by A. L. Sirois
Oriabel nudged him. “I see that look in your eyes,” she whispered as they slowly approached the throne. “This is a queen, so don’t try to charm her. She will have seen males far more charismatic than you, I assure you.”
Uvaxshtra and Baubaruva halted a short distance from the throne and prostrated themselves. After a moment Guilhem and Oriabel did the same.
“Rise,” said Kemalíezad in a bored voice. “Who have you brought before me, Uvaxshtra?”
“Your Grace, I present Duke Guilhem and the Lady Oriabel, travelers from the human lands beyond the mountains,” said Baubaruva. “In seeking to escape the gypsy vampires, they were forced to shrink themselves.” He told the story of their vicissitudes, leaving out his brother’s subsequent attack on Guilhem. As she listened, the queen reached into a deep bowl carved from agate that sat on a tripod beside her throne, and took a live fish out of it. She bit into the animal, chewing slowly as she listened. Baubaruva finished, saying, “They seek to earn sufficient money to resupply themselves before continuing on their way.”
He knows he’ll make trouble for both he and Uvaxshtra if he tells her that Oriabel possesses mystic abilities, Guilhem thought, holding back a smile. The queen would probably have their heads at the very least if she knew they were party to magical doings.
Queen Kemalíezad gazed at them for a few moments. “So the strigoi infected you with their lust for blood,” she said thoughtfully. “How do I know you will not succumb to that foul appetite here among my people?”
Guilhem flashed her a smile. “Your Grace,” he said, “we have nothing but admiration for the Persons. If you would test us, put us under guard and watch over us for a few days. Any hint of unclean behavior on our part would surface before very long, would it not? But I assure you that our diet is perfectly normal. The desire for blood has been left behind with our insect bodies.”
Kemalíezad regarded them with her clear blue eyes. Guilhem easily read the doubt in them. At length, however, she tossed back her hair and said, “I accept your challenge, sir duke. We will watch and evaluate. See to it that they are placed in comfortable rooms for the next week. As this man says, a thirst for blood, if still present in their bodies, will make itself obvious long before then. That is all.”
Uvaxshtra and Baubaruva bowed, with Guilhem and Oriabel following suit. All four backed out of the throne room, bowing as they went. Palace guards conducted them out across the plaza to a building that appeared to be a dwelling. There Guilhem and Oriabel were given several rooms to themselves. There were chambers for sleeping on the ground level, but the entire floor was flooded with several inches of water so Oriabel and Guilhem opted for drier quarters upstairs.
Among the furnishings were closets containing outfits of clothing in the nixie style, tunics and loincloths.
“You will be comfortable here,” Uvaxshtra said. Guilhem, looking around, agreed. “I have been housed in worse places,” he said.
“It will not be for long,” said Baubaruva. “Are you hungry?”
“And thirsty,” Oriabel said.
“We will have food and drink brought to you.”
Sure enough, a meal arrived in short order. It consisted of a stew or soup in a bowl, and some thick slices of an unknown vegetable.
Guilhem took a spoonful of the thin, odd-smelling stew from the bowl. Chunks of white meat floated in it.
“Fish,” he said, chewing carefully. “I do believe.”
“Surely that can be no surprise,” Oriabel said. “And these—” She selected a vegetable slice and bit into it. “—are cut-up mushrooms, I think. And other underwater plants. Delicious!”
Guilhem grimaced. He didn’t care for mushrooms. He nibbled on one, found no reason to change his mind, and set it down.
Their days of appraisal passed slowly. For the most part they were sequestered in their rooms with little to do. There were scrolls in a cabinet, but neither he nor Oriabel could read the nixies’ crabbed script. For exercise, they were allowed out twice each day into the small, enclosed yard surrounding the dwelling where they could walk or spar with their swords, which the nixies had allowed them to retain. Their guards watched these contests, shouting encouragement. They swiftly became accustomed to conducting their exercises barefoot, in several inches of water, eschewing their boots so as not to soak the leather.
Guilhem invariably (and humiliatingly) found himself the loser against the wily and fast-moving Oriabel. “I admit that you are a master, or should I say mistress, of the blade,” he said one day at the end of their workout. “I have sent my life honing my skills, yet you have the better of me in nearly every one of our contests. How came a woman to such a disconcerting level of swordsmanship?”
She slid her blade into its scabbard. “Would you know? Truly? Very well, come inside; we will refresh ourselves with some mushroom wine while I tell you the tale.”
* * *
Once inside and comfortably ensconced in chairs, with cups of wine in their hands, Oriabel began. “I have told no one this tale, Duke. You may make of that what you will.
“I am thirty-one years of age. My father, Paul, was a mercenary soldier. Wounded in warfare, he returned to his village where he fell in love with Ysabel, a Romany healer living nearby. She helped him regain his health and mobility. They were soon wed, and before long my older brother, Bertram, was born to them.
“Now, Ysabel was largely shunned by the rest of the villagers save when they needed her healing knowledge, which was vast, or her midwifery abilities, which were likewise of a high order.
“My father, no longer able to participate in the soldier’s life, was nevertheless skilled with his hands and took to the potter’s wheel and kiln to provide for his family. They were not wealthy, but neither did they go hungry, for he was a diligent worker. Soon Ysabel became pregnant with me.
“All went well for several years, but one day when I was small, perhaps six or seven years of age, robbers killed my mother and my brother.” At this Guilhem frowned, and murmured his condolences. “Thank you,” said Oriabel. “As it happened, Father and I were away at the time hawking his dishes and plates at a fair. When we came home to discover the bodies, Father swore that no such fate would ever befall me, his beloved daughter, the last remaining member of his family. He set about training me in the use of weapons. I grew increasingly proficient under his merciless tutelage, until I could best him seven times out of ten.
“But when I was thirteen, Father was waylaid by robbers near the hut where we lived. I heard the clash of arms and rushed to his defense but though I drove the brigands off and killed two, I could not save him. Heartbroken, I foreswore violence and was taken in by the Benedictine nuns of a nearby convent, who had known and respected my mother, and for whom my father had provided many jars and vessels used in the apothecary and infirmary.
“Having been taught my letters by my parents, and because I was better than any of the nuns at sharpening the goose quills they used in their work, I spent much of my time in the cloisters with the nuns copying and illuminating manuscripts. There I perfected my reading ability and learned how to draw. The lead scribe was Sister Adele, a warm-hearted woman. Because my mother Ysabel had been a healer, I also worked in the apothecary assisting Sister Claire, the infirmarian, from whom I learned much about herbs and healing.
“The nuns knew nothing of my skill with a sword until I was sixteen, when, using only a wooden staff, I bested three thieves seeking to rob the convent. I realized then that I had been denying the warrior part of my self. I left the nuns and took up a peripatetic lifestyle, wandering through France, earning money here and there from my healing skills and as a fortune-teller. I had, you see, learned how to use the cards from my mother, and seemed to have a knack for it. She had also taught me a few very simple bits of magic, such as how to enchant animals and how to speak to fairies.”
Here the witch paused to eat a few mushrooms from a bowl. Resuming her tale, she said, “One day during my travels, I came u
pon an isolated cottage wherein, unknown to me, lived a wizard. Though unrivaled in his knowledge of magic he was not good with practical matters. As I approached his home, intending to beg for food, I heard him cursing within. His approbation all seemed aimed at the quill he employed to write his spells and observations in his grimoire; I subsequently learned that he called it his Book of Shadows. Be that as it may, his quill had gone blunt and try as he might he could not sharpen it properly. ‘If someone would only prepare this quill for me, I should be most grateful!’ I heard him say. Taking heart at this, because I knew how to sharpen a quill most satisfactorily, I rapped on his door. It was flung open by a red-faced little old man with long white hair. ‘What is it, girl?’ he demanded of me. ‘I have no time to mix up a love potion for you, so unless you or a loved one is deathly ill, be off with you!’
“‘Let me sharpen your quill for you, wise one,’ I said, ‘in return for which I ask only a mouthful of food and a drink from your well.’
“The wizard, for such I perceived him to be, glared at me and said, ‘I spend my time uselessly, I toil for nothing, because I do not know how to prepare my pen. If you can do that, I will take you into my employ. You could use regular meals, judging by the look of you,’ he added. I cut the quill perfectly. He was much pleased and immediately took me into his service, where I remained for the better part of ten years.”
Guilhem nodded slowly. “Much comes clear,” he said. “I had thought that your deft way with magic was more practiced than that of a simple carnival conjurer or dealer in love charms and the like.”
“Yes; but it is not something I boast of,” she said. “But to pick up my story... I woke one day to find him vanished. A heap of clothing remained to show where he had been. A note on his work table, addressed to me, read, ‘After you came to sharpen my quill, I wrote so well, so quickly, so readily, and so correctly, that my work has been much eased. I have been pleased to find that you were also a canny student of The Craft. Now I am called to business in other places, and I perforce must leave behind what I have accumulated. I bequeath all to you, my faithful apprentice. Do well with it. Good fortune!’
“Having thus inherited all the magician’s belongings, including his Book of Shadows, into which he had copied many spells and observations of things magical, I left that place. I soon felt drawn to the Aquitaine, and came to live in the woods near your castle, where I worked as a healer until the day you came to see me about the ifrit. And now, my duke, you know all.”
Guilhem sat quietly for a few moments. When he looked at her now, he could not but see her in the light of the story she had told. He found his ongoing anger with her dissipating.
“You have explained much,” he said, “though I don’t understand what you mean when you say you were drawn here.”
Her gaze slipped away from his. “There are... things that remain unclear to me even now,” she said.
“Umm.” She obviously wasn’t about to speak further on that subject. “One last question: why do you not bother to present yourself in a more acceptable fashion?”
She frowned, and he saw her defensive barrier slide into place. “Are you speaking of my manner, or my appearance?”
“Both.” He cleared his throat. “Surely your... aspect, your air, your mien; yes, your blasted overall bearing, all of that... cannot help you in your day-to-day dealings with those who come to you seeking your expertise as a witch.”
She laughed. “But that is the very reason I choose to look as I do! Let me ask you: what do most people picture they think of a witch?”
“Uh—well, they imagine a crone with stringy hair, living in virtual squalor, with a cat or toad or some other sort of familiar.” He did not want to admit it was what he imagined.
“Precisely. And when they come to me they discover me to be such, and their expectations are confirmed. If I appeared as a pleasant-faced woman of mild manners, they would be disappointed. You would not be seen wearing the leather jerkin of a peasant, for example, or the plain tunic of a squire, would you?
“Certainly not; that is not my station.”
“And so it is with me. I look like a witch, and therefore as far as most people were concerned, I am one.”
He nodded slowly. “I suppose there is some truth in what you say. After all, if I appeared as a bumpkin in my dealings with noblemen, I would not have their respect.”
“That is my point.”
Perhaps the witch was on to something. “And so you have been satisfied to live a quotidian life all these years among my people without craving more adventure?”
“Oh, I have had my little exploits now and again,” she replied with a small smile. “But overall I have been content to serve my function as the ‘wise woman’ while I furthered my studies.” She shrugged. “I suppose I must admit that at times, my existence has been overly quiet. But not, however, since you came to me begging assistance.”
He sighed. There was no point in reminding her yet again that it was she who had insisted on accompanying him on his quest to find the Bohemian magician. But, knowing more of her history, he now more than half suspected that she hoped to return to Poictiers with increased arcane knowledge gleaned from contact with Mojmir. “At the time I had no idea that our path would lead us here.”
“There’s no need for regrets, my duke. It has been most interesting.”
Later that day, emissaries from Queen Kemalíezad came to fetch them to the palace.
It was high time, Guilhem thought as he and Oriabel splashed along with the nixies as they ushered them through the crowded underground square. He had been chafing for want of the open air, the sun, wind, and stars. He experienced a sharp pang of longing for the lovely Phillipa, whom he had not seen in many days. How many more will pass before I set eyes on her again? And he thought of his children, wishing for the sound of their voices raised in play.
Uvaxshtra and Baubaruva met them outside the throne room, but said nothing and would not respond to questions from either Oriabel or Guilhem concerning the queen’s decrees regarding them. Guilhem, feeling a foreboding that he could not shrug off, followed them as the nixies walked the wet carpet toward the regent’s throne.
Queen Kemalíezad regarded them without expression as they approached her and made obeisance.
“Hear my behest,” she said in a lofty manner. “You, Guilhem, Duke of the Aquitaine, shall act as a conscript in our war with Cáervine. Oriabel, you will be set to work excavating amid the ruins of H’lupheka.”
Guilhem opened his mouth, then closed it, remembering that he was not to speak unless bid to do so.
But the queen had seen his expression, and said: “You have something to say?”
He swallowed his ire at her peremptory tone. To admit publicly that Oriabel was his superior when it came to swordsmanship might well open himself to ridicule and disrespect. There was also the possibility that with her knowledge of thaumaturgy, Oriabel could prove able to locate more buried artifacts, and faster, than he. Accordingly, instead of protesting the queen’s pronouncement he said, in as mild and self-effacing manner as he could, “I consider it a great honor to be chosen to fight for the Persons, Your Grace. I will bend all my abilities to honoring Your Majesty and furthering the interests of her glorious realm.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IN WHICH THERE IS TREASURE HUNTING & FIGHTING
Uvaxshtra helped Oriabel and Guilhem prepare for their assigned roles. They would be able to retain their dwelling near the castle, he explained, though only Oriabel was to reside there; Guilhem would bunk in a dormitory with the rest of the queen’s fighters.
“It isn’t going to be easy for us to meet and exchange information,” Guilhem said as he prepared to take his leave in Uvaxshtra’s company. “I can’t say how long it will be before I will be able to confer with you.”
“I understand,” she said. “Rest assured that I will be doing my utmost to accumulate enough money to buy what supplies we need so that we can leave Fagertä
rn as quickly as possible and continue our journey.”
They bowed to each other. Guilhem glanced back at the doorway as he and Uvaxshtra departed. He experienced a strange qualm of regret at the parting.
“Fear not,” Uvaxshtra said. “You will only need to be a part of the fighting forces for the current campaign. Your efforts will gain you sufficient payment to see you on your way within a month, at most.”
Yes, thought Guilhem, if I am not killed in the process.
The requirements he needed to meet in order join the queen’s army were simple enough, meant to judge his ability as a fighting man. He was put into a small amphitheater where he was tested against nixie warriors of varying strength and dexterity, and did well against them all. Given his background as a soldier he was put into a company of about 150 soldiers, part of a larger force making ready to march on a sizeable group of Cáervinens who, scouts reported, were bivouacked in a nearby tunnel, apparently preparing to launch an attack on an outlying community not far from Fagertärn.
Guilhem’s superior officer, whose name was Ariyāramna, was a grizzled warrior of a type familiar to Guilhem; someone who’d made a life out of being a mercenary for the sheer love of fighting, or because he had no other option. Without family or friends outside of his men, Ariyāramna had been a member of the queen’s guards for many years. Guilhem was careful to accord him the respect he deserved, and was gratified when Ariyāramna returned the favor.
They spent considerable time before the clash discussing tactics and strategy. Guilhem soon found that serving in the nixie army was no different than being a soldier in France, save that the battles were largely fought in damp, darkened tunnels and at close quarters. The nixies had no cavalry; though, as Guilhem and Oriabel had seen with Uvaxshtra, they used water rats as mounts for delivering messages and as draft animals. The Persons also had numerous trained insects to act as sentries, mostly cockroaches and water bugs (both of which, Guilhem was not happy to learn, the nixies used as food), and utilized hunks of phosphorescent fungus to aid them as they traversed their dank, unlit tunnels.
