“Welcome to Grasdon Manor,” a voice says from the head of the table. A bald man with a long, black beard going down to his potbelly sits at the head of the table. He is wearing a purple robe and a red sash made out of the finest silks and cottons. His dark skin shows some wrinkles around the corner of his emerald eyes, the furrows created by years of squinting at reports in flickering candlelight. “My name is Wayland Grasdon. Allow me to introduce Asher, my oldest son, Tambre, my youngest son, and Quill, my nephew.”
All three young men stand and bow their heads to the adventurers. Asher is the tallest and more muscular of the trio, his leather armor showing signs of recent use. His chestnut hair is tied into a ponytail that is draped over his shoulder. The scimitar leaning against his chair shines in the candlelight and everyone notices that his hand is ready to draw the weapon at the slightest provocation. Tambre looks like his father, but with a tuft of black hair on his head and a narrower beard. Unlike his blue-eyed brother, he has the green eyes of Wayland and is more relaxed in the presence of the strangers. Feigning disinterest, he fixes the cuffs of his red and gold shirt, the back reaching his ankles. Proving to be the most anxious of their hosts, Quill keeps his eyes on the stirring barbarian and his thin fingers make odd motions in the air. The brown-eyed youth wears white robes that are stained with ink, so the adventurers guess that he is either an artist or a scribe.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Luke Callindor,” Asher says in a baritone voice. He sits down and signals for his brother and cousin to follow suit. “I apologize for the way you and your friends were brought here. Our personal guard didn’t want to waste any time.”
“They drugged and kidnapped us,” Timoran growls, rubbing his sore neck. He grabs a handful of dates and stuffs them in his mouth, waiting a second to revel in their sweetness. “Be thankful I did not use my rage to reduce your forces. Now please let us rescue our friends.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Wayland calmly states as he eats a slice of melon. He beckons the nearby guards with his ring-covered fingers when Delvin jumps to his feet. “I don’t know who you are, but I can tell you’re the leader. So I hope you can understand what I’m about to say. Bor’daruk is at war with the Helgardian Nomads after an unprovoked attack. Only ships are allowed in and out of the city.”
“What about our friends?” Sari politely asks. A lump grows in her throat when all four of their hosts look at her with mild distaste. “What if I go alone? I’ve a feeling you won’t mind if I die out in the desert.”
“Don’t mistake our . . . issues with you as hatred. We are merely on my cousin’s side in your situation,” Quill replies, cutting off the others with a soft, musical voice. He bows his head in response to the irritated scowl of his uncle, the motion defusing some of the older man’s bitterness. “It would be wrong to send anyone into the desert considering what we are up against. Even if we weren’t at war, this area is full of dangers that a solitary gypsy would be unfit to handle. The spadix alone kill nearly one hundred travelers a year.”
Delvin shoves his chair away from the table and heads for the nearest door, grabbing the frame when his visions blurs. He is wracked with dry heaves and an Elven butler takes the warrior by the arm to guide him back to his seat. With muffled coughs, he chokes down a glass of water that clears his head and heals his throat. Watching Delvin groan and place his head on the table, the others drain their own cups to avoid the same fate.
“Take comfort in the fact that it is Nyx of Rainbow Tower that is out there,” Wayland states with a forced smile. “Her reputation is one of a defiant survivor and a dangerous being of raw magic. My only fear is that she will not find her way back to Bor’daruk in time to aide us in the war.”
“You keep mentioning being at war, but I saw no signs of an opposing army,” Timoran says, wiping his mouth on a blue napkin. “Are the nomads using demons like that Spurge to get over the wall? If so then I believe you have a bigger problem. I have had dealings with the southern nomads once before and they despise creatures of darkness.”
Without sitting up, Delvin turns his head and interjects, “Every group is different and I’ve heard there are some that utilize evil beings to do their fighting and hunting. A Bor’darukian merchant hired me as a bodyguard and we compared tribe systems of our birthplaces. Though I was told that the Helgardians are not one of them.”
“We thought so too and it could still be true. The Spurge is the first demon we’ve seen in the attacks,” Timbre explains while unrolling a scroll. He skims through the notes and pictures, mouthing words to himself. “Strange beasts have been sent into the city and they always bypass the wall. The nomads have stayed deep in the desert while these monsters do the fighting for them. We captured a scout on the nearest dunes last week. She told us that these are the guardians of the Helgardians, but she died of her injuries before we could get anything else out of her.”
“Why you keep Fizzle and friends here?” the drite asks as he rolls onto his back and strokes his bloated belly. “We not involved, but you want us. Why city king not talk?”
“Fizzle has a point,” Sari states when she notices a brief flicker of nervousness on Wayland’s face. “I don’t know how the politics of Bor’daruk work, but it’s strange that we’re talking to you and not the mayor or whatever you call your leader. The dockhand that greeted us didn’t act like something this big was going on either. Tell us the truth, Lord Grasdon, or we leave to find Nyx.”
“By force if need be,” Delvin adds.
With a frown, Wayland nods to Asher and the warrior stands to make sure he has everyone’s attention. “The Helgardians have targeted the Grasdon family. We don’t know why they are attacking us with these creatures, but the city has decided to use their forces only to defend. This means they go about their business until a beast appears. By that time, our family has already suffered losses. They claim that this is to make sure the situation does not escalate and they lose their remaining trade pacts with the Helgardians. What you see here is all that remains of the Grasdon lineage. Every attack has taken at least one of our kin.”
“You four are all that remain?” Luke asks, talking for the first time. Feathers ruffle under his collar and his eyes shimmer gold as his panic rises. “What happened to Kira?”
“Afraid that you’ll be stuck with a simple gypsy?” Wayland Grasdon retorts, polishing a ruby ring on his left hand. He grins at the anguish on the young warrior’s face. “Maybe you’re scared that my only daughter is still alive, but crippled. If you reject her in such a state it would make you look like a monster. Then again, you probably hope she’s one of the dead, so you don’t have to make a decision.”
“Tell me where Kira is, sir.”
Asher leans over to his father to speak, but a quick hand is placed against his lips. The younger man settles back down and sighs, settling for enjoying a pear. He refuses to look at his father or Luke, his attention finding an unimportant spot on the ceiling to ponder on. Timbre and Quill exchange nervous glances and follow their elder kinsman’s example.
“I don’t know what she sees in you,” the patriarch admits, popping a grape into his mouth and squishing it between his white teeth. “I told her to test your relationship or I would publicly stand against it. What does my daughter do? Picks a claimed man who has left our city behind and uses him as public proof that she is upholding the traditions. Meanwhile, I know he wasn’t a challenge to what you two have. I’d be fine with that if I didn’t start hearing about you and this gypsy.”
“Kira told me to uphold the traditions of your people,” the forest tracker argues, letting the griffin spirit sink back into his subconscious. He can still feel Stiletto at the fringe of his mind, the dog’s influence enough to sharpen his teeth. “I was honoring her request and I thought she was doing the same. Sari and I toned it down months ago because we want to sit down and talk to your daughter. Now, where is she?”
“You don’t understand our traditions.”
>
“Then punish me and teach me.”
“It isn’t my place to do so.”
“Then stay out of it!”
“On my beloved wife’s spirit, I will not let my daughter destroy her life for someone like you,” Wayland coldly says. A spearman breaks ranks to whisper in the man’s ear and swiftly moves back into position. “It appears this meeting is done. My butlers and maids will show you all to your rooms. If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”
Grunts and shouts are heard coming down the hallway as Wayland gets to his feet and freezes. The sound of a body hitting the door echoes throughout the room, the sound repeating a few more times as if someone is trying to bash their way in. Asher and Timbre are on their feet with weapons drawn, the younger brother revealing a pair of long-handled sickles that he keeps hidden beneath the tail of his shirt. A lightly armored guard is hurled through the doors, the man landing on his back and rolling out of the way. Kira Grasdon storms into the room with her chain and sickle weapon drawn and a calico maid nervously following behind her. The black-haired woman is wearing leather armor and a furious glint is in her emerald eyes. She marches over to the table and slams the blade of her weapon into the polished surface, missing her father’s hand by an inch.
“This is why you sent me to check on the defenses,” she hisses in a voice that threatens to erupt into a scream. Her slender frame quivers from her anger mixing with the grief of recently losing so many loved ones. “You brought my fiancée and his friends here without telling me. I assume you were less than cordial in asking for their help.”
“I refuse to argue in front of our welcomed guests,” Wayland states, gesturing for his sons to stand down. The merchant rolls his eyes when Kira makes a wordless yell in rage in his chubby face. “This isn’t the time for you to get involved in this mess. We both know this relationship is nothing more than a fling and your mother will never approve. Imagine the pain you’re causing her by continuing with an outsider who doesn’t understand our ways.”
“Mom has been dead for years, dad!” Kira shouts, her arms shaking with anger. She tosses her weapon to the uncomfortable maid who rips the sleeve of her black and silver dress on the sickle. “Luke and I love each other and we’re in a unique situation. The rules have to be bent and I’ve jumped through every hoop you put in my way. Caspar, negotiating what you thought were impossible trade agreements, training with the local guards, and cleaning some of the more disgusting areas of the manor. What else do you want?”
“I just-”
“I don’t care what you want anymore! I can’t believe you’re continuing this feud while our family is being murdered. Get your priorities straight, dad, or you won’t have an empire to rule over.”
Quill bravely slips between his uncle and cousin, placing his hands on Kira’s stomach to move her back. “Please calm down, Kiki. We need to work together and put these personal issues aside. I agree that your father went about things the wrong way, but you can’t change the past. Let’s forgive each other and survive as a family.”
“Only because you asked, Quill, but I’ve business with two of our guests,” Kira says, her eyes never leaving her father’s furrowed face. She takes a deep, shuddering breath to regain her composure and put on a smile. “Eileen, please take Timoran, Delvin, and Fizzle to their suites. Luke and Sari will be coming with me to the peacock room. I already have the cook sending coffee and a platter there.”
“Yes, milady,” the brown-haired calico says while handing the kusari-gama back to her mistress. She turns to the adventures and flashes them a pleading look, her tail randomly flicking behind her. “Please follow me to your chambers. I will have baths drawn for you and fresh pajamas laid out on your beds.”
Timoran and Delvin get to their feet, the smaller warrior begrudgingly walking around the table. He lets the barbarian nudge him toward the door, but everyone can see the tired expression of defeat on his face. Fizzle grabs two apples before following his friends, his tail snagging a fake one out of a decorative bowl near the doorway. They quickly hear a slew of draconic curses and the wax fruit is hurled back into the room.
“No chance we get to rest before this, huh?” Luke asks as he walks around the table.
“I want to get this over with,” Sari states, grinning at the heiress. “Besides, it’s nice to finally meet my rival.”
“The pleasure is going to be all mine,” Kira says with a wider smile that sends a shiver down her fiancé’s spine. “I’ve been dreaming about this meeting for a long time. Down to the last detail. Follow me, lover and his gypsy.”
Luke glances at Wayland, who is back to polishing his rings and talking to his sons about the manor defenses. Letting out a tired sigh, the half-elf puts his hands in his pockets and trudges after Kira. The sparkle in Sari’s eyes makes him even more nervous about what he is walking into. He stops himself from chuckling at the brief thought that Dariana would be able to put him to sleep and save him from this meeting. Though he quickly realizes she could also be convinced to put Sari and Kira in his head to continue the fight.
“I can’t win here,” he mutters under his breath.
*****
The room is comfortably warm due to the sunlight passing through the glass dome that acts as a ceiling. Tropical plants cover the edge of the room, which has soft grass growing out of the spongy floor. A gentle rain falls out of the ceiling and onto the foliage, giving the air a crisp freshness that invigorates the wildlife. Peacocks and peahens strut around the room, the males brandishing their colorful plumage when Kira arrives with her guests. An albino peacock stands by a low table and hops into the heiress’s lap when she sits on the lush grass. A gracious wave of her hand is all she does to get Sari and Luke to join her on the floor. With a cordial cough, she redirects her fiancée to sit at the head of the table, placing him between the two women.
“I didn’t realize the peacock room would have actual peacocks,” Sari admits, reaching out to a nearby bird. The animal pecks at her fingers and disappears into the surrounding plants. “This place seems kind of restrictive for them. Poor things must miss flying in the fresh air.”
“There are hatches in the walls that they use to get into the outside garden. Our peacocks are trained to stay within the manor grounds. You would have seen them already if you were awake when my father’s men brought you here,” Kira replies as she strokes the ivory feathers of the beautiful bird in her lap. She reaches out to pour a cup of coffee for the gypsy and slides it across the table. “So we finally meet, Sari. I can say that I’m not disappointed in your beauty. I’ve also heard stories of your victories and public displays with Luke.”
“Thank you. You’re more gorgeous and elegant than I expected,” the gypsy replies with a genuine smile. She takes a sip of the strong drink, which makes her shudder. “Luke and I have been trying to keep things platonic lately. Knowing that we were coming to Bor’daruk, we thought it best to tone it down until we speak with you.”
“Am I supposed to say something during this meeting?” Luke asks as he unstraps his sabers and places them on the grass.
“You can say whatever you want, lover,” Kira replies, emphasizing the last word. She takes a sip of coffee and passes the drink to the half-elf, making sure he notices the lipstick marks on the edge. “This is going to be awkward. Traditionally, we discuss this prior to the interested parties doing whatever it is they wish to do. I’m assuming you’ve done everything with Luke that I’ve done, so this is going to be more of a . . . review.”
A large, stone tray is placed in the middle of the table and the smell of fresh food permeates the air. Bowls of insects and seeds are set around the room while a Dwarven maid releases several snakes into the plants. Luke keeps his sound sight on the serpents, one of which is pounced on by a pair of peacocks. He turns his attention back to the meal, which consists of hollowed out bread pockets and a wide variety of fillings. Kira is already finishing up a combination of beans, spiced lamb, and diced tomatoes.
Glancing at Sari, the half-elf fills a bread pocket with a tan paste and what he guesses is shredded chicken. The gypsy settles for chopped nuts in honey combined with a dark, juicy meat.
“What is this?” Luke asks, swallowing the flavorful and thick food. “I think I made a bad combination.”
“Whatever I did tastes pretty good,” Sari gloats while licking honey off her fingers. “It’s sweet with a strange numbing sensation.”
“You mixed honey, walnuts, and large scorpion meat,” Kira tells the gypsy, dipping some bread into the tan paste. She savors the bite, her stomach still rumbling after a morning of practicing and checking the manor defenses. “Luke took the chickpea dip and mixed it with spiced chicken. I probably should have told you that this stuff is for dipping. Finish that and try combining the cinnamon rice, sweet pickles, and scorpion meat. I find that mixture is sweet, spicy, and tickles your tongue.”
“Scorpion,” Sari repeats as if the word finally registers in her mind.
The heiress makes a sandwich of the dark meat and a crunchy, green vegetable. “It’s a common dish in Bor’daruk. If you wish, you can leave in search of something else. That would forfeit your claim on Luke since our review has begun.”
Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) Page 13
