His journey northward led him through Pellanor, the capital of Lanverness. The city sprawled beyond its walls, a tangled crush of people, markets, and opportunities. Steffan held the gelding to a walk, threading his way through the wide cobblestone streets, gauging the worth of the place. Crowds thronged the marketplace, the bright velvets and leather of noblemen mixing easily with the homespun wool of merchants and peasants. The steel armor of soldiers was noticeably absent, but the fabled wealth of the Spider Queen was everywhere, from the tallow lanterns lining the cobblestone streets, to the exotic scents of the spice market, to the easy smiles of the people. Soft and full of indulgences, the city was perfect for his needs. Steffan guided the gelding to the most affluent part of town and took a room at one of the better inns. Signing for his room with a flourish, he used the name of ‘the Lord Steffan Raven’.
He rose early the next morning and made his way to the Street of Tailors. Lavish with his golds, Steffan insisted on nothing but the best. Spinning a tale of a distant branch of royal blood, Steffan invented a house emblem consisting of a black raven on a blood red field, ordering a black wardrobe trimmed and piped with crimson. In the afternoons he was fitted for new black riding boots and supple black leather gloves, only the finest leathers would do. In the horse market, Steffan sold the black gelding, purchasing a sorrel-colored eighteen-hand warhorse. Trained to kick, rear, or bite on command, the horse would be a valuable ally in dealing with the street-rabble of Coronth. The red stallion proved a magnificent animal, the perfect compliment for the Lord Raven’s new image.
In the backstreets of Pellanor, Steffan sought out a gold jeweler with questionable scruples. The man had a weasel face and limited skills, but he had a large furnace capable of casting gold ingots. Reaching an agreement with him, Steffan emptied his saddlebags on the man’s workbench, gold and jewelry spilling out in a glitter of wealth.
Dazzled, the jeweler plunged his hands into the tangled mound, avidly sorting gold from silver and gems from jewelry. With the exception of one ruby ring that Steffan had resized to fit his hand, all his winnings were sold for golds. Once his wealth was converted, Steffan ordered the jeweler to melt down the coins and cast the liquid metal into solid ingots. The jeweler worked through the night, Steffan by his side. By mid-morning, six bars of solid gold, a king’s ransom, gleamed on the jeweler’s workbench.
The jeweler sat hunched at the bench, mesmerized by the ingots. “I’ve never cast bars of solid gold. Never had a customer ask for it.” The man’s voice sank to a whisper, “Such a deep luster, such a warm radiance.”
Slipping behind the jeweler, Steffan reached for the dirk sheathed at his back. “Glitter enough to ensnare the soul…and never let go.” He thrust six inches of cold steel into the jeweler’s back, and the man slumped forward, silenced forever. Steffan cleaned the blade on the dead man’s tunic, and then wrapped the gold bars in velvet, the perfect lure for the Pontifax of Coronth.
His work done, Steffan set about enjoying the luxuries of the queen’s city. His nights were both entertaining and profitable. Seasoned gamblers were always looking for fresh meat. The Lord Raven flashed his ruby ring the size of a pigeon’s egg, looking just the part. The gamblers never suspected they invited a stranger with the luck of the Dark Lord to join their games.
On one rainy night, at one of the more exclusive parties, fate, or perhaps the Dark Lord, intervened, offering Steffan a unique opportunity. The Lord Raven found himself dicing opposite Prince Danly of House Tandroth, the second son of the queen of Lanverness. A strapping young man with dashing good looks, the prince bet golds as if he had no limit. Attracted by the prince’s careless wealth, Steffan focused the full force of his charm on the young man while making sure the prince’s goblet was kept full. Wine flowed and the golds crossed the table, accumulating in front of the Lord Raven. Steffan gazed at the young lordling. “My prince, you bet with the courage of a lion but Lady Fortune smiles elsewhere.”
“I merely spread the wealth, a servant to my people.” He barked a laugh. “The queen’s coffers are bottomless, it won’t be missed.”
“Surely not bottomless?”
“They say the Spider Queen spins threads of gold from the very air! Webs of wealth, sticky and binding, no telling who they’ll bind or what they’ll catch.” The prince drained his goblet, wiping his mouth with the back of his velvet sleeve. “Yes, my Royal Mother is quite something…an irritating itch, a witch, a bitch.” The prince pushed a pile of gold coins into the center of the table. “The Spare Heir takes great pleasure in spending her gold. So roll the dice, if you dare, and let’s see if Luck’s fortune still favors the Raven.”
The prince clearly nursed a hatred for his mother and perhaps all members of the weaker sex. Steffan sensed an opportunity to garner favor with the Dark Lord. “Why don’t we make the wager more interesting? Your golds against an evening of entertainment?”
“Entertainment?”
Steffan gave him a rake’s smile. “Something unusual, something befitting the depths of the night.”
The prince laughed. “I like you, Lord Raven, you’re more interesting than most of the nobles of the Rose Court. I’ll take your wager.”
Steffan scooped up the dice. A hush settled across the room. Well-dressed gentlemen crowded close to witness the outcome. Steffan rolled the dice, a dramatic toss, spinning them across the table. He watched the tumble of ivory, concentrating hard…making sure to lose.
The prince crowed in delight. “Fortune turns! Describe my prize, and it best be worth the wager!”
Steffan stifled a smile. “Anticipation is part of the pleasure. Meet me tomorrow night at the Inn of Three Roses, one turn of the hourglass past sunset, and I’ll pay my debt.” The prince agreed and the gaming continued. The luck of the dice returned to the Lord Raven. Steffan finished the night with the prince’s confidence, as well as most of his golds.
The next morning, Steffan used his charms to gain access to an exclusive bordello, one restricted to wealthy patrons with unusual tastes. In the company of the madam, he inspected each woman. Since his night with the Priestess, Steffan had developed an obsession for tall statuesque women with black hair. One courtesan was close enough to carry the illusion. She also had the flexibility required for the evening ahead. After choosing the courtesan, he toured the mansion to find the perfect setting for his passion play, eventually settling on a small intimate bedchamber with a fireplace, a large stuffed chair, and a four-post bed. He gave the madam detailed instructions as well a very large purse with the promise of more.
Prince Danly arrived early the next evening, hungry with anticipation. At Steffan’s suggestion, they had a few drinks before retiring to the bordello. As he suspected, the young prince was familiar with the establishment and even had his favorites among the women. Madam Stock met them at the door, ushering them past the drawing room where selections were usually made and showing them directly to the intimate bedchamber. The prince was clearly puzzled when Steffan followed him inside.
Closing the door behind them, Steffan invited the prince to sit in the armchair. “As a prince of the realm, I am sure you’ve had ample opportunity to sample the pleasures of many women, but have you ever had the opportunity to watch a master take a woman?”
The prince’s eyes widened and his pupils dilated, telling Steffan his guess had hit the mark. Hiding his smile, Steffan said, “Since we met over dice, let me offer a little wager to sweeten the night.” He produced a large purse from one pocket and two silken ropes from the other. “I propose to tie your hands to the arms of the chair. If the ropes are still in place by the time I’m finished with the woman, then the purse of golds is yours. If either rope is unraveled, then you’ll double my purse. Do you accept?” The gleam in the prince’s eye was all the answer Steffan needed. Kneeling, he loosely bound the silken ropes around the young man’s wrists. Satisfied, he settled on the plush bearskin rug, enjoying the warmth of the fire.
A knock sounded on the door. A
statuesque woman with long raven hair entered carrying a tray laden with heated oils and small bowls of exotic spices. Except for a few strands of beads, the woman was naked. Ignoring the prince, the courtesan knelt and slowly undressed Steffan, anointing him with heated oils. Steffan lay still, letting his arousal build. When the room was thick with tension, he moved like a panther, covering the woman and pushing her down into the plush fur of the rug. Lost in the illusion of the priestess, he strove to recreate his one night on the Isle of the Oracle. The courtesan was no match for the priestess, but the night still held its pleasures. Relentless in his desire, he took the woman past the point of exhaustion. The only sounds in the room besides the crackling of the fireplace were the sighs of the woman and the gasps of the prince. Finally sated, Steffan rolled back onto the bearskin rug.
By the light of the glowing embers, he took stock of the prince. The young man’s eyes were glazed, his brow beaded with sweat, three wet stains on the front of his unlaced breeches. One silken rope lay at the foot of the chair. “It seems you’ve enjoyed the entertainment, my lord. Can I assume that my golds will be waiting for me at the Inn of the Three Roses?”
The prince nodded in a dazed fashion. Steffan collected his clothes and dressed. He helped the prince to his feet and bundled him into a blue cape and then into a closed carriage waiting in the back alley.
Steffan slept late the next morning, ordering a hot bath delivered to his room. When he finally made it down to the common room of the inn, the noon meal was being served and the prince was waiting for him. Steffan hid his smile, knowing the Dark seed had taken quick root. Most souls only needed a small twist to turn toward the Dark, and the young prince was no exception.
Shaping his face to look pleasantly surprised, he took a seat at the prince’s table, “My Lord, I hardly expected to see you this morning, or perhaps I should say this afternoon. How can I be of service?”
“I just wanted to thank you for the pleasure of your company and for the quality of your entertainment. I’m quite sure that I have never seen the like.” The prince removed a small purse from his pocket. “I’ve brought your winnings and a little extra.” Danly set a square-cut emerald on the table, well worth several times the golds owed. “I was hoping you might organize more nights of entertainment for me.”
“I am sorry, my prince. I wish I could, but I leave today on urgent business. Perhaps when my business brings me back this way?”
“Let us hope that you return soon. Meanwhile, please accept this emerald with my thanks.”
Steffan pocketed the emerald and then shared a pleasant meal with the prince. Once the meal was finished, he bade farewell to the prince and organized his belongings for the trip to Coronth. Steffan left the capital city mounted on a magnificent red warhorse, his saddlebag bulging with gold, his packhorse burdened with purchases. His stay in Pellanor had proved quite profitable. His chance encounter with the prince was especially satisfying, offering him the chance to plant a Dark seed. He wondered what fruit it would bear…perhaps an unexpected gift for the queen. Surely the Dark Lord would be pleased. Putting spurs to his stallion Steffan asked for a gallop. He looked forward to meeting the Pontifax and to gaining favor in the service of the Dark Lord.
22
Katherine
The first pale light of the early morning struck the windowpane releasing Kath from bed. Eager to reach the Isle, she pulled on her squire’s tunic and made a quick toilet. Tossing her nightclothes into her saddlebag, she threw the bag over her shoulder and bounded down the stairs to the common room for breakfast.
The innkeeper was busy with something behind the counter otherwise Kath had the room to herself. She moved to the sideboard, taking several slices of bread and a big piece of spicemelon. From Sir Tyrone’s tales, she knew that spicemelon only grew on the Isle of Souls and that it was considered a rare delicacy in the other parts of Erdhe. Licking her fingers clean of the sticky juice, she wondered why a fruit would only grow in one place. Absorbed in her breakfast, she was surprised by the innkeeper’s shout.
“Get out of here you mangy mouser! This is an inn not a barn! There’s no room for your kind in this establishment!” The innkeeper brandished a wooden club at a slight man dressed in green leathers. The man made a gesture of supplication, but the innkeeper only yelled louder. “Get out of here before I split your worthless skull!”
The innkeeper’s anger astonished Kath. The stranger looked clean and well dressed and the inn was only half full. It made no sense to turn away business.
The stranger retreated toward the door, but he must have felt Kath’s stare, for he turned and looked directly at her. She gasped in shock. The stranger’s eyes were golden yellow orbs with vertical slits for pupils: the man had the eyes of a cat! Even in bards’ songs, she’d never heard of such a thing. Wondering if the stranger was a servant of the Dark Lord, she hastily sketched the hand sign against evil.
Heavy footsteps cascaded down the stairs. Kath was relieved to see the knights enter the common room. Captain Tellor gave her a pointed stare. “No time to sit and eat, just grab something for later. I want to be first in line to catch the ferry.”
Grabbing her saddlebag and another piece of spicemelon, she followed the knights to the stable. They saddled their mounts and loaded the two packhorses with practiced ease, reaching the ferry before anyone else. They watched as the ferry master hitched a team of huge draft horses to the complex rope-and-pulley system used to operate the ferry. While they waited, a long line of people formed behind them. Kath wondered if the other travelers were seeking a shortcut across the lake or if they sought a glimpse of the future.
A bell clanged indicating the ferry was ready. Just large enough to hold ten horses and their riders, the ferry was a square wooden raft strung between guide ropes that linked the Isle to the mainland. Captain Tellor led the troop onto the floating platform. Kath made her way to the front, eager to be the first to see the fabled Isle.
A thick fog rose off the lake, hiding the Isle from curious eyes. The bell clanged a second time and the ropes creaked as the platform lurched into the fog, gliding across mirror-still waters. The world became white. Tendrils of fog crept around them, cold as dead fingers. Kath shivered and pulled her wool cloak close. Remembering Sir Tyrone’s words, she imagined the fog was the gray veil, separating the present from the future. Kath leaned against the railing, wondering what the future held. For the longest time, she saw nothing, but then a breath of wind opened a window in the fog. A dark cliff loomed overhead, black basalt columns lining a gaping cave, like teeth in the mouth of a hungry beast. Kath stared into the cavern, wondering if anything lurked in the shadows. The ferry passed just beyond the basalt maw, shuddering to a stop at a second dock. Lantern light pierced the fog. A tall gangly man secured the ferry and opened the railed gate. “Welcome to the Isle of Souls. May you see the future clearly.”
Kath bit back a retort, for the fog was so thick it hid the very ground. She led her stallion, Dancer, across the dock to a dirt road. The road quickly turned steep, switch-backing up side of the cliff. Mounting, she took it slow, unable to see more than a horse-length in front of her. The knights followed behind, the clop of hooves eerie in the fog. The switchbacks crisscrossed the cliff. Another stride of her horse and the world changed. Her head pierced the fog, her shoulders following. Sunshine beat against her face, providing a welcoming warmth. Staring back across Eye Lake, Kath was astonished by the view. From the height of the ridge, the scene was otherworldly. A blanket of fog surrounded the cliff, rendering it an island of reality on the shores of an insubstantial sea. Kath felt as if she’d ridden into a dream. Clucking to her horse, she urged him up the last switchback.
The Isle of Souls proved full of surprises. When they reached the top, the cliff turned out to be the rim of a small volcano, with a gentle bowl-shaped valley stretched below. Farms dotted the edge with a large town nestled in the heart of the crater. By mid-day they reached the town and settled their mounts at th
e first stable, but they had to try five inns before they found one with enough vacant rooms. After dumping her saddlebag in her room, Kath entered the common room, surprised to find Sir Blaine waiting with Sir Tyrone. The blond-haired knight gave her a rueful smile. “The fortune tellers don’t ply their trade till the evening, so I thought I’d join the two of you in exploring the town.”
Kath gave him a welcoming smile. “So where do we go first?”
A sparkle of mischief danced in the black knight’s dark eyes. “I was talking to the innkeeper and it seems we’re in luck. Turns out the Guild of Mystics holds a festival every turn of the full moon to test their members’ ability to commune with the spirit world. Let’s claim a spot in the town square and watch the show.”
They headed for the Street of Merchants. Kath had never seen so many people. Merchants hawked their wares from tables lining the street, trying to shout above the noise of the crowd. Even the air smelled crowded, a pungent mix of rich perfumes and exotic spices underlain by the ripe stench of the unwashed. Fascinated by her first city, Kath’s stare bounced between the crowd and the merchants, catching glimpses of mysterious alleyways off the main street. Beggars beckoned with outstretched hands from the shadows. Remembering the smith’s talk of thieves, Kath moved closer to the two knights, pressing her hand to the gargoyle hidden beneath her tunic.
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 13
