by Mike Truk
Pony patted my shoulder gently, which felt like someone tapping me with a cluster of thick leaden poles.
I smiled gratefully up to him. Pony purposefully held my gaze, and then slowly and very deliberately gave me a nod.
“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
Pony grunted, then cocked his head. I listened as well, and finally heard what might have been the faint creaking of cartwheels.
“Good ears,” I said.
Pony tapped the side of his nose, and despite my mood, I laughed.
* * *
We separated. With time of the essence, Cerys, Tamara and I followed Elsa’s guide to her tailor’s shop, while Netherys and Iris led the cart in which Yashara, Pogo, and Pony hid to Iris’ manse.
I was loathe to part ways. A sudden certainty filled me that I’d never see my friends again. Yet I curbed the urge to cavil. Instead, I grasped Yashara’s forearm firmly, patted Pony on the shoulder, and gave an ironic bow to Netherys and Iris as they took the reins of the lead horse and set off down the cobbled street, the afternoon sunlight almost making of their convoy a bucolic image. Almost, because knowing a war troll lay beneath the heavy canvas was enough to put the lie to the pleasant sight.
Our guide was a slender youth with a shock of badly cut black hair that defied his attempts to subdue it; he spent most of the walk to the tailor’s combing it with his fingers, patting it down, or sprinkling water on his palm when he thought no one was looking to mat it down over his scalp. When he wasn’t tending to his looks he was shooting Cerys and Tamara covert glances, so that it was a wonder we arrived at all.
The tailor’s shop was located to the north of Port Lusander, in a pleasant mercantile area where the base of each building was given to a business while the upper two stories had been converted into homes and apartments. The street was uniformly cobbled and clean, the paint on the buildings vibrant if faded by the salt air, and the diamond-pane windows fronted by planters from which cascaded vividly colored plants of such variety that I could barely recognize the same twice.
The tailor’s itself was surprisingly lovely; I’m not given to admiring architecture that much, but even I had to recognize the care with which the building was maintained and the charm it exuded. Everything from the cunningly wrought iron balustrade that ran up the side of the stoop, to the bronze lanterns that flanked the doorways, to the cheerful flag that hung from the second story depicting a pair of scissors crossed with a thimble of thread spoke of an eye for detail and a talent for artistry. Unlike the other buildings along the street, this one was painted a vivid moss green, the doors and windows trimmed in white, with the second story painted a smoldering pink framed with black timbers.
Tamara and Cerys actually exchanged a look of what might have been nervousness or excitement as they mounted the steps, and I placed a copper in our guide’s palm, bemused by the turn of events.
A bell rang as Cerys pushed open the door and stepped inside, and when I followed in last it was as if I’d stepped into a different world.
Heavy purple drapes hung like theater curtains against the back wall, framing a large set of six-foot-tall mirrors that were arranged in a semicircle about a footstool, their frames gleaming bronze, their reflective surfaces so perfectly clear and smooth that they might as well have been the surface of ponds. Chandeliers, upholstered chairs, shelves upon shelves of clothing accessories, fabulous hats, footstools, more mirrors, a contoured desk with a creamy marble surface, a thick carpet across which crawled a labyrinth of vines and blooming flowers, and the thick, rich green walls behind it all so that nowhere was color absent.
“Hello!” A tall man with thinning white hair, thick black spectacles and the slightly pointed ears of a half-elf emerged through an archway, smiling courteously and sizing us up with quick glances that I was sure missed nothing. “Welcome to Alphonse’s Haberdashery and Tailor, a humble shrine to all that is haute couture and elegance. I am, as you may have surmised, Alphonse, originally from Ellosaint but now years removed from that glorious land and a permanent, alas, fixture here in Port Lusander. Not that Port Lusander doesn’t have much to commend it, but one can never forget the wonders and magic of one’s childhood home, can they?”
He took Tamara’s hand in both of his own, bowed over them, then stepped over to Cerys and did the same. I returned his bow, and for a moment we simply stood smiling at each other; or more accurately, I smiled at the sight of Cerys and Tamara who were smiling with rare surprise and happiness at the beaming Alphonse.
“A pleasure to meet you, Alphonse. I am Cerys, this is my boon companion Tamara, and this is our friend, Kellik.” Cerys took control smoothly, effortlessly, her tone changing ever so slightly to become more formal, her manner becoming more elegant, and I was struck by the memory of her walking through Port Gloom’s gardens, pretending to be a noblewoman with such success that she’d bewitched one of the most powerful men in the city.
“An honor,” said Alphonse, stepping back and clasping his hands together. “Now, Lady Beauhammer has explained the nature of our emergency. I must admit to having been horrified by the time span in which I am to attempt to create two dresses for you, but large sums of gold and the pleasure of working with such beauty as my canvas ameliorated my panic.”
I coughed into my fist, feeling like an oaf in a tea shop. “Is there, ah, time? To create dresses and, um, a suit for me? The ball is tonight.”
“Tonight, tonight, yes, we’ve but six hours in which to work miracles.” Alphonse’s smile was genial, and his eyes actually seemed to twinkle behind his glasses. “If we were to create dresses from scratch, then no, it would be wholly impossible to pull this off. Fortunately, Lady Beauhammer has sent two dresses from her private collection which she believes would be most fetching on you ladies, and I and my seamstresses shall simply adjust them to fit your figures. And you, my good sir, shall have to settle for a suit I had almost finished for another patron; again, a little adjusting, and all shall be well.”
Alphonse beamed at us. “So. Shall we begin?”
We all murmured our assent.
“Splendid. Let me fetch your dresses, and we shall get to work. I believe she chose exceptionally well; for you, Lady Cerys, a dress of emerald which should offset your wondrous hair beautifully. And for you, Lady Tamara, a sheathe of slate blue, with black patterns along the hems. Here we are. Elora! Bring in your girls. We begin!”
I faded into the background, picking a spot on a couch in which to rest and wait and watch, and watch I did with avid interest as six seamstresses entered from a side room, locked the front door, and quickly set to work.
Now, it’s not that I’m interested in clothing, per se; the most I ever got excited over a new outfit was when I finally earned enough to buy my thief’s leathers back in Port Gloom. But to be a wallflower in this shop and watch Tamara and Cerys surrender themselves to Alphonse’s expertise - now that I didn’t mind at all. I kept expecting them to eject me into the street, but such was the commotion, the activity around the two women, that I think they actually forgot all about me.
Three seamstresses attended each of my companions, and in short order weapons, satchels, scarves and belts were placed on a side table. With no hint of prudishness or embarrassment the women bid Tamara raise her arms and pulled her tunic off over her head, then waited as she pushed her pants down over her hips and full rear and stepped out of it, so that she was soon dressed only in her underclothes; a wrap which bound her breasts back tightly, and panties so slender they didn’t do much at all.
And - well. To say Tamara had a full figure would be an understatement. I’d felt her body against my own when we’d slept in Maestria’s couch, had at times held her or hugged her close, but never would have guessed how voluptuous she was. Her breasts were large, far larger than Cerys’, and only her tight binding kept their size from being obvious. Her waist, however, was slender, so that her broad hips were now emphasized, her figure truly that of an hourglass, her stomach
flat, her thighs thick, her rear the perfect curvature of - what? I went through a number of different fruits in my mind, trying to find the perfect parallel, and then gave up. Her olive skin was smooth and rich, her dark-brown hair cascading down past her shoulders, and when she glanced back at me, her expression betraying something akin to nervousness, amusement, and provocation, I had to shift where I sat to hide my arousal.
If Tamara was a full-bodied woman, voluptuous and soft in all the right places, then Cerys was a weapon. She gazed straight ahead as the women undressed her, raising her arms or her feet as directed, so that within moments she stood in but her panties before the mirror, gazing at herself with something akin to blank disinterest.
Would that I could pretend the same neutrality.
I’d never seen her undressed either; when we’d fucked in Tamara’s shack, we’d done so clothed; again, in Maestria’s cabin, the same. While I felt like I knew her intimately, I’d never seen her bare skin in such fashion, and so it was that I leaned back to affect disinterest and gazed in fascination.
She was tall, slender, her hips almost boyish, her shoulders wide, her breasts high and firm, her waist narrow and sculpted. Her thick crimson braid fell down over her bare-freckled shoulder to lie across her chest, and when she moved I saw the flexion of muscle. A life of exercise had made her body an instrument; when I recalled how smoothly she moved, how lethal she was in combat, how easily she’d scaled rooftops and chased me back in Port Gloom, how tireless and fierce she was, I now knew why: her body was a flawless weapon. Not muscular like Yashara’s, but rather toned and honed so that it would do whatever she desired exactly when she desired it.
Looking at both women, I couldn’t tell which I was attracted to more. Tamara’s ripe womanhood or Cerys’ lethal grace.
Too quickly the dresses were brought forth, too quickly their skin was covered as they were fitted and measured. Heart thudding within my chest, I forced myself to look away, out the front window, feeling like a lecherous old man, yet the image of their bodies remained branded within my mind’s eye.
Time slowly played out, and dangerous thoughts came to me. We were all of us caught up in my impossible quest, throwing ourselves head first into danger time and time again, struggling with such intensity that I’d not stepped back and considered what was happening between my companions and I.
Sitting back, ankle crossed over my knee, finger lying over my lips, I considered Tamara and Cerys. Thought of Iris and Yashara. Netherys. What was our future? If we somehow won through? If I defeated my father, destroyed the Family, replaced the Port Gloom government and managed to lead some kind of life on the far side of that war?
I thought of Yashara. Powerful, a force of nature, tactical and cunning, statuesque and ferociously beautiful, a goddess to be worshipped even as she turned her mind to the next battle. The very idea of settling down with her was ridiculous. Whether on a small farm or a noble’s estate, I couldn’t imagine her… simply stopping. Putting down her scimitar and becoming… what? A wife? A partner? A mother?
The very thought of children made me squirm. No, no need to go that far. Just - a relationship. Would she ever give up the life on the road? The dream that was the Mailed Fist?
And Netherys. She’d outlive me by centuries. To her I was but an entertaining chapter in a much longer book. Did she care for me? Or was she merely enjoying our time together as she guided me according to Mother Magrathaar’s desires?
Iris. Her haunted eyes. Her alabaster body, her shattered mind. If anything it was even harder to imagine a future with her. Or even the present.
Uneasy, I shifted in my seat once more, and considered Tamara and Cerys. Tamara was laughing quietly at something one of the seamstresses had said, shaking her head in quiet disavowal. Cerys stood still, not seeming to see or feel anything about her as more measurements were taken from shoulder to wrist.
Did I love them?
The question came unbidden, surprising me as much as the thought of children had. Why think of love? Why think of this matter at all? Wouldn’t it be better to remain in the present? Focused on the mission? Enjoy their company for what it was, and let the future take care of itself?
That had been my approach for as long as I could remember. But now, seeing Tamara bend her head as she lifted her foot, curling a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and then watching as Cerys finally quirked a smile at a comment Alphonse made, rolling her eyes in wry amusement and mutter something back, I felt - what? A sliver of pain, of apprehension?
I cared for them. I wanted nothing to hurt them. We’d fought for each other, saved each other’s lives more times than I could count, were bound close by the threads of fate. Did I love them? I didn’t know. Maybe I wasn’t wise enough to know what that word really meant. But watching them now, each of them so different, so relaxed, so beautiful, I realized with dull certainty that I’d give my life for them.
I sat there, mulling that new awareness over. I’d die for them. Each of them. Did that mean I loved them? What else could it mean? And if so, how could my future include them both?
Tamara looked over to Cerys, said something, and Cerys laughed, covered her mouth, both shocked and delighted at Tamara’s comment, who laughed in turn, the sound rich and full. She reached out and rested her hand on Cerys’ freckled shoulder as she lifted her leg once more so that a seamstress could try a shoe on her foot, and that casual intimacy almost hurt to watch.
Would a day come when I had to pick one of them?
Or was I being a fool? Was my own king troll heritage such that my fate was doomed to be monstrous? Was I doomed to become something that would use them as little more than tools to further my goals? Would my blood ever turn me into something that would sacrifice them to achieve my destiny?
No, a voice whispered from the depths of my mind. I’ll kill myself before I let that happen.
“Kellik!” Cerys turned to regard me, a smile tugging at her lips, laughter an undercurrent in her voice. “Come here! Tamara’s just made the most shocking proposition. I need your counsel.”
Tamara raised a hand. “No! That was for Cerys’ ears alone. Stay there, or you’ll lose all respect for me.”
They both laughed, leaning into each other, and I felt a stab of pain and uncertainty and self-loathing pass through my heart as I forced myself to smile back at them.
Never, I vowed to myself, watching them from what felt like a mile away, locked in a dark chamber of fear and doubt. I’ll never hurt them. Never.
Chapter 14
We ascended to Beauhammer’s ruined castle by carriage, paid for and insisted on by Elsa, who had declared that tonight during the Nautical Equinox image counted for everything. I was squeezed into an ill-fitting suit of black cloth that was too tight at the shoulders and too loose at the waist, but from a distance Tamara had assured me I looked quite dashing, even if Cerys had been unable to hide her smirk.
The ladies, however, looked devastatingly beautiful. I had gaped when Tamara had emerged from the back room clad in her sheath of vibrant slate blue, the cloth clinging to her body so that little was left to the imagination. Gone was the great billowing skirt of the kind Iris had worn in her manor the other night; this dress tapered at the knees so that the long curve of her thighs were displayed, the breadth of her hips, the narrowness of her waist that flared up to her large breasts. Her cleavage was a thing of wonder, and when she drew a shawl of black lace over her bare shoulders it was all I could do to not sigh in disappointment.
Tamara had gazed down at herself with something akin to helpless surrender. “This is the latest fashion in Ellosaint, apparently. Elsa had it shipped here but three months ago. The courts there… the summer heat, I suppose…”
I’d stepped forward and bowed low over her hand. “You look stunning.”
She’d been unable to resist a smile, lowering her head so she looked at me through her smoky lashes. “I feel undressed.”
Would that you were, I’d almost said, but
was saved from that gaffe by Cerys’ arrival. She’d worn a strapless ball gown that hugged her upper body tightly only to flare out in the more traditional manner, hiding her lower half completely in a layered array of emerald cloths that whispered as she moved. The fabric around her torso was rippled, and over her chest was a constellation of ruby chips that caught the light magnificently. Her hair was done up in a complex array of braids, swept up onto the crown of her head so that her pale arms, freckled shoulders, and long neck were revealed; a large sapphire necklace gleaming, green gloves pulled up to her elbows.
“Cerys,” Tamara had whispered in something akin to awe. “You look…”
Cerys had given a thoughtful turn, her dress flaring out as she did so, then stilled and raised an eyebrow as she considered herself. “Fashion is such a mutable thing. If I’d worn this in Port Gloom two months ago I’d have been called a harlot. It feels strange to have my shoulders bare.” Then she’d smiled. “Indecent.”
Tamara stepped up and touched Cerys’ bejeweled chest. “You’re wearing a king’s ransom. Elsa’s?”
“Indeed.” If Cerys had minded being touched in such manner she hadn’t shown it. “Strange, is it not? That she needs treasure to escape Port Lusander, yet has so many valuable jewels?”
“There might not be a willing market for it,” I had said, trying to center my thoughts. Both women had looked absolutely stunning. “If the jewels are known to be hers, the black market might not be willing to touch them.”
“Perhaps,” Cerys had said, but she hadn’t sounded convinced.
Now, we rumbled and rocked our way up to Beauhammer’s castle, the locket safely stowed in Cerys’ tiny purse, the atmosphere tense. The road was choked with carriages, and it took us nearly half an hour to cover a few hundred yards’ distance before passing through the main arch into the castle bailey, and there stopping before the keep so we could alight.