Keeva was so entranced by the beauty of the scene that she failed to hear the gentle tapping at her door, or the creaking of the latch as it opened.
'I think perhaps you should come inside and dress yourself,' said a voice. Keeva whirled and saw a young woman with braided blond hair. She was carrying a neat pile of folded clothes. The woman grinned at her. 'The priests might catch sight of you, and what would happen to their vows then?'
'Priests?' asked Keeva, stepping inside and accepting the clothes from the woman.
'Chiatze foreigners. They are studying the ancient books that the Gentleman keeps in the library of the North Tower.'
Keeva took a white cotton blouse from the pile, shook it out, then slipped it over her head. The material was very soft – like a summer breeze upon the skin. She shivered with pleasure, then stepped into the long grey skirt. It had a belt of silvered leather, and a bright silver buckle. 'These are mine?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'They are wonderful.' Keeva reached up and touched the embroidered tree on the right shoulder of her blouse. 'What does this represent?' she asked.
'It is the Gentleman's mark.'
'The Grey Man?'
'In public we call him the Gentleman, since he is not a lord and far too powerful to be merely a landowner or a merchant. Omri says you came in with him last night. Did you bed him?'
Keeva was shocked. 'No, I did not. And you are very rude to ask such a question.'
The blonde woman laughed. 'Life is very different here, Keeva. We speak freely and think freely – except in front of the Gentleman's guests. He is a very unusual man. None of us is beaten, and he does not use the young women as his personal slaves.'
'Then perhaps I shall like it here,' said Keeva. 'What is your name?'
'I am Norda, and you will be working with my team in the North Tower. Are you hungry?'
'Yes.'
'Then let us get some breakfast. You have a great deal to learn today. The palace is like a rabbit warren and most of the new servants get lost.'
Some minutes later, after what was for Keeva a bewildering journey through endless corridors and several sets of stairs, the two women emerged on to a wide, paved terrace. A long breakfast table was covered with a score of deep dishes containing cooked meats, vegetables, smoked fish, cheeses and fruits. Fresh-baked bread had been set at one end, and flagons of water and fruit juices at the other. Keeva followed Norda's lead and took a plate, heaping it with bread, a slab of butter and some smoked fish. Then they walked to a table by the terrace wall and sat down to eat.
'Why did you ask if I'd slept with the Grey Man?'
'The Gentleman!' corrected Norda.
'Yes, the Gentleman.'
'There is great harmony here between the servant girls. The Gentleman does not play favourites – and neither does Omri. Had the Gentleman bedded you it would have caused discord. Many of the young women would like to … enchant him.'
'He is a strikingly attractive man – but he is very old,' said Keeva.
Norda laughed again. 'Age has little to do with it,' she said. 'He is handsome, strong – and immensely rich. The woman who captures his heart would never want for anything, even if she had ten lives to live.'
'From what you say it is surprising he has taken no wife,' observed Keeva.
'Oh, he has taken many.' Norda leaned in close, dropping her voice. 'Gold wives.'
'He pays for his pleasures?' asked Keeva, astonished.
'Always. Isn't that weird? Most of the girls here would rush to his rooms at the merest gesture from him. Yet he sends his carriage to bring whores from the town. Oh, fancily dressed and bedecked with jewels, but whores nonetheless. For the last year his favourite has been Lalitia – a red-headed strumpet from the capital.' Norda's face reddened, and Keeva saw her pale blue eyes grow cold.
'You obviously don't like her.'
'Nobody likes Lalitia. She rides around in a gilded carriage, with liveried servants whom she treats abominably. In her house she has been known to thrash the maids when the mood takes her. She is a vile creature.'
'What does he see in her?' asked Keeva.
Norda laughed aloud. 'Oh, you'll recognize it when you lay eyes on her. Loathe her as I do, even I have to admit she is astonishingly beautiful.'
'I would have thought him a better judge of people,' offered Keeva.
'You don't know much about men, do you?' said Norda, with a quick smile. 'When Lalitia passes by you can hear the sounds of jaws striking the ground. Strong men, bright men, scholarly men, even priestly men all fall under the spell of her beauty. They see what they want to see. Women, on the other hand, see her for what she is – a whore. And not as young as she pretends. I'd say she was closer to forty than the twenty-five she claims.'
Other servants had begun to arrive, gathering their food and finding places to sit and eat. A young man in a grey mailshirt approached them. Removing his helm he smiled at Norda. 'Good morning,' he said. 'Will you introduce me to the newcomer?'
Norda smiled. 'Keeva, this is Emrin, the guard sergeant. He thinks he's more handsome than he is and will do everything in his power to lure you to his bed. It is, sadly, his nature. Do not judge him too harshly.'
Keeva glanced up at the man. He had a round, good-looking face and blue eyes. His hair was light blond, short and tightly curled. Emrin extended his hand and Keeva shook it. 'Do not believe everything Norda says about me,' he told her. 'I am really a gentle soul, seeking the perfect partner for my heart.'
'Surely you found him the first time you looked in a mirror,' said Keeva, with a sweet smile.
'Sadly that is true,' said Emrin, with disarming honesty. Taking her hand he kissed it, then turned his attention to Norda. 'Be sure to tell your new friend what a great lover I am,' he said.
'I will,' said Norda. She glanced at Keeva. 'The best ten heartbeats I've ever experienced.' Both women laughed.
'I think I should leave,' Emrin said, 'while I have a modicum of dignity left.'
'Too late,' said Keeva. The man grinned and moved away.
'Neatly done,' said Norda. 'He will pursue you with even greater vigour.'
'Not something I desire,' Keeva told her.
'Oh, don't rule him out,' said Norda. 'As he says, he really is quite good in bed. Not the best I have known, but more than adequate.'
Keeva burst into laughter, and Norda joined in.
'So who was the best?'
She knew it was the wrong question as soon as she spoke: the good-humour faded from Norda's face. 'I am sorry,' said Keeva, swiftly.
'Don't be,' Norda told her, laying her hand over Keeva's. 'Now we'd better finish breakfast for there is much to do. There are several more guests due to arrive today, and one of them is a Chiatze. Believe me, there is no race so fussy.'
Chapter Three
Using long, lazy strokes Waylander swam through the cold water. He could feel the warmth of the sun on the skin of his back, and he dived deep, through shoals of silver-backed fish, which scattered before him. Rolling and twisting, he felt a surge of joy. Here there was silence and – almost – contentment. Relaxing, he let his body float upward towards the sun. Breaking clear of the surface, he drew in a deep breath, tossed back his head to clear the hair from his eyes and trod water while he gazed around the bay.
At the harbour opposite a dozen ships were unloading their cargoes, while anchored further out on the bay were twenty more, waiting for the signal to dock. Twenty-eight of the ships flew under the flag of the Tree. His ships.
It seemed incredible to Waylander that a man, like himself, without a great understanding of the subtleties of commerce should have become so ridiculously wealthy. No matter how much he spent now – or, indeed, gave away – more gold flowed in. Matze Chai, and other merchants, had invested Waylander's money well. But even his own ventures had paid handsomely. It is all a grand nonsense, he thought, as he floated in the water. He had lost track of the number of ships he now owned. Somewhere above three hundre
d. Then there were the mines – emerald, diamond, ruby, gold and silver – scattered from the hinterlands of Ventria to the eastern Vagrian mountains.
He swung in the water and gazed up at the white marble palace. He had commissioned it six years ago following an idle conversation with a young architect who had talked passionately about the overwhelming and delightful problems of construction, and of his dream to create a marvel. 'Why should we always seek out flat ground?' asked the young man. 'Where is the wonder in that? Great buildings should make an observer gasp.'
Three years in construction, the White Palace was indeed a wonder, though the young architect had not lived to see it finished. A nobleman from House Kilraith, he had been stabbed to death one night by assassins from a rival House. Such was life among the nobles of Kydor.
Waylander swam for the beach and emerged on to the white sand. His steward Omri left his seat beneath the olive tree and walked out to meet him, a long linen towel folded over his arm. 'Was the swim beneficial, sir?' he asked, extending the towel and draping it over Waylander's shoulders.
'It was refreshing,' said Waylander. 'And now I am ready for the pressing matters of the day.'
'The Lady requests an audience with you, sir,' said Omri, 'when you have the time.'
Waylander looked at the older man closely. 'Is something bothering you, Omri?'
'Were you aware she is a mystic?'
'No, but it is not surprising. I have known many priests with Talent.'
'I find it unsettling,' admitted Omri. 'I rather feel she can read my thoughts.'
'Are your thoughts so terrible?' asked Waylander with a smile.
'Occasionally, sir,' admitted Omri, straight-faced. 'But that is not the point. They are my thoughts.'
'Indeed so. What else requires my attention?'
'We have received a message from Lord Aric saying he will visit in ten days on his way to the Winter Palace.'
'He needs more money,' said Waylander.
'I fear so, sir.'
Dry now, Waylander moved into the shade of the olive tree and pulled on a black silk shirt and a pair of soft leather leggings. Tugging on his boots, he sat back and gazed once more over the bay. 'Did the Lady say why she wished to see me?'
'No, sir. But she did tell me of your fight with the raiders.'
Waylander caught the note of criticism in the old man's voice. 'It is too fine a day to be chided, Omri,' he said.
'You take great risks, sir. Largely unnecessary risks. We have thirty guards here, and a dozen tough foresters. They could have been sent after the robbers.'
'Very true. But I was close by.'
'And you were bored,' said the old man. 'You always ride off into the wilderness when you are bored. I have come to the conclusion that you do not enjoy being rich. It is, I must say, hard to understand.'
'It is a terrible thing, boredom,' said Waylander. 'It has come to me over the years that wealth and tedium are great bedfellows. When one is rich there is nothing to strive for. Every pleasure I desire is available to me.'
'Obviously not every one, sir, otherwise you would not be bored.'
Waylander laughed. 'That is true. Now, enough of this soul-searching, my friend. What other news is there?'
'Two retainers from House Bakard were murdered in Carlis two days ago, supposedly by men hired by House Kilraith. There is great tension in the town. The merchant Vanis has requested an increase to his loan. He claims to have lost two ships in a storm and is unable to meet his debt payments. Also . . .' Omri pulled a slip of parchment from the pocket of his grey robe and perused it'. . . the surgeon Mendyr Syn has asked if you would be prepared to hire three extra students, at a cost of six silvers a month, to assist him. There are now no spare beds in the infirmary and Mendyr has been working for fifteen hours a day trying to aid the sick.' Omri folded the parchment, returning it to his pocket. 'Oh, yes, and. . .er. . . Lady Lalitia has invited you to attend a celebration of her birthday in three days.'
Waylander sat in the shade, staring out at the fishermen casting their nets in the bay. 'Call in the loan on Vanis,' he said. 'This is the third time in a year he has furnished an excuse for non-payment. His debts have not prevented him buying three racing stallions and extending his eastern estate. Increase the funds to Mendyr Syn and tell him he should have requested help much earlier. And send a message to Lady Lalitia that I will be delighted to attend her celebration. Purchase a diamond pendant from Calicar and have it delivered to her on the day.'
'Yes, sir. Might I point out two things? Point one: Vanis has many friends in House Kilraith. Foreclosing his debt will bankrupt him and be seen as a slight upon the House.'
'If he has that many friends,' said Waylander, 'let them pay his debts. Now, what was the second point?'
'If memory serves me correctly is this not the third birthday that Lady Lalitia has had in the past fifteen months?'
Waylander laughed. 'Yes, it is. Make it a small diamond pendant.'
'Yes, sir. By the way, the young woman you brought in has been put to work with Norda's team. Do you wish for any special treatment towards her?'
'Give her a little leeway for she has suffered much. She is a strong girl, but even so she has witnessed the murder of her family, been treated cruelly and threatened with death. It would be remarkable were she to suffer no after-effects. Watch her closely and give her a little support. If she does not prove to be a good worker, dismiss her.'
'Very well, sir. And what message shall I send the Chiatze Lady?'
'No message, Omri. I will go and see her presently.'
'Yes, sir. Would it be considered a discourtesy to ask her how long she and her retainers plan to stay?'
'I am more interested to know why they came here – and how,' said Waylander.
'How, sir?'
'A priestess in robes of embroidered silk, with three retainers, appears at our gates. Where was the carriage? Where were the horses? From where did they come? They did not stay in Carlis.'
'Obviously they walked from elsewhere,' said Omri.
'And yet attracted little dust to their clothing, and showed no sign of weariness.'
Omri made the Sign of the Protective Horn. 'Regardless of the discourtesy, sir, I would gratefully appreciate knowledge of their departure date.'
'I do not believe there is any need to fear them, Omri. I sense no evil in her.'
'That is good to hear, sir. But some of us have little choice concerning what we fear. I have always been a frightened man. I don't know why.'
Waylander laid his hand on the old man's shoulder.
'You are a gentle soul and a good man,' he said. 'You care about people and their happiness. That is rare.'
Omri looked embarrassed. 'I would have liked to have been more . . . manly, shall we say? I was a terrible disappointment to my father.'
'Most of us are,' said Waylander. 'Had my father seen what I have done with my life he would have burned with shame. But that is neither here nor there. We live in the now, Omri. And now you are a steward, valued and respected – even loved by those who serve under you. It should be enough.'
'Perhaps,' said Omri, 'but then you are loved and respected by those who serve you. Is it enough for you?'
Waylander gave a rueful smile, but did not reply. Moving away, he climbed the terrace steps towards the North Tower.
Minutes later he reached the top of the circular stair to the largest of the library rooms. It had originally been designed as a large state room, but as his collection of ancient scrolls and books grew, so too did the need for added space. There were now five smaller libraries within the palace, as well as the huge museum in the South Tower. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside and bowed to the slender woman sitting at the long, oval table, scrolls spread out around her. He found himself marvelling once more at her beauty, the pale gold of her flawless skin, and her finely boned Chiatze features. Even the shaven head only emphasized her exquisite good looks. She seemed almost too frail to bear the weight
of the heavy robes of red and gold silk adorning her body.
'What are you studying, Lady?' he asked.
She looked up. Her slanted eyes were not the deep chestnut of the Chiatze, but tawny gold, flecked with blue. They were disconcerting eyes that seemed to stare deep into the recesses of his soul. 'I have been reading this,' she said, her gloved hand lightly touching an ancient scroll of dry and faded parchment. 'It is, I am told, a fifth-generation copy of the sayings of a writer named Missael. He was one of the most extraordinary men of the New Order, following the destruction of the Elder Races. Some believe his verses contain prophecies for the future.' She smiled. 'But, then, words are so imprecise. Some of these verses could mean anything.'
'Then why do you study them?'
'Why does one study at all?' she countered. 'For greater knowledge, and with it greater understanding. Missael tells how the old world was destroyed by lust, greed, fear and hatred. Did mankind learn from the destruction?'
'Mankind does not have a single set of eyes,' said Waylander. 'A million eyes see too much and absorb too little.'
'Ah, you are a philosopher.'
'A poor one at best.'
'From your words you believe mankind cannot change for the better, evolve and develop into a finer species?'
'Individuals can evolve and change, Lady. This I have seen. But gather together any large group and within a few heartbeats you can have a howling mob, intent on murder and destruction. No, I do not believe mankind will ever change.'
'That may be true,' she agreed, 'but it leaves the taste of defeat and despair. I cannot countenance such a philosophy. Please sit.'
Drawing up a chair, he reversed it and sat opposite her. 'Your rescue of the girl, Keeva, does you credit,' she said, her voice low, almost musical.
'I did not at first know they had taken a hostage,' he admitted.
'Even so. She now has a life – and a destiny – that would otherwise have been robbed from her. Who knows what she may achieve, Waylander?'
Waylander III: Hero In The Shadows ds-9 Page 5
