“My apologies, I felt a sudden need for fresh air and borrowed a horse from Lord Thornbear,” I replied innocently.
Devon chose then to make his presence felt, “Off to visit the blacksmith, Master Eldridge?”
That took me off-guard, “In fact, I did ride that way. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he replied with an audible sneer. “How was your father? Well, I trust?”
Stunned, I had no reply. Artful words would not suffice; it was lie or admit my deception. Marc didn’t suffer from my hesitation, “Where’s this coming from Devon, or are you just practicing at being a rude jackass as usual?”
Devon ignored the insult, “I was simply curious. I heard that our Master Eldridge here was actually the blacksmith’s son, I thought I’d see if it were true or not.”
Marc’s cheeks were flushed red, “I don’t appreciate your treatment of my guests, Tremont.” He put emphasis on the name, to remind Devon of the political implications of insulting him, I would guess.
Elizabeth Balistair tried to break the tension, “Devon you shouldn’t pay heed to servant’s gossip. It demeans you. Where did you hear such a thing?”
“From one of the serving girls, Penelope, I believe she said her name was.” He stared directly at me as he said this.
“Why would she tell you this?” Stephen asked.
“In my experience, a woman on her back will tell you anything you want to know,” Devon said with a leer. The man had no shame.
I was overcome with rage. The world turned red, and all I could see was Devon Tremont bloodied and torn beneath me. I raised my fists and advanced on him, ready to make my vision a reality. I heard a whisper of steel and felt a razor edge at my throat, stopping me cold in my tracks.
“I see you wear a sword, blacksmith. Why don’t you try that instead?” Devon’s eyes glittered triumphantly. The man had trained with the sword since childhood, whereas I had never held a blade in my life. There could be only one outcome.
“Planning to add murder to your list of sins, Devon? You know he cannot beat you with the sword,” Marc spoke now, his voice calm and sure. “Only a coward provokes a fight he cannot lose. Why don’t you try something more interesting?”
Devon’s sword never moved but his confidence wavered, “What do you suggest?”
Marc smiled, “Since you have challenged him, let Mordecai choose the contest.”
Devon considered for a moment, then answered, “What would you choose, boy?” He glared at me. I had the distinct impression that if I chose a sport he could not win, he would find an excuse to use the sword anyway.
“Chess,” I said. I could feel cold sweat dripping down my back, but my face was defiant.
“You think you can beat me at a gentleman’s game?”
“I think you are no gentleman,” I answered, but my more sensible side was screaming at me to shut up. Normally you don’t provoke a man holding a sharp instrument to your throat.
“Very well.” He sheathed his sword in a graceful motion. “But if there is no blood, honor cannot be satisfied. Why don’t we put a wager on the game?”
“What do you want to wager?” I asked.
“A hundred gold marks,” he replied with a grin, “and if you cannot pay the debt, I will take you as my bond servant.”
I was in deep now. That was more money than I would see if I worked ten lifetimes. Even a nobleman would fear to lose such a sum.
“No,” came a deep voice, “If he loses, I will pay his wager.” James, the Duke of Lancaster stood unnoticed behind us. “And if he wins, you will pay. I will make sure of that.”
Devon found his manners and gave a shallow bow, “It shall be as you say, Your Grace.” He did not dare insult his host.
After that we repaired to the sun room parlor, there were tables a plenty there. The Duke walked beside me as we went. “I trust you will teach that dog a lesson, Mordecai,” he said, in a tone meant just for us. I looked at him, and for the first time I considered how much he had done for me. As a boy, I had never questioned the fact that Marc’s family wanted me to spend time with their son. Now, knowing what I did about my origins, it made more sense. I resolved to make sure I won.
What Devon could not have known, was that I was perhaps the best chess player in Lancaster. Marc had planned on it when he suggested I choose the game. The biggest unknown was Devon’s own skills, which I suspected might not be insignificant. “I will do my best, Your Grace,” I answered him. “I would also ask that you grant me a private audience afterward.”
“No need to be so formal Mordecai, you are much like a son to me yourself, no matter your birth,” he answered courteously.
“It is about my birth that I would speak to you,” I said, and he looked at me with raised brows. Then he nodded.
“I expected this day would come,” he replied, “but let’s see to the matter at hand first.” Marc had gotten closer and looked at me questioningly. I shook my head in a way that told him this wasn’t the time.
Minutes later I was seated at a small table across from Devon Tremont. “Why don’t you set up the pieces, blacksmith?” he sneered, as if to suggest I might not know their proper placement. Without comment I obliged him.
“It appears you are a piece short, or don’t you know where the last piece goes?” he said when I had finished.
“I thought we might make this more interesting,” I replied. Honestly, I’m not sure what had come over me. His condescending attitude had gotten under my skin. “I’ll offer a handicap of one of my rooks.”
“You insult me. Taking such a handicap puts you at a disadvantage. I would rather beat you with an even board, that none can claim your foolishness gave me the win.” He was no longer sneering; his mind working to decide if I was being clever or a fool.
“Let’s sweeten the wager then, since my handicap might cheapen your victory.” A cold rage was on me now, and I wanted to see this petty lord-ling sweat. “Say two hundred marks? And I will be your bond-servant, even if the duke pays my debt.”
Devon almost flinched at the number, “You seek to bet with money not your own. Perhaps the good Duke has his own thoughts on your reckless disregard with his purse.” He glanced at James, “Your Grace?” he waited for a reply.
“My money is as safe as if it were in the king’s own storeroom. I have no objection,” his words were calculated to make Devon unsure. He gave no sign of worry.
“Very well then, I accept your offer,” Devon replied calmly, but I could see the purple aura around him wavering with uncertainty. Over the past few days my ability to sense things had become more acute. He opened with his queen pawn.
The next few minutes were quiet as we played, and I became aware that my opponent was quite skilled. The knowledge threatened to undo my concentration, but the anger within pushed my doubts aside. He offered a pawn sacrifice, a subtle gambit, but one that would cost him little given I was already down a major piece. If I took it, I would find myself pressed hard on the side of the board where I was already weak.
I refused to take it and spent the next few moves improving my control of the center board. Then I offered a gambit of my own, placing a pawn in a seemingly indefensible position. He took time studying the position, and while I waited, I noticed the room had filled with people. Every notable staying with the Lancasters was there, along with the Thornbears and Her Grace, the Duke’s wife.
Eventually Devon decided to ignore my gambit, and I smiled at him. His uncertainty had led him to believe it was a trap. A pawn sacrifice usually is, but I had counted on his fear; my gambit had been a bluff. If he had taken it, I would have been even further behind and at risk of losing completely. As it was, my pawn unbalanced his position and allowed me to take his defense apart.
He hadn’t seen it coming, but several moves later it became clear his position was fast becoming untenable. Sweat stood out on his brow, and he glared at the board, seeking some way to salvage the situation. I had pinned his king’s knight, a
nd he was left with a choice of which piece to sacrifice. He responded by moving his bishop to put me in check, but the move exposed him further and I calmly countered, bringing up a pawn to defend my king. He was forced into an exchange of pieces that ended with my taking the knight. I was still behind in material on the board, but his position was scattered and indefensible.
A quarter of an hour later it was over. I slid my remaining rook into position, and it was check and mate. I smiled at him graciously. I would have sworn he was ready to spit nails, but he held his tongue. “I must concede,” he said.
“Then it is time to settle accounts,” Duke James spoke now.
Devon stood, “I’ll write a letter of credit on my accounts in Albamarl.”
“You’ll pay him in hard coin. You made no mention of papers and clerks when making your wager!” James was angry, but it was calculated. He had already known it to be highly improbable even Lord Devon would carry so much gold while traveling.
“I don’t have that much with me! What man carries a strongbox while traveling?” Devon Tremont was flustered now.
“Then you’ll pay what you have and write the letter of credit to me. Your banks and clerks would just as easily cheat another man, but they will pay when I call your account due!” Then he turned to me, “You’ll get your reward Mordecai, I will not see a man insulted and then cheated to boot.”
Devon was red faced now, “You dare imply my writ is no good?!”
James Lancaster stared him down, and I was reminded of two mastiff’s squaring off for a fight, “I have no love for bankers. If you come to Lancaster again and seek a quarrel, bring your strongbox with you, you will have need of it.” And then he laughed. It was a deep laugh, the sort that starts in the belly and makes its way all the way up. I’m not sure how he managed it, given how hot the emotions were running, but it worked.
Soon enough everyone in the room was laughing with him. Devon didn’t laugh though, not at first. He had been thoroughly humbled. Yet he was smart enough to see a way out when it was offered. He joined in at last, and a bitter laugh it was; it was not enough to cover his bruised pride. Devon left quickly after that, and I wondered who would suffer for his anger this time.
I found myself beset with people who wanted to clap me upon the back, and within a half an hour I felt I was near to being thumped to death. Devon wasn’t popular it seemed. Marc’s father finally rescued me, “Let the boy be! He’s had enough for one day.” He cleared a path for us through the crowd and got me into the hallway. “I’ll see you in my chambers in an hour, Mordecai. Try not to be late this time,” he joked.
I winced at the reminder of my previous blunder, “Yes, Your Grace.” He strode off down the hall, and I decided I’d best go to my room and get my head on straight. Since leaving that morning, I had had nothing but one surprise after another. I could still hear them laughing and carrying on in the room as I walked away. “Did you see Devon’s face?! Two hundred gold marks!”
I ran across Timothy on my way back. “Evenin’ sir,” he said to me, with his usual energy. “I heard you gave that Lord Devon a fine trouncing!” Word spread quickly, doubtless a crowd of the servants had been hovering outside the parlor while we played.
“Not as much as he deserves,” I replied, “but let’s keep that between us.” I gave him a conspiratorial grin.
“Don’t worry sir, Tim here would never sell out his friends!” he gestured to himself with his thumb.
“I would be honored to be counted among your friends, Master Timothy,” I said with mock exaggeration. That pleased him I think, even though he knew I was teasing him. For such a young lad, he was remarkably sharp. “Would you do me a favor, Timothy?”
“Sure sir!” he answered.
“Keep an eye out, and if you, or someone you know, see Devon Tremont doing anything odd or suspicious, come find me. Can you do that?” I might have only a few friends among the nobility, but perhaps I could turn the staff to my advantage.
“Glad to, sir. It’s nice to see one o’ them get their comeuppance at last. Meanin’ no disrespect to our own good Duke, o’ course!” he said.
“If you run into Penny, let her know I need to see her. I’ve had a devil of a time finding her the past two days,” I added. He assured me he would, and then we had reached my door. I said goodbye and stepped inside. The cool dark room was a welcome relief. I must be getting accustomed to the comforts of privacy and a feather bed.
That thought made me pause, the rooms I had been given were easily the size of my parent’s entire house. I felt lucky to have my own tiny room and bed there. What would happen when I spoke with the Duke? Would I be living like this from now on? What of my parents? Even aside from any possible largesse I might receive as part of my heritage, I was already rich. Two hundred gold marks would be enough to buy my parents anything they could conceive of.
What would that sort of money do to me—or them? I didn’t want to wind up like Devon Tremont, arrogant and uncaring. The Lancaster family was kind though, so perhaps nobility would not inevitably turn me into a pompous ass. I became aware that I was pacing the room, making a circle around the sitting chair and the divan.
…in the dark. I stopped and stood still. The room was pitch black. I could hardly see my own hand if I held it an inch from my nose. Yet I had been navigating easily around the furniture a moment before. I realized I could feel where everything in the room was, a sensation similar to seeing, but more visceral, like touching everything around me with feather soft fingers. Curious, I closed myself to my power, as I had recently learned to do before sleeping. The sensation ceased and I found myself trapped in the cloying dark. It felt as if the world was closing around me, and for a moment I was claustrophobic.
I hastily opened my mind, and I could see again—just not with my eyes. It was such a subtle thing I had not noticed it when I could see normally. I lit a lamp and sat on the bed. I had a lot to learn, and without a proper teacher, I had no idea what to expect. I wished Penny were there to talk to, but then again, the last time I had seen her she had been frightened senseless by my newborn power.
It was time to see the Duke, so I pulled out my mother’s surcoat, emblazoned with the Cameron arms. It was a loose garment, open at the sides so I was able to put it on, even though it was clear that I was a bit larger than Elena had been. She had been a tall woman, so it was only an inch or two shorter on me than it should have been. I belted it around the waist and went out to find James Lancaster.
I found him in his rooms, with Genevieve beside him. They had the look of two people who had been sharing secrets. James gestured for me to close the door behind me. After I had done so, I stood facing them.
“I am here at my mother’s request.” I said.
Genevieve burst into tears. It was so sudden and unexpected I had no idea how to react. She leapt from her seat to throw her arms around me. In the sixteen years I had been alive and the eleven or so I could actually remember, I had never seen Marc’s mother lose her composure. Laugh yes, angry occasionally, sorrowful perhaps... but I had never known her to weep like this. Worse she was clinging to me in a manner that should have been reserved for her own children or her husband.
Nervously I put my arms around her and patted her lightly on the back, looking to her husband to guide me. He merely nodded, as if to tell me it was alright. After a moment, Genevieve released me and returned to her seat. She was still sniffing and her face was a mess, red and puffy.
“I was certain when I saw you walk in here wearing that,” James said. “I have not seen her in over sixteen years, but you look much like your mother, although your coloring is your father’s.”
“You knew them?” I asked.
“I did. I met your father several times in Albamarl while he served the King. I knew your mother even better as she grew up in Castle Cameron not twenty miles from here. I met Ginny there,” he looked affectionately at Genevieve.
That confused me and I guess my face said as much.
Genevieve answered my unspoken question, “I was there to visit my sister, Sarah, your grandmother.” Her eyes were still wet. I took a moment to work out what that meant. If she was my grandmother’s sister, that made Genevieve my mother’s aunt, and my grandaunt. She was family!
“But that means...”
“Your mother was my niece, and you are my great-nephew.” I guess her hugging me wasn’t such a breach of protocol after all. Then another thought struck me.
“So Marc is my...” I have never been very clear on the rules for calculating the various degrees of cousin-hood. Fortunately, I was in a room full of amateur genealogists; the nobility learn this stuff from the time they’re old enough to talk.
“Your first cousin, once removed,” she finished for me. It would take me some time to sort out the connections in my own mind. At first I wondered if this meant I was a relation of the Lancaster family, but that was not the case. I was related to Marcus through his mother, who had been a Drake before she married James.
“How well did you know my mother?” I asked, once we had gotten back on topic.
Genevieve answered, “Very well, she was my only niece. When she announced her intention to return to her family’s home for a visit, I wanted to go as well, but James and I were required to be in Albamarl that week. I would have liked to have seen you... with her,” she almost broke down again, but taking a deep breath, she regained her composure. “She was very young and full of life. When she decided to devote herself to the line of Illeniel and take the vow, I thought her father might go mad; so angry he was.”
“He didn’t want her to marry a wizard?” I had no idea what sort of issues being a wizard entailed in the circles of high society.
“No dear, that was later. I meant when she decided to become Anath’Meridum,” she replied. “Your mother was mad for fairy tales and adventure, that and her athletic nature led her to seek your father out.”
Now I was more confused, “What does Anath’Meridum mean?”
Genevieve explained as best she could, with occasional help from James. Neither of them understood it, but apparently certain wizards were bonded to a guardian, a warrior that would watch them, stay with them, and eventually die with them. At least that is what the legends implied, but I got the impression that James didn’t really believe their lives were linked in the physical sense.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 17
