by R J Hanson
Lynneare seemed to float along the isle with Clairenese on his arm. Roland looked at the woman that would become his wife and he thanked Bolvii again for his fortune. She wore a silver and smoke colored dress that matched Roland’s polished armor, which had once belonged to Lord Ivant. Lord Ivant who, so long ago, also called Lynneare and Maloch friend. Claire wore a large green emerald on a white alloy necklace to match the green lexxmar gem in Roland’s helmet that he held at his side. Her long, black hair was pulled up behind her head and tumbled in curls down her back. Her ivory pale skin complimented her raven hair and blood red lips.
Even with the mighty Warlock of the Marshes at her side, Claire had been afraid. Her anxiety about so many varied possibilities had been maddening. Now, seeing Roland at the end of the isle, buoyed her heart. She never felt more beautiful, more welcomed, more secure than she did in that moment. She would treasure this feeling forever. Years hence, she would lament it.
Roland, for good or ill, had never been one to second guess a decision. Never had he felt more right than he did in that moment. He realized he would sacrifice life and limb without an instant of hesitation or fear for the smile of love gently displayed by the woman he loved. His love for Claire seized his soul and blossomed into something more absolute, more pure, than anything he’d ever felt before.
Father and daughter arrived at the end of the isle and the beginning of Roland and Claire’s life together. Lord Velryk rose and stood at Lynneare’s side as Clairenese stepped forward to stand next to Sir Roland.
Lynneare regarded Claire subtly. He had hoped the love of a good man would save her. By means of the Hourglass he had seen her happy in her home with her husband and child. He had not anticipated the pure joy he saw on her face now, though. It had been so many centuries for him. Now he was reminded of the power of love to heal and to fortify against all life’s woes.
“Who releases this woman of her duties to her home and her kin?” Father Gadriel asked.
“I, Lynneare, Warlock of the Marshes, hear-by release her from all duties to me and her former household,” Lynneare said.
“Who releases this man of his duties to his home and his kin?”
“I, Lord Velryk the Just of Gallhallad, hear-by release him from all duties to me and his former household,” Velryk said.
The priest, Father Gadriel, began in ancient languages and prayers as old as the idea of love itself. The ceremony continued in the familiar way the ceremonies of love and devotion have for centuries. A short time later the priest reached the end of his prayers and joined Roland’s hand with Clairenese’s.
“I call on all gathered here to witness this act of love, duty, and privilege,” Father Gadriel said. “Love. Clearly, they love one another. Love is the strength that serves us all when all other strength has failed. Duty. It is the duty of us all to further our line and populate all lands with those who would protect it. It is what calls us to be more than selfish creatures but to look beyond our own needs to those of our kin and neighbors. Privilege. As the Hourglass of Father Time himself is broad at its top so is the history of these two people. Generations of men and women have flowed through the Sands of Time. Men and women who fought and died for future generations. A struggle that made possible this event. As that history narrows to a singular strait it brings us to this point, where our lives now pass. Beyond that narrow passage is the future of such a joining. Children, and children’s children are now made possible by this act of love. Father Time and Mother Fate have given us the privilege to determine this day and how we proceed with the opportunities with which Bolvii has surely blessed us.”
Many an ‘amen’ came from the crowd. Lynneare came to understand why his daughter spoke so highly of this priest. Although his dress was simple, this Father Gadriel was a gifted philosopher and, above that, a good man.
“Sir Roland of Lawrec, do you accept this woman as she is offered?” Father Gadriel asked. “Do you accept her as she is? Do you love her, and do you vow to honor her?”
“I do,” Roland said.
“Lady Claire, do you accept this man as he is offered? Do you accept him as he is? Do you love him, and do you vow to honor him?”
“I do,” Claire said.
“Have you a symbol of this promise and devotion?” Father Gadriel asked to Roland.
“I do,” Roland said as he produced a ring of purest gold. Roland slid the ring onto Claire’s finger and said these words, “forever will forget time before my love for you falters. My first duty shall always be my duty to you. I am your protector and will forever be. I swear this on my sword and before Bolvii.”
Roland drew Swift Blood from its scabbard and knelt before Father Gadriel and Clairenese. He held the Great sword in his open palms up to her.
“Have you a symbol of this promise and devotion?” The priest asked to Clairenese.
“I do,” she said.
Clairenese took a large ring, also of pure gold, set with an enchanted dark green gem in its center. She placed the ring on Roland’s finger and said these words, “I accept your oath of Sheld and husband. I have never loved another and never will. I love you without condition or hesitation.”
Claire bent, although only slightly for Roland was large even for a Great Man, and brushed the blade of Swift Blood gently with her lips. There was no burn for she had been welcomed and truly loved.
“I am honored to announce to such a distinguished gathering the first introduction of Sir Roland, son of Lord Velryk, and Lady Clairenese, daughter of Lynneare,” Father Gadriel said. “Husband and wife. May their days, their words, and their works be blessed and guarded by OathKeeper, the sword of Bolvii.”
Roland and Claire turned to face their friends and family gathered there and a great cheer rose from the crowd. A large explosion over Roland and Claire’s head caught everyone’s attention.
A swirling mass of green and blue flame arched and rolled twenty feet above the heads of the newlyweds. Several members of the crowd were startled, and more than a few weapons were drawn. Gallis Argenti smiled.
The green folded into the blue and the blue twisted around the green. The flames spiked high into the air and swam in the night sky forming twisting lines of magical light. The flames bent and turned and realization came to all those in attendance.
May Peace And Fortune Be With You For The Length Of Your Days
Those words were written across the night sky in a rare brilliance. Prince Ralston cried out, “Magnificent.” Even King Vigorr of the Stonebeards acknowledged the skills of the elf in his praise, “That’s pretty good for an elf.”
A dwarven king drank ale with a prince of Lethanor, and a paladin of Silvor broke bread with a wanted criminal. There were many nervous guests attending the wedding of Sir Roland, son of Lord Velryk, and Clairenese, daughter of the Warlock of the Marshes. However, for one day the old crimes and well-kept grudges were forgotten. Man drank with elf, elf ate with dwarf, and dwarf joked with man.
Roland and Claire mixed among the crowd to say their thank-yous, hellos, and good-byes. Roland saw Gallis standing apart from the group and walked out to him.
“You are almost as unwound as I,” Gallis Argenti said. “Who else but a mad man would have drow attend his wedding. Not to mention The Original Night Walker.”
“Perhaps they are just unusual friends,” Roland said. “I do have a few.”
Roland then looked to the wild elf who, Roland thought, was clearly indicated among that group of ‘unusual friends.’ Gallis looked at him and then a form of understanding seemed to come to him.
“I get it,” Gallis Argenti said. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Lull them into security. It makes them easier to trap in the future. It draws the spies out into the open so that you can see them.”
Gallis had apparently missed entirely the implication he might be included in that list people Roland had mentioned.
It pained Roland to see Gallis slip from reality so easily. It pained him because h
e knew he was on that path at one time and was only saved by chance or Fate herself.
Roland and Claire said their pleasantries to their guests and made their rounds. A short time later they retired to their rooms and the wedding night was all Claire had ever dreamed it could be.
The guests dispersed, some more quickly than others. Sir Eldryn conversed with the fair Lady Angelese and, as quietly as possible, made a gift of a several yards of lovely silks to her. Tindrakin took up a wine bottle and his fishing pole and headed for the nearby river. The laborers that were hired collected the decorations and remaining wine and dishes of food. Kodii watched silently from the trees. The moon climbed into the sky and soared overhead in her pale glory.
Chapter IV
Arranged Retribution
Roland rose early and walked out into the cool morning. He looked around him at his home and emerging barn and stables. He looked out into the glade where Road Pounder grazed. He imagined watching the son he had dreamed of playing in that glade and learning how to ride on Road Pounder.
Sir Roland of Lawrec was lost in those thoughts when a voice came to him from the tall grass nearby.
“It was a beautiful wedding,” came from amongst the dew.
“Ashcliff?” Roland asked into the air.
“The one and only,” Ashcliff replied as he rose from the ground.
“It is good to see you, friend.”
“You still call me friend?” Ashcliff said.
“Of course, I do,” Roland replied.
“I thought since you and Eldryn abandoned me perhaps you had second thoughts about associating with a criminal.”
Ashcliff hated the deception but believed it necessary, not only for his sake but for that of his friends’ as well.
“Ashcliff, I have only ever asked for forgiveness from my father,” Roland said. “I ask it from you now. I had never left a friend before. I vow to never let it happen again. I am sorry. Eldryn and I brought five Slandik warriors to the gates of the Keep. We were there to draw weapons against the King himself if need be. When we arrived, they were already searching for you. It seemed you had already made your escape.”
Ashcliff was a vision of control but, beneath his stoic composure, he felt the traitor, emotion, rising.
“Very well,” Ashcliff said. He knew they had come for him. However, he had been trained to believe the idea of friendship was something to be used, not cherished. Now, seeing Roland and seeing the shame and hurt in his eyes he realized he had only been lying to himself. Perhaps friends were a weakness, as his master taught. But it was a weakness he intended to keep.
“I hope we can continue to be friends,” Roland said.
“What sort of friend would I be if there was no such thing as forgiveness in my heart?” Ashcliff stated as much as asked. “If you would hear me say it then I will. Roland, son of Velryk, I hear by release you of all obligation in regard to my capture and furthermore forgive you your shameful act of blatant cowardice.”
Roland’s eyes rose swiftly to meet Ash’s. As Ash began to grin Roland began to laugh.
“I am glad to see you’ve sharpened your sense of humor,” Ash said.
“Aye, I have,” Roland said. “And my sword.”
This moment, this conversation, had been inevitable. It had been waiting just beneath the surface like a hull splitting rock hiding under the calm waters of the sea. Now their friendship had passed through this treacherous strait and continued beyond into open waters. He stared out over the plains to the west of them. Ash took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I have a confession of my own I must ask forgiveness for,” Ash said.
“Yes?”
“I lied to you and Eldryn,” Ash said.
“About?”
“My name,” Ash said. “I was called ‘Shanks’ as a child, but not for the reasons I explained. I wanted to sound tough and worthy. I was actually called ‘Apple Shanks.’ I had a technique of stealing and hiding apples in the tops of my boots, oversized boots lifted from a drunk, and under my pant leg. I was so successful at it that the others soon began to call me ‘Apple Shanks.’ So, there you have it. The sordid truth.”
Roland laughed again. He remembered the tale Ash had told them. Of how he had killed his first man with shanks made of broken cups. He remembered thinking then how tough Ash must be.
“I am glad to see you again,” Roland said. “It has been far too long.”
“And I you,” Ash said. “I had other business or I would have been here much sooner. I understand that your man, Kodii, makes a worthy scout though.”
“He does,” Roland said. “Speaking of your other business, have you heard of the Black Fly?”
“I am aware of them,” Ash said.
“I need something done,” Roland said. “I would not barter on our friendship, however. I understand that Shadow Blades get well paid for their work.”
Ashcliff was rarely surprised, however he was surprised now. He maintained his composure though, for he was a professional. He had always respected Roland’s intellect but he never expected Roland to have such a lack of innocence to the underground world of assassins. Little did he know Roland was only playing a hunch. Ash knew Roland well but only Eldryn and Claire came close to understanding how quickly and confidently Roland would rely on his intuition.
“I hear Shadow Blades are no more than myths,” Ashcliff replied.
Roland attempted to give Ashcliff a knowing look. Knowing looks were not Roland’s forte.
“What would a Knight of the land know of Shadow Blades anyway?” Ashcliff continued. “I hear knights, tall ones in particular, get hit in the head a lot.”
Roland, always surprised at Ashcliff’s sudden levity, laughed again. Ashcliff, also surprised at his sudden jovial nature, shared in the laughter. It was good to laugh with a friend. Very good. For a moment they were back on the trail somewhere between Fordir and Nolcavanor. For a moment they were both boys again out in the wilds with only their friendship to count on.
“Would you be interested in a job?” Roland asked.
“I’m not much of a carpenter,” Ashcliff said, looking back toward the not quite complete barn.
“I have something else in mind more along your lines of trade,” Roland responded.
“Such as…” Ashcliff led in.
“Given your talents I think you would be able to contact a worthy sort to deliver a message for me,” Roland said. “I am willing to pay five Roarke’s Ore coins to a Shadow Blade for a contract.”
“Let’s see your coin and hear the terms of your contract,” Ashcliff said. “And please, quit using that term, ‘Shadow Blade.’ It makes you sound like a suspicious housewife.”
Roland went back into the house and saw Clairenese resting. He retrieved his pouch and went back out to the glade to meet Ashcliff. Roland gave Ashcliff the coins and he accepted them without sparing them even a glance.
“I would hire a Sh… a good man for the murder of a person or association,” Roland said.
Ashcliff was again surprised by his large friend. He never expected Roland to be the sort to hire his killing done in the quiet of the night by a hidden blade. Have I misjudged him?
“I would like the word put out if I am assassinated, then someone capable, perhaps one of magical talents, is under contract to discover and murder all of those associated with that assassination,” Roland continued. “I would like the word to be taken to the Black Fly guild of assassins specifically. Could you do that for me?”
“A poor man’s retributive strike?” Ashcliff said, referring to the much-rumored prayer of paladins. A prayer that would invoke, or provoke as the case may be, the wrath of their deity against a foe that strikes them a death blow.
“Poor?”
Ash looked over the coin in his hand again. Perhaps not so poor after all.
“For five Rorkor coins, I would be happy to,” Ashcliff replied.
“Ash, if this is beyond you, or puts you in danger�
�” Roland began.
Ashcliff waved his hand at that.
“I am no Roland,” Ash said, smiling. “I will be smart about it and take no unnecessary risks. I will see your message is delivered and heard.”
“Do you think it will work?” Roland asked.
“To my knowledge, nothing like this has ever been done before,” Ash said frankly. “If it does work it might prove an interesting business model.”
Ashcliff turned and walked toward the trees near the home and quickly vanished among them. Roland looked around him at the beauty and peace of his home. He wished he had more time with Ashcliff but understood Ash had his masters to serve as well. He thought of Engiyadu and Kyhn. He thought of the children he hoped to have. He thought of the vows he had made to the Prince and to his wife. His father had been right as he always was. It would take a strong man to serve two masters.
As the next two weeks raced past Roland and Claire enjoyed their time together. When one looks back on time it seems these happy interludes always pass too quickly. They were looking over the plot where construction on the house would continue in the coming summer.
“Roland, I have something to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“There is no other way to say it than to say it,” Clairenese said, hesitantly.
“Then say it,” Roland replied, concern growing on his face.
“We are going to have a son,” Claire said with fear in her voice. “He will be born in the second month after the new year, in the winter.”
“A son? I am going to have a son? Claire, I love you!”
Roland took her up in his arms and hoisted her high in the air surprising a gasp from her breast. Perhaps his dreams weren’t foolish.
“You don’t understand,” Claire said with a tremor in her voice.
She patted his shoulders and he lowered her to the ground for the first time seeing the worry in her eyes.