by David
probed the mediator between unreasonable suspicion and cold logic. Yet, Loric had no want to like this arrogant man, or even to care for his fate. What of your oath, Blood of Logant? begged his conscience. What would become of your honor as a man?
Other thoughts weighed in, all in less than an eye blink, but Loric was decided upon his course. He knew he had to do something. He snatched up a tray of his own and raced to Lord Garrett’s side, remembering a sharp comment Aldric had made concerning one particular label he had poured earlier in the evening. He stepped in awkwardly beside the hot-tempered heir and offered as smoothly as his nervous tongue could say, “I beg your pardon, lord, but I have heard many a fine gentleman protest that this servant knows not his wines at all. Thrice already this fine feast night have I heard a worthy lord complain: This tastes more the venom of an adder than the sweet juice of a grape. ” Loric hated using those exact words in his present circumstance, but he had spoken them and they would have to suffice. More disagreeable to his mind was the sight of the unsavory servant slipping back into the crowd, where he would certainly escape unquestioned.
An amused grin lit Garrett’s face, and Loric knew that he had volunteered to be sport for a mongoose. “So you have come to save me from drinking bitter wine, have you, boy?” inquired the nobleman. “I have seen you before, I do recall....”
Loric never lowered his eyes as he gave a firm, “Yes, lord. Your memory matches your
greatness, lord.” Loric bowed submissively.
Garrett grinned. He lifted the cup from Loric’s tray, and then he extended the first one toward Loric, saying, “We shall have to dispose of this somehow, if it is as vile a grape as you suggest. Only Aldric’s kin could be so bold,” he offered in jest.
Other nobles laughed.
Loric was prepared to dump the drink, until Garrett commanded raucously, “Drink with
me!”
Loric grudgingly accepted the suspect goblet, murmuring, “Yes, lord. You are too kind.”
Loric could not refuse Garrick’s heir this favor of camaraderie, and neither could he accuse the escaping servant in error. He could only tip his cup with Garrett. Emboldened by the knowledge that he might have truly served Beledon with his shortened life, he spoke up, “If it would please you, lord, it would be above my honor.”
“It truly is, boy!” Garrett proclaimed loudly. “To Lord Garrick and King Avalar: two men of equal worth. Let them soon share in equal titles, equal riches and equal glory!”
A hearty shout went up, bitter wine went down and a dangerous man went out from the hall.
“You made a fine choice in wine....” Garrett waited for Loric to give his name.
Loric thought he felt a hand on his back. His head swirled with ill effects of deadly toxins, although he vaguely remembered a sharp voice penetrating the cotton that seemed to have been stuffed so far into his ears that it was drying out his mouth, shouting, “Loric of Shimmermir and Taeglin! He is a good lad, who makes his father proud.” That might have been Aldric, but Loric’s focus was on the departing assassin.
“He must be an important boy to claim two homes!” roared Garrett, who ruffled Loric’s hair.
Loric never took his eyes from the assassin, his killer. He took three steps toward the double doors, teetered on the verge of falling and steadied between firm hands, while mouths he should have been able to match with individuals to whom they belonged moved to question, “Are you all right?” Loric never heard those words. He was vaguely aware of moving his lips in reply, but either his tongue would not form words, or his ears were deaf to them. He reeled and his blurry world dimmed to black....
Chapter Eleven
Secret Meetings
After drawing breath through six feet of earth, followed by darkness unequaled, Loric sat up with his eyes wide, his heart pounding and his hands clutching at his throat. He was drenched in sweat. His heart was racing. Queasiness took him. He dropped back into his pillow, praying that Great Donigan make him well again soon. Darkness enveloped him....
****
The same cycle of rest and waking played out a dozen times, with only mild variance in the way Loric woke each time, until he at last remained wakeful. He was in his room of the castle.
Light filtered in under the door, informing him that morning had come. Thinking back on the feast caused him to wonder aloud, “How many mornings have come and gone since that night?”
“Five days have passed since the feast,” Aldric replied from a chair beside him, “and we thought each one might be your last.”
Loric wearily lifted his head to see that Aldric was not alone at his bedside. Avalana was with the Lord of Egolstadt. Tired relief was visible in her face. “I am glad that was not the case,”
she said softly. “I hoped my use of herbs and potions would be enough to stave off the Soul Snatcher and my hope fulfilled is joy.”
“Who else could save me from illness, but Princess Avalana, with her blessed healing
hands?” Loric asked rhetorically. “Shall I ever be indebted to you, with ne’er a chance to repay your kindness, my lady?”
“I too am glad to see that you are well, Loric,” Aldric interjected skillfully. He went on to add, “Marblin the Moonwatcher will be pleased to know that you have come around. He has checked in on you each day since your collapse.” He turned to Avalana. His concern was clear as he said, “Princess, you have slept hardly a wink for five days. You should rest now, knowing that Loric is on his way to good health.” The princess with the white-gold hair let her mouth form an open circle, but Aldric would hear nothing of her protest. “If Loric shows the least sign of reversing his tracks, you will be the first to know how fast I can run to fetch you, because I know I could do nothing to save him.”
Loric wanted to smile at his lord’s humor, but he still felt as though he might die. What was in that drink? he asked inwardly. He let his pondering fall to the wayside when Avalana took her leave of him. “It was my pleasure to see you again, no matter the circumstances,” he shared.
“I will see that someone brings you something to eat, Loric of Shimmermir and Taeglin,”
Avalana informed him.
With a final goodbye and a stern warning for Aldric to let her know if Loric so much as sniffled, the princess left them alone. Aldric stared at his squire for a time, making it clear to Loric that he had more purpose for sending the princess away than her truthful need of rest.
“What troubles you, my lord?” Loric asked.
Before Aldric could answer him, a boy servant entered the room. The lad bore with him a tray heaped high with food. Loric wondered how he managed the weight. It held a good-sized chicken, sided by corn on the cob, a small loaf of bread and a pie slice of cheese taken from a wheel of cheddar. There were two apples, a pear and a halved melon for dessert. A full bottle and a silver goblet accompanied the meal. Loric thanked the young fellow, as he tore a leg from the chicken and took the loaf of bread into his other hand. Aldric locked the door to prevent further intrusions, and Loric repeated his query.
“Nothing troubles me at present, but you certainly amaze me, Loric. I have known you but a short time, and in that brief span, you have saved my life, and I believe Lord Garrett’s life as well.”
“You have already taught me that in order to command, men must first have leaders to
initiate commands for subordinates to follow,” Loric responded matter-of-factly, working hungry bites in-between sentences. “So I reasoned that to let others dispose of our leaders, especially by devious means, is to fail you in what you have begun to teach me. Besides, I was bound by my blood to stop the assassin’s foul work.”
“I guess you are right,” Aldric conceded with a chuckle.
Loric sipped his wine cautiously, tasting no bitterness, and then he said further, “Lord, I have no wish to speak out of turn, but I feel as though I must correct you in one assumption you have made.”
“Oh?” Aldric questioned, his face confused. He co
mposed himself and commanded Loric,
“Say on.”
“The poisoned goblet was not intended for Lord Garrett,” Loric said in a low voice. “Far from it.”
“Who then?” Aldric demanded. “And how do you know this?” Following Loric’s eyes to the door, Aldric divined the answer to his question.
Loric nodded before his liege could speak his query.
“Are you sure of this?” When Loric’s silent reply was a continuation of the same nod, he questioned, “Beyond a doubt?”
Loric washed down a bite of meat and a slice of cheese. Then he shrugged, venturing,
“There is seldom anything beyond doubting, but there is reason enough for me to believe this for a certainty.”
Loric went on to explain everything he remembered concerning feast night. He spoke of the servant’s reaction to Garrett taking the goblet after Avalana declined it. He recalled the subtle twitch with which the man tried to turn the platter away from the Heir of Durbansdan. His memory of the assassin was especially vivid, so he described him in detail. “He had oily black hair, which he wore back in a tail,” he said. “At first that was all I noticed of him, but his peculiar behavior made me take note of his face, which was red from the sun. His eyes were blue, I think, and he wore curled, waxed mustaches.”
“Was there anything else about him?” Aldric pressed desperately. “Anything at all, Loric--
no matter how small it might seem....”
“There is one other thing about him that sticks in my mind, lord,” Loric began.
“Do tell me,” Aldric encouraged him eagerly.
“I will never forget his tattoo, lord.”
“Tattoo...?” Aldric begged. “What kind of tattoo?”
Loric shuddered, although there was no chill in the air. “It was placed here,” he said, touching two fingers to the left of the apple in his throat. “It was like a set of claws painted in such deep black that there was a never-ending void in his skin.”
“How very odd,” Aldric remarked quietly.
“Odd indeed,” Loric agreed. He wiped his hands on his napkin and surveyed the damage he had inflicted upon the contents of the tray. All that remained was a plate piled with bones, cores and rinds. He was surprised that he had eaten so much and so quickly. He set the tray on his bedside table and looked back to his thoughtful liege lord.
Aldric sighed and tugged at the edge of his woolen cloak, drawing it more snugly about him.
“Tell no one of these things,” he commanded.
“Lord?” Loric inquired uneasily. “For Princess Avalana’s protection-”
“It is best that Avalar does not double his guard about her or that we raise a hue and cry after this assassin,” Aldric assured him. “We must apprehend this villain, and we must take him alive.”
A cold hand clenched Loric’s heart as he came to understand what Aldric had in mind. “You mean to use the princess as bait for this killer?” he demanded.
“Hush!” Aldric barked.
“Are you mad?” Loric demanded. “The princess needs protection from this threat-”
“Which is why I will be counting on you to help me, Loric,” finished his liege. “Raw you may be, but you have a rare gift for thwarting assassins. Even you must see this, so do not try to deny it,” he warned, stopping Loric’s objection and transforming it into a wordless wince. Aldric went on to say, “We must remain close to the princess without alerting the king’s guards or the assassin that we are onto the plot to take her life.” His eyes rose to meet Loric’s, held them firmly as he ended, “And when the next attempt comes, we must take the assassin alive, or we will never learn who wishes this evil upon Avalana until it is too late to stop the threat.”
Silence fell at that grim pronouncement. Its weight threatened to crush Loric’s spirit. He strengthened his resolve, barricaded his heart against fear. His words were as stern as his faith in prevailing goodness was. “The assassin is doomed to fail and his employer shall either become acquainted with a hangman’s noose or a headsman’s axe.”
Aldric let loose a hearty chuckle and clapped a hand to his squire’s shoulder. “It is good to see that we are of like mind, Loric. I will leave you with one final instruction.”
Loric waited, while his lord stumbled over some obstacle in his head. “I am listening.”
“When you return to your room each night, look for small blue pebbles beneath your door.
From their number, take three, and what remains is the hour of the morning at which I will expect to meet you at the High Terrace, to discuss anything you might have learned of this new threat. When we meet there, we will adjust our schedules according to Princess Avalana’s needs.” The Lord of Egolstadt then reaffirmed, “You do know where the High Terrace is, do you not?”
“I do, lord, but one question still remains....” Loric started.
“Yes?” Aldric queried.
“How am I to remain close to Princess Avalana when other duties call me away?” Loric
asked.
Aldric grinned. “You have already proven yourself resourceful, Loric,” he began. “Let your instincts guide you, for knights must learn to trust their raw sense of the world in times like this.”
Before Loric could object to his lord’s vague reply, Aldric rose and excused himself, saying,
“For now, you are in need of rest. Farewell and good hunting, my friend. I will meet with you as your schedule demands or as the blue stones whisper.”
Loric tried to rise and follow Aldric, but he slumped back in weariness. His guts hurt and he was powerless to move. “Great Donigan, make me well again, soon,” he pleaded quietly.
Princess Avalana’s life may depend upon my good health. Sleep took hold of him before he could conceive another thought.
****
Fitful rest plagued by fierce combat haunted Loric between brief periods of wakefulness. He blamed fever and chills for the illusions of his mind, which included a broken lance, a bloody sword and he dared not give further thought to what else had befallen.... The battles had come in never-ending sequence, until Loric woke up once more, feeling strangely rested and alive beneath his sweat-drenched clothing and his general un-cleanliness. Let not my dreams be real, he prayed to the Great King, Luminus and Solari. He shook away memories of fallen friends and sighed, for the first time truly aware of how near to Death’s door he had called.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” a soothing and mildly accented voice greeted him.
A slight giggle followed that salutation.
“Your presence alone makes it worth rejoining, fair princess,” said Loric, without
considering his words. Avalana’s sudden quiet drew Loric’s attention to his error, so he apologized. “Forgive me, my lady. I sometimes let my tongue wag above my station, even when it is the truth that prompts me to mischief.”
Avalana returned a tolerant smile and assured him, “You have affronted me in no way,
lord.” She pointed out a freshly laid tray beside him. The meal was like the one he had eaten earlier in the day, only the main course was a large portion of honeyed ham. It was on the table beside him, begging him to devour it. “You should eat,” Avalana encouraged him.
Why did she call me lord again? Loric wondered. He had denied his claim of lordship to her when he had stumbled into her chamber upon his arrival at Moonriver Castle. Loric dropped the question in favor of freshly baked ham with all the trimmings.
The princess must have read the quizzical expression on his face before his chewing could erase it. “Did you think you could keep the truth from me forever, Lord Loric?” she inquired craftily. The lady went on mischievously, “Your cousin Aldric and I have had much time to discuss your kinship and your title of lordship during your recovery. His lordship assures me that you will one day return to your right place, which makes you a Lord of Beledon.”
Loric suddenly wondered whether Aldric had told Avalana his lie or the truth. The princess had be
en suggestive in the way she had shared her knowledge of that last bit, but Loric let it slide by him. He chose to redirect the conversation, insisting, “Please, call me Loric, my lady.”
“Fair is fair, Loric,” said she in return. “You may dispense with formalities and titles as well. Call me Avalana, Ami. I much prefer it.” Her cheeks took on a red glow with the knowledge of her wrongful meaning as she intimated, “I grow weary of wasted words, don’t you?”
A rush of heat sweep over Loric. Avalana had implied a great deal more than she had said.
Her lips purposefully held their shape around her last spoken word long after its sound had passed into silence. Her eyes were set intently upon her prize, which was all Loric felt like in that moment, as her long lashes touched him from a distance, like feathers tickling his fancy. While there was no doubt the young woman was desirable to Loric, there was something terribly wrong about this encounter with her. He could not say why, but things were not as they should be.
Perhaps that feeling came from the knowledge that he was not yet a noble lord, or perhaps the fact that his title bore so much weight with the princess caused him to balk, but he could not bring himself to encourage Avalana in her pursuit. He only needed to find a tactful way to refuse her approach, and so avoid her alluring snare.
Loric kindly changed the subject, being sure to insert her proper title as he ventured,
“Princess Avalana, I beg to disagree with you. I do not look upon titles of respect as mere wasted words. Without such, men below their station-” - like me, he thought, for he would never view himself as more than a commoner until he could openly claim the Blood of Logant- “-would have but one way to show deference to their ranking superiors, which would be kneeling before them. If a man or woman cannot speak respect in everyday speech, then how can lords and ladies expect them to show it in such a humble manner, or ever truly give it, for that matter? How then could order be preserved in the realm?”
