The speech was well met with enthusiastic applause from most of the Morlans, though I noticed Korlaq watching the Provost Sergeant with an obvious lack of favour. Clearly he did not like that Keelan had just publicly approved of his youngest son taking a male lover.
With the meal and speeches at an end the informal socialising began. Aenar introduced me to his wife, Caelena, Governess of Polis whom I liked instantly. She was a formidable woman with clear strong features that matched her force of presence in every way. She was gracious and charming with an omnivorous sense of humour developed, so she told me, from having been married to an old warrior for more years than she cared to remember.
“I did not start off old,” Aenar protested, “being married to you must have had something to do with it.”
Caelena turned to Kylos. “I do hope you know what you are taking on, young man. But I am delighted to give you both my blessing and wish you every joy.”
“I am hoping that I shall discover at least some of those joys this very night, my lady. I promise I will try not to damage him.”
Caelena laughed. “There is an old Zetan saying that sums Aenar up perfectly,” she told the archer, “Too powerful a horse for one man to ride. You should approach him with caution.”
“I am sure my son will rise to whatever challenge his ‘b’zaddi may bring,” Keelan said as he joined our group. “I wish you strength, boy,” he said clapping Kylos on the shoulder, “this is clearly a man of notable stock.”
Caelena made a dubious reference to horses which elicited a guffaw from Keelan. The Governess frowned slightly. “An odd reaction if I might say so, majesty.”
Keelan shrugged. Kylos was no longer a Morlan serving in the Morlan army. He was a member of the Kyr-Garrin and the White Guard thus he was subject only to the rules of that force. “Only when and if he decides to return to our army will that change. I thought I had made that more than clear.” The king gave Caelena a cunning smile and excused himself.
The Governess smiled. “How very, very clever of him,” she remarked as the king walked away.
I watched as the Morlan king joined a group of Zetan ladies chatting briefly before inviting one of them to dance. I found myself nodding. Clever indeed. To have created such a loophole without compromising his country’s moral conventions was a masterful piece of work. My thoughts were interrupted when Caelena took my hand.
“Lord Ez’n,” she said, “since my husband is likely to need every ounce of his considerable stamina tonight, would you honour me with a dance.”
“It would be my pleasure, lady.”
We were just coming to the start of the second set when Keelan tapped the Governess on the shoulder, “If I may?”
Caelena turned. “But of course.” She took my hand and placed it in the king’s and withdrew.
Keelan gaped for a moment. “Ah . . . I did not mean . . .”
I laughed. “I know, and I am quite certain that Governess Calaena knew as well, majesty.”
“Minx,” he laughed. “Well if I am to be hoist on a pike, I might as well be hoist in style.”
As we moved around the floor I was acutely aware of Korlaq and several of the other generals watching our every move. Keelan was obviously acutely aware also for he kept a perfectly formal distance between us as only a seriously accomplished dancer could. He glanced down at me. “I hope you will not hold this against me, Ez’n,” he said, and as we passed his commanders a second time Keelan stopped opposite Korlaq.
“You are not dancing, Korlaq, and you should be. This is a celebration after all.”
“I have never danced with a man.” Korlaq said bluntly.
“Nor I until this night,” Keelan replied, “but we are guests here.”
Korlaq made to move away, intent on defying his monarch. Keelan placed a hand on his general’s forearm exerting just enough pressure to bring the man around without making it obvious. “Zetans do not trust warriors who do not dance.” Keelan told him amicably. He leaned close to Korlaq’s ear. “And neither do I,” he whispered stonily.
Korlaq stepped forward and bowed stiffly, “Ez’n. May take this last set?”
“General, I would be delighted,” I answered. I thought, ‘Not to mention highly amused.’ I was not, however, as highly amused as Markos and his younger brother. There was a brief exchange and Kylos grabbed Aenar, Markos took Jae’nt and as Dthor excused Korlaq to take over with me, I noticed that the other Morlan commanders in Korlaq’s little enclave had partnered with other Zetan soldiers.
“It is a wise man who jumps before he is pushed,” Markos commented as he cut in on Dthor.
I found I had to agree. This alliance seemed to be changing things as much for Morla as it was for Zetaria. Markos nodded. It was time, he said that his nation broke away from the restrictive grip of its fanatical priesthood and its men folk (by which I understood he meant the women as well) took up the reins of their lives once more and determined what was and was not proper for themselves.
By the time the third dance finished it seemed that every barrier had dissolved as even the door guards were being brought into the merriment as the lords and ladies danced with each other and common soldiers alike.
I settled at a table to watch the revellers for a moment just catching sight of Keelan and Janir exchanging handshakes. Even from where I sat it was obvious that the monarchs were extremely pleased with themselves and each other and I found myself wondering what other contrivances they had planned.
“I thought Korlaq was going to have a stroke when my father made him dance with you, Meriq.” Markos chortled as we reached my apartments.
“I would have cut his arm off if he had,” I answered laughing when I realised my mistake. “Oh. You meant a brainstorm.” I said, throwing my cloak to Iannos.
“It would have been interesting,” Kylos remarked, “That schlemfaq is laced tighter than a shield maiden’s corselet. Mind you, it is possible that his dance with the Ez’n uncovered some deeply hidden desires. I noticed him looking at you a few times, Faedron.”
Faedron grimaced. “Excuse me, I have to go vomit and kill myself.”
“Mind you,” Jae’nt said slouching in one of the high backed chairs, “That General Aldrigan is rather attractive—in a rather weather-beaten way. And so was that shield maiden Olanna.”
“Both of whom would probably leave you severely and irreparably damaged.” Markos laughed. “Trust you to set your eye on the deadliest peaks in the range.”
Jae’nt laughed. “I would not mind exploring Olanna’s peaks.”
“Jae’nt, do you ever think of anything other than oiling your bolt?” I asked laughing.
Jae’nt considered for a moment. “Not after four flasks of porter, no. I don’t know any man who doesn’t—apart from you, of course.”
“I think I have danced my legs off tonight,” I complained as I sank on to the couch by the fire. I took the mulled wine Aarin proffered with a quiet thank you, gesturing for my friends to sit with me. “This is no time to stand on ceremony. It is too damned late at night for all that nonsense.”
We sat together drinking and talking of little nothings until the temple bell sounded the third quarter of the night. Aenar set his goblet down and rose pulling Kylos with him.
“By your leave, Meriq. I think my boy here is in need of his bed.”
“More in need of yours, methinks,” Markos quipped, “and not before time.”
He too then took his leave followed soon after by Maegor and Faedron. Jae’nt struggled to his feet, a little while later, pausing to gain his balance before wishing us a good night.
Dthor remained staring into the fire clutching his goblet of mulled wine as if it was a shield. The servants had retired long since and we were now alone with just the hiss and crack of the hearth and the occasional rustle of movement from my familiar as he shifted on his perch by the window. The soldier turned glancing briefly at the owl before turning his attention back to the flames.
“Pay
no attention to Zar-qiel, Dthor, I think he likes you well enough.”
The soldier shuddered, glancing again at the great black bird. “I do not find that particularly comforting.” He answered. After a long silence the captain set aside his beverage and shifted round on the couch to face me. “Since I am neither dead, transformed into a frog nor exiled,” he said with a slight smile, “I conclude you were not incensed by my conduct the other night.”
“I do seem to recall kissing you back, Captain.” I answered.
“Then with your permission, my lord, I should very much like to kiss you again.”
“I think I would be most annoyed if you did not.”
He took me very gently in his arms, sliding one arm around my shoulders to pull me close and using his other hand to cup my chin. I tilted my head back and looked into his startling blue eyes. My heart leapt against my chest. He looked so grave and beautiful in the firelight, his golden hair reflecting the fire so perfectly that it almost became a blaze in its own right. He kissed my cheek very softly, his cheek sliding against mine as he moved to my neck and then back until finally our lips met. His questing tongue brushed against my teeth and slid between them bringing with it the taste of spiced wine as it coaxed me to reciprocate. The taste of the wine was strong in his mouth, the feel of his day old beard felt rough yet strangely exciting as it rubbed against my face. My loins stirred, rearing hot had hard straining against the confines of my breech cloth even as I felt Dthor’s own hardness against my leg as he stretched over me and I fell back along the couch. He broke off the kiss and raised himself away from me.
“By Heaven’s Gates, Meriq, I think you are the most beautiful man the gods ever placed in the world.”
And that was the very thought in my mind as I stared up at Dthor’s fine, sharply sculpted and perfectly symmetrical features. The captain’s gold circlet that held his hair so carefully in place glinted in the flickering light. He smiled his ivory white smile and sat up pulling me with him and reached for his drink holding the cup against his chest while he waited for his breath to steady. He took a sip and held the cup to my lips draining it once I had drunk.
“I think it is time I returned to my quarters, little dragon.”
I took hold of his hand as he stood. “You do not have to leave, Dthor.”
“And I so want to remain,” the soldier answered, “But I am on first watch.”
“Then sleep here.”
Dthor laughed and kissed me lightly on the forehead. “If I were to stay, lad, I doubt there would be much sleeping going on.”
“When I said ‘here’ I meant this couch you lecher.”
Dthor laughed again kissing me gently once more on the lips. “In which case I am most certainly returning to the barracks and will continue to do so until we are certain enough of ourselves and each other to approach the king.”
I walked with Dthor to the main stairs thanking him for his company and for seeing me safely home. As I bade him goodnight and turned to leave he took hold of my hand. “So that you know, Meriq, there have been no others before you—ever.”
I nodded. “And so that you know, Dthor . . .”
He smiled, “I already know, lad.” He winked, “Men talk very highly of the things they believe are unattainable.”
“And will you talk?” I asked suddenly feeling as if I was questioning the man’s integrity.
“Ech’to ga’mat, lad.” Dthor grinned. “Never . . .
“Without my permission.” I stared at the soldier. “I had no idea you spoke Medran, Dthor.”
“I like to be unpredictable, Ez’n.” he smiled at me.
Well, I had to admit he was certainly that as I had thought before and as Dthor disappeared around the curve of the stairs I returned to my rooms smiling all the way. So, Faedron’s jibe about Dthor being a virgin was true. I found myself wondering if my friend had any idea of how on the mark he had actually been. I stopped smiling. It could be a problem with neither of us knowing what we were doing. Then again, I told myself as I poured another cup of wine and scrambled into bed, it could also end up being quite an adventure—for both of us.
†
CHAPTER 24
ERROR & TRIAL
ZHARTAL STOOD on the Governor’s balcony over the main gate high above the gathered forces. He was resplendent in his red and gold robes shimmering like a captive flame in the light of the strengthening sun. Behind him the Kings stood silent and still and I stood beside them flanked by Markos, Jae’nt, Dthor and Thaze. Queen Eilen, Balten, Korlaq and Aldrigan stood in equal solemnity to the kings’ left. Below us an army forty thousand soldiers stood rank on rank. Soon their numbers would double when the full power of Zetaria and Morla converged on the Medran prairie. The soldiers stood still as stone, the only indication of life being the movement of their cloaks in the early morning breeze.
To the left the Morlans were gathered like a lake of lava the golden studs and chains of their harnesses glowing and sparking in the crisp morning air like cinders thrown from a smelter. On the right the blue clad Zetans formed a wind-whipped lake their white cloaks stirring like foam on waves, and as the High Priest sang out the blessings for the troops about to march to war, the soldiers chanted the responses their deep voices rumbling grim and beautiful as distant thunder.
Staring out across the Polisian veldt where I was once more transported momentarily to my hometown of Illios. Soon it would fall to the Black Legion, if it had not already done so and before too long it would again feel the teeth of war ripping its flesh as the assembled forces swept across the land. The sound of the priest’s gong signalling the end of the blessing rite brought me back from the imagined future focussing my eyes on the alliance troops so newly mustered at the gates of Polis.
When the blessings were over the horns sounded marking the start of the march. The soldiers turned and began moving towards the distant mountains that marked the Medran border the ranks merging slowly, swirling together like fire and water mixing in an alchemist’s cauldron. And as the last rank of mounted archers and lancers moved away from the wall we turned away and went into the ambassadorial pavilion.
“Death and glory,” I mumbled impatiently, as Zhartal led the way back to the pavilion. “There is no glory to be found in this situation.”
“But what else is to be done for the men?” Zhartal asked when we were settled in the pergola and Caelena’s servants had served the traditional wine and salted bread. “Everyone knows that war is wrong, yet still we ask for the God’s blessing on our endeavour.”
“Strange words, Ez’n, for one who can count four glorious victories, one of which preserved the life of my youngest son.” Keelan said stretching out on one of the couches.
“There was nothing splendid about the way I killed my foes, your majesty,” I answered frostily, “and had you witnessed it I doubt that you would consider the victory glorious. We lost Malek, and that was as wasteful as all death through war is wasteful.”
“Even the battle we go to now, Meriq?” Janir asked me.
“Even this one. Yes. We go to stop a menace it is true, but what of the power that is behind this menace?” I asked. “We may well kill every last one of the Black Legion through weight of numbers if nothing else. But only if we find the head of this snake will it ever be truly killed. The legion is merely a tool of some other authority, just as the forces of our own alliance are your tools, majesties.”
When the post-blessing ritual was over Janir called me to his side, bidding me dismiss the members of my guard and remain with him once everyone else had gone.
He rose from his couch and poured two goblets of wine. He turned to face me, suddenly looking drawn and tired. “How is Jae’nt progressing?”
I paused with my quaich halfway to my mouth. The Prince was changing. It was a slow process but all in all he was beginning to take his responsibilities far more seriously, and much though it galled me to admit it the change was probably due in part to his role in the recent battles
we had fought. “But he is not yet a king, sire.”
Janir shot me a stern look.
“That is what you are asking me, is it not?”
The king rose and paced a-while before sitting once more and motioning me to join him. “This will be my last campaign, Ez’n”
“So I would hope, sire.” I said.
The king looked distant for a moment, vague almost. And then he smiled. “No, Meriq. That is not what I meant. I have The Wasting.”
“What?!” My voice was a shrill as a girl’s. “How can you be certain?”
“Anubis diagnosed it some months ago. I have two, maybe three lunations left to me. Time enough, I hope, to see this war to its end. I should like at least to do that.”
My heart suddenly felt like lead in my chest and bile rose in my mouth. Janir gave me a smile and handed me a small scroll of parchment. “This is the recipe for my medicine. It holds back the worst of the pain and controls most of the more undesirable symptoms. It is running low however, and I should be grateful if you would make more for me.”
“Of course, my king. I will do everything in my power to ensure you see your victory.”
The king nodded and rose, offering me his arm. “Walk with me.”
We walked in silence for some time until we reached the governor’s cloistered gardens. Janir paused at a fragrant bush of Winter Rose scenting the delicate yellow blooms. “The men of the Kyr-Garrin,” he said suddenly, “How do they fare?”
“The men are well. They are fierce in battle. Sergeant Maegor has once more picked up with Prince Gor’s riding and combat.”
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