A Deadly Dance
Page 11
“Yes, my Lord.” His chief Ves’Neryn bowed again and stalked off.
Another of his generals approached him. “My Lord, there is no sign of King Ravin or his lieutenants. It appears that he has already fled the field of battle. The Isylths say that the remaining ihldhyri forces are out of control.”
Gilvaneous gently rubbed the ears of his loyal bodyguard. The mute feranth arched into his master’s hand. “Then see to it that they are laid back to rest, Veyrich. Do not trouble me with the details – make it happen!”
He scratched his way down the nape of his slave’s neck as Veyrich bowed and left. “Frelth: I sometimes fear that you are the most efficient member of my army, my loyal shield.”
At his words, the tattooed slave dropped into his usual crouch by the king’s knee. Gilvaneous sighed and drew his sword. It whispered to him of the thrill of battle, and the joy of killing. Sometimes he considered replacing the blade with a less opinionated weapon. “Silence, Arnixor! I have no time for your antics.”
Silent Frelth tensed at his side then. Gilvaneous soothed him with a soft word. “Nariodyln: what news?”
The seer staggered forward and collapsed at his king’s feet. “The wards, my Lord: they are alive! They are bound to the will of someone within the keep – a female. I could glean no more.”
Gilvaneous signalled his guards to carry the exhausted sylvanth away again. “Waken him fully – use cold iron if you must! Have him gather something useful for me! Does he not grasp his duty?”
“My Lord, forgive my interruption.” Korius was back again. “The humans have sent a messenger to speak with you. Lord Veyrich refuses to let them approach.”
“Veyrich!” Gilvaneous’ voice echoed about the foothills. “Fetch that messenger to me at once, you fool! And then go and deal with the ihldhyri forces as I ordered you to!”
His most senior general appeared at once: bowing extravagantly as he dragged his captive before the king. “My Lord: I merely sought to ascertain their true intentions!”
“Is there some reason that you have not yet left my presence, Veyrich?” The sylvanthi monarch made an idle slicing gesture with Arnixor. Once again, the weapon hissed within his mind.
Lord Veyrich fled in abject terror of what his king might do to him otherwise. The other generals had also drawn back to a discreet distance. Meanwhile, the messenger had staggered to his feet. He lowered his hood and bowed deeply to Gilvaneous: awaiting his permission to begin speaking. “Why what is this – have the outworlders sent me their guest to broker peace? Speak, Luath son of Windriver!”
The par’anth was startled. “You know my name, my Lord?”
Gilvaneous smiled benevolently at him. “Of course I do. I know everything that matters. Still, speak!”
“My Lord, the people of this keep do not wish to be your enemies. They would have peace with you, and are greatly appreciative of your eradication of the restless dead left in King Ravin’s wake. I volunteered to come to you and present their offer of an alliance, since I know the appropriate customs.”
“I see that the people of this keep are indeed wise. This pleases me. They have given hospitality to two of my own people. This also pleases me. Their stance against the Anyosians is final proof that they are acceptable allies to the anthiri peoples. There shall be peace between us: I give my word to it.”
Luath bowed once more. “My Lord, I thank you for this decision. May I please return to the keep now to inform my hosts of your decree?”
“You shall return to them, and I shall send a gift along with you for their ruler. I must meet with them later to draw up the official terms to our alliance.” He laid his hand upon Luath’s right shoulder. “However, there is one small issue, Luath son of Windriver.”
“My Lord, please disclose it to me.”
“You failed to ask permission before standing in my presence, Luath son of Windriver. Such arrogance must be punished.”
Luath shuddered. “I am sorry, my Lord! I forgot my place in panic – I meant no disrespect.”
“I can see in your heart that this is so, Luath son of Windriver. You shall not be killed for your indiscretion, and neither shall it impede upon the alliance between Sylvangarde and Briersburge.” Gilvaneous sighed then. “But enough of this idle talk – guards: take him to the stocks for one hour of imprisonment.”
∞∞∞
“Lady Naomi!” Althanor pointed towards the pass. “Look – Luath is coming back! There are sylvanthir with him: they have flowers!”
Naomi followed his gaze. “So they do, Althanor. I wonder what their king had to say.” She led the boy down from the battlements and moved to stand next to Ranulf. “Uncle, our brave messenger has returned alive.”
“So, perhaps the sylvanthir are willing to reach a settlement after all then.”
“I certainly hope so.” Naomi signalled for the guards at the gate to make ready their weapons: great lengths of roughly worked cold iron. “Let him in, gatekeeper!”
The small gate opened and Luath passed through it. His escort halted outside, laid down their flowers, and saluted the keep, before turning and marching swiftly back to their own ranks. Luath smiled and handed Naomi a scroll. “King Gilvaneous sends you a floral tribute and asks that you draw up any terms that you would prefer for your alliance!”
The Mistress of Briersburge eyed the flowers suspiciously. “Are those flowers enchanted, or poisoned, or cursed, or a secret offer of marriage?”
“Er – no, they are merely field poppies.”
“And this is merely a parchment?”
“The sylvanthir have already written their terms upon it. They wish to ensure that your forces shall not trespass upon their kingdoms, but they are willing to grant you ownership of these unclaimed lands about the keep itself.”
“That sounds reasonable enough, I suppose. Luath, you look exhausted! You should rest. Thank you for what you have done today. Briersburge is in your debt.”
He smiled again. “I was glad to do my part – and thank you, Lady Naomi: for protecting the Ca’Ryln and little Althanor!”
The par’anth padded off towards the main tower, where he had a small chamber to rest in. His body ached from the mistreatment that he had received whilst held captive in the stocks, but he knew that were he to mention it, then the Alnaieans would never accept King Gilvaneous’ offer of peace.
Misericord stepped up behind him as he reached his chamber. “You look to be limping. How badly were you beaten, bard?”
Luath was silent for a few moments. “I was inadvertently disrespectful to their king. Please – I do not wish to sabotage the peace over a few pithy bruises!”
The witchfinder followed him into the chamber and shut the door. “Were these wicked ones to win an audience within the walls, might they also mishandle the Lady?”
“No, no – this was my own fault, Misericord! I broke tradition. King Gilvaneous was as lenient as was possible towards me.”
“Indeed. Your skin still shows signs of it.” He caught the bard’s wrist before Luath could tug his collar high enough to hide the bruising.
“The king cannot be held accountable for his general’s misdeed!”
“Am I to assume then that a misdeed was made?”
“I – one of the sylvanthi generals took a liking to me that was all. It was not my right to refuse him.”
Luath expected scorn for his confession at least, if not outright derision. Instead, Misericord shook him by the hand. “The price that you have paid to protect our people is a powerful one. I am indeed indebted.” With that, he walked from the room and closed the door behind him.
About the Author
E.V. Greig is a graduate of Queen’s University Belfast, and the co-founder of the literary e-zine A New Ulster. She has been actively involved within the Arts Community in Northern Ireland since 2001. Her debut work The Legend of Graymyrh is an Experimental High Fantasy Adventure, originally developed with the support of the Arts Council NI and National Lottery
under SIAP 2013. This serialization is a revised edition of that work. Her novella series Bird Bright Shadows is what she terms as Cyphernoire: a Feminist friendly genre combining Science Fiction, Cyberpunk, and Espionage, with an underlying current of BDSM.