," he added with his exotic accent, a dialect thick with sighs and dramatic huffs.
Tori Ganderlay giggled. Meralda punched her in the shoulder and motioned for her to be on her way. "But I want to know," she whined.
"You'll be knowing the taste of dirt," Meralda promised her. She started for her sister but stopped abruptly and composed herself, remembering her audience. Meralda turned back to Jaka after painting a sweet smile on her face, still managing to glare at Tori out of the corner of her eye.
Tori started skipping down the road. "But I wanted to see you kiss him," she squealed happily as she ran on.
"Are you sure about the coach?" Meralda asked Jaka, trying very hard to leave Tori's embarrassing remarks behind.
The young man merely sighed with dramatic exasperation.
"But what business has Lord Feringal with my folks?" the young woman asked. Jaka hung his head to the side, hands in pockets, and shrugged.
"Well, I should be going, then," Meralda said, and she took a step, but Jaka shifted to block her way. "What're you about?"
Jaka looked at her with those light blue eyes, running a hand through his mop of curly hair, his face tilted up at her.
Meralda felt as if she would choke for the lump that welled in her throat, or that her heart would beat so forcefully that it would pound right out of her chest.
"What're you about?" she asked again, much more quietly and without any real conviction. Jaka moved toward her. She remembered her own advice to Tori, about how one had to make a boy beg. She reminded herself that she should not be doing this, not yet. She told herself that pointedly, and yet she was not retreating at all. He came closer, and as she felt the heat of his breath she, too, moved forward. Jaka just let his lips brush hers, then backed away, ap
pearing suddenly shy.
"What?" Meralda asked again, this time with obvious eagerness. Jaka sighed, and the woman came forward again, moving to kiss him, her whole body trembling, telling, begging him to kiss her back. He did, long and soft, then he moved away.
"I'll be waiting for you after supper," he said, and he turned with a shrug and started slowly away.
Meralda could hardly catch her breath, for that kiss had been everything she had dreamed it would be and more. She felt warm in her belly and weak in her knees and tingly all over. Never mind that Jaka, with one simple hesitation, had done to her exactly what she had told Tori a woman must do to a man. Meralda couldn't even think of that at the time, too entranced was she by the reality of what had just happened and by the promise of what might happen next. She took the same path down the road Tori had taken, and her skipping was no less full of the girlish joy, as if Jaka's kiss had freed her of the bonds of temperance and dignity that came with being a woman.
Meralda entered her house all smiles. Her eyes widened when she saw her sick mother standing by the table, as happy as she had seen the woman in weeks. Biaste held a beautiful gown, rich emerald green with glittering gems sewn into its seams.
"Oh, but you'll be the prettiest Auckney's ever seen when you put this on," Biaste Ganderlay said, and beside her, Tori exploded in giggles.
Meralda stared at the gown wide-eyed, then turned to regard her father who was standing at the side of the room, smiling as well. Meralda recognized that his expression was somewhat more strained than Biaste's.
"But Ma, we've not the money," Meralda reasoned, though she was truly enchanted by the gown. She moved up to stroke the soft material, thinking how much Jaka would love to see her in it.
"A gift, and nothing to buy," Biaste explained, and Tori giggled all the more. Meralda's expression turned to one of curiosity, and she looked to her father again for some explanation, but, surprisingly, he turned away.
"What's it about, Ma?" the young woman asked.
Drizzt - 12 - The Spine of the World Page 7
