Green, Sharon - Lady Blade, Lord Fighter.htm

by Lady Blade, Lord Fighter

  Chapter 1

  The snow and ice had degenerated to slush that wasn't re-freezing even after dark, but Timper still disliked riding through it over the cobbles of the city. Oncoming spring had much more pleasant signs in the south, ones which didn't make the streets slippery and unsafe even for a sure-footed mount, and the young courier wished he was back there. Despite the heavy woolen cloak over his clothing he was cold, but the dratted cold wasn't bad enough to distract him from his problems, only bad enough to be an additional burden. His problems remained just as clear in his mind as they had been.

  A part of which was having to plod up and down the streets of the northern city of Fyerlin, trying to find the one he was supposed to deliver his message to. The torches on the heavy stone buildings he passed laughed at him for his initial naivete in believing that that would be the simplest part of his commission, merely needing the time to reach the lady at her aunt's house. Since the skirmishing had already resumed, having no patience to await a proper spring and summer due to the presence of so many Sword Companies, where else would the daughter of a Duke be found but safely beside her aunt? The Countess herself had a strong, competent House Guard, well-armed and able to repel attempted incursions during that time of war and unrest, so where else would her niece be but—

  With one of those Sword Companies.

  Timper sighed, overwhelmingly relieved that he would not need to be the one to tell that to the Duke. After the death of the Duchess, the Duke had sent his eldest daughter to live

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  with his sister-in-law, the Countess Illi of Fyerlin, intending to see his child raised with all the necessary graces taught her, graces the ladies of his own house seemed unable to impart to her. The child had been about eleven at the time, and the Countess was well known for her no-nonsense attitudes and iron determination. The strong-willed child would be given no recourse save to obey her and learn the womanly virtues. . . .

  This time Timper shivered into his cloak, bewildered as to what might have gone wrong. The lady, now a woman, was not to be found sitting demurely beside her aunt, a fact which Timper was prepared to swear pleased the Countess! When he had politely requested an audience with the lady, he had been settled in a chair, handed a glass of sherry, and then gently told that the lady wasn't there. If it was truly imperative that he see her, her whereabouts might be gotten from the Company clerk of the Silver Gleaming, one of the Sword Companies camped and billeted in and around Fyerlin. How she had gotten involved with one of the Blades of a Sword Company no one seemed prepared to discuss, but Timper prayed he wasn't too late. It was hardly likely that her virginity was still intact, not if she had been in the company of a Blade for longer than five minutes, but that was the Duke's concern and the concern of the lady's future husband. His was that he be spared the necessity of having to bring her home already married—or, worse yet, unmarried but pregnant. The Duke's temper was unlikely to register the fact that his courier was scarcely apt to be the one responsible. . . .

  The lady Sofaltis of the Duchy of Gensea, involved with a Blade of a Sword Company!

  Trmper's shudder reached through to his mount, causing the patient, steady beast to raise its head in momentary distraction. The gelding was hardly the sort of horse to grow skittish, for which Timper was profoundly grateful. He was skittish enough for the two of them, especially after being sent by the Company clerk to the barracks, and from the barracks to a house in the city itseif. His demanding the whereabouts of the lady Sofaltis had gotten him no more than grinning silence, and he'd actually had to pay those oversized mercenaries for what he needed to know: where the lady was, and nothing more. The least they could have done was tell

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  him which of the Blades she was involved with, of high rank or low, so that he would have some idea of the amount of difficulty he would face when the man found he was to lose the lady's company. Possibly he should have hired his return escort before continuing his search, but mercenaries were so unreasonably expensive, and he had no idea how long it would take the lady to have her gowns and possessions packed.

  Timper sighed again as he automatically counted streets, then guided his horse right into one whose name post was conspicuously absent. It was the third or fourth he'd passed that had been rendered anonymous in just that way, the expected fruits of having carousing mercenaries rollicking through a city. Duke Rilfe would never have allowed that to happen in their city, but what else was to be expected of those of the north? Even the nobility there seemed touched with the same tainted outlook, looseness of morals, little or no sense of duty, a scandalous lack of piety—why, when he'd asked the Countess if he might have a moment or two with her house priest for the easing of his soul, she'd actually informed him that her house had only a priest of Evon, no priest of Grail! The courier was sure he'd successfully hidden his shock at that, but the Countess hadn't been equally successful at masking her unexplained amusement.

  There, almost exactly mid-block on the left, was certainly the house he'd been directed to look for! Timper took in the three torches burning calmly on the front of the large, setback, freely-standing house, the modest metal spear-fence that stood invitingly open, the demurely draped windows that nevertheless showed a hint of lamplight behind them, and guided his mount through the fence and toward the high-pillared front door. He still had no idea whose house he was about to peremptorily enter, but that made little difference to him. He was a courier, empowered to enter anywhere and everywhere to deliver his message, and that would be known to whomever resided in that house. If he hadn't been so cold he would have straightened his shoulders and raised his chin, but gestures like that would have to wait until he was indoors and warm again.

  As he drew rein and began to dismount in front of the wide steps of the residence, the front door opened unexpectedly

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  and a boy emerged, muffled to the ears and wearing a woolen cap which couldn't have offset the thinness of his threadbare coat and trousers. The boy pulled the door shut behind him, hurried recklessly down the slippery-looking steps into the torchlit night, then put a thin hand on Timper's bridle.

  "I'll see to him for you, sir," the boy said in a voice that cracked more from the cold than his age, bobbing where he stood in a parody of proper bowing. "You go right on in to where it's warm, an' I'll put him in the sheds behind."

  Timper nodded and surrendered his mount without demur-ral, pleasantly surprised to see that the amenities weren't entirely lost to those of the north, then climbed the steps toward the front door. Behind him the boy had hesitated very briefly before leading his horse away, just as though he had expected something more from Timper than a nod, but he couldn't imagine what that might be. Residences in the south always had a boy to see to one's horse, and they never expected more than a nod. After all, was he expected to give stabiing directions for what would be a visit of no more than a few minutes at the most?

  The door opened again as Timper reached it, this time wide enough to let him enter. The entrance hall was lamplit and warm, especially when the servingman closed the door behind him, then turned to give him a far more proper bow.

  "Allow me to take your ctoak, sir," the man offered, already reaching for the garment in question. He was dressed in striped silk with knee hose and buckled shoes, but the scrupulously correct tailoring usually worn by servants of the upper class failed to hide his outrageously large size. One normally chose servants of lesser proportions for one's household, Timper knew, to keep one's guests from needing to look upward in so uncomfortable a manner, but he was hardly there to school those
of the north in common courtesy. His commission was far more important than that, and he was anxious to get on with it.

  "I shan't be staying long enough for that," Timper denied with a wave of his hand, looking around at the polished-wood paneling of the entrance hall and the closed doors that led from it to the house proper. "I am a courier of the Duke Rilfe of the House of Kienne in the Duchy of Gensea, and have

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  been told that the lady Sofaltis of the same House might be found here. I must insist that I be taken to her at opce."

  "I do beg your pardon, sir, but I'm afraid that that would be a matter best discussed with my mistress," the man replied, withdrawing his hands with a small, odd smile curving his lips. "Til have someone take you to her."

  "Gad, man, have you no ears?" Timper snapped, long since out of patience with the numberless obstructions he'd found in his path. "I have no wish to see your mistress, I wish to see ..."

  His words ended in near-outrage as the servant dared to turn his back and take up a small hammer lying in front of a set of crystal bells, and then purposefully strike one of the bells. The pure crystal tone was sweet and considerably more penetrating than Timper would have expected, and the first door to the right opened outward to show another servant like the first, properly dressed but hardly properly-sized.

  "This gentleman is here in search of a particular lady," the first servant said to the second, his tone entirely uninflected. "He will, of course, need to speak to the mistress."

  "Of course," the second agreed, eyeing Timper's continued possession of a cloak but refraining from commenting on the fact. "If you will be so kind as to follow me, sir?"

  Very briefly Timper toyed with the idea of refusing while demanding again to be taken to the lady, and had the servants been of more usual proportions he might very well have done so. After a moment, however, it came to him that these were, after all, no more than ignorant servants, and the wisest course of action might well be allowing them to lead him to their mistress. With that in view he strode through the door being held open for him voicing no more than a short sound of impatience, waited until the servant closed the door again and moved ahead, then followed wordlessly after.

  Moving through the doorway had put him in a hall both narrower and longer than the entrance hall, but one whose floor was richly carpeted and whose paneled walls were hung with paintings of obviously great worth. It seemed to Timper as he walked along that the house was the residence of someone of substantial affluence, but it wasn't quite as silent as a residence of that sort should be. Somewhere, a distance off, was what seemed like the sound of roistering voices, but

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  perhaps it wasn't coming from that house. Perhaps those who lived in the house were forced to endure coarse and common but monied neighbors, and if that were so ...

  "This way, sir, if you please," the servant interrupted his thoughts, stopping in front of a door to the right perhaps halfway down the hall. A brief knock and then the servant entered, halting just inside to bow to someone Timper was unable to make out beyond the man's bulk. "Your pardon, madam, but this gentleman informs us that he has come in search of a specific lady. Will you see him?" " —

  "Of course I will," came one of the sweetest, softest voices Timper had ever heard, immediately making him wish he might see the face thai went with it. "Do show him in, Rinson."

  "Sir," the servant Rinson said, stepping aside with another bow, one Timper was barely aware of. The servant's movement had brought to view sight of his mistress, and if anything the look of her was superior to the sound of her voice. The young courier had never imagined that any woman so clearly older than himself might touch him so quickly and strongly, and if he hadn't been in the midst of a commission he would likely have stood there frozen duuib. Night-black hair and shining black eyes, skin the color of faintly blushing cream, full red lips with a devastating smile, all above a richly gowned body of slim elegance and grace. She was seated behind a delicate desk of lace-like carving, obviously a woman of responsibility as well as beauty, and he realized he'd stepped well into the room only when he heard the sound of the door closing somewhere behind him.

  "And how may I help you, sir?" the vision asked, smiling at him encouragingly as she straightened in her chair. "Would you care to describe the sort of lady you seek, or would you prefer looking about before voicing1 your thoughts? Do you seek someone of your own age, or might it possibly be someone more—experienced—that you search for? It would be my greatest pleasure to—assist you in any manner possible."

  Her lovely voice had softened and she had leaned forward, her red lips glistening in a way that had Timper completely convinced regarding her sincerity. His gaze had somehow become riveted to her full, heaving bosom, a bosom less

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  11

  well-covered than perhaps she realized, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he brought his eyes to her face again.

  "Madam, I—" he began, then paused to bring his voice down from the higher ranges where it had embarrassingly strayed. "Madam, I thank you for your offer of-assistance, and shall most willingly accept it," he said on his second attempt, striving to project a maturity of his own. "I am the courier of Duke Rilfe of Gensea, and have come seeking the lady Sofaltis of Gensea, daughter of the Duke, for whom I have a most urgent communication. I've been told I would find her here in this house, and although 1 have never seen her, she was described to me as being perhaps a year my junior, delicately pretty with unusually lovely gray eyes, brown-haired and lithe ..."

  "Wait just a minute here!" the woman interrupted in sudden annoyance, no longer appearing quite as winsome as she had a moment earlier. "Are you saying you're here looking for someone, an actual, real someone? You have a message to deliver?"

  "Hardly so simple a thing as a message," Timper responded, stung by the change in the beautiful woman's attitude. "A ducal courier is not a mere message bearer, the responsibilities of the position are a good deal more complex than . . ."

  "But you don't deny you're here looking to talk to someone," the woman insisted, nearly in accusation. "And not for the usual reason. Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. I've never heard of this—lady, and doubt that she's ever been here. I wish you a pleasant evening—elsewhere."

  The lovely woman had risen to her feet behind the desk, her expression now closed and cold, and Timper found himself almost completely at a loss. Not only had he no desire to leave, he could not leave before learning for certain that the lady Sofaltis wasn't there. Firm insistence had often gotten him what information and assistance he required, and just then he knew he needed to try something of the same again.

  "Madam, I must beg your indulgence for a few moments more," he said at once with more desperation than assertive-ness, not precisely the attitude he'd been attempting but one that would have to do. "I've been informed that the lady Sofaltis is here, in company with members of the Silver

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  Gleaming, whose presence, if fact, could scarcely be missed. Their purpose in coming here was kept from me, in a deliberate attempt at vindictiveness, 1 believe, yet was I specifically

  told . . ."

  "The Silver Gleaming?" the woman interrupted, a faint, very attractive frown suddenly shadowing her face, "Of course there are members of the Silver Gleaming here. We happen to be very popular with the Blades because of the balanced variety our house offers, just as we're popular with the other Sword Companies. 1 happened to see a few Fists arriving, but there were no—ladies—with them."

  The woman pronounced the word "ladies" as though it were nearly off-color and entirely loathsome, an attitude Timper couldn't quite understand. Not that he was able to understand most of the rest of what he'd been told. The north, it seemed, was far more different from the south than he'd imagined.

  "What are Fists?" he asked almost warily, wondering if he would next be able
to ask about the "balanced variety" the woman had also mentioned. He wasn't quite sure, but somehow he had the distinct impression the concept of variety was one he ought to be familiar with.

  "Fists are special units of Sword Companies," the vision answered, staring at him in an odd manner as she reseated herself. "The units consist of five Blades, usually the best Blades the Company has, and in battle they carry out initial or crucial thrusts. Where did you say you come from?"

  "A gentleman scarcely has the time to investigate every unimportant facet of such things as Sword Companies." Timper returned stiffly, this time stung into trying to defend himself. He could also feel the flush in his cheeks, and nearly began shifting in place like an ignorant child caught by his tutor. "Are you absolutely certain there were no women with those—Fists?"

  "I said there were no ladies with the Fists," the woman corrected, her face smooth and serene despite the twinkle of amusement in her eyes, her hands holding lightly to the arms of her chair. "Ladies do badly as members of a Fist, but female Blades are another story entirely. Most Companies have their share of females, and although the majority of Fists are all male, one or two have ..."

  Her voice trailed off as she stared at Timper again, but this

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  13

  time he could see she stared thoughtfully. Something had obviously occurred to her, and her next words proved the point.

  "Brown-haired and gray-eyed, lithe and young," the woman murmured, as though hearing the description for the very first time. "And named Sofaltis! It's just barely possible, I suppose, stranger things have happened— If it is true, I'd love to be there. . . ."

  The woman's eyes lost their distracted look as they sharpened on Timper again with renewed amusement, and then she grew somewhat more brisk.

  "It's possible one of the Blades of the Silver Gleaming will be able to-direct you to this lady of yours," she said, reaching for a small, delicate bell which stood at the comer of the desk to her right. "I'll have someone take you to them, but I warn you now; if you cause any sort of ruckus among any of the guests, the mistress' rules will see you put out of the house at once, whether or not you've managed to question anyone. Have I made myself clear?"