Trafficking in Demons

by Michael Angel

  Whatever it was called, at least it sat lightly on my head. The base of the hennin was fringed with a fine white cloth that covered part of my brow and fell off to the sides of my face, roughly to shoulder level. Sitting just at the ‘widow’s peak’ of my hairline was a little cloth loop, probably so I could hold onto the thing if a stiff breeze blew up. That was a nice feature, but the fabric that made up the loop was rough enough to make my forehead itch.

  “There we are!” Lady Behnaz stepped back to admire her work.

  “Breathtaking!” breathed one of the attendants.

  “Marvelous!” another marveled.

  “Stupendous!” the last two said, stupefied.

  I got up from my chair and did my best to keep my opinions to myself. There I stood, dressed head to toe in this ridiculous costume. Pink on cream on pink on white on yet more oceans of pink. And as for my hair? The curls did justice to the name sausage, that was for sure. In fact, it ‘poofed’ out on the sides like masses of coal-black fluff.

  There was no other way to put it.

  I looked like a fricking poodle.

  “I think the hennin ties it all together,” Lady Behnaz said, looking smugly satisfied.

  The pink conical hat sat perched atop the heap of sausage curls at a sharp backwards angle. I realized I had to correct my initial impression.

  I looked like a fricking poodle wearing a dunce cap.

  “That will be all, Dame Chrissie will be leaving at any moment now!” Behnaz ordered. The four women gathered up their gear and carried their basket out, just as the door to my tower demesne opened on its own.

  Of course, this was the time that my three best friends in all Andeluvia decided to show up. Galen, Liam, and Shaw chose just that moment to wander in, after letting the attendants pass. I turned towards them slowly, mostly because the train of my dress generated a lot of drag on the floor. Each had a carefully cultivated poker-faced expression.

  “All right,” I said, resignedly. “I will allow two jokes maximum from each of you. No more, okay? Otherwise, I’m liable to start crying.”

  Liam and Shaw looked over to Galen.

  The Wizard cleared his throat. “We have decided, after much discussion, that it would be best if we said as little as possible.”

  Shaw nodded vigorously. “Aye, ‘twould allow us to live out our full lifespan free of injury.”

  “Wise words,” I said. “Believe it or not, I do appreciate it.”

  “King Fitzwilliam tasked us to escort you to the tournament grounds,” Liam said formally. “I shall precede your horse, while Galen and Shaw remain on your flanks.”

  Behnaz let out a rueful sigh. “Preceded to the tournament by the greatest of the fayleene…how I wish I could have had that honor!”

  I let that pass, because I just realized that in this getup, I couldn’t take a full stride. In fact, I couldn’t ‘walk’ at all. I minced along at a pace that probably made me look extra-cute to anyone who didn’t want to go anywhere in a hurry.

  And something else just occurred to me.

  “How am I supposed to get onto a horse in this?” I asked.

  “There is a special saddle that a strong man or centaur can lift you into,” Behnaz said. She gathered up her last few items and then whispered some advice to me. “I’m sure that your as-yet-unmarried liege lord will approve of your new look, even if you do not. So have fun!”

  Speechless, I watched as Lady Behnaz sashayed out the door.

  “Ah…” The Court Wizard cleared his throat. “Shall we commence our own journey?”

  “In a bit,” I said, as I forced myself to think for a moment. Suddenly, an inspiration came to me. “Galen, there’s no place for a holster on this outfit I’m wearing. Can you bring it in your saddlebags?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are we expecting trouble?”

  “Nay,” Shaw broke in. “But like a proper warrior, she is preparing for it.”

  Galen nodded. He trotted over to where I’d hung up my jacket and holster. After a little fussing, he pulled the holster free and stowed it in one of his saddlebags.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  It took a painfully long time for me to make my way down the stairs and out to the courtyard. I could have asked Galen to offer me a ride. But by this point, I figured that if everyone had voted to make me the Primrose Lady of Spring Beauty, they could darn well wait until I arrived in my own good time.

  A huge white stallion waited just outside, his traces held by a pair of the royal pages. The horse was ‘dressed’ in a flower-encrusted bridle and halter. He looked as put off by his getup as I felt about mine. Galen lifted me into the strange contraption atop the horse’s back. It was a sidesaddle that had been constructed to look like a padded chair with arms.

  I gripped the chair’s arms to avoid being thrown to the ground as we started out. Liam led us across the courtyard and around through the smallest of the palace gates I’d yet seen. A single pair of guards raised the portcullis by yanking on a pair of iron chains. Galen and I ducked our heads as we went through and onto a side street in the shadow of the palace wall.

  “In case you are curious, this is called the Blind Man’s Gate,” Galen told me, as we clopped along the cobblestone street. “It is rarely used, but it’s useful to exit the palace with a minimum of attention.”

  Whatever the gate was called, it did help us keep a low profile. We made our way outside the southern side of the Capitol and approached a second set of guard towers making up the gates of the city. As we passed through, my hennin was almost knocked askew by the noise that greeted us.

  A vast crowd of people let out a cheer as we walked down a wide dirt lane that had been cordoned off with lengths of rope. Revelers blew horns, rang cowbells, or clapped little castanet-like cymbals on their fingers. The scent of ale hops, freshly baked oat cakes, and body sweat rose like a cloud from the masses as I continued on my way.

  Remembering back to the book Herald had lent me, I smiled beatifically and waved with one hand. I used the other to keep a death grip on my saddle seat. The crowd ate it up, cheering and horn blowing anew. Of course, given how much alcohol was flowing, any movement I made probably would have provoked a cheer.

  Up ahead, a series of raised wooden structures gleamed like Chinese lacquerware in freshly painted layers of red and black. On the left, a round platform provided seating for a company of knights. I spotted Sir Quinton among them. Many of the knights present had arms or legs in slings. My guess was that Fitzwilliam had decided to honor the heroes of the Battle of the Oxine with special seating.

  The middle structure was the highest by far, with a multi-tiered set of platforms for the lords and knights who regularly came to the Royal Court. Lord Behnaz sat off to one side, glowering at anyone who came near. Lord Ivor’s seat was nearby. The man’s complexion was still sickly, and he did his best to cough discretely into a cloth tissue. The King remained at center stage, where his own ‘opera box’ of a platform had been outfitted with a comfortable reclining chair and a set of crimson cushions.

  My horse came to a stop by the diamond-shaped structure on the right. While it wasn’t as high as the middle section, one of its four points jutted, prow-like, towards the oval of green field that had been marked out for the competition today. Galen helped me step down from my mount.

  “We have seating in the middle section, close to his Majesty,” Galen said quietly, as he handed me my holster. “Should you require our assistance, merely turn towards us and wave your arm as a signal.”

  “Thanks, Galen,” I said gratefully. I carried my holstered weapon low at my side as I made my way up a set of stairs and to the top.

  A wooden railing ran around the edges of the platform. Said railing had been carpeted with freshly plucked primroses. I spotted a little pink footstool that had been left for me to sit upon when my feet got tired and quickly stashed my holster under it. A basket sat next to the stool containing a bundle of neatly tied pink ribbons, t
opped with a similarly neatly folded lady’s handkerchief of the same color.

  I went to the railing, plastered a smile on my face, and waved to everyone once again. That got a new cheer from the crowd. I watched for a bit as people slowly moved from where I’d entered to an area across the field from the nobility’s wooden platforms.

  This spot, which was labeled the ‘Commoner’s Area’ by a helpful painted sign, was shaded by red-and-black fabric canopies stretched between the few trees at the far edge of the field. People looked happy enough to seat themselves directly on the ground, on large blankets, or even small heaps of hay. Vendors moved among the crowd, hawking oat cakes the size of a dinner plate, cups of ale, or chunks of cooked sausages served on little sticks.

  I looked over my left shoulder towards the main platform. My three friends were there, seated in their own box roughly halfway between me and the King. As for Fitzwilliam himself, he looked stern and regal in a silky-looking black outfit draped with a pearl-studded robe of royal purple. The gray eyes under the golden crown were dark with fatigue, and he gazed at me with an almost wistful look.

  What really amazed me were the rather…well, let’s just say ‘interested’ expressions of many of the assembled lords and knights. A couple reminded me of dogs gazing at a side of raw beef. Well, the angle of many of the seats gave them a good (if distant) look down my cleavage, so that explained some of it. Yet I didn’t look the slightest bit sexy, at least in the way I thought of it. If anything, I resembled a trussed turkey, right before it was put into the oven to cook.

  But I had to put all that aside, as a line of trumpeters marched out and took formation at the side of the field. They blared a five-note melody that got the crowd cheering with an all-new intensity.

  I recalled the ceremonies laid out in the book. That was the signal for the competitors to enter. I swallowed, took a breath, and did my best to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

  My assigned role in this event was about to begin.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The line of trumpeters blatted out a second chorus that ended with the entry of the first knights into the grassy arena. Hoofbeats echoed across the field as the crowd cheered. Finally, the wait endured by the citizens of Andeluvia paid off.

  Line after line of knights trotted out with a series of metallic jingles and clanks. Each was seated atop a horse decked out in barding that more often than not matched the colors of their heraldry. Most knights wore a combination of mail, scale-mail, or plate. A couple competitors from the palace guard had flashy, gilded edges to their armor.

  I watched, astounded, as the first rank slowly passed by. The thunder of hooves rumbled its way up through my platform and into my leg bones. The air was resplendent with the sounds of cheering and the scent of hot metal and hot horses. I had to squint as the sunlight was split into bright motes by the polished armor.

  I’ll admit, I couldn’t help but be moved by all the pageantry on display. Even as uncomfortable and embarrassed as I felt, I couldn’t help but be swept away by the spectacle. Some part of me finally remembered to get back to my duties, and I snatched the pink handkerchief from the basket.

  I waved the kerchief in a hopefully ladylike manner as more knights rode by. Interestingly, as they passed King Fitzwilliam, they did one of two things. If the knight wore an open-faced helmet, they touched a clenched fist to their chest and bowed their head. However, if they wore a closed helmet, the performed a kind of salute as they raised their visors.

  Skallgrym Serikkaylen brought up the rear ranks. She looked resplendent in her centaur armor, but she took care to pick her way carefully over the now churned-up field. She first bowed to me, and then to the King as she trotted by. The cheering slackened a bit from the crowd, but it was more out of surprise than hostility. As for the lords on my side of the field, Fitzwilliam looked around as if challenging anyone present to boo.

  The trumpeters sounded off a third time. From across the field I made out a half-dozen of the royal pages scattered throughout the crowd in the commoner’s area. They each got to their feet and shouted something along the lines of Here ye, his Majesty is about to speak!

  Fitzwilliam nodded towards Galen, who murmured an enchantment as the King stood to address the field. For a moment, the field was silent, save for the occasional stamp of a horse’s hoof or the snapping of colored pennons in the breeze. Then the King spoke, and though he did not shout at the top of his lungs, he was easily heard as if he were standing across a small room.

  “Loyal citizens of Andeluvia! We have been through a long and tumultuous year. The change of rule from one generation to the next. The rumors of threats both far and near, that have returned from legend and become fact.”

  Fitzwilliam didn’t get much in the way of applause from that, but he didn’t mean to. In fact, I noted how he soft-pedaled some of the finer points. The ‘change of rule’ was a good way of papering over his father’s murder, for starters.

  “But,” he continued, “We have met and conquered all threats that have presented themselves to us, thanks to the bravery of the knights before us!”

  That finally got the applause going.

  “So honor these fine warriors, and urge them to fight well for you, be they man or centaur!” To my pleasant surprise, the crowd erupted in cheers. Rikka’s head turned as she listened to them. Fitzwilliam’s voice rose as he concluded his speech on a triumphant note. “Then, as the son of the Good King Benedict, of the line of Julian the Conqueror, I declare the start of this Spring Tournament!”

  Of course, that brought the house down. A chorus of homemade horns and drum beats answered the further blatting of the trumpet line. Most of the knights filed off the field. Rikka and many others remained.

  A group of royal pages came out and propped up wooden boards painted to look like archery scoring rings with gold in the exact center. More servants wheeled up in a wagon and set out barrels filled with throwing spears. Galen’s sister trotted up and picked through the barrels to select a spear, hefting and sighting along at least three before selecting one. The human knights each dismounted and followed suit.

  Each contestant stood on a line about twenty yards from the targets. At a set of shouted commands, they took several steps back from the line, got into their throwing stance, and then launched their missiles at the same time. I thought back to my readings. Instead of going for distance, like in a javelin throw, here the key was accuracy and the strength of the throw.

  Strength was definitely a key issue here. Four different knights hit close to the center ring but were eliminated as their spears either bounced off the target or pulled free after impact. Rikka had something of an advantage, as her frame gave her additional power both from her muscular arms as well as the momentum of her equine body.

  So it didn’t surprise me that she took this contest by striking ‘in the gold’ all three times that the contest was run. I was more interested in the crowd’s reaction. Though it did jeer the four knights whose spears failed to stick, they cheered on Rikka’s performance as well as any Andeluvian’s.

  As per custom, after being announced the winner, Rikka cantered before the King and did a slight bow. Most of the lords applauded politely, as did all the knights at the adjoining platform. Even Behnaz and Ivor joined in. Only Alvey set his toothless jaw in a way that made him look like he was being forced to eat a scrub brush.

  Galen let out a centaur war-whoop, which drew a few startled exclamations from his neighbors. Rikka waved to him and then trotted past me. I faithfully tossed down a pink ribbon to her, which she caught and tied around a stray lock of her hair.

  She retired from the field along with the rest of the contestants as the field was set up anew for a different competition. Pages and a group of stable hands set out barriers made of wood, leather strips, and hay in preparation for an equestrian obstacle event. A much larger group of knights lined up for this event and ran their war horses through it, with their lords cheering on both men and t
heir mounts.

  To my surprise, the blue-surcoated rider that came out on top turned out to be Lord Alvey’s eldest son, Lord Kagin. He got a nod from the King, a frenzied round of applause from his father and his father’s henchmen, and then trotted underneath my platform with a smugly arrogant look on his bright young face.

  I flicked him a ribbon. The young knight snatched it out of the air and gave it a deep sniff as he threw me a lewd look. This got a chorus of hoots and guffaws from all present. Galen, Liam, and Shaw looked ready to pounce on Alvey’s son and tear him apart, but Kagin nudged his mount with his heels and the horse moved off.

  Yet more prep work took place in a different section of the field, now that the coursing section had been muddied by the many horses. Teams of pages marked off separate sparring rings with lengths of orange rope and brightly colored tent pegs hammered into the grass. Then a new group of knights returned to the field to pair off in sets of duels.

  The dull clang of metal on metal told me that the weapons had been blunted. An older man – or woman, in a few cases – sat off to one side of each fight, acting as combination referee and judge. Each combat went on until a knight was knocked down for at a fast ten-count. After a quarter-hour or so, if the two contestants were still locked in combat, then one was judged the winner on a point system that I couldn’t figure out from my seat high above.

  The duels were followed by another equine-related obstacle course in which maces were used to shatter melons propped on wooden posts. Next up was a contest involving who could slice their way most quickly through strung-up beef carcasses with a battle-axe. That was followed by yet more rounds of one-on-one combat dueling.

  Finally, the monotony was broken by a knife-throwing competition, which was set up much like the earlier test involving spears. Rikka appeared for this contest and again won handily. All throughout the contests, shouts of encouragement came from the crowd across the way, who were by now well into their cups and enjoying the show.