“Can’t help you this time, Red,” one of them had said. “You just robbed Vanis, and he’s an important man.”
The magistrate had sentenced her to twelve years. She served three in a rat-infested dungeon before being summoned one day to the office of the jail captain, a young officer named Aric. He was slim and cold-eyed, even handsome in a vaguely dissolute manner.
“I saw you walking by the far wall this morning,” he told the seventeen-year-old girl. “You do not appear to be a peasant.”
Sly Red had been using her hour of daylight to practice the movements she had observed among the great ladies of the capital. She said nothing to the captain. “Come closer, let me look at you,” he said. She stepped forward. He moved in, then recoiled. “You have lice,” he said.
“Aye,” she said huskily, “and fleas. I think the bath in my apartment is out of order. Perhaps you could assign a servant to repair it.”
He grinned at her. “Of course, my lady. You should have brought it to my attention sooner.”
“I would have,” she said, adopting a languid pose, “but there are so many calls upon my time.”
Aric summoned the guard and had her returned to her cell. An hour later two soldiers came to collect her. She was marched through the prison to a private wing and brought to a bathroom. In it was a bronze hip tub brimming with perfumed water. Two female prisoners were waiting beside it. The male guards ordered her to disrobe, and she removed the filthy dress she wore and stepped into the tub. One of the women poured warm water over her greasy red hair, then massaged sweet-smelling soap into it. The other woman began to scrub her skin. The feeling was exquisite, and Sly Red closed her eyes. Tension seeped from her muscles.
When the bath was completed and her hair dried, combed, and braided, she was dressed in a green gown of faded satin.
The larger of the two women leaned in to her. “Don’t get too used to this, dearie,” she whispered. “Not one of his girls lasts more than a week. He is easily bored.”
Sly Red lasted a year, and at eighteen was given a full pardon. Aric at first amused himself with her, then began teaching her the more esoteric secrets of noble behavior. The pardon was hard-earned, for Aric’s carnal desires were wide-ranging and sometimes painful. In return for the pardon Sly Red agreed to become a plaything for men Aric needed to impress, rivals he desired to exploit, and enemies he was determined to destroy. In the years that followed, Lalitia, as Sly Red became known, found men only too eager to surrender their secrets. It seemed that arousal loosened tongues and brains in equal measure. Bright and brilliant men became like children, anxious to please. Secrets long hidden spilled out as they sought to impress her with their cleverness. Stupid men!
In his own way Aric had been good to her, allowing her to keep the gifts her lovers bestowed. Within a few years Lalitia was close to wealthy. Aric even gave his blessing when she married the old merchant Kendar. He died within a year. Lalitia was overjoyed. Now she could have the life she had always desired. Kendar’s wealth should have been enough for two lifetimes, except that Kendar’s wealth had been bogus. He had died massively in debt, and once more Lalitia found herself surviving on her wits and her physical charms.
Her second husband had had the bad grace not to die despite being over seventy when she married him. That had necessitated drastic action. The thought of poisoning him occurred to her, but she dismissed it. He was a pleasant enough man, even kind. Instead Lalitia fed him a diet spiced with powerfully aphrodisiac herbs acquired at great cost. When he finally expired, the surgeon summoned to pronounce him dead could not fail to remark that he had never seen a happier corpse.
Lalitia was now truly rich and set about becoming poor with a speed that beggared belief. She began with a series of investments in merchant enterprises, all of which failed, then bought land she was convinced would multiply in value. It fell sharply. One day her dressmaker sent a message to say that no further clothes would be forthcoming unless all bills were paid. Lalitia was amazed to discover she had no funds to cover the debt.
She contacted Aric, who once more made use of her services.
Now, at thirty-five, she had funds, a fine house in Carlis, and a lover so rich that he could probably buy the whole of Kydor and not notice the difference.
Leaning back on the satin pillow, she gazed at the tall, powerfully built man standing by the window.
“Did I thank you for the diamond pendant, Gray Man?” she asked.
“I believe that you did,” he told her. “Quite eloquently. So tell me, why do you not wish to attend my banquet?”
“I have not been feeling well these last few days. It would be better for me to rest, I think.”
“You seemed well a few moments ago,” he observed dryly.
“That is because you are such an exquisite lover. Where did you learn such skills?”
He did not answer but transferred his gaze back out the window. Compliments slid from him like water from slate. “Do you love me?” she asked him. “Even a little?”
“I am fond of you,” he said.
“Then why do you never tell me anything about yourself? You have been coming to me for two years now, and I don’t even know your real name.”
He turned his dark gaze toward her. “Nor I yours,” he said. “It does not matter. I must be going.”
“Be careful,” she said suddenly, surprising herself.
He looked at her closely. “Of what?”
She was flustered. “There is some talk in the town … you have enemies,” she concluded lamely.
“Vanis the Merchant? Yes, I know.”
“He could … hire men to kill you.”
“Indeed. Are you sure you will not attend my banquet?”
She nodded. As always he walked across the room without any farewells. The door closed behind him.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! she railed at herself. She had heard from Aric that Vanis was considering assassination. With his creditor dead, Vanis would stave off bankruptcy. Aric had warned her to say nothing. “It should be a surprising evening,” he had said, “the rich peasant slaughtered in his own palace. Quite a memorable event, I would think.”
Lalitia had at first been annoyed, for now the gifts would cease, but she knew, after two years, that there was no hope of the Gray Man proposing marriage. And she already knew he was seeing another courtesan in the south of the town. Soon he would stop coming to her. But as the day wore on, she could not stop thinking about his demise.
Aric had always been good to her, but she knew that if she betrayed him, he would have no hesitation in ordering her killed. And yet she had almost risked it, almost told the Gray Man that the killers were waiting.
“I do not love him,” she said aloud. Lalitia had never loved anyone. Why, then, she wondered, did she want to save him? Partly, she thought, it was that he never sought to possess her. He paid for his pleasure and was never cruel or dismissive, never judgmental or dominating. He did not seek to question her life or offer her advice.
She rose from the bed and walked naked to the window where he had stood only moments before. Lalitia watched him ride the steeldust gelding through the open gates, and the heavy weight of sadness bore down on her.
Aric called him a rich peasant, but there was nothing of the peasant about the man. He radiated power and purpose. There was something elemental about him. Unyielding.
Lalitia suddenly smiled. “I do not think they will kill you, Gray Man,” she whispered.
The words and the accompanying lift to her spirits astonished her.
Life, it seemed, still had the capacity to surprise.
Keeva had never attended a noble gathering, though as a child she had seen the elaborate carriages of the wealthy and had caught glimpses of the ladies in their silks and satins as they attended such events. Now she stood by the western wall of the Great Hall, a silver tray in her hands, bearing a selection of delicately crafted pastries, some filled with cheese, others with spiced meats. She was
one of forty servants moving among the Gray Man’s two hundred guests.
Never had Keeva seen so much satin, so many jewels: golden bangles encrusted with precious stones, earrings that sparkled in the light cast by a hundred lanterns, dresses and tunics embroidered with pearls and edged with silver, glittering tiaras, and even shoes decorated with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds.
A young nobleman and his lady paused before her. The man was wearing a short cape edged with sable over a red satin jacket embroidered with gold thread. He reached out and took a pastry. “These are wonderful. You should try them, dear heart,” he said to the woman beside him.
“I’ll try a taste of yours,” she said, her white satin gown rustling as she moved in closer to her lover. He grinned at her and placed a small portion of the pastry between his teeth. She laughed, leaned in, and took it from him with a kiss. Keeva stood very still, suddenly aware that she was in fact invisible to them. It was a curious feeling. Not once did their eyes meet hers, and they moved away into the crowd without ever registering her presence. Other guests flowed by, some pausing to take a pastry, others merely moving toward the dance floor. Her tray empty, Keeva edged around the wall and down the short staircase to the long kitchens.
Norda was there, refilling goblets with fine wine. “When does the Gray Man arrive?” asked Keeva.
“Later,” she said.
“But it is his gathering.”
“He is here already,” said Norda. “Have you not noticed a steady stream of people moving through to the small hall beyond?”
Keeva had, but had not thought about it. The young sergeant, Emrin, was stationed at the rear door, and Keeva was determined not to be seen looking at him. She wished to give the man no reason to pursue his interest in her.
“Most of the nobles and merchants here this evening will be seeking some favor from the Gentleman,” said Norda. “So for the first three hours he sits in the Walnut Room and receives them. Omri is with him, and he will be writing down their requests.”
“So many people wanting favors,” said Keeva. “He must be very well loved.”
Norda’s laughter pealed out. “Idiot,” she said as she took up her tray and moved back to the stairs. Keeva was confused. She glanced around and saw some of the other girls smiling. Embarrassed, though she did not know why, Keeva refilled her tray and returned to the Great Hall.
Twenty musicians were playing now, the music fast and lively, and dancers whirled on the polished floor. It was warm in the hall, but all the wide doors leading to the terrace were open, and a fresh sea breeze was filtering into the room.
For another hour the dancing continued, and the hall was filled with the sounds of music and laughter. Keeva’s arms began to ache from holding the tray. Few people were now partaking of the food. Norda moved carefully around the edge of the hall. “Time to exchange that tray for refreshments,” she said.
Keeva followed her downstairs. “Why did you call me an idiot?” she asked as the blond woman began to fill crystal glasses with wine.
“He is not loved,” said Norda. “He is hated by them all.”
“But why, if he grants them favors?”
“That is why. Do you know nothing about the nobility?”
“Obviously not.”
Norda paused in her work. “He is a foreigner and immensely wealthy. They envy him, and envy always leads to hatred. It doesn’t matter what he does; they will always hate him. Last year, when there was a failure of the crops in the east, the Gentleman sent two hundred tons of grain to be distributed among the starving. A fine deed, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Well, this fine deed prevented the cost of grain from soaring and thus reduced the profits the nobles and merchants could have made. You think they would thank him for that?” Norda smiled. “You’ll learn, Keeva. Nobles are a different breed.” Her smile faded, and her eyes became cold and angry. “I wouldn’t piss on one if he were on fire.”
“I do not know any,” said Keeva.
“Best to keep it that way,” replied Norda, her voice softening. “They bring nothing but grief to the likes of us. We’d better get back.”
Carrying a tray of drinks, Keeva returned to the Great Hall and began moving through the throng. The musicians had ceased playing briefly and were partaking of refreshments, and most of the nobles had gathered in small groups. They were chatting and laughing, and the mood was a happy one. There was still no sign of the Gray Man, though Keeva saw the one noble she did recognize, Lord Aric of House Kilraith. Resplendent in a gray and black striped tunic shirt of heavy silk edged with silver braid, he was standing close to the terrace, talking to the young woman Keeva had earlier seen taking the pastry from the mouth of her companion. The two were laughing, and Keeva saw Aric lean in and whisper something in the woman’s ear. Aric was a handsome man, slim and elegant, his features fine, though his nose was a little long, thought Keeva. He looked younger than she remembered, his hair uniformly dark. Keeva seemed to recall he had had gray in his hair when he had ridden through the settlement the previous year. And his face had seemed puffier. He has probably dyed the hair, she thought, and lost a little weight. It suited him.
Just behind them stood a black-bearded man, tall and broad-shouldered, with deep-set eyes. He was wearing an ankle-length robe of deep blue velvet edged with silver thread. In his right hand was a long staff topped with an ornate twist of silver. The man was standing quietly, holding the hand of a blond-haired boy around eight years of age. Keeva moved toward them. The tall bearded man stepped away from the shadows of the terrace doorway, and Keeva felt his gaze upon her. It was a shock, for she had become used to being invisible to these people. His eyes were dark and large beneath hooded lids.
“Drink, sir?” she said.
The tall man nodded. His face was broad, made even wider by the heavy black beard. He released the boy’s hand and took a crystal goblet filled with red wine. “I much prefer it white,” he said, his voice low. He smiled at her and held up the goblet. Immediately color began to drain from it; it became first a bright scarlet, then a deep pink, until at last it looked as clear as water. Keeva blinked. The man chuckled, then sipped the changed wine. “Excellent,” he said.
She glanced down at the silent boy. His bright blue eyes met hers, and he gave a shy smile. “Can I fetch something for your son?” she asked the bearded man.
He smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “He is my nephew and my page, not my son. And yes, that would be most kind.”
“We have cordials made from apples, or pears, or peaches,” she told the boy. “Which would you prefer?”
The child glanced up into the face of the bearded man, who turned to Keeva. “He is very shy, but I know that he likes pear juice. Let me relieve you of your tray while you fetch it.”
Instantly the tray floated up from Keeva’s hands, hovering in the air, before lowering itself down to a small side table. Keeva clapped her hands in delight, and the small boy smiled.
“Come now, my friend,” said Lord Aric. “You must save your entertainments for those who will most appreciate them.”
Keeva moved swiftly downstairs, filled a goblet with cooled pear juice, and returned to the ballroom. The boy accepted the drink with a smile of thanks and sipped the contents.
Lord Aric took the bearded man by the arm and led him away toward the center of the hall. A breath of breeze whispered through the terrace doorway. Keeva sighed with relief, for her clothes were sticking to her in the heat. Not only was it a warm summer night, the lantern flames and the hundreds of bodies in the hall were producing almost intolerable warmth.
In the center of the hall Lord Aric ordered two servants to pull a table across the floor. Then he sprang up on it and lifted his arms in the air. “My friends,” he called out. “By your leave I have brought a little entertainment to amuse you. I ask you to offer your warmest greetings to Eldicar Manushan, recently arrived from our Angostin homeland.” With that he reached down, and the tall bea
rded man took his hand and climbed to the table. The nobles and their ladies politely applauded. Aric leapt down from the table, and Eldicar Manushan stood silently for a moment, gazing out over their faces.
“It is a trifle warm, dear people,” he told them. “I can see that some of the ladies are feeling faint and that their wrists will soon begin to burn from overuse of their fans. So let me begin with a small rearrangement of the weather.” Laying the long staff at his feet, he clasped his hands together, raised them high, then opened his fingers and drew his arms apart. What appeared to Keeva to be a white mist floated from his palms and rose into the air.
Eldicar made a circular motion with his hand, and the mist rolled itself into a ball and began to grow. With a gesture he made it float across the room to where a small group of noble-women were fanning themselves. As it hovered above them, their faces changed, and they squealed with delight. The ball split into two. One remained above the women, and the other bobbed in the air, then floated to another group. Each time it stopped, it split itself, though neither of the original globes lost any size.
People underneath them began to applaud, while those they had not yet reached looked mystified. Keeva watched as one of the globes spun gently toward her. As it came close, she felt suddenly cool, as if a breeze, filtered over snow, were blowing through the room. It was both refreshing and exhilarating. Soon there were white globes all around the Great Hall, and the temperature had dropped dramatically.
All conversation ceased. Eldicar Manushan lowered his arms. “Now,” he said, “the entertainment can begin. But first, my friends, let me thank you for your welcome. It is extremely gratifying to see such grace, beauty, and culture so far from home.” He bowed to them, and they applauded the compliment with great enthusiasm. “Might I also thank Lord Aric for his courtesy and his generosity in inviting me to share his home during my stay in Kydor.” Again they applauded. “And now,” he said, “a little entertainment to amuse you. What you are about to see are images. They cannot touch you. They cannot see you. So please do not be alarmed. Especially when you notice there is a huge black bear among you!” He suddenly pointed to the western wall.
Hero in the Shadows: A Waylander the Slayer Novel Page 9
