"You look absolutely stunning," he said in a low but sincere tone, surprising her further. "Worth every bit of the wait."
"Th... thank you, Captain." Avari smiled at the unexpected compliment. Lynthalsea had been right; arriving sociably late had left him pleasantly expectant. Her confidence rose a notch.
"I speak only the truth." The captain grinned boyishly. "But I forget my manners. What do you wish for refreshment?" He hailed a passing waiter. "The Emperor has an extensive wine cellar and is very generous with it."
"Apple wine?" she asked impulsively, remembering Shay's treat in Beriknor.
"Apple wine it is," the captain agreed, and gave the order, then waylaid another servant bearing a tray of hors d'oeuvres. "The tidbits are quite tasty, Miss Avari," he said as he picked one up and munched on it happily.
Avari plucked a tiny puff pastry from the tray and sampled it. Very tasty indeed, but with all the sustenance of air.
"Delicious," she agreed, her eyes following the departing waiter. She thought of commandeering the entire platter, but decided it would be rude. "And please, call me Avari."
"Very well, Avari, my friends call me Yen, short for Yenjil. Come, I'll introduce you to some of the other guests."
The avalanche of names and faces promptly slipped her mind, but she managed to greet everyone politely. The only person in the group who drew her interest at all—and the only one with a handshake more solid than a ten-day-old fish—was Sir Theragold, an aged knight with broad, firm shoulders and flowing gray hair,. His eyes twinkled with admiration when he was introduced to Avari, to the obvious displeasure of the woman (His wife? Not his daughter?) on his arm. Head to toe in a frothy pink lace, with a neckline bordering on indecent, Lady Theragold had the attention of every man in the group until Avari's arrival. She gave Avari a finger-tip handshake and kept the conversation rolling along avenues beyond her seeming rival's ken.
A strange mixture of irritation at the woman's deliberate snub and relief at being unfettered from small talk filled Avari like a warm tide. A sip of wine disguised her mood and allowed her to slip out of the inner circle of courtiers. With everyone's attention centered on pink lace and powdered cleavage, she took a moment to covertly scrutinize her host.
The captain wore a dark green dress doublet trimmed in gold braid and festooned with colorful military ribbons. Beneath was a white decorative shirt topped with a green silk neckerchief. A broad green sash wound around the waist of his black trousers, and he wore formal black boots. A shortsword gleamed at his hip; unlike the gaudy rapiers worn by some other courtiers, the hilts showed the marks of use. Her eyes traversed the room, but did not see anyone else nearly as handso—
"What do you think, Miss Avari?"
"Excuse me?" She whirled back to the group, nearly spilling her wine. She had believed herself relieved of conversation duty, but the captain and Sir Theragold were staring at her with expectant looks, waiting for an answer to their inquiry.
"We would like your opinion," Sir Theragold repeated. "Our good captain is quite the equestrian, and believes that cavalry has a distinct advantage over foot soldiers in every situation, including a confrontation on broken terrain."
"You misrepresent me horribly," Thallon protested with a smile. Avari could tell that this argument had arisen between the friends many times before. "They may not be suitable in all situations, I will admit, but certainly most situations..." The captain's voice trailed off, inviting rebuttal.
Sir Theragold refused to rise to the bait. "I would like another opinion, a fresh one, I think. Yen mentioned that you have training in the arts of war and horsemanship. Would mounted lancers be able to maneuver well enough among rocks and boulders to rout out infantry, or should the horsemen merely keep the infantry from escaping until foot soldiers arrive?"
"My training, Sir Theragold, came from my father," she explained, "who wasn't really a soldier, but a ranger. And although I've been in a few nasty fights, I haven't seen what you would call a battle, but I'll be happy to give my opinion."
A snicker from the group brought a brief flash of anger; was she submitting herself to ridicule here? But the earnest look on the elderly knight's face and the wink of affirmation from Captain Thallon strengthened her resolve; they were not trying to make a fool of her. She thought about the question.
"A lot of things might swing the situation one way or another, but one factor in particular would probably decide the outcome. Would the infantry be supported by archers?"
"Archery? Against armored knights?" The captain's voice was serious, but his eyes twinkled as if he knew the answer.
"Well, fully armored knights on horses with adequate barding to repel arrows would be too ungainly to do much good in this situation. And light cavalry, if I remember my father's stories correctly, wear only chain mail, and their mounts wear little if any barding. Right?" Both soldiers nodded, and Avari continued along her line of thought. "To my mind, coordinated archers shooting from cover would devastate the cavalry. All they need do is slaughter the mounts; swordsmen could overwhelm the fallen horsemen before they could recover."
"Archers shooting at mounts?" a young noble interjected. "How very dishonorable!"
"Honor, sir, is the furthest thing from my mind when I’m fighting for my life," Avari replied.
Lady Theragold's laugh brought a flush to Avari's cheeks. The woman had positioned herself between her husband and Captain Thallon, a possessive hand on each of their arms.
"Really, my dear. It's rather presumptuous—don't you think—to refute the experience of our Captain of the Guard, who is, may I remind you, your escort this evening?"
Avari looked down at the woman, reining in her temper. "Milady, they asked my opinion. That's what I gave them."
"And your conclusion is accurate," the captain said, gently removing Lady Theragold's hand and nodding to Avari.
"Indeed, and thank you for sharing it with us." Sir Theragold patted Avari's arm while leveling sharp looks first at his wife, then the young noble. "And I agree that honor is a fleeting commodity when a foot soldier is being charged by mounted lancers. Refreshing to hear the opinion of experience without formal training in warfare. Quite refreshing!"
"Why, there is Lady Kimblethain. I had no idea she would be here tonight! You really must excuse me." Lady Theragold gushed apologies and flounced off, trailed by her entourage.
"When in defeat, beat a hasty retreat," Yenjil whispered close to Avari's ear, his hand touching her bare back. She shivered, and turned to find his mouth only inches from hers.
"What?" she said, unsure if she should draw back. Yenjil's breath hinted at almond and mint, and his hand was so warm.
"She couldn't make you look bad, so she has retreated to where she can once again be the center of attention."
Avari's eyebrows arched in surprise, her thoughts muddled by his proximity and Sir Theragold's next question. His hand left her back, and he withdrew a half-step. With most of the courtiers absent, talk turned to horses, strategy and battle. More knights and officers of the guard joined in, and soon Avari was engaged in spirited verbal skirmishes and storytelling.
Yenjil Thallon stood quietly aside, watching Avari. Her appearance, and that dress, had overwhelmed him; he had half-expected her to show up in pants, if she showed up at all. He could not keep his eyes off her and, he noticed, neither could the other men in the group. With all the frilly pastel gowns that were the current fashion, she stood out like a tall golden lighthouse in a fog of muted colors. As she relaxed she became more confident, and she radiated an innocent sensuality to which she seemed totally oblivious. Adrenalin surged through his veins as she pulled an errant golden fold back onto her shoulder, the muscles of her back playing like a sea of roiling waves.
Thallon relaxed as his worries of an embarrassing evening with an uncouth warrior melted away.
"So you think training on horseback would improve my swordplay aground?" a young noble just beginning a squireship asked her, his eye
s aglow with excitement.
"Oh, yes!" she agreed. "It could make all the—"
A blare of trumpets drowned out her prediction. Avari jumped, but at Yenjil's light touch on her arm, allowed him to escort her toward the center aisle where the emperor's personal guard took station. The herald rapped his staff, his baritone voice booming through the room.
"Lords and Ladies of the Court, honored guests: His Royal Majesty, Emperor Thaddius IV, and his most honored consort, Lady Corrington of Tsing."
For a heartbeat Avari was the only person standing straight, so swiftly had the others bowed and curtsied. Yenjil offered his arm as she attempted the unfamiliar maneuver, hampered by the hindering dress. The royal couple ascended the steps to two ornate thrones and sat, the sign for everyone else to stand erect again. Avari's hand stayed on Yenjil's arm as the emperor began to speak. She jumped as he leaned close to whisper in her ear.
"Are you hungry?"
"What?" Avari glanced to the emperor, who still droned on.
"I asked if you were hungry. Because if you are, we could go somewhere to get a real meal. I've made my appearance and can leave without insulting anyone. There will be no more than tidbits here, so unless you wish to partake of the dancing, I—"
"I'm famished!" she interrupted, horror widening her eyes at his mention of dancing. "Where shall we go?"
"I know just the place!" he grinned. Yenjil took her hand and weaved an inconspicuous path to the door.
"You know, you'll be the topic of gossip for the next month as the tall, golden-clad seductress of soldiers and knights."
"Oh, stop it! I didn't seduce anyone, I just talked!"
That voice. It was her!
Stiletto eased around to peer through the spokes of the carriage wheel. She was coming, but she was not alone. A soldier accompanied her, and they had not bothered to wait for the driver to bring the vehicle to the pavilion entrance.
So much the better, the assassin thought as he pulled out a short blowgun. From a capped quiver he retrieved a two-inch dart. Eyeing the tip and smiling at its oily glisten, he popped it into the tube and put the mouthpiece to his lips.
"Try to tell their wives you were just talking! I was wondering if you were going to get a chance to use that dagger to defend yourself. Jealousy can stir up violent emotions in the most gentle of people."
"There was nothing gentle about those people."
Stiletto sighted his target—her shapely neck—and aimed. A chill breeze took his perfect opportunity as the soldier draped his cloak over her shoulders and placed himself between her and the breeze―between her and the carriage. He couldn't kill her without first killing the man, and that would raise too much commotion; every guard in the area would be here in seconds.
Damn this surface world anyway! Stiletto cursed. Damn its lights and its winds and its unpredictable beings! He swung once again into his precarious perch beneath the carriage. He felt it sway as they got in, heard the driver cluck to the horses, and smelled the odor of manure as one of the animals voided inches from his head.
And damn you, Darkmist, for this thankless task.
CHAPTER 10
I cannot get over the changes in Avari," Shay said for the fourth time since Avari's departure. "When the door opened, I would have sworn on Tem's Balance that someone else stood before me. I always knew she was attractive, but it seemed that she radiated an aura of power, even without her weapons."
"I'm jist hopin' all the fluff an' feminine contrivances ain't took all the fight out o' her," DoHeney grumbled, but as they entered the dining room and took a table, Lynthalsea just smiled.
"DoHeney," Shay said, pulling out a chair for Lynthalsea, "I really don't think—" Shay's speech stopped short, his eyes bulging in fright as he saw who approached.
"Aye, I thought not," DoHeney piped in, not one to miss the chance to goad the half-elf. "But if not, I wonder what ye been carryin' round in that skull o' yers. Cobwebs, I'll wager."
"Eh? What? I didn't—" Shay stammered, then flushed as the source of his consternation sashayed up to the table.
"Why, Master Shay! What a coincidence that you'd be at this table when I'm on duty." Cantie wiped the spotless table, thrusting her formidable cleavage under his nose. "I was just sayin' to me mum what I would give to see you once more before ya have go. Such a nice gentleman 'e is, an' so very handsome."
Lynthalsea hid her smile behind a hand, but DoHeney giggled openly, enjoying the varying shades of red that colored Shay's pointed ears.
"So you'll all be wantin' dinner, o' course," she continued, her eyes returning to her intended prey. "We've got a nice lamb on the spit, fresh fish, an' the usual dishes as you please." After a moment, their orders in hand, Cantie whirled away.
"As I was saying," the half-elf continued, grateful for a respite from Cantie's too-personal attention, "I really don't think that one night on the town is going to affect Avari's fighting instincts. She is not the type easily wooed by luxuries."
"I be hopin' yer right, my pointy-eared friend. Fer if yer not, we're in a mess o' trouble. Think fer a moment what might o' happened in any one o' the fracases we been in without the help o' our tall friend with the keen blade."
"I see what you mean. Perhaps I'll have a talk with her when she returns. If she is aware of our concerns—" He stopped as he noticed Lynthalsea's smirk. "I fail to see the humor," he said, uncharacteristically irritated at the comely elf.
"What you and DoHeney both fail to see," she said with a shake of her head, "is that there have been no changes in Avari."
"Bah! What are ye thinkin', lass? She was lookin' entirely different when she came out o' that dressin' room!"
"She looked different, of course, but therein lies your mistake." She leaned forward. "Appearance was the only thing different about Avari. The beautiful woman you saw tonight was always there, just as the warrior was there this evening, disguised as a beautiful woman. Tonight can only help her, both with her confidence and with the pain she carries. "
"Well, then, we have even more to celebrate than I surmised!" Cantie had returned with their drinks and Shay lifted his tankard toward his friends. "A toast, then, to our fair warrioress, Avari. May her keen edge never be dulled!"
The clink of their toast echoed the clink of three window panes being lifted from their moldings. Heads tipped back, Shay and DoHeney drank deeply from their mugs while Lynthalsea sipped daintily from her goblet of wine.
Three envenomed weapons were readied and aimed.
"Ahhhh!" DoHeney sighed exuberantly, gazing lovingly at his ale, then at Shay in mock disgust. "Hey there, 'tis a waste ta be spillin' yer drink in yer beard. Do ye know how many thirsty dwarves there are in the Copper Hills?"
As Cantie snatched up a towel, determined to dab away the offending drops before they could stain his clothes, three tiny blowguns puffed, all three missiles streaking toward their targets.
As Lynthalsea impulsively lifted her goblet for another sip, the delicate crystal shattered in her hand as a dart, originally destined for her throat, made violent contact with the rim.
DoHeney jerked at the sound, then stared at the tiny dart piercing his forearm. His dagger fell from his numb hand as he opened his mouth to speak, but invisible fingers of poison grasped the muscles of his chest, allowing no words to escape.
The dart aimed at Shay also found its bed in soft flesh. It plunged in up to the fletching, the envenomed tip puncturing the jugular of its victim, the poison racing fatefully to the heart.
Stiletto groaned with the final, halting jolt of the carriage. It was all he could do to unwrap his throbbing arms and legs from the struts and drop to the ground. Sweat stung his eyes and blurred his vision, but not enough to dim the sight of his quarry as she passed through a wrought-iron gate and into a restaurant.
The building was stately, with a marble foyer and white pillars supporting a second story, its walls invisible beneath thick trellises of ivy. Subdued light shone through sheer curtains, and musi
c played softly from the open windows.
Now here's a place where I can work! he thought as he flitted from shadow to shadow, then concealed himself among the ivy. He rested there for a while, allowing his plan to formulate while his fatigued limbs ceased their trembling.
"NO!"
Shay dropped to the floor, clutching at the dart. He wrenched it from the wound and began praying, although he knew it was futile. Cantie convulsed in his arms, eyes wide as her young heart fluttered to silence under his hand.
Sorrow gripped his heart, but was supplanted by rage as screams rang through the dining room. The lethal dart, intended for him, was an assassin's weapon. Another flight of deadly missiles flew, but Shay was oblivious. The half-elf lunged to his feet, deaf to Lynthalsea's cries to stay low.
The priest hurled his war hammer toward one window. He did not stop to watch it smash through the frame like a battering ram, for as the hammer flew, words of magic flowed and lightning crackled from his other hand. The wall above another window dissolved in a clap of thunder and flying splinters. Shay whirled toward the third window, glaring at the missing pane in hopes of a glimpse of a target to guide his next spell.
"Shay!" Lynthalsea's screech finally caught his attention.
She sat on the floor, DoHeney's head cradled in her lap. The spell died on his fingertips, a shower of rainbow-hued motes drifting to the floor as he knelt. DoHeney's face was ashen, his breathing shallow and labored. A feeble flow of blood welled from a cut in his arm. The same blood smeared Lynthalsea's face, looking ghoulish on her delicate features; she had lanced the wound and tried to draw out the poison.
"He's dying!" she cried through welling tears. "The poison is too strong. You must heal him!"
"I have not the faith to counteract poisons!" Shay spat, withdrawing a leather thong from one of the pockets of his robe. He cinched it tight around the dwarf's upper arm, then reached to the nearby hearth. He grabbed a cold poker, mumbling a quick phrase and flicking it with a single finger. The iron screeched as it glowed first red, then yellow and finally white hot. "The wound is not bleeding enough to clear the poison. This will have to serve until a more competent priest can be summoned."
Nekdukarr Page 8