Scarlet From Gold (Book 3)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  She hugged Marco, then spoke again. “Who are your friends?” she asked, and was quickly introduced.

  “We’re going to the Duke’s palace this evening, and we wondered if we could spend the night with you again, just like in the old days,” Marco requested.

  “Of course, of course! I’d be upset if you stayed anywhere else. We’ll make sure there’s space for everyone,” their hostess declared.

  “Marco and I would like to stay upstairs in his old room,” Mirra said.

  “Of course you would!” Gabrielle agreed, and they spent the next several minutes showing the servants from Sant Jeroni around the shop to the various rooms. Marco and Mirra and Sybele sat up in the attic room for several minutes, as the newly married couple reminisced about their days in the house.

  “We should go to the palace,” Marco said at last. “Iasco said the audience with the Duke would be this evening, so we better go find her.”

  Mirra insisted on changing clothes, putting on a gown that she had brought with her, one that shimmered with a silver patina atop layers of lace, making Marco confident that no one at the palace would take a look at him as all eyes would be focused solely on her.

  They rode to the palace, and were admitted. Marco thought that they were admitted more for Mirra’s looks than for his title, but he brushed that aside and asked a palace functionary for directions to where he could find the Lady Iasco. Informed that she was in the western audience hall with the Duke, Marco and his entourage headed in that direction.

  When they arrived in the audience hall, the Duke was not present, and dozens of nobles were milling around, waiting for his arrival.

  “There’s the Lady,” Mitment spoke, the first time Marco had heard her speak in some time. “Will you go tell her that I’m with her now?” the spirit asked.

  “Excuse me,” Marco said to Mirra, then he strode across the hall to where the Lady Iasco was waited upon by a dozen members of the court, mostly women, with a few husbands included.

  “Ah, here’s my hero,” Iasco told the circle as Marco arrived. “I want to introduce you all to the pre-eminent alchemist of our age,” she said. “Here is Marco Golden Hand, the Marquis of Sant Jeroni, for now, with greater titles to follow.”

  Marco bowed, wondering what titles could await him, then he dismissed the thought from his mind as he turned to Iasco and bowed deeply. “My lady, Mitment has returned to join you,” he told her, then added, “and many thanks for sending her. She helped to save my life.”

  “Helped?” Mitment squawked, “I single-handedly did all the work.”

  “Thank you Golden Hand,” Iasco told him. “There was a hint of jealousy in your household, and I thought Mitment would be an asset.”

  The women standing around them listened with interest to the manner in which Iasco treated Marco as such a trusted friend.

  “How are things in the temple, with Folence away on the island?” Marco asked.

  “The temple is functioning very well,” Iasco said, aware that they were being listened to, and that her words would be repeated.

  Just then there was a fanfare from the far side of the room, and the Duke stepped into the room, standing on a raised dais along the main wall. “Let’s move in that direction, shall we, Golden Hand?” Iasco addressed Marco.

  He offered his arm to her, and together they walked through the crowd in the room. Marco glanced and saw that Mirra was surrounded by a large gallery of men who were all watching her with admiration. She caught his glance and smiled at him with a warm flash of her white teeth.

  “So what is this ornament I see on your wrist?” Iasco asked.

  Marco looked down at the silver band Mirra had placed on his arm as a token of their marriage. “We were marred yesterday!” he smiled. “Mirra had this token ready for our wedding day.”

  “Ah Marco, you’re a lucky man,” Iasco said softly. “I’m glad you had the chance to marry your beautiful woman before the battles commence.”

  “Here is our most revered guest,” the Duke announced to the crowd as Iasco reached the front of the crowd. “And I’m delighted to see that she has brought back our long-missing champion, the Marquess of Sant Jeroni! Thank you for joining us; we’ve wondered where you’ve been. Baronet Gustaf, Duke Priorato, and a few others reported that you were a hero along the pilgrimage route this spring, much to their benefit.”

  Iasco motioned for Marco to escort her up the short flight of steps onto the stage.

  “The Lady Iasco, High Priestess of the Cult of Ophiuchus, has given me grave news, and called upon Barcelon to participate in a campaign. I will allow her to announce to you what she seeks, and then we will begin to sort through the details of what our nation must do to prepare,” the Duke announced loudly.

  His words set the room buzzing with speculation, but the crowd immediately silenced itself as Iasco stepped to the front and center.

  “Thank you, Duke Siplin, for your pledge of Barcelon’s support,” she turned to the Duke to speak first, then turned to the audience.

  “The Duke has heard my tale of the great evil that poses a threat to all the cities and society with which your nation conducts commerce. He recognizes the terrible danger that is looming on the horizon,” Iasco told the crowd. “But all of you deserve to know as well why your Duke will lead an army to the field of battle.

  “Far to the south is the land of the Docleatae, whose ruler is Moraca, an ancient and powerful man who is a sorcerer and a friend of the powers of darkness. He has led his people out to conquer all others, and they have been very successful. They have conquered the Kingdom of Prester John and the Kingdom of Rurita, and there are others as well. Most recently, they have conquered Athens, and they do not plan to stop there,” Iasco said.

  “Moraca will continue to direct his armies to overwhelm, slay, and plunder all the people who come within his sight, and you are within his sight. He has already sent the Corsairs out on raids to Nappanee and Marseals, as well as the Lion City and of course Barcelon. Your brave hero here,” she placed a hand on Marco’s shoulder, “has fought them, and helped defeat them in your city.

  “Because your Duke had the foresight to begin construction of a fleet, you have the means to fight for the freedom of Athens, and throw Moraca back, further away from your homes. So your land is about to mobilize for war,” she summed up, “while I will go back to Ophiuchus, and while the Golden Hand will go out to meet with the leaders of Barcelon and Nappanee, and call upon them to also bring their armies to fight to liberate Athens from Moraca’s army.”

  “You think this youth can go to the courts of great cities and just persuade them to turn their armies over to you?” one of the noblemen protested.

  “He’s just a boy!” another of the duke’s counselors protested.

  “He’s a boy who has seen and done things no other man in all the lands of the old empire under Clovis has done. He’s a boy who has fought battles that no other man in the old empire could win. That boy has fought and beaten the greatest monster in the world,” Iasco declared, “the mother of all monsters.

  “He has traversed the most hostile landscape that any living foot has ever stepped upon. And he has mastered the most powerful fighting skills that any warrior has ever exercised. This 'boy' could kill every person in this chamber at this moment if he so desired, my lord,” she sneered the last two words.

  “He’s a boy who has powers that no other man in the boundaries of the old empire can hold. He’s second only to myself in the abilities he possesses,” Iasco swatted the comment aside. “I challenge you to find anyone in the western lands who can defeat him.”

  The audience stood in stunned silence.

  “And he’s got a very pretty wife!” shouted the Baronet Gustaf, making those present chuckle, as his humor broke the tension in the room.

  “The Golden Hand and I will depart tomorrow on our missions, while your Duke will begin to prepare your forces for departure, so that we may rendezvous at Malta. I urge al
l of you, as the High Priestess of Ophiuchus, to provide all the support you can to this effort,” Iasco finished her speech, and Marco saw numerous women in the audience nod in approval, or whisper something to the men who stood nearby.

  “Thank you for your time and attention,” she said.

  “Before you go,” Duke Siplin spoke loudly, “I would ask you to tell these men what has allowed you to come among us.”

  Iasco looked at the Duke with an inscrutable expression.

  “I want these leaders of our duchy to understand that extraordinary achievements are possible when the Lord’s most powerful spirits and intercessors are on our side,” the Duke explained.

  “This spring, a group of assassins landed on the Isle of Ophiuchus,” Iasco said. “And they killed me.”

  The audience gasped, then a sprinkling of nervous twitters ran through the room.

  “Over a month ago, Golden Hand came into the underworld, a living man among the dead, and restored me to life,” she said.

  The room was profoundly silent.

  “It was his abilities that made it possible for me to return to this world to carry out the fight against the darkness,” Iasco said, as Marco blushed on stage, aware of the scrutiny that everyone in the room applied to him. He had only done what Ophiuchus had wanted him to, what the spirit had made possible for him to do through her extraordinary abilities. His role had only been to carry out a part, he felt.

  “So now you know how far I have come to win this campaign, and you know what achievements I understand Golden Hand is capable of.

  “Let us step down, Marco dear,” Iasco slipped into affectionately calling him by his given name. He offered her his arm, and they walked down the steps, to where Mirra and Mitment and the rest of both Marco’s group and Iasco’s attendants waited for them.

  “My lord,” all the members of the temple staff, the women who had come to attend to Iasco, said as they curtsied to him, while Mitment gave him a mock salute.

  “Oh Marco,” Mirra’s eyes were shining, while the others from Sant Jeroni stared at him with profound respect, “she told everyone what a hero you are! Now they all know what I’ve known for so long,” she squeezed him in a tight hug.

  Immediately after that, a large group of nobles gathered around to talk to Marco. The group included several of those he had met at the pilgrimage inn in the mountains in the spring, while still under the geas, as well as others he had briefly met earlier, and many who he had never met before. All were eager to speak with him, and to be introduced to Mirra, if they had not met her yet.

  “Meet me at the temple early tomorrow, Golden Hand,” Iasco told him as she prepared to depart later that night. “Do you have another package of alchemy supplies ready for this trip?” she asked.

  “I do,” Marco answered, glad that he had put the collection together.

  “What a good boy,” she spoke playfully, something Marco realized she hadn’t done often in recent days. “I suspect you’ll need them,” the priestess said before she swept away.

  “Shall I call your carriage for you?” the Duke’s steward asked as the evening wound down.

  “We didn’t have a carriage; we walked,” Marco said simply, leaving the attendant astounded. Marco said farewell to the Duke, and then he and his group walked through the empty night-time streets of the city. They all settled into their spots in Gabrielle’s shop, leaving Marco and Mirra to climb up the attic stairs together to settle in for the night.

  Marco watched as Mirra removed the elegant gown she had worn. “I hope you don’t mind that this bed is narrower than the bed we had last night at the castle,” he smiled at her as she joined him on the mattress.

  “I won’t notice if you won’t,” she told him, and with that he blew out the candle.

  Chapter 17 – Another Departure

  Marco woke up early the next morning, and gently pulled his arm out from beneath Mirra’s body. He quietly slipped his clothes on, and picked up his pack, then turned to look at Mirra one more time. Her eyes were open, watching him.

  “You’re not thinking of leaving without inviting me along to the temple, are you?” she asked archly. She sat up, and Marco watched with pleasure as she padded over to a travel bag and selected simple garments to wear for the morning trip to the temple to meet Lady Iasco.

  “Let me get Sybele,” Mirra said softly as they padded quietly down the stairs. Marco continued to the bottom of the flight, and awoke Woods, one of the guards he had brought along to protect Mirra. By the time his bride came downstairs with Sybele in her arms, Woods was dressed and armed, standing silently near the door awaiting them.

  “It’s this way,” Marco quietly told the guard as they left the building. He thought for a moment of Gabrielle, and realized regretfully that he had not said farewell to the woman who had made it possible for him to live in Barcelon and experience all the events that had befallen him in the past year. Then he was on his way through the empty morning city streets, heading towards the next adventure.

  He took the sleepy Sybele from Mirra, and held the child in the crook of one arm, as his other hand held Mirra’s, while Woods walked a few steps behind.

  “There’s the temple,” Marco motioned a few minutes later. There was activity at the gate, and they no sooner arrived than they were ushered inside, except for Woods, who was made to wait outside the grounds of the female-only cult, Marco having been exempted from the rules of Ophiuchus because of his exalted status with the spirit and her high priestess.

  Mitment came to the foyer immediately after Marco and family arrived. “They told her you’d arrived, and she’s still instructing the acting head priestess. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you,” Marco said.

  “Thank you for what?” Mirra asked.

  “I was telling Mitment thank you. She said Lady Iasco will be here soon,” Marco explained.

  “Really? The ghost is really here right now?” Mirra vainly looked around the room.

  “She’s by the door,” Marco explained. He had a sudden thought. “Mitment, may I show you to Mirra?”

  “Can you? How?” Mitment asked.

  Marco opened his bag, then got down on his knees and began to sort through the contents, pulling out the bag of alchemy supplies, and quickly selecting a half dozen ingredients. He scrutinized them, then pulled out a pinch of one, and shook a few flakes of another, and added some crystals from a third. He ground them together with the mortar and pestle, then added another ingredient when the door opened, and a pair of guards preceded Lady Iasco into the room.

  “Good morning Golden Hand,” the high priestess said. “I presume there’s some reason you’re on the floor?”

  “I need just five minutes, my lady,” Marco said without looking up, as he pulled a pinch of another of his powders, and placed it in the bowl, then began to stir and sift the dry mixture with his fingers.

  “I’m trying to let Mirra see Mitment,” he said as he stood up with his bowl. “This is a special concoction I just put together; these ingredients are sympathetic to the psychic and spiritual elements of our souls; these are the things that alchemists use to concentrate certain potions that are meant to purify the soul.

  “I think,” he said, “that these will temporarily adhere to Mitment, coating her like a cloud of flour in a kitchen, so that we can see her,” he suggested.

  “Mitment, you go over in that corner, and everyone else over there,” he motioned across the room, trying to separate Mitment from all the others.

  “I’m not sure I like this,” the spirit said.

  “Does anyone have a mirror?” Marco asked. “You can see yourself as well if we have a mirror,” he explained to the invisible being.

  Iasco gave a nod of her head, and one of her guards departed to fetch a mirror.

  “You’re sure this will work?” Mirra asked in a low voice.

  “Not completely,” Marco answered.

  “Wait a minute!” Mitment said sharply. �
��I’m not here for you to test maybe-maybe-not mixtures on!”

  The door opened, and the guard returned holding a small mirror. As Mitment glanced over at the movement, Marco flung the contents of his bowl up into the air above the spirit, creating a momentary small cloud that immediately began to settled towards the floor.

  All eyes watched in fascination, as Marco reached out and took the mirror from the staring guard. He stepped back and watched with the others, hopeful that his spur-of-the-moment idea would prove effective. He could see Mitment looking up and around at the powder that hovered above and surrounded her, and as the powder fell, he could see it starting to stick to her head and shoulders, and the hands that were swatting ineffectually at it.

  “Look at that!” one of the guards gasped in astonishment.

  The powder was a pale yellow color, and a pale yellow woman was clearly outlined from the mid chest up, and more faintly below as the density of Marco’s powder diminished. Marco reached forward and held the mirror for Mitment to look into.

  The guard looked into the surface with fascination, then reached out and took it, so that she could examine herself more closely, while the others stared in amazement.

  “You really did it,” Mitment said softly as she looked in the mirror.

  “What did she say, Marco?” asked Mirra, who along with the others in the room had seen Mitment’s mouth move, though they were unable to hear her.

  “She said I really did it,” Marco answered.

  “That’s quite a display,” Iasco commented.

  “I forgot what I looked like,” Mitment said.

  “She’s starting to fade!” one of the guards spoke up.

  It was true; the active elements of Marco’s powder were already reaching the end of their capacity to outline the spirit, and starting to lose the energy they generated. As everyone watched, the spirit slowly faded back into invisibility, and the clinging powder dropped down to the ground.

  “So that is Mitment,” Marco said to Mirra. “Now you know that I haven’t been making this whole story up!”