by Unknown
Shifting uncomfortably on his sandaled feet, Renulf glanced over at the armor piled in the corner. Bazel noticed and grinned.
"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten my promise. I know you're eager to touch it and maybe even try it on. All in good time. Right now I must satisfy my stomach."
Renulf nodded. In the books he had copied, great knights like Bazel had a squire or even a group of squires to perform such tasks for them. Either Bazel did not have the means to hire one, or he had lost his along the way ... possibly thanks to the Garwigs. It was no secret that, in certain areas, they prowled and killed virtually at random.
Briefly, Renulf imagined himself carrying Bazel's armor to him and helping him put it on. He imagined his hands running over the hard planes of Bazel's body as he fastened each strap and buckle. When he had finished dressing him, Bazel would lean over and kiss him in gratitude …
Quickly, Renulf shook his head to clear it. Noticing, Bazel laughed and pushed his empty cup and plate away from himself.
"I can see you're in a state of torment. Very well, I won't keep you waiting. Come and seat yourself here."
He pointed to a small, low stool beside the armor. From his traveling satchel, he removed a few lengths of soft cloth and a stoppered glass bottle of oil. He explained briefly how Renulf was to dampen one cloth and move it in slow circles over the metal surface, removing any blemishes, and then repeat the process with a clean rag. While he was supervising Renulf's first attempts, Ozwyn appeared in the doorway.
"Milord, I prepared a bath for you in the courtyard. The tub has been warming in the sunlight and should be of a most pleasing temperature. I think you will find it far more comfortable than pouring cold buckets over yourself."
"I would indeed," Bazel agreed. He glanced over at Renulf. "I will leave you to your task, then. Do exactly as I have shown you, and do not leave until I have examined your work."
Pausing with the oily rag in his hand, Renulf nodded his understanding. Ozwyn withdrew, no doubt assuming Bazel would follow him. Bazel seemed about to do just that, but first he opened his robe and dropped it onto the bed. He stood magnificently, unashamedly naked in front of Renulf.
"No sense getting that soiled out in the courtyard," he said, wrapping a sheet around his waist instead. Then he strolled out after Ozwyn, leaving Renulf staring and struggling to draw breath.
Once he was certain that he was alone, Renulf recovered himself and set down the cloth and Bazel's heavy breastplate. Keeping his nervous eyes on the door, he spent a few minutes rooting through the travel satchel in the corner. Inside the bags, he found spare tunics, leggings in different colors and fabrics, and other personal effects. None of them, he noted with relief, seemed intended as a gift to a lady.
The last thing he found, wrapped in white linen and resting near the bottom of the satchel, was a scroll written on ancient, brittle parchment. Bazel had not stolen it from the scriptorium—this work was much older than anything in Ozwyn's collection. Where he might have come across such a treasure, Renulf could not begin to guess.
Gingerly, he unrolled a length of the scroll and scanned it. His eyes widened as he did, for this work was written in a language Lord Bazel surely could not read. The shape of the lettering further confirmed the extreme age of the document.
As he unrolled a little more, staring in fascination, a shadow loomed up behind him. Just as he realized he was no longer alone, a powerful arm closed around his throat and squeezed.
THREE
He almost dropped the scroll, but Bazel grabbed it from him and tossed it on the bed. He turned Renulf to face him with rough motions. Renulf was all too aware of the hot skin pressing against his, not to mention the precarious hold of the sheet around Bazel's muscular waist.
"I knew you'd get up to something the moment my back was turned! Stealing from me, were you?"
As cold panic gripped his body, Renulf forget his orders to remain silent. "No! That was not my intention at all! I swear, milord!"
"So—you do speak! I had a feeling that was a lie—along with several other things your master told me."
"Forgive the deception, milord." Renulf fought back tears. He did not bother struggling against Bazel's powerful grip. He knew there would be no point—and besides, the feel of their bodies pressed so close together was not unpleasant, even if it was frightening. He did not believe Bazel would injure him, though he knew that his confidence on that score might well have been misplaced or even foolish. "My master, Ozwyn, ordered me not to speak. He said it was for my own protection."
Bazel snorted with derisive amusement. "As if you need protection from me! Your master has that a bit backward, I think." Bazel stared into Renulf's eyes. Renulf shivered, imagining Bazel could read his thoughts. He frantically tried to push away the naughty ones in case somehow he was correct. "Don't even bother lying to me anymore. I will detect it at once, and you will be sorry indeed."
"I beg mercy, milord!"
Bazel's gaze flicked to the scroll on the bed. "That book. You can read it, can't you?"
"Some of its letters and words are familiar to me, milord."
"Only the aelfyn can read that book. You are one of them, aren't you?"
"No!"
"The truth!" Tightening his grip on Renulf's robe, Bazel shook him. "Do not try my patience. I have traveled too long, and too far, and through too many hardships to be turned away by a lie. I suspected your lineage since the moment I saw you. The color of your eyes suggested it from the beginning."
Renulf felt cold sweat prickle up and down his back. His eyes were a bright silver, but though many had remarked on it over the years, no one had ever guessed the reason before. The aelfen were long gone, or so most people thought. He sometimes wondered if that was why Ozwyn made him stay around the monastery except when it was necessary for him to venture out for supplies. Even then, Ozwyn demanded he keep his hood pulled over his face, ostensibly in keeping with the principles of Xir.
"Are you—are you going to kill me?" he asked in a quavering voice.
Bazel lifted his sleek brows in genuine surprise. "Of course not. Why would I do that?"
"My master Ozwyn says there are many who wish the aelfen gone from this land—or from the world altogether."
"That may be true, but I am not one of them." Letting go of Renulf's robe, Bazel tilted his head toward the bed, where the scroll still lay. "I have not come to do violence. I seek only a translator so I can make use of the wisdom in that document. I have reason to believe it may hold the key to saving many lives—and my own fiefdom besides."
Bowing his head, Renulf sighed. "Then, yes, it is true. I am aelfyn," he admitted softly. "How did you come by that scroll? Books written in the old language are exceedingly rare." Ozwyn had told him that, too. Most were destroyed in various battles or simply lost as aelfen villages disappeared and their modest libraries crumbled as the years rolled on. No new ones had been composed in hundreds of sun-cycles. The one he was looking at now would have dated from a very early period. He could tell by the types of words and the shapes of the letters.
"My liege-lord, the king of my own land, entrusted me with this scroll. It was given to his own ancestor by an aelfyn ally now long dead. For many an age it has lain in the palace archives, untouched until the royal archivist recently discovered it. With it was a note that its contents could help protect and preserve our people from any evil force that might threaten them. Now we are faced with the relentless invasion of the Garwigs; wave after wave of them have assaulted our lands, our castles, and our villages. We have fought them off as best we can, but our forces are weakening. Drastic measures are called for. That scroll may represent our last chance to defeat them."
"But what is contained in it?" Renulf asked, puzzled. "How could a scroll defeat an enemy?"
"I know not." A bitter smile crossed Lord Bazel's face. "That is where you come in, my young aelfyn friend. My lord sent me out to find a living member of the aelfyn to translate and transcribe the entire
document."
"I cannot do what you ask. My master Ozwyn will never allow it."
"Why does he have to know?"
Renulf felt his heart beginning to pound faster. Why, indeed? He hardly dared hope that he could conceal such a project from Ozwyn. "He finds things out. We have no privacy here."
"Renulf…" Bazel scowled, his penetrating gaze seeming to grow even more intense. "I must ask you something. Are you and Ozwyn … ah … involved with one another?"
At first, Renulf was confused by the question. When he realized what Bazel was getting at, he blushed deeply. "No!" He almost choked on the word out of revulsion at the very prospect. "Ozwyn is my master in the ways of Xir. He has raised me from boyhood and taught me the disciplines of music and the scriptorium. Nothing more. Nothing less."
Bazel nodded and visibly relaxed. "Good. I was afraid you had some emotional attachment to him. If you do not, keeping our task from him will merely be a matter of planning." Reaching out, he tipped Renulf's face up to his own and stroked Renulf's cheek with his thumb. "Where did you come from, aelfen one? I have searched so long and so desperately. Are there more of you?"
"I do not know." Renulf tried to look away, but Bazel's hand and the power of his gaze held him fast in place. "I only know that I have always been different. Ozwyn took me in as a child and has protected me these many years."
"He knew what you were. He sought to preserve the old ways and the old language in you. I am grateful he did."
"As am I, milord." Renulf swallowed.
To his surprise, Bazel found his response worthy of good-natured laughter. "I admire a healthy streak of preservation. Personally, I have no use for either martyrs or ascetics. But then, the legends say the aelfen are passionate. Is that true?"
"I do not think of myself that way."
"No? Based on what I have seen so far, I suspect you are mistaken. But there is a simple method of testing my theory."
To Renulf's astonishment, Bazel leaned down and kissed him full on the mouth. His lips were hungry, and the kiss lasted much longer than Renulf could have hoped. Pressing back, Renulf basked in Bazel's lusty flavor.
Bazel was playing with him, he suspected; he was probably lonely after his long and tedious journey. He also wanted Renulf to work on the scroll. Emotional manipulation was no doubt something he wouldn't hesitate to use. Still, Renulf decided to take what pleasures he could get. His life had included few of them up until now.
"I'll translate the book for you," he said when they broke apart. It took Renulf a few moments to catch his breath. He felt slightly dazed by the emotions raging though him. They were pleasant, however. "But I'll have to do it secretly, at night. Ozwyn mustn't find out or even suspect."
"Then come here, to my room, after he falls asleep. We will use as many nights as we need until it is finished. My sword will protect you if Ozwyn does follow you."
"We can't let him discover me." Renulf felt the blood drain from his face.
"What would he do?"
"Well … he has beaten me for less."
Frowning, Bazel tilted Renulf's head to one side and saw the mark from Ozwyn's slap. Renulf had forgotten about it over the course of the morning, but Bazel was outraged. "He'll get a thrashing of his own if he attempts anything like that again."
"He is my master. He has a right to beat me if he thinks it best."
"He does not!" Bazel insisted. "That is not the way the world works, Renulf. You have been very sheltered here—made to think of his word as law. I assure you, it is not."
"I cannot deny that, my lord. But what choice have I?"
"You will have many more choices soon, if I have anything to say about it." Bazel stepped back. "Very well, then. I will take my bath, and you will finish my armor and then go about your business for the day. We must act as though we haven't spoken. Come back to me when you think Ozwyn is asleep."
Renulf nodded. "We must make sure he drinks plenty of sweet wine at supper. That will keep him sleeping soundly in his room."
"An excellent plan." Bazel gave him another swift kiss on the lips. Renulf thought he detected a certain stirring between Bazel's strong thighs, one that lifted the sheet a little. He wondered if Bazel noticed a similar swelling under his own coarse, dark robe. "Remember what I said. More lives that I can count depend on your discretion."
With that, he turned and strode out to the courtyard for his bath. The conversation had left Renulf shaken and sweating. Never had he been charged with so important a task, but he made one silent vow, one that meant more to him than any he had ever professed to Ozwyn or even to the principles of Xir.
He would not disappoint Lord Bazel.
*~*~*
The rest of the day went as planned, and Lord Bazel succeeded in getting Ozwyn to drink an excessive amount of wine during and after their simple meal of vegetable stew. The trick, Renulf discovered, was in praising the drink's flavor repeatedly and challenging Ozwyn to come up with new ways to describe his own recipe's excellence. It was a strategy Renulf had never thought of. Every moment, it seemed, he found something new to admire about Lord Bazel's clever mind or magnificent body. He really was as close to a perfect being as Renulf had ever imagined. Renulf himself only pretended to drink, determined to keep his mind clear for the task that lay ahead of him later.
"Tell me about Xir," Bazel urged Ozwyn after they had adjoined to the courtyard and Renulf had played his usual interlude on his reed pipe. No doubt this was also a ploy to encourage him to drink more, since Bazel preceded the request by raising his goblet as if toasting Xir.
"Xir?" Ozwyn seemed to have trouble focusing his gaze for a moment, but he managed to recover himself and swept a clumsy hand into the air. "Well, of course it should be obvious. Xir is … everywhere. Everything."
"He is very old, no doubt," Bazel prompted. "And powerful?"
"As old as the earth's dust itself. And stronger than the sun on a midsummer day."
"Why do my people not know of him, then? It would seem so magnificent a being should be revered all over the world."
Ozwyn scowled, drank again from his goblet, and seemed to gnash his teeth as he formulated a satisfactory answer.
"Because the ancient ways have begun to fade from the world and from people's memories," he finally said angrily. Renulf heard the words slurring together and knew that Ozwyn would surely sleep soundly that night. He and Bazel would be able to make excellent progress with the scroll. "Your Garwigs are but one example of the disease that has overtaken modern life. They care nothing for the old ways … the old magic. It is up to students of the truth, like me, to preserve it in hopes that one day, it will be valued again."
"I share your hope that it will be," Bazel said. "Your dedication impresses me." He also tilted his goblet to his lips, though Renulf noticed that he drank almost nothing. Ozwyn was less cautious and drained his entire portion. He rose to his sandaled feet, swaying a little.
"Good. There may be hope for you yet. Of Renulf I am less certain." Ozwyn directed a look of disgust in Renulf's direction. "He has yet to understand the importance of much I would teach him."
"Well, he is young."
"I hope that is the only reason for his lack of attention. And now I must retire. Renulf, you will attend me to my room and then go to your own."
Nodding, Renulf glanced at Bazel and then stood. He escorted Ozwyn to his narrow bed, onto which he collapsed fully clothed. Then Renulf made his way to Bazel's room in the darkness.
Bazel had candles as well as the scroll ready. A small clay pot of ink, a fresh quill, and a length of parchment pilfered from the scriptorium, lay on the small table by the window. Bazel seated himself on the bed while Renulf took his place at the table.
"All I ask is that you do your best," Bazel said. "I know no aelfyn, but I will help you as best I can. Together I am sure we can solve the mysteries."
"I hope so," Renulf said with a nod. He licked his lips and briefly thought back to the moment when Bazel's mouth had
touched his. He longed to leave the scroll for later and join Bazel on the bed instead. What would happen there he wasn't entirely sure, but he longed to find out, and he suspected Bazel would be eager to teach him.
However, daylight would arrive much sooner than either of them wanted, and the work was bound to be difficult. They did not have even a few minutes to waste.
Renulf quickly bent over the table and began his work.
FOUR
When dawn was only a few hours away, Renulf's eyes began to water, and his hand began to cramp. He drew in a surprised breath when Bazel suddenly bent over him and closed his fingers over Renulf's.
"Leave the rest until tonight. You need sleep … and your master may rise soon. It wouldn't do for him to find you here."
Though his first impulse was to protest, Renulf found himself welcoming the suggestion. He needed some sleep, and Bazel was also probably correct; Ozwyn would be creeping through the sanctuary early. He might even suspect that plying him with drink the night before had been deliberate.
"I'm sorry I did not make better progress," Renulf said as he rose from his seat.
"We will finish when the time is right. The scroll has lain unread for several lifetimes—another night or two won't matter." Bazel gathered the translations Renulf had completed and took them over to his bed. "I will study these before I sleep. Go now. Try to rest for a while so that Ozwyn will not notice you dragging during the day."
Renulf nodded and returned to his room. He feared Lord Bazel was in for some severe disillusionment, and he did not wish to witness it. The more deeply he had gotten into the scroll, the more he had realized that it made no real sense. The strange poetry appeared to reflect the long-ago author's obsession with great beasts that had once roamed the world but had begun to die off during an early era of aelfyn society. How they might help defend Bazel's kingdom he could not imagine. Perhaps Bazel himself had a better understanding of the situation. He soon became too tired to worry about it as he crawled into bed. The comforts of oblivion overwhelmed him the moment he closed his eyes.
