Arto's Enchantress

by Morgan Henry

  Arto felt something akin to a throb as Falk finished the spell and the wards were in place.

  “Good to see you, Arto!” the gentlemanly Falk exclaimed, shaking Arto’s hand vigorously and clasping his shoulder in greeting. Though the man was at least twenty years Arto’s senior, his grip was as strong as any young knight’s.

  “Good afternoon, your Grace,” the young heir of Anglesly greeted Arto formally. He gestured with the teapot, silently enquiring if Arto wanted a cup.

  Shaking his head no, Arto walked over to get himself a cup of coffee. He chatted briefly with Vigo about their stop in Anglesly. Lord Hirt was the true member of the council, but King Graydon must have given permission for Vigo to sit in his father’s place.

  The final council members drifted in. Lady Kerla was the head of the Healer’s guild in Kerban and Rine Carsten was the head of the Merchant’s guild. Both women were honourable and intelligent and had been on the council for some time. Lady Kerla would keep the Enchanter and Mage Guild’s heads apprised of what they needed to know from the council dealings. Similarly, Rine would likely be in touch with the various crafter and agricultural guilds.

  Merrin was a member of the King’s Council but would not be present. Graydon would have given the man time to spend with his new wife. Arto would miss his brother, but he thought he would try to see him for an extended visit in the spring.

  King Graydon himself was the last to enter. He waved everyone to their seats casually as he helped himself to a coffee and a plate of several pastries. The man had a hell of a sweet tooth, but was active enough that it didn’t show.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen and ladies. I hope not to keep you long. It’s too fine to be wasting time indoors.” Graydon was not over fond of lengthy meetings and the day was quite nice for late fall.

  “The Torquin emissary has made a request to have Armad returned to them, swearing he will not take up arms against us again. The rest of the prisoners, they are uninterested in.” Graydon wasted no time in addressing the main issue.

  “Oh, yes, and fairies will fly out of my arse later this afternoon for your entertainment,” Sir Douk’s low, growly voice clattered across the table.

  Arto managed to only snicker at the man’s assessment of Armad’s honour. Lady Kerla and Rine laughed outright.

  “I’ll be selling tickets to that show,” Rine stated in her melodious voice. “What do you say, sixty percent to me, forty to you?”

  Douk harrumphed and Graydon rapped his knuckles on the table. “Does anyone think that he will actually abide by the terms? Please speak your reasons if you do,” the King bade his council members. There was silence for a minute.

  “The problem is, if we don’t think he will retire to a quiet estate somewhere in Torquin, what do we do with him?” asked Vigo. “Too bad we can’t collar him like the Torquin do with kerfios wielders.”

  “What if we exiled him to across the Sea of Souls?” mused Arto.

  There was silence for a moment as all considered this.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” agreed Falk. “Let the Torquin emissary set him up with some serious coin and exile him to Brinar.”

  Brinar was several days’ sail across the Sea of Souls, but the sea was only passable about 8 months of the year. Spring and fall, the storms were too sudden and severe to risk passage. Kerban had a casually cordial relationship with the land, trading a number of items.

  “Or dump him in Hermios,” grunted Douk.

  Arto let out a slightly evil chuckle. “That would be more deserved.”

  A relatively lawless land across the Sea of Souls, Hermios was hot, dry, and dangerous. There wasn’t much of a government for Kerban to have a relationship with.

  “It may be a better option than visiting trouble on Brinar,” Graydon pointed out. “Let us consider this as an option, but not discuss it with the emissary right now. We’ll see what else the man will put on the table regarding Armad.”

  A murmur of agreements went round the table.

  “On a more positive note, I have received lengthy messages from Sir Deris and the Vizier of Jorval. They both seem quite pleased with the malairte thus far. Sir Deris has made a good impression on the court according to the Vizier who praises his honor and courtesy. The Lady Cella Vallant has arrived, not unharmed, but she is now healed and well.”

  “We were fortunate that Master Darse was in the village that day. Her injury was serious and took me some time to repair. She is quite well now, however.” Lady Kerla nodded at Arto.

  “Frankly, I’m grateful that Duke Arto was her escort. It seems we needed his particular skills to bring her here in one piece. I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting her formally yet. What is your impression of the Lady thus far, Duke?” At Graydon’s question, all eyes turned to Arto.

  Arto cleared his throat and remembered he shouldn’t discuss her soft skin, or how much he liked the little half smile that meant she was amused or about to tease him. He definitely should say anything about her sweet willingness to play in the bedroom and how beautiful she was when she came crying his name.

  “She is intelligent, hard working, and a Master Enchanter. She has discussed some of her projects with me and I find them to be quite inventive as well as practical. She has courage, but she buries it beneath her quiet demeanour and politeness. She has not spent as much time in the Vizier’s court as you might think and is somewhat uncomfortable in court formalities, though she will acquit herself well.”

  “Mother spoke well of her,” chimed in Vigo. “She praised her toughness in learning to ride in the fall in the mountains with no maid. A great hardship in Mother’s eyes. She also praised her politeness and wished you had stayed longer, as she found Lady Cella interesting.”

  “Lord Rigen will be wanting to meet her,” stated Lady Kerla. “I’ll let him know that she is a Master and will likely wish to work?” Kerla cocked an eyebrow at Arto, asking before she let the head of the Enchanter’s Guild in Kerban know about Cella.

  “Of course.” Arto nodded at Kerla. “She may have written him already, I don’t know.”

  “Have there been any decisions on where she will be staying through the year? You know the Countess and I would be happy to host if needed,” Falk offered.

  Arto and his party had passed through Cordigan on the way to Kerfaen but they had not stopped at the manor. The Earl’s manor was a lively place that hosted a variety of people, from artists to nobility, high merchants to kerfios masters. The Countess was known for her love of gathering those who would appear to be very different and fostering the sharing of ideas between them, often resulting in surprising advances or innovations.

  Arto was aware of this, having visited many times in the past, but somehow, he was not prepared to send Cella there on her own. The thought of sending her away or leaving her caused that hard spike of possessiveness to lance through his heart again. It was followed quickly by the realization he would be terribly saddened to not have her by his side every day.

  He was becoming entirely too attached to his little sola.

  “I beg your pardon?” Arto became aware that his King had asked a question while he was thinking of Cella.

  “I asked if you or Lady Kerla felt that two evenings from now would be appropriate for a welcome celebration?” Graydon asked wryly.

  “Ah. I suspect that would be fine.” Arto didn’t blush, but he was a little embarrassed to be caught daydreaming.

  Talk turned to a few other matters of import in the kingdom. Harvest had been plentiful that year, so they were in good shape for the coming winter. The Torquin border was quiet again after the halted invasion earlier in the year. The high mountains north of Dyfal and Pellar were home to an interesting tribe, the Srian people, who did and didn’t belong to Kerban. Apparently their numbers were reduced, yet more of their men were seen in Kerban and Jorval.

  The Srian were not currently causing any trouble, but the King wanted all to keep an eye on the situation, as this was entirely new b
ehaviour. The tribe aligned itself with similar values and religion as Kerban, but ignored court politics altogether and had their own judicial system. There was little presence of the guilds in their society, though individuals were able to use kerfios as the rest of the world. Friction, or outright conflict, between the two societies would cause difficulty.

  The meeting broke up. Amid the casual conversation among the members, King Graydon approached Arto. Arto forced his expression into pleasantness, despite the fact that he wanted to race back to his room and ravish the lovely lady waiting for him.

  “I would assume that Lady Cella has found her quarters to be acceptable? She is aware they connect with yours?” Graydon had a wry smile on his face. At Arto’s nod, he continued, “I thought I would join you and Lady Cella for dinner this evening.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Arto responded with a small bow and private wince. “What time shall we expect you?”

  * * * *

  King Graydon approached The Lady Cella Vallant’s private suite. He had his welcoming gift in a box to deliver with his own hand to his guest. He also had correspondence from her mother that had arrived just before he left his own rooms.

  He was sure back in his quarters Doan was having a frothing fit that the King was not having them delivered by a servant.

  The King of Kerban knocked courteously on the door of the suite. He saw that someone had the Jorval crest in tapestry hung on the door and that the badge of a Master Enchantress had been embroidered in the lower right corner. It gave him satisfaction to see that the staff of the Keep had attended to the smallest details. He would have to ensure he told Doan, his personal servant, that he was pleased. Doan would ensure the gossip network spread the word.

  A castle maid answered the door, curtseying deeply as he nodded to her in greeting and passed into the room. Lady Cella and Arto were standing by the fire, their glasses of wine on the side tables.

  Cella curtsied and Arto bowed, each greeting the sovereign.

  “Thank you Lady Cella and Your Grace,” Graydon acknowledged formally. “Please, be at ease. This is not a formal dining event, merely a dinner among friends.”

  He could see the set of Lady Cella’s shoulder’s ease ever so slightly. Arto tried to look unruffled, but he was not quite the smooth courtier that he usually was.

  Graydon tamped down the smirk that arose at the thought that Arto had fallen in love with the little blonde and had yet to acknowledge it in his own heart.

  Graydon held up the packages in his hand and Cella rushed forward to relieve him of their burden. He almost snorted in contempt at the thought he should not be allowed to deliver such small items to a place he was going anyway. Sometimes, he found the protocols of kingship ridiculous.

  In her haste to retrieve the packages, Cella’s gown snagged on the edge of the small table to the left of the sofa. As it toppled the light structure, the wine glass flung its contents onto the side of the pale green gown she was wearing, soaking the fabric and dripping down onto the rug.

  The look of horror and shame on her face sent a surge of empathy through Graydon. He could recall his own clumsiness in his early days as a squire and knew well the deep and overwhelming feelings such a small mishap could fuel.

  At her stammered apology with flaming cheeks, Graydon gently brushed her words aside. “My dear Lady, Arto will tell you of some of my clumsier moments that he witnessed in our younger days. Think nothing of it.” He raised the packages. “These will wait until you have changed.”

  She fled to the bedchamber.

  Graydon looked at Arto, the slight quirk to his lips speaking volumes.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her of the time you poured tea in my mother’s lap,” Arto said, knowing full well Graydon considered that one of his more spectacular mistakes.

  They both laughed lightly and Arto served his King a glass of the excellent red wine Graydon had sent from his private stock for dinner. They were just seated in front of the fire when Cella returned, this time in a blue gown, forcing the men to their feet again.

  “Please excuse me, Your Majesty. I am not the most graceful courtier you will meet,” Cella’s cheeks were still pink as she curtsied again.

  Graydon gestured for her to sit and Arto followed suit as Graydon picked up his packages.

  “Everyone has something embarrassing happen to them at one time or another.” Graydon wanted to drop the subject so that Cella wouldn’t feel as though her accident would be the topic for the entire evening. “Your mother has sent a letter that arrived less than an hour ago, and the box is a welcoming gift from Kerban.”

  Cella took the packages. “Thank you! For both of them. I will save the letter for when I can give it my full attention, Your Majesty.” She looked at the box eagerly, but was too well mannered to open it without the King’s permission.

  At his murmured, “please,” she pulled on the bow and opened the box.

  He laughed a little at her puzzled expression as she pulled out the carved and painted wooden stature of a dappled gray mare. It was a beautiful piece, the mare in a high stepping trot with the mane and tail flowing in movement. Cella’s features quickly changed into delight and appreciation.

  “She looks so much like Marta!” she exclaimed, and added, “The mare that Duke Arto was kind enough to let me borrow for the ride here.”

  “The gift is actually Marta, the statue was merely so that you would have something to open. Kerban has purchased Marta from the Duke and given her to you. We will look after her needs as long as you are in the kingdom.”

  Graydon got a hint of what enraptured Arto as he watched the play of emotions across Cella’s face. The delight and gratitude were genuine, breathtakingly heartfelt, and shone like a beacon from her. Graydon found himself a little jealous.

  “I cannot find the words…” Cella trailed off.

  “No need. We are delighted you are here. Please, would you tell me about this shield enchantment that Arto has mentioned? It sounds very interesting.”

  They all talked a little easier after that. Dinner was soon ready and Graydon allowed only Tors to serve, the better to keep the meal informal. Through the excellent food, the clink of wineglasses and cutlery on plates, Graydon found himself at peace.

  It seemed that he would not have to worry so much about the malairte this year.

  As the dinner wound down, though Graydon felt more relaxed than he had been in weeks, he had to return to business.

  “Just before dinner, I was informed that the northern mountain tribes had sent an emissary to the Keep. He’s been given a suite of rooms in the same wing as the Torquin emissary. I thought security would be easier that way.” Graydon toyed with his glass of brandy.

  “Are these the Srian people?” enquired Cella. “Father mentioned he had seen several Srian men over the past year, which was unusual. But they are generally peaceful, are they not?”

  “Yes, we have found them so,” Arto agreed. “It’s interesting that Jorval has been seeing more of them lately, too.”

  “But only ever the men,” Graydon noted.

  “Perhaps they’re looking for brides,” said Cella, a little half smile on her face.

  They all laughed.

  “Well, from all accounts, he’s handsome enough to win the woman of his choosing,” Graydon said. “Arto will have to watch out, he might lose you to a more handsome specimen of manhood.”

  Cella blushed and looked at her wineglass. “I don’t think so, Your Majesty.”

  “So what is bringing the Srian out of the mountains? They have always seemed so self-sufficient. Their weapon crafting has always provided more than enough coin in the past. We all know Srian blades are the finest to be found.” Arto frowned at the puzzle presented.

  “Aye,” agreed Graydon. “The things they can do with metal are amazing. We’re lucky to have an armorer that had some training with them here in the castle. He’s worth his weight in gold. I think I may pay him that much.”

 
Cella laughed. “Rulers always grouse about the cost of staff, but they don’t want to make their own beds.”

  Graydon laughed at himself and Arto joined in.

  “I will say that his Majesty and I would certainly fail at bed making.” Arto launched into a tale from their younger days that involved he, Graydon, and Merrin at a hunting camp by themselves. It ended with three starving and quite chagrined young boys and an almost destroyed cabin.

  Graydon stretched in his chair. “I’m afraid I have one more bit of business to attend to. To fulfil my duty as your protector on the malairte, I was going to ask if you were truly at ease with the accommodation, ah, arrangements, Lady Cella. I can see, though, that you are quite happy. I gladly relinquish my duties as your primary guardian in favour of Arto. I will, of course, serve as your second.”

  The King stood and bowed to Lady Cella, and then to Arto.

  “With that, I will bid the two of you good night. And Lady Cella, if you have the slightest bit of trouble keeping the Duke in line, I have the key to the dungeon.”

  Chapter 12

  Arto couldn’t help but smile as the King left. There were a number of reasons.

  He was glad his friend had an evening to relax and be a man for a time, instead of a King.

  He was glad Cella seemed to get over her embarrassment from the wine spill earlier. It was such a trivial thing, after all.

  Seeing the delight on Cella’s face when she realized Marta was hers made him glad that he had sold the mare to Graydon. Though he was going to give the horse to her anyway.

  Most of all, he was glad he was finally going to get Cella into his bed.

  Arto swore he had been half erect for most of the day. Now that playtime with Cella was imminent, his cock was straining against his leathers. When had he become such a randy bastard?

  When a sweet little blonde had captured his attention serving dinner, that’s when.