by John Daulton
“Most people do,” said Aderbury.
“Women don’t.”
“True. But only the silly ones.”
“I hope so,” said Altin, and let out a long and lingering breath.
Aderbury was about to tell him to quit worrying again when Orli’s carriage finally came rumbling into view. Once more she was in the charge of the royal dressmaker, and her arrival did not come without a considerable amount of pomp. The Queen had gone overboard to make Altin’s beloved feel every part the princess on her visit to their world.
Her entourage consisted of both front and rear guard, six knights apiece, in full armor burnished to a mirror’s shine, and included a herald in the Queen’s own livery to announce Orli’s exit from the coach. The coach itself had two footmen, plus the coachman and a seated guard. Altin’s thoughts upon seeing who that particular guard was were captured perfectly by Aderbury’s remark. “Good Guano and the Bats of Gore,” he muttered. “She gave your girl the royal assassin as a guard?”
“So she did,” Altin agreed incredulously as he eyed the unnerving elf sitting silently by the driver’s side. He smiled as he shook his head in disbelief. Queen Karroll had been better than her word.
The shadowy elf slipped from the carriage seat and disappeared into the crowd that had gathered to watch the guests arriving to the ball, all of whom began to murmur and lean, curious to see who it was that had just arrived with such an entourage. A footman ran round and opened up the carriage door as the other blew a few blasts on a long brass horn. The herald waited until the footman had finished with the horn, then, pounding his staff upon the stone, announced the royal dressmaker by title and by name.
Perfuvius Needlesprig the Third stepped out, doffed his hat, and gave a florid bow. The crowd clapped politely as he moved up to the first step to wait for the rest of his party to be announced.
The herald pounded his staff once more on the stone beneath his feet, this time announcing in his great bass voice, “Lieutenant Roberto Levi. Weapons officer of the great warship Aspect and hero of the Hostile War.”
Altin waved and called out as Roberto stepped down and stood beside the carriage step, again to a smattering of applause from the growing ranks of the curious crowd. He gave Altin a grin and a nod, then turned and reached a hand back up inside the coach.
“The lady Orli Pewter,” began the herald as Orli finally could be seen. A hush fell across the crowd as she stepped lightly down onto the carpet covering the steps. “First Ambassador from Earth and Advisor to the Queen,” the herald went on, “communications officer of the warship Aspect, creator of the cure and heroine of the Hostile War.” A ripple of awe moved across the crowd as Orli straightened herself and flashed perfect white teeth up to where Altin stood. The crowd was nearly as mesmerized as Altin was himself.
The healers must have spent the entire week casting growth spells on her hair—and the illusionists doing much the same in hiding the growth so that no one would know it was being done and spoil the effect. The luxurious display of molten gold was piled upon her head was a miracle to behold. Coils of it, curling ropes that wound like captured waves, were bound up and held together by enchantments and a few jewel-encrusted combs whose gems sparkled almost as beautifully as did the radiant flaxen mound, glimmering in the dual lights of a setting sun and a rising, reddish moon. A few strands of hair, as if on accident, tumbled down and curled about her neck, teasing upon her pale white cleavage and delectable collarbones. A single diamond, round and cut to sparkle like the blue irises of her eyes, was bound securely at her throat, held in place by a narrow strip of shimmering black silk, the perfect contrast to her snowy skin.
Her gown was made of Sunshine Silk, a fabric so lustrously yellow it made daffodils envious to the point of withering away, and it shimmered nearly as much as did her hair. Her slender waist was put to excellent use, and the royal dressmaker had made her modest bosom rise to its best effect. Strings of pearls were sewn into her bodice and her skirts, and the whole affair was held together and augmented at every pleat and fold by golden thread and enchanted lace that sparkled as much by magic as by reflected light. Orli was literally aglow.
Altin gaped as he watched her start to climb the stairs, her movements graceful, her willowy arms slender and toned, ivory fleshed and vanishing into white gloves, elbow length and tailored to her delicate hands. She was simply astonishing. To look upon her was almost painful, like a giant clutching him around the chest making it difficult to breathe, and he was unaware that he’d begun to lean towards her, tipping down the stairs as if gravity had a twin that now emanated just from her. Aderbury had to grab him by the back of his coat when it seemed he might run down the stairs and take her into his arms. “She’s supposed to come to you,” Aderbury said softly in his ear. “Don’t ruin it for her. Let her have her moment.”
Aderbury was right of course, and Altin stopped before he’d descended another step. But she was so beautiful. No one had ever been so beautiful before.
Orli, however, was not as inclined to formalities as Altin was, or at least as Aderbury was, and, despite the gasp of hopeless resignation that came from Perfuvius Needlesprig the Third when she suddenly bounded up the stairs—he’d worked so hard to get her trained for just this moment too—she rushed up and into Altin’s arms.
“Oh, Altin,” she said, kissing him and making Aderbury blush to match the darkest wine, “it’s like a fairy tale. Just like one. I’ve never been so happy in all my life. I’ve found heaven. And you are the angel that brought me here.” She kissed him again as Roberto and the royal dressmaker came up to stand behind her on the stairs.
“Ahem,” said the royal dressmaker, clearing his throat and fearing that their kiss was beginning to grow scandalously long. “I’m sure my lady should like to keep her tongue behind her teeth,” he admonished quietly, then cleared his throat a second time. “It won’t do to make a scene.” He was whispering, but all of them could hear.
She pulled her face away from Altin’s, although she kept their bodies close, and turned to face the man who’d been her patient tutor throughout the week. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder to restrain myself once we get inside.” She winked at him and gave Altin another kiss.
“Woman, you better hope they don’t have some kind of decency laws here,” Roberto said with a grin, “or you’re going to get us all put away.”
Altin let Orli go long enough to introduce Aderbury to Roberto, his newfound friend from Earth.
“Well met,” said Aderbury.
“Great to meet you too,” said Roberto. “Looks like you and me get free reign on the rest of the girls inside, eh?” He gave a hearty guffaw, for which Orli punched him in the arm, quite out of keeping with the elegant gloves encasing her slender hands.
“You being a pig is what will get us in trouble if anything does. Try to behave. Just this one time in your entire life.”
Aderbury only laughed, placing a hand on Roberto’s epaulette. “No my friend, I’m afraid all the single ladies are yours to court. I’ve got a bride somewhere inside lost amongst the crowd, no doubt telling scandalous personal secrets about me, for which I will suffer the sounds of snickers throughout the night.” He used that as his segue to urge them all inside. “Speaking of whom, we should go up before she gets completely out of hand.”
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Orli said, taking Altin’s proffered arm. “And those stories sound very interesting. I’m looking forward to hearing them all.” Aderbury pretended to be frightened, and the group climbed up the carpet and entered the vacuous royal hall.
Once again the Queen had spared no expense, and all the best illusionists had been brought in to animate the walls. The east wall depicted a scene from the Battle of Andeon Hill, a famous battle of the Unification Wars that was renowned for the awesome collection of siege weapons and conjurers gathered there. The scene repeatedly played out the opening salvo of the royal army’s initial attack, a rain of
fireballs, boulders and burning pitch that fell upon the great orc stronghold for approaching an hour and a half. The illusion reset itself when the fortress finally fell, and anyone paying attention could watch it all happen once again. The west wall showed Margorian Falls, a magnificent waterfall in the depths of the Great Forest that fell for over a thousand feet. And on the south wall, through which they entered, was a giant manticore curled up as if asleep, but every time anyone came or went, the ferocious animal suddenly woke up, opened its mouth and then chomped down ferociously, its teeth coming together like a portcullis gnashing through the doorway. Most of the guests were quite amused by this, and they enjoyed the fun of watching one another being “eaten alive”—or being thrown up as Roberto pointed out sometime later in the night. The north wall alone was unenchanted, sufficing instead with its ancient tapestries and the dais upon which the royal throne now sat, and in which rested the Queen. This was the seat of power, and there would be no enchantments here.
The little group was separated from the Queen by the milling crowd. Here and there pockets of people gathered in clusters, chatting noisily beneath elegant chandeliers, each one a swarm of glimmering diamonds and bright candles dangling from silver chains attached to the enchanted ceiling above. Forty paces up, the ceiling had become a bright blue sky, filled with clouds upon which sat round-faced cherubs who smiled down at them and, on occasion, threatened mischief as if they might drop some fruit or pour a cup of wine upon the heads of the people down below. Most of the guests were beyond being amused by such things, at least were the folks from Kurr, but more than a few members of the fleet could be caught snickering as they looked up from time to time and caught some clever enchanter’s little private joke.
As the five of them stared across the room, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dim light, the disparate styles of dress became immediately apparent to them all. The assemblage was an odd shuffling of dissimilar cultures and opposite styles of dress. The contingent from Earth all looked very much the same, their uniforms nearly identical excepting for ribbons and other demarcations of rank and acts of valor. But the denizens of Kurr were an entirely different lot. Their baroque style and opulent elegance seemed a luxury stolen from another time, at least it did for Orli, and the visual feast of all this color and pageantry was rapture in her eyes.
As she came in, she spotted her father standing with the admiral and Altin’s mentor, Tytamon, whom she’d met the day after the Earth ships had come down. The trio of wizened men all stopped to wave at her and her entourage across the sea of heads, the colonel giving her an adoring wink just before the herald’s announcement that “Altin Meade has arrived” got the attention of everyone in the hall. The crowd fell silent, eager to turn and pay respect to the man who had “discovered” outer space, but that silence was broken by a wave of murmured awe. The crowd gawked as they turned as one and froze, amazed in the discovery of Orli standing at his side. Her cheeks reddened as she heard the intake of at least a thousand breaths and felt the heat of twice as many eyes. She was humbled and exhilarated all at once.
A second herald began the long-winded announcement of titles and honors again, during which time Orli glimpsed Doctor Singh in conversation with the immensely large man Altin had introduced as his own doctor, Doctor Leopold. Doctor Singh gave a subtle wave and smiled at her as the enormous fellow raised his goblet high in lieu of being so discreet. He grinned broadly at her before taking a long draught of the Queen’s expensive wine.
When the herald had finally introduced them all, the Queen summoned them to the throne, staying the resumption of noisy socializing amongst her guests for just a moment more with a gesture of her hand. The crowd parted before their small company, making way as they approached. Even the musicians playing in the corner let their tune fall temporarily away.
After the appropriate genuflections, the Queen came forward on the dais and began to speak. “At last,” she said. “The guests of honor have finally seen fit to arrive, trusting to the patience of the monarchy.” She winked at Orli, having personally arranged the timing of her arrival for maximum impact. “I won’t bore you all with a long and ceremonious speech, as I know most of you are eager to get back to drinking all my wine.” There was a round of collective laughter. “Fortunately for you all, the more humdrum aspects of the early diplomacy between our two worlds have already taken place safely behind closed doors, sparing you all the trials of my stubborn attitudes.” She turned her gaze to the portion of the room where the admiral and his chief advisors stood. “Except for you, you poor man,” she said looking directly into the admiral’s eyes. “I do appreciate your patience with my blunt questions and ignorance of your world.” He bowed deeply to show his mutual respect.
“Which means there is really only one other matter to attend to before we can all find the bottom of a glass.” She turned to the small group standing before her on the steps. “Altin Meade, come forward.”
Ugh, he thought, swallowing hard as he mounted the singular step between himself and the Queen. He was already being watched more closely than he liked.
“Kneel,” she ordered as he approached. She turned and drew her sword from the scabbard hanging on the back of her throne. As she laid the shimmering blade upon his shoulder, he felt his stomach fall out through the bottom of his boots. “I dub you Sir Altin Meade,” she said, picking up the blade as she spoke and moving it to his other shoulder. This can’t be happening, he thought. “Knight of the Realm,” she concluded as she took the sword away. “Rise and be recognized.” It was happening. He had to hide his trembling hands behind his back as he complied with her command.
She took him by the upper arms and turned him towards the assembly. “I give you, Sir Altin Meade,” she said. “Kurr’s first galactic mage.” The entire chamber exploded in thunderous applause. Altin smiled, embarrassed and thrilled together, then looked down at Orli whose face shone brighter than a universe of suns. Her eyes were wet, glistening with tears of pride that she could not stop from running down her cheeks. He wanted to kiss the watery gems from her soft skin, to taste the salt upon his lips. Imagining it gave him some respite from the discomfort of a cheering crowd.
But he would have to wait; both of them would, until they’d done their service to the meeting of two distant worlds. And they did their duty too, all of it: Orli had to dance at least three dozen dances, and were it not for her runner’s heart and the months she’d had to recuperate from her malaise, she’d never have made it through. Altin was not so lucky, and after dancing with what felt like every woman in the realm, not to mention no small number from the fleet, he found himself nearly gasping for air as he collapsed into a chair at the table ostensibly reserved for him and Orli and their retinue—a table that had seen little use since the dancing began. The truth of the matter was, he’d only spoken to Orli twice since the music had resumed, and he’d only gotten to dance the first dance in her arms, from there diplomacy had taken the upper hand.
Grateful for at least a moment’s rest, he sat and gulped down a cup of wine, willing his heart to stop pounding and vowing to get more exercise when he got the time. He saw a flash of yellow in the churning mass of dancers and began to smile as he recognized Orli by her dress. But then he saw who was holding her and found himself rising from his seat. Thadius.
“Easy now, Sir Altin,” came the Queen’s voice unexpectedly from behind. Her hand on his shoulder prevented him from getting up.
He turned and tried to rise again. She stayed him with a look. “If she can be taken from you so easily as that, she never was yours to begin.”
“Anyone but him.” Anger began to burn within him as if some wicked alchemist had poured acid into his heart and now stirred it with a stick.
“Oh, I know him well enough,” Queen Karroll said. “I’m the Queen. It’s my job to pay attention to such things.”
Altin grunted and glared into the dancing throng. The Queen sat down next to him in a casual, familiar way.
“Believe in her, Altin. Relax and enjoy the night.”
Fear of losing her was not what gnawed at Altin’s heart. Loathing did. The very idea that that man’s hands could violate even a strand of Orli’s silken hair infuriated him; that his vermin fingers might press against her flesh was too much to bear. He felt the rage starting to build inside and he had to fight desperately to keep it from rising up, but the Queen was looking straight into his soul. She gave him a look that only a queen can give. He growled silently as he pushed the emotions down. He should say something to his monarch, but he couldn’t think of anything appropriate, so he sat quietly and ground his teeth instead.
Queen Karroll smiled, genuinely amused. “Youth,” she seemed to lament. “Firm bodies but soft heads.” She laughed. “Cheer up, the song is over now. Put on a knight’s face, here she comes.”
Altin shook himself and forced a smile.
Thadius accompanied Orli back to the table, but the smug look he’d been about to drop in Altin’s lap melted away as he saw the Queen reclining comfortably beside Altin and grinning back at him as he approached. “Master Thoroughgood, you dance divinely,” said the Queen. Altin was amazed at how her words could say the one thing while her tone so clearly stated something else, seeming instead to say, “You are an embarrassment to your family, and I hope some day you might grow up.” Altin didn’t have to say a word as Thadius bowed deeply and made excuses, retreating back into the crowd.
“He is an amazing dancer,” Orli agreed after a draught of wine. “He simply glides across the floor.”
Altin did not allow himself to grimace, or at least he tried to hide it behind a swallow of his own wine. He could not be angry with her, she was only pointing out the truth. And though he didn’t want to dance anymore, he did want her next dance to be with him if she decided to go again. Hating to have to follow up the skill of Thadius’ nimble feet, but unwilling to risk Orli to yet another of the endless dance requests, he asked her anyway, making a preemptive strike. “Would you like to dance again?” he said. “I can’t dance as well as Thadius, but I do love staring into your eyes.”
