The Malmillard Codex

by K. G. McAbee

  At that moment, to Valerik's total if unexpressed relief, a discreet knock sounded, followed the next instant by the door opening. Dwarfing the doorframe, a tall man with wide shoulders and a broad chest stood balancing a cluttered tray on one meaty hand. Almost hidden behind him stood a skinny boy, drowned in layers of folded cloth, a massive boot dangling from either hand.

  "Supper, milady," rumbled the newcomer as he strode into the tiny room and set his tray down with a clash and clatter on a shelf against the wall. "And th' master said as how you might be a wanting of some clothes for a largish sort of gentleman, so I brought these along. My name be Radisin, an it please you, and this here be Dimm."

  Dimm was a skinny boy and from the look in his large, gentle eyes, his name was more descriptive than most. He pattered in behind his huge friend and stood like some animated clothes rack, boots held out in extended hands, one arm displaying a shirt in a rusty brown color, the other coarse but serviceable breeches of almost the same hue. A wide belt hung like a necklace around the boy's neck, stockings peeped coyly from a pocket, and a leather jerkin was tossed about his scrawny shoulders to drag with studied elegance on the floor behind him.

  "I hopes as how these poor clothes might do, milady and sir," said the waiter as he unloaded the tray of its burden of covered dishes exuding savory smells, and placed them on the linen tablecloth. Valerik smiled as his stomach gave a lurch of expected pleasure. The waiter, misinterpreting Valerik's expression, smiled himself and continued, "I believes that I be close to the size of the gentleman, barring a hand of height or so." He continued uncovering platters and dishes, releasing from each one a tiny cloud of succulent steam.

  Indeed, Radisin was not quite as tall as Valerik, but he was every bit as broad and more. The servant's bulk was composed, however, of equal parts flab and muscle and bone, as opposed to Valerik's sleek but heavily muscled build.

  "These will suit us very well, I thank you," said Madryn as she uncorked a bottle of wine and poured some of its contents into two mugs. "Will this be enough for your trouble?" Another silver coin appeared, to disappear as quickly.

  "Thank you, milady, thank you," Radisin bowed as he backed out of the room, dragging the now unburdened lad with him, broad smiles on both their faces. "Someone will be along to fetch you when your room is ready."

  Madryn rose and latched the door behind them. "There, I thought a room might suddenly appear," she said as she returned to the table, "and now perhaps we can have a bit of peace while we eat. Why don't you pull those clothes on and let's get something hot inside us?"

  Valerik seized the breeches, slid into them, pulled the shirt over his head and buttoned it close about his scarred neck, and was still but an instant later than she sitting down. He watched, his mouth full of hot juices, as she heaped his plate full of meat roasted with root vegetables and a huge hunk of bread, then pulled it and a mug of wine across the table.

  "I fear we cannot ask much of the house wine, but one must travel rough when traveling fast," Madryn murmured, and then gave a small grimace after her first sip.

  Valerik had no such niceties. He tore into the food, finishing his second plateful before Madryn had gone through her first. Another bottle was opened and demolished and a third was undertaken before they both slid their chairs back with matching sighs of repletion. Not one word had been exchanged during the meal, and neither said a word as they sipped their wine.

  Valerik looked at his rescuer from under lowered lids; now that his most pressing physical needs had been met, he was back to wondering about her plans for him. Perhaps it was her pleasure to help him escape, give him hope, and then turn him back over to his owner? It wouldn't surprise him; in his experience of nobles—admittedly not a vast one—they had such depravity of tastes. His late mistress, for one…

  Madryn gazed with absent interest towards the fire. Valerik took full advantage of her distraction to examine her. A tall woman, lean and quick and wiry, with little sign of the softness he had noticed so often in the nobility and the very rich—though her dress and habits marked her clearly as both the one and the other. One of her hands lay upon the tabletop, clever brown fingers turning a tiny salt spoon over and under like a conjurer with a card. Short wisps of tawny hair escaped from a hasty braid and framed a bronzed face, with a long narrow nose and a high forehead. A faint scar jagged across her right temple, white against the brown skin.

  Not a beautiful face, by any means, but it was saved from plainness by those eyes, those remarkable eyes with their violet streaks against the gray. They reminded Valerik of a sunset at the end of a stormy day.

  The odd poetic image made him smile. He could not remember the last time he had smiled. It felt strange as it pulled on his weary face.

  Yes, a strange feeling, he thought. But stranger by far was Madryn's reaction to his smile. Without his notice, so lost had he been in his thoughts, she had brought her distant gazed back from the fire, to find his eyes full upon her. He watched in amazement as her face paled, her eyes widened, and an expression darted through their violet depths that looked almost like—fear?

  No. It was not fear, Valerik knew. He was familiar with that particular emotion; none better. What was it, then? Anger, perhaps?

  No.

  It was recognition.

  Madryn jerked to her feet, rattling the empty dishes and knocking an empty bottle on its side. Valerik grabbed for it, caught it before it rolled off the table, and set it back up on its stubby base. He watched Madryn as she took the three short paces to the grate and kicked aimlessly at a dying log, her back to him. Her back, rigid and straight, spoke of her irritation.

  "My lady," Valerik began, uncertain as to how he'd offended her, but she interrupted with what sounded like anger, though she did not turn to face him.

  "Call me by my name, if you please. We must give no one reason to doubt that we are equal companions, else you'll be returned to your interrupted hunting expedition. Neither of us wishes that, I believe?"

  Valerik nodded, realized that she could not see his response, and said in a low gruff voice, "I do not. I have not thanked you for…all you have done for me. If we had been caught by the hunters, you'd have been in as much danger as I was."

  Valerik paused at the image of this elegant woman in black, stripped naked and bleeding, running through the forest at his side with the hounds at both their backs.

  To help a hunted slave was punishable by death. She knew that, he was sure. A cold chill ran over him.

  As if she had seen what was in his mind instead of the fire that crackled before her eyes, and answering shudder ran through Madryn's body. She turned to face him at last, leaned back against the mantel. There was a crooked smile on her long mouth, but Valerik didn't think it had been there long.

  "Yes, not a pretty thought, is it? But the main thing is, what am I to do with you? Taking you with me would cause problems. Leaving you here could potentially bring about more. Master Frague has decided that I've picked you up somewhere as a bedmate, so to leave you here would draw his attention all the more, and to both of us. It's an interesting conundrum…that I believe I'll sleep on."

  As if in answer to her words, there came a knock at the door. Valerik, after a nod from Madryn, unlatched it and flung it open.

  "My lady," Frague intoned, broad grin illuminating broader face, "after much travail and endless trouble, I have managed to find you a room for the night. If you are quite finished here, it would be my honor to take you to it, you and your gentleman."

  "We were just wondering, and hoping, that you'd be able to accommodate us, Master Frague," said Madryn as she buckled on her sword. "Weren't we, Val?"

  Valerik felt a shock of pleased surprise go through him at the sound of his new name…so short, so clean, so…not a slave. Not daring to risk a word, he nodded in mute agreement and gathered up in one hand the cloak and his new boots and stockings, which he'd not bothered to don until his feet warmed. Seizing the saddlebag with his free hand, he followed
Madryn and Frague out the door.

  ***

  "Here we are, my lady and sir, here we are," burbled Frague as his row of bellies and chins shook in some secret delight. "A fine room—clean as a needle, as the ole ones say—with a bed big enough for…well, quite big enough for comfort, as I was about to say, milady, if you'll pardon me, I'm sure."

  Valerik had followed Madryn and their host down a long corridor, out of the inn proper, across a damp covered porch and into an ell that had obviously been built at a somewhat later date than the rest of the inn. Several doors, heavily barred, lined a long passageway that smelled of apples and vinegar and beer. Frague stopped at the very last door on the right. A window, shuttered against the rain that had begun to fall with abandon, was the centerpiece of the end of the hallway, a length or two from their door. The candle in Frague's flabby hand threw intriguing shadows in the wisps of cold breeze that crept through the window's slotted shutters. Frague fumbled with a key, then flung open the door with the air of a conjurer presenting a dazzling trick.

  The room was small. It contained only a low broad shelf on the far wall, piled with a feather bed and a covey of blankets and pillows; above the bed was another window, shuttered just as the one in the hallway. A rock fireplace occupied the wall to their left, doubtless the end wall of the building. To one side of the fireplace was a small alcove containing a bowl and pitcher on a stand. A candlestick of polished pewter, replete with a fresh fat candle, rested on the low mantelpiece beside a thick pottery jar with three dark red autumn roses, overblown and far past their prime. Two low chairs stood before the cheerful fire that crackled and muttered secrets to itself.

  "Those flowers cannot stay. Take them with you, please. And that window over the bed, Master Frague," said Madryn as she stood in the doorway, with a nod towards the shutters that creaked in the wind, "what's on the other side?"

  "Oh, never you fear, milady. There's naught out there but the forest," was the soothing reply. "Naught but trees and such. This part of the inn was added on in my old dad's day, when we needed more storage. I thought as how you might like it better here, being quiet and all, away from the bar and the other rooms. There be nothing but barrels of ale and side of bacon and such like in the other rooms." The burly innkeeper waddled over to the mantel and scooped up the flowers, pot and all, into one meaty hand.

  "My thanks, Master Frague," said Madryn as she entered the room at last. Valerik watched in astonishment as she made a wide berth around the innkeeper and his burden of blooms.

  Frague gave a nod for answer and shut the door on his way out. They could hear his heavy body stamping down the hallway away from their room.

  Madryn sniffed. "Cider turned to vinegar," she identified, and then grimaced. Valerik could smell nothing but the vanished roses. "Still, that's far better than those damned flowers. I don't think this room has been used for much of anything for some time, do you? Definitely not for sleeping, at any rate. I suppose our host didn't want us to wake his other guests with our noisy carryings on." A crooked smile crossed her face, was gone in an instant. "It's warm and dry, at any rate; neither of which we'd be, if we were out in that."

  A draft swirled under the ill-fitting door. Valerik watched the shutter over the bed rattle and shake, and heard the one in the hallway give reply. The storm was gaining intensity.

  He flung his boots down before the fire, set the saddlebag on a chair and pulled another chair in front of the door. Even as he did so, Madryn was climbing onto the bed shelf to unlatch the window shutter.

  "Fresh nails and new boards for this, and that right recently. But there're bars behind it—Damn it!—rusty and loose, thank the gods."

  Valerik looked to see the cause of her curse. She was shaking a finger that showed a thin streak of blood.

  "Caught it on a nail," she said as she climbed back down from the bed. "Val, see if you can get one of those bars loose, if you please?"

  Valerik climbed up in his turn, opened wide the shutters and seized a bar in both hands. With a series of soft grunts, he pulled first one, then another, then a third completely out of the old dry wood into which they were set. Then he carefully reinserted them into their shattered holes, so it looked to the casual observer that they were still firmly in place."

  "You're quite obviously a mind reader," was Madryn's comment as he clambered down. "I'll take the first watch. You get some sleep."

  Valerik opened his mouth to argue, but it turned into a yawn instead. He gave into it, stretching his long arms out to the side.

  "Yes, we're both tired, but I think you need sleep more than I just now," Madryn said as if he'd spoken.

  Valerik didn't argue further. He picked up a blanket from the pile on the shelf and offered it to her, but Madryn shook her head. She took up her fur-lined cloak and settled into a chair before the fire, her face towards the door. Valerik shucked out of his so recently donned new breeches and shirt, laid them on the floor beside the bed, then lay down and huddled under a cocoon of blankets.

  He watched Madryn's profile, outlined by the fire, as she stared into the dimness of the room, wondering. Who was she, where was she going, this strange woman who had decided to help him? His mind whirled with old thought and new feelings…feelings he had never dared to feel before. He knew he would not be able to sleep for a long time, tired though he was.

  Moments later, he was lost in deep black slumber.

  ***

  An instant later, so it seemed—though he knew it must be longer, by the depth that the fat candle had sunk in its pewter holder—someone was shaking him. Valerik sat up.

  "Listen," Madryn whispered, her mouth so close to his ear that he could feel her breath. "Do you hear that?"

  He could. It came from outside the door, in the hallway…the hallway that Frague had said was seldom used. A slithering kind of noise, as if bodies were congregating in a silent, watchful mass. There…a tiny click of metal against metal.

  Madryn pressed a dagger into Valerik's hand. He looked around the room, his eyes bleary from disturbed sleep. The fur-lined cloak was spread across the chair and a fresh log from the pile next to the fireplace lay on simmering coals. Madryn's tall boots were on the hearth, gleaming black against the cheerful orange light.

  "I heard it when I rose to put wood on the fire," Madryn breathed. Valerik suppressed a chill of excitement. "Get dressed. If they're after you, we may have to go out the window."

  She tiptoed on silent feet, sword in hand, to lay her ear against the wood of the door. Valerik struggled into his unaccustomed clothing, striving mightily for silence, and then followed her. He had no need to catch her sense of danger; he had his own. He held his ear against the battered wood, listening for his life.

  Almost at once, a look of relief spread across the narrow brown face so close to his own. She nodded to Valerik, a grin on her long mouth.

  "Sorry," she murmured and gave a rueful laugh before flinging the door open.

  A woman and a man, both dressed in rumpled finery, were wrapped around each other in the drafty hallway. Their lips locked together, hands struggling for purchase, they swayed and turned, now leaning on the wall, now standing free. The swish of the two thickly embroidered cloaks that muffled them was the sound that had alarmed Madryn. It was interrupted from time to time by a soft clink from the metal beads of the embroidery as the two clashed together in the midst of their frantic pawing.

  "Would you be kind enough to continue this in your own rooms?" Madryn called out. She tapped the hilt of her sword against the doorjamb.

  The two stumbled apart, quite obviously far gone in both wine and lust, and their dull eyes widened at the sight of the cold steel. They mumbled unintelligible phrases of apology about lost rooms and abandoned parties, then staggered back down the hallway.

  Madryn slammed the door with unnecessary force and snapped the latch.

  "Get back in bed," she ordered, her tone thick with irritation.

  Valerik was glad to comply. He watched f
rom his mountain of blankets as she settled herself back in the chair, pulling her cloak tight about her and resting her stocking feet on the low table.

  This time, he thought, I know I'll never get back to sleep.

  An instant later, he was snoring.

  ***

  Valerik was running, running in desperate fear from a pack of ravening wolves. The wolves had human faces and hands, and their howls sounded like children sobbing in the night. The faster he ran, the closer the wolves came, but if he slowed the slightest fraction they backed away, as if anxious to keep the same distance between them, to keep him in constant and ever burgeoning terror.

  A tree, with a grinning evil face set deep in its gnarly trunk, snaked out a root and tried to trip him. He jumped over the twisty wood and ran on, followed by wicked whispering laughter.

  Then, from the very ground beneath his feet, an abyss opened before him, flames leaping up from its depths to tower high into the empty ebony vault that was the starless sky. He skidded to a halt, grabbing for a handhold—but not soon enough. A despairing wail echoed from his throat as he tumbled down, down, down into flame-pierced darkness…

  "Valerik."

  Someone was shaking him. A wolf, it must be a wolf that had followed him into the abyss and had him in its pale human hands.

  "Val. Wake up."

  Valerik shook and slithered out of a pile of congealed blankets; they fell away like a shed cocoon. He seized the hand shaking him, gave a growl of mingled threat and fear.

  A gasp of pain. A familiar voice.

  Yesterday. The hunt. His escape.

  Madryn.

  Valerik released the hand as if it had burned him.

  "Sorry," he muttered, careful not to meet her eyes. "Bad dream."

  "So it sounded," Madryn agreed as she shook her hand, already reddening from his grip. "I must remember to leave you in the next one, if I don't want broken bones."

  Valerik looked dazedly about the room. Madryn was sitting on the side of the shelf that contained the bedding, her cloak around her shoulders. The room had grown chill and damp, the fire faded to cold gray ashes, the pile of wood beside it exhausted. Valerik gave a mighty yawn, stretched his arms to the sides then looked up at the window. An ashen pasty light seeped through the cracks of the shutter.