by Doug Niles
Laka started forward, her totem held high, the green light sweeping back and forth across the faces of the ghostly warriors. Their intangible spears still waved in the air, and their grotesque mouths gaped and flexed hungrily. But as the half-giant and the wizard followed the old hobgoblin, the crowded ranks of spirits parted to let them pass.
The shaman went first. Ankhar strode after Laka with Hoarst trailing behind. The gaping faces glared, the eerie sockets and mouths twitched and quivered, but the half-giant was determined to maintain his fiercest expression and his steady pace.
If any of the spirit beings so much as started to ease into their path, the ancient hobgoblin spat a curse and shook her beads to warn them out of the way. Laka glared to the right and left, brandishing her totem as if it were a mighty weapon.
It seemed to take forever, though Ankhar would later reflect that they passed through the silent ranks of ghost shapes in a matter of moments. Their destination was a gap that gradually materialized in the far wall of the underground canyon, a passage that wound out of sight, descending ever deeper into the sunless world beneath Krynn.
Behind them, the silent army stood waiting, watching … hungering for warmth and blood.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TWO CHALLENGES
Coryn hired a company of drummers, all dressed in red satin tunics with shiny leather boots. The leader of each section—bass, kettle, and snare—wore a hat with lofty plumes. They gathered before her manor with great fanfare and made a splendid procession as they led the lord marshal and the wizard, both mounted on white horses, through the heart of the city and up toward the gates of the lord regent’s palace.
The procession attracted a great deal of attention. Goodwives hoisted their babes onto their shoulders so they could see the famous man and the beautiful wizard ride past. Soldiers and merchants cheered, and even the sergeants of the Palanthian Legion saluted smartly as the procession passed through the city gates. On they went, climbing the winding road toward the lord regent’s palace, advancing directly through the open gates and leaving the swelling crowd behind.
Once they entered the courtyard of the imposing structure, the drummers and the Lady Coryn continued toward the front door of the keep. The white gelding pranced proudly beside her, and the aura of magic on the big horse’s saddle made it seem as though Jaymes Markham rode there as well. Certainly the servants, attendants, and courtiers all believed they saw him astride the white gelding until the horse came to a halt and closer inspection revealed the saddle to be empty.
By that time, the lord marshal was already slipping through the stable, entering the keep through the kitchen door. The drummers, the horses, and the wizard made, for form’s sake, one last promenade around the huge courtyard.
“My Lord Marshal,” said Selinda du Chagne as she greeted her visitor in the anteroom to her private apartments. “This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“It is been a long time since we talked,” Jaymes replied, settling himself into one of the comfortable chairs as she pulled a rope to summon a servant. “I very much wanted to see you again.”
“Why?” she asked bluntly. “I tricked you into being captured, tried to arrange for you to come back here for trial—and execution. I should think you’d want to stay as far away as possible from the likes of me!” She laughed nervously, pacing about the room, avoiding the chairs to either side of Jaymes. He couldn’t help but notice her stunning beauty. She twirled a lock of her golden hair in the fingers of her right hand, sidestepping at the window, looking at him with her large eyes narrowed in curiosity.
“I should have thought that little misunderstanding would be forgotten by now,” he said, chuckling. “It is by me; you also helped to save my life in Caergoth, when Duke Crawford would have had me killed.”
“That wretched man!” she exclaimed. “He was a disgrace to the knighthood, to the whole history of Solamnia! The realm is better off without him.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Jaymes said, easing back and resting his foot on a stool.
“You’ve made some progress since that time in Caergoth. Has it been two years? It seems so long ago. Bringing the army north across the Garnet River, driving the barbarians out of Garnet.… You’ve had great success. Tell me, was that city horribly razed?”
“The damage was bad, yes. But much of the population has moved back, and the rebuilding is coming along very well.”
“And you’ve driven the barbarians from all the western plains? This half-giant, Ankhar, he just holds on to the area around Solanthus?”
Jaymes nodded. “And soon he won’t even have that.”
“Yes, you’ve come a long way from the outlaw I discovered hiding in a shadowed cellar on the plains,” she remarked wryly.
“My life has taken a few unexpected turns,” he admitted.
A maid entered and curtsied. “Would you care for something to drink?” asked the princess. Her manner had warmed a little.
“What will you have? Red wine, perhaps?” he asked.
“Yes, actually. That sounds good. Marie, will you bring us a bottle of that Nordmar Rose—some of the vintage from two years ago?”
“Yes, my lady. At once.”
The servant departed, and Selinda turned back to the lord marshal. Her eyes were narrow, appraising. After studying him for a few breaths, she spoke. “I think you are still a very dangerous man.”
“Sometimes the world needs dangerous men,” he replied with a shrug. “Ankhar’s horde isn’t about to be defeated by a group of perfumed gentlemen or pompous nobles.”
She looked at him archly. “Do you think I’m a pompous noble?” she asked accusingly.
“When you found me hiding in that dark cellar, and you came in there to talk to me … that was about as far from pompous as a person can get.” He paused for a moment. “I’m still amazed by what you did. Did you think I was a dangerous man then?”
“I knew it, immediately.”
“But you weren’t afraid?”
“Oh, I suppose I was terrified.”
“Why? What is so frightening, so ‘dangerous’ about me?”
She frowned and was spared from answering by Marie, returning with a decanter of red wine and two crystal glasses. “Shall I pour?” asked the servant, setting her tray on a nearby buffet.
“Allow me?” Jaymes asked, rising smoothly to his feet.
“Be my guest,” Selinda replied. “That will be all, Marie.” The princess took a seat in the chair next to where Jaymes had been sitting.
Jaymes crossed to the buffet as the servant girl departed, closing the door behind her. The marshal spoke over his shoulder to the princess. “So—you were going to tell me why you think I’m dangerous,” he prodded.
The tiny vial was in his hand, screened by his body from Selinda’s view. He lifted the decanter and swirled it gently, allowing the dark liquid to circle within the goblet. He looked as though he were admiring the exquisite cut of the crystal as he smoothly poured the potion into one of the two glasses. Then he carefully added the wine, filling first her glass, then his own about three-quarters of the way to the top.
“I guess.…” Selinda was preoccupied, struggling to reply to his question. “I guess it’s because you don’t wait for things to happen; you make them happen. You take whatever it is that you want, and to the Abyss with the consequences.”
He turned around and walked slowly back to her, extending one of the glasses. She took the wine and he sat beside her. Then he raised his glass. “Perhaps I could offer a toast to a new beginning? One that doesn’t start in the dingy cellar of a burned-out house?”
“I’ll agree to that,” she said lightly. They clinked their glasses gently, and each took a sip of wine. It was indeed a rare vintage, smooth and rich without a hint of bitterness. Jaymes nodded approvingly, watching her as he took another sip.
“But I’d like to get this one thing straight,” Selinda continued. “I find you a dangerous man b
ut an interesting one. I recognize that you are good for the future of Solamnia. If our nation is ever to be united and grow powerful again, we need to have a strong army and a strong commander of that army. But I hope that you’re not here to court me, as my father has warned me because I’m not interested in that.”
“Fair enough,” Jaymes replied, staring at her as she took another sip. “May I ask—are you not interested in being courted by me or in being courted, period?”
“Both, I should say.” Selinda leaned back in her chair, swirled the wine in her glass, and looked at him over its rim. “My indifference to courtship may seem foreign to you. But there are lots of men, the most powerful nobles in all Solamnia, who seem to view me as some kind of prize, like the trophy that might be claimed at a royal joust. Lord Frankish practically drools over me. And I hate that feeling; I absolutely hate it.”
“I think I can understand,” he allowed.
“My father knows how I feel. As soon as I reached my majority, which was just two years ago, I made him agree that I would marry whomever I choose, whenever I choose. I’m under no pressures from him. There will be no political match in this house!”
“And how did the lord regent react to that?” Jaymes inquired, raising his eyebrows. “I should tell you—Bakkard du Chagne seems to me like another man who takes what he wants, rather than just sitting around and waiting for it to be offered.”
She giggled involuntarily then clasped her fingers over her mouth in surprise. “I can’t believe you said that. I’ve never heard anybody speak about my father like that!”
“That’s because he’s a dangerous man too,” the marshal replied bluntly. He was still leaning back in his chair, gently swirling the wine in his glass. After another sip he continued. “Are you frightened of him?”
“No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. She met his stare with a confident look, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Of course not. He’s my father. And I just realized something: I’m not frightened of you either.”
“I’m glad,” replied the man. He set his glass on a table and leaned forward to study her. Most women would have fidgeted, looked away under that intense scrutiny, but not the princess of Palanthas. Instead, she giggled again.
“I wish … I wish I had a big brother like you.”
He blinked, sitting back in surprise. “A … brother?”
“Yes. Oh, not that you’re not a handsome man. Do you know, I think the Lady Coryn is in love with you? And Dara Lorimar certainly thought she was!”
She looked surprised at herself after she uttered the last statement, and her eyes clouded with painful memories.
“Dara Lorimar was but a girl. A lovely girl, to be sure. However, she didn’t live long enough to learn the meaning of love.” His tone was harsh.
“I know that she died too soon! But I told you before, we were friends, had been since we were little girls. And she talked about you when she came to Palanthas that last winter, when you worked for her father, protecting him, his house, his family.”
“Some protector,” snapped Jaymes. He made no effort to keep the bitterness out of his voice. His memories were also painful. “She died trying to keep the assassins away from her father, and I failed them both. I didn’t even realize they were in danger!”
“But when you found out, you honorably avenged them … and gained a whole army in the process,” Selinda said. “And didn’t you love Dara, just a little?”
“I told you, she was a young girl—a mere child!”
“She was a year older than me!”
“Well, that was a long time ago,” he countered flatly. His wine glass sat on the table beside him, forgotten. She had nearly finished hers, he noted with interest. Abruptly he tossed back the contents of his glass, rose, and crossed the room. He came back with the decanter. Selinda mutely emptied her own glass and extended it so he could pour another. This time he set the decanter between them as he once again took his seat.
“What about Lady Coryn?” Selinda asked coyly.
“What about her?” he asked sharply.
She didn’t flinch. “I … I mean … do you love her?”
“She’s a good friend, a powerful ally. She helps me, and I help her. But she wears the white robes—she loves virtues, ideals, truths that I can never wholeheartedly embrace.”
“What do you embrace?” Selinda asked. Her eyes were moist, her tone almost pleading. “Why did you take up the banner of the Lord of the Rose? Why do you lead the Army of Solamnia against the horde, when you could go any place, do anything you want? I confess you are a vexing mystery to me.”
He rose and paced around the room. He flexed his hands unconsciously, his fingers curling into fists until he forced himself to stretch them out again. For a long time he was silent, seemingly unaware that she was watching him, waiting for his answer.
“Solamnia could be the greatest country on Krynn,” he said at last. “But none of the leaders born to their roles—including your father!—have the will or the strength to forge its greatness. Coryn, because she is good, envisions a Solamnia such as once existed, defended by knights who are pure of heart, noble of deed.
“But I know that history has come too far for a realm like that to exist, except in storybooks. The world is a new place, changing more every day. It is filled with dangerous men. The greatest of the old gods are gone, and even magic is giving way to new technologies, knowledge that places power in the hands of industrial strength.…”
“Technologies such as the substance that everyone talks about, your black powder?” she asked. She was staring at him, rapt.
“Yes. With that black powder, when I learn how to channel it properly, and with an army made up of natural leaders and courageous, motivated soldiers, I think that Solamnia can reach heights of greatness she has never before attained.”
“What about Solanthus?” she asked, surprising him. “Those poor people there, starving, surrounded. Do you think you will be able to free them without disaster?”
“I am going to do everything in my power to free Solanthus.” He went back to the chair and sat down, looking at her earnestly.
“I believe you are!” she exclaimed. She leaned toward him, placed her hand on his knee as she stared into his eyes. Powerful emotions shone in her look, feelings that brought a flush to her cheeks. “I do believe you are the only one who can do what you say! I don’t know why it took me so long … but it’s so clear to me, now. You are the man who might succeed where others failed … I could help you. I want to help you. I want.…”
Her voice trailed off. She was breathing hard now as she looked at him, her lips parted. Nervously she moistened those lips with her tongue.
He stood up. She rose as well. Her body moved as if of its own will until she was pressed against him. She reached up to his shoulders, her eyes staring into his. Her eyes glowed with warmth and something else … Hope? She tilted her head back.
Jaymes Markham took the princess of Palanthas in his arms, and he kissed her. She was willing and kissed him back with a fury that took him by surprise. Her hands went around his back and down to his waist as she pulled him close, trying to merge her body with his.
And he made no move to push her away.
An hour later Jaymes was making his way through the vacant hall of the regent’s palatial residence. He headed for the stable, having already sent a servant to saddle his horse. It was late, and the great building was quiet and dark.
He stiffened abruptly as he approached the door. A man, armored in a rose breastplate and wearing a long red cloak, appeared from the shadows to block his path. Jaymes recognized Lord Frankish, the commander of the Palanthian Legion.
The lord marshal stopped. He was unarmed, except for a small dagger, not that he feared attack. Nevertheless he was taken aback when the other man, without warning, raised his hand, and sharply slapped a leather gauntlet across Jaymes’s face.
“You are a scoundrel, sir!” snapped Frankish. “All t
he palace is aware of your outrageous conduct behind closed doors with the princess. I warned you, and her father warned you. You have no business with her!”
“Do you think you have business with her?” Jaymes growled, raising a hand to rub his cheek. “Or is your true business with me?”
“Think what you will—you are a wretched fellow. I demand satisfaction!”
Jaymes snorted. “You’re challenging me to a duel? I urge you to think again. You would be out of your depth.”
“Your impertinence is astounding,” replied the lord.
“Then, sir,” Jaymes said, more irritably than angrily, “I will match you. How long will the arrangements take?”
“I have already notified my second, the wizard Sir Moorvan. He will be ready momentarily. I assume that your own wizard—”
“The Lady Coryn?”
“I know that she is within these walls, as we speak. Perhaps you would care to speak with her?”
“I’ll leave it to you to make all the arrangements, then,” Jaymes said, pushing past the man roughly enough that he knocked him off stride. In two steps the lord marshal was out the door, standing alone in the quiet of the night. Then, with a sound that was a cross between a snort of amusement and snarl of anger, he turned back to the palace.
Once again, he would slip in through the kitchen door.
Baron Dekage apologized for interrupting Coryn in the palace library. “It’s Sir Moorvan, the Kingfisher,” the baron explained. “He begs your pardon for disturbing you but insists he must see you on a matter of urgent and grave importance.”
A few moments later, dressed in her immaculate white robe with her black hair combed loosely back from her face, the wizard greeted the mage knight as he entered and bowed.
The Kingfisher wore the expression of a man burdened with ill tidings. “I was thinking that, perhaps, you had not heard the news,” he suggested to the white wizard.
“And what news would that be?” Coryn retorted, rather disagreeably. She knew Moorvan, and in fact they had worked together when the Solamnics had reclaimed Palanthas from the Dark Knights. She knew that he was a schemer and that his primary interests lay not with magic and justice, but with the ambitions of Lord Regent du Chagne.
