The Malmillard Codex

by K. G. McAbee

The guard somehow managed to stand even straighter, his thin body as quivering and taut as a freshly plucked bowstring. "Your pardon, most high lord, but I am merely a corporal," he squeaked, delighted at the kindly attention of this worldly and highborn gentleman. Only his recently finished military training kept him from squirming like a stroked puppy.

  "Indeed? Can it be so?" Valaren's tone was a delicately balanced contrast between disbelief and amazement. "Well, that can be remedied quite easily, can it not? Your name?"

  "Corporal Ranadal, an it please you, lord!"

  "Ranadal," drawled Valaren, with a slow grin that could have been interpreted as interested, or salacious, depending upon how well one knew him. "I will remember that name, I assure you."

  "Lord!" shouted the young man again.

  Bored of his game, Valaren entered his apartments through the door that the young guard jerked open for him, then shut smartly behind him. There was a clatter, muffled by the closed door, of a sword being drawn clumsily from its scabbard.

  Excellent, thought Valaren with a small wince of pleasure at the images that the sound delivered. Another conquest.

  He sauntered across the foyer toward the room he used as an office, a smile still creasing his fleshy lips.

  Inside the office, his amanuensis looked up from the great carved desk in time to see that smile—and blanch white in fear.

  "Lor-Lord Valaren," stuttered Danel as he leaped to his feet, knocking his hard chair over backward onto the lush carpet. "Your pardon, my lord, I did not expect to see you back from the council meeting so soon. I trust everything went well?" Danel wrung bruised, nail-bitten hands in an unconscious gesture of dismay.

  "As well as could be expected," snarled Lord Valaren, his former good humor gone in an instant. "Those fools still think that gold can be picked from trees, instead of worked and planned for. Still…I believe her majesty will see reason soon. So. What visitors are expected, the rest of this afternoon and evening?"

  Danel rustled through a thick, leather-bound book with one nervous hand, the quill pen he had picked up nervously in the other shaking in time to his heartbeat. "The Countess Courtalney and her younger sister will be here in—" Danel glanced at the ormolu clock that ticked comfortingly on the marble mantelpiece, "—in half an hour."

  "Refresh my memory," ordered Lord Valaren as he poured a goblet of ruddy wine.

  "The countess has large gambling debts and wishes to offer security for a projected loan," Danel read from the book.

  "Ah, yes," Valaren nodded, and then sipped his wine, rolling the fragrant vintage around with his tongue. "Go on."

  "Sir Alvarin is coming at seven to make his usual payment on the loan you gave his father; Lord Minister Fredoin will be here for a game of chess at eight; and at eleven, Commander Madryn."

  Danel looked up from the book, anxious to see his lord's response to his next words; the secretary had little enough pleasure in his difficult position, and he wished to savor what he could. "Unless, of course, the commander is forced to cancel her visit. Again," Danel finished, carefully noncommittal.

  Lord Valaren scowled, his handsome facing going dark and ugly, as he remembered the last time he had waited for Madryn; he had even canceled another appointment on the chance that she would appear. He flung a quick look at his secretary to make sure that there was no sign of pleasure at his lordship's discomfiture.

  Danel's face was a studied blank.

  Satisfied, Valaren nodded. "Good. Then I have time for a lingering bath before the countess and her sister arrive." A feral grin spread over his lordship's face; a grin that he was careful never to allow his more important acquaintances to see. "Fetch me that young man at the door, Danel. He can wash my back for me."

  ***

  Commander Madryn, newly appointed captain of Queen Ffania's personal guard—a position given her, she'd been told, as a reward for her impressive courage—strode on her long booted legs down the corridor toward Lord Valaren Starseeker's apartments.

  The commander was dressed in the height of fashion, and in the colors of the Queen's Guard. Darkest blue jacket, the collar embroidered with gold wire, was tucked into the sleek leather breeches of the same hue, which in turn disappeared into the tops of short polished boots with gold-colored heels. Her tawny hair was cut short and curled around her narrow face; the sword that clanked at her waist had a hilt thick with gold inlay.

  It was late, and the hallways were emptier than usual, here in the most impressive and desirable section of the queen's palace. Doubtless, most of the inhabitants of these elegant apartments were busy behind their carved doors, relieving the tensions of the day in their own particular fashions.

  Commander Madryn's thoughts kept time to her footsteps, racing around inside her head. She nodded at the occasional guard who she herself, at the queen's command, had stationed outside certain doors. Some of the guards were for the protection of the inhabitants, in this court full of deceit and fear. Some were there to prevent escape.

  And some were there for other reasons, as Madryn knew full well.

  The corridor leading to Lord Valaren's rooms was deserted at this time of the evening, too late for dinner, too early for assignations. The hallway was lined with thick draperies in the royal colors of midnight blue and gold, interspersed here and there with statues of valiant leaders or dead rulers. Behind some of the curtains, Madryn knew, secret doors led to observation ports and less desirable places.

  Information was the prime currency at Queen Ffania's court.

  At the farthest end of the corridor was the main door to Lord Valaren's chambers.

  Madryn paused as soon as she saw it, all her senses alert. No one stood guard duty at the opulent entrance. The thick dark wood, carved by the finest of artisans, gleamed alone and unappreciated in the silent corridor.

  Madryn paced slowly forward, her eyes leaping everywhere, her battle-honed nerves twanging in alarm.

  But the scene was a peaceful one; only the empty space beside the door spoke of any reason for apprehension.

  Madryn seized the handle that was formed in the shape of a dragon; her other had was on the hilt of her sword. She swung the huge door open and entered on silent feet, peering around the dim hallway, alert for traps of any variety.

  Empty. Silent.

  A luxurious room, off which opened doors to other rooms, all closed. Thick scented candles lined a narrow shelf just above her eye level; most of them were cold, but a few gave out a soft golden glow.

  A flicker of movement caught Madryn's eye. Her grip tightened on her sword—an instant before she recognized the flashing shadow as her own reflection in the tall mirror that stood opposite the door, at the far end of the hall.

  Heart pounding, Madryn shut the outer door behind her. She made sure she heard the latch click home, and then with one hand—the other was still glued to the hilt of her sword—she maneuvered a long iron rod across it, to bar all entrance.

  There, she thought in satisfaction. If anyone is here who shouldn't be, there'll be no escape this way.

  The entrance secured, Madryn walked softly toward the door to Lord Valaren's office, beyond which were his study, bedchamber and bath. The door opened at her touch; she entered the office, all her senses alert.

  All was hushed and still, as empty, save for its flamboyant furnishings, as the hallway outside.

  To cross the room took the blink of an eye. Madryn stood silent, sword in one hand, the other against the door to Lord Valaren's innermost, and most private rooms.

  A small sound, so soft that Madryn was not sure she had heard it at all, echoed gently from the other side of the thick door. She pushed it open.

  A square study, the walls lined with books to the high ceiling, a long desk across one corner. Light from two tall candles danced across leather bindings, cast shadows that flickered in the small draft from the now-open door.

  Empty.

  But that so soft sound was louder now; not a single, but a series of sounds, almost dec
ipherable to Madryn's troubled mind.

  Again she crossed the room on silent feet, the golden heels of her boots leaving faint impressions in the sumptuous rugs layered three deep on the floor.

  The next door opened onto Lord Valaren's huge bedchamber. Madryn knew it well. The door was cracked open and there was an internal glimmer of light, brighter than in any of the preceding rooms.

  Madryn pushed the door open. The muffled creak of the hinges sounded like a cannon roar to her heightened senses.

  But that small sound was lost on the two inhabitants of the opulent room.

  Lord Valaren Starseeker, council member, advisor to her majesty the queen, was sprawled naked across his high, silk-sheeted bed, belly down. His thickly muscled back, arms and legs glistened with the scented oil. The oil came from a fluted vase, and Corporal Ranadal was in the process of pouring more of the thick, viscous fluid onto his lordship's broad back.

  The soft little noises that Madryn had heard through the almost closed door came from Ranadal. Now she could tell that they were tiny gasps and moans of pain. Purple bruises glowered on his scrawny naked back. There was blood…

  "Ranadal," Madryn said.

  The abused corporal turned around, and Madryn saw whey the noises were so soft and weak. Ranadal made them, as best he could, through lips that were split and bleeding, swollen to more than twice their normal size.

  "Commander," said the corporal in a wondering, weary voice, his eyes bleary and confused. An instant later, his recognition of his commander brought back some small degree of comprehension to his slack and bleeding face. He snapped sluggishly to a ragged sort of attention.

  The fluted vase fell from his nerveless fingers to crash on the polished wooden floor. Instantly, the smell of roses—ripe, thick, cloying in its intensity—spread throughout the room.

  Lord Valaren rolled over in the huge bed with cat-like grace. Propping himself up on his elbows, he grinned at Madryn.

  "A bit early tonight, aren't you, Commander?" he purred. "No matter. I was bored with this one anyway." He waved a negligent hand at Ranadal.

  A tremor ripped through the naked, boyish figure; two tears welled from a blackened eye. The corporal's ribs, easily counted, deflated as a great, defeated sigh poured from within his scrawny chest.

  Madryn felt something squeeze down hard on her heart at the sight of the young guard. She had heard the rumors. Indeed, who could not have heard them? And no one knew better than she the effect that Lord Valaren could have on others—he had the same effect on her. But her own desire for this naked man sprawled on the bed before her was so great, so overpowering, that she had discounted the rumors, the whispers—not wishing, not daring to believe them true.

  "Corporal. Get dressed. Get out of here," Madryn snapped.

  Another pair of tears welled from the dark pits of the young man's eyes. "Bu—bu—but, Commander," he wailed. Thin clear fluid tinged with red began to drip from his battered nose. "But, Commander…I don't want to leave."

  Lord Valaren laughed, his fleshy lips spread wide in dark delight. "There, you see, Madryn? Not everyone finds me as distasteful as you must."

  Madryn strode toward the guard. Her legs were trembling. Her hand, she noticed with surprise, was still clenched tight about the hilt of her sword. She sheathed her sword and dropped both hands to her side, though they itched to reach out and help the poor sniveling man-child that stood beside the bed, his pale thin legs looking barely strong enough to support his undersized body.

  Disgust rose in a sudden mass, rancid and acidic in Madryn's throat and mouth, coming near to choking her. But what disgusted her even more than the man who had damaged this poor creature before her, was her own continuing, sick desire for Valaren Starseeker.

  "You are dismissed, corporal," Madryn said, swallowing around the sick obstruction in her throat. "Get dressed and go."

  Corporal Ranadal scrambled on the floor for his discarded clothing, stepping into the pool of scented oil. A shard of glass from the broken vase stabbed into one bare foot; blood, rich and bright, gushed out, its coppery scent mingling with the overpowering odor of roses. Face confused, eyes dazed, Ranadal looked at his damaged foot, then leaned down and pulled the shard out with a slow, lingering movement. A small smile of pleasure crossed his bruised face. He pulled on his boots and crammed his head into his jerker, then wandered like a somnambulist from the room.

  "What did you do to him? What did you give him?" Madryn spat.

  Lord Valaren rose into a seated position on the bed, his legs spread wide and his naked body gleaming in the light of the many candles massed in the room. He twisted slightly, and his impressive member sprang forth at once.

  Madryn's eyes locked onto that glistening shaft. With an effort, she dragged them away, looked Lord Valaren in his laughing black orbs.

  "Answer me, damn you," she said through gritted teeth, determined to control herself before this man.

  "Why, I only introduced him to a few pleasures, Madryn. No harm in that, is there? Surely we all deserve a bit of pleasure in this dreary, mundane life? And the boy enjoyed himself, as you saw. He did not wish to leave, did he? No; you heard him say so yourself."

  Lord Valaren's deep, slow voice purred like some great jungle predator as he stretched and twisted in the rumpled purple sheets, offering bulging muscles and sleek flat belly for Madryn's observation…and admiration.

  Madryn could feel the pulse beating in her throat, her breath growing ragged and thick with desire. But the image of the beaten and bruised corporal stood before her, his blackened eyes leaking tears even as he expressed his desire for more abuse.

  Did she wish to become like that poor boy? Did she wish to lose herself in her desires, give up all control to this man before her, as others had already done?

  As she had done on more than one occasion.

  "Get dressed," Madryn ordered, her voice cracking with the strain of control.

  Lord Valaren laughed. "Dressed?" he asked. "What fun will that be? Better yet, get undressed, Madryn. I will show you pleasure that you have only dreamed of until now."

  Madryn shook her head. She was surprised to find that her hand was again tight on the hilt of her sword. She was even more surprised to feel it leaping from its sheath, the gleaming silvery length clean and true in this dark room that reeked of the odors of fear and lust…and roses…

  Lord Valaren, his mouth spread once more in that feral grin, swung his legs off the bed and stood up in one fluid movement, like a dancer; he was careful to avoid the puddle of rich oil, now tinged ruddy with blood.

  "And just what do you think you're going to do with your sword, my dear?" he asked, his grin broadening to a leer. "Use it against me? I really don't think you can."

  He sauntered forward, each line and angle of his body infinitely desirable, amazingly provocative. Madryn watched the intricate interplay of muscle and bone, tendon and skin, as he moved toward her with his cat-like grace.

  Valaren stopped just close enough to touch her. But his arms hung loose at his sides, his broad chest gleaming, the tiny hairs that curled across it golden in the flickering candlelight.

  "Well, Madryn? Here I am, well within reach of that fierce blade. What are you planning to do with that long, hard thing in your hand?" he taunted.

  Madryn swallowed; her mouth was as dry as desert sands. "What did you do to the boy, Valaren? What did you do to him, and to all the others like him? What did you do to me, to make me want you so?"

  Lord Valaren moved faintly closer…so close that Madryn could see herself reflected in the inky depths of his eyes. The scent of the oil that covered his sleek, shining body rose up in hot waves, almost visible in the air about him.

  "Why, I do nothing, nothing more that you—and they—wish me to do, Madryn," he murmured, one long finger stroking her cheek, tracing the outlines of her lips.

  Madryn felt his touch run like wildfire down into the center of her being.

  "No," she said, her breathing rag
ged; she tightened her hand on her sword, holding it as if it were her lifeline. "No. I do not want—to want you as I do. No, and neither do the others. You use some sort of power, some sort of spell on us all."

  Valaren shrugged, and the candlelight caressed the muscles in his arms and shoulders. "Well, yes. I must admit that I do," he said with a silky laugh. "But my poor powers only work on those seeking the kinds of pleasure…that no one but I can offer. Most of the others—you have heard of them, I see, but I think you did not want to believe that they existed—they come to me for just that reason. Some, like that ridiculous young man you just sent away, don't know what they're seeking until they…taste it. You, on the other hand, are an enigma."

  "Am I so?" Madryn fixed her violet-gray eyes on his dark ones, not daring to allow them the opportunity to roam elsewhere over that sleek, hard body so close before her. "In what way?"

  "Why, Madryn, my dear," Valaren grinned. "You're the only one, out of all the hundreds, who has ever had the strength to resist my…lures. Oh, not at first, certainly; but after a while, you did begin to resist me—and succeed. That makes you all the more valuable to me, my darling; all the more desirable. The pleasure it gives me, watching you fight to withstand me, is quite the most thrilling thing imaginable. I almost hate to see you give in…it does hurt you so, does it not? But you did give in, more than once; and you will again. Won't you?" Valaren's voice, hitherto so soft and polished, had deepened and taken on a rougher, coarser texture. "They all give in, in the end, and you're no different, really, for all my hopes. Why not…why not let it be now? Now, while it's all you can do to keep your hands off me. Now, while I'm readier for you than I've ever been before…"

  Madryn's eyes were captured and held by the obsidian orbs in the beautiful, evil face before her. She felt all her strength to resist draining from her, like blood flowing from a deep wound.

  His eyes, she thought, her mind running in desperate, trapped circles. His power. It's in his eyes.

  "No," Valaren whispered as if in answer. "My power is in your weakness."

  He crushed his mouth against hers.