Silverglass s-1

by J F Rivkin

  Corson sighed. “You’re a terrible disappointment to me, Lady. I was expecting something challenging, not a helpless little bookworm.”

  “Scholar.”

  “And I did need the money…” Corson mused. “I want a better saddle. And a new pair of boots. I could make my fortune just by killing you.”

  “I daresay. But you’d not live to enjoy it. Mhairestri would never be so careless as to leave a living witness to my murder.”

  “She’d not be the first to try that trick,” Corson said offhandedly. “But I appreciate the warning.” She nibbled thoughtfully at a piece of cheese. “Do you suppose you’re wealthy enough to better her offer and the Teiryns?”

  Lady Nyctasia relaxed visibly. She came up to Corson and fixed her with a critical gaze. “Oh, I think I can afford you a new pair of boots. And some decent clothing. A bath would not be amiss, either. I don’t intend to travel with an unkempt sloven.”

  Corson grinned. “Don’t forget the saddle. Your Ladyship.”

  “I forget very little, you’ll find. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

  Corson raised her glass in a salute. “Your humble servant,” she said, but Lady Nyctasia caught hold of her arm before she could take a drink.

  “Corson, if you mean to remain in my service, you must really be more careful.

  You should have watched very closely when I poured your wine.”

  Corson stared at the goblet. “You viper! You tried to poison me!”

  “I can’t afford to leave anything to chance. You should understand that. What’s more, I’ve had a guard just outside the door all this while.”

  “Only one?” Corson scoffed. “I’d have killed the both of you.”

  “I know. That’s why I didn’t summon him before. Sandor!” she called. “Come in here!”

  The guard entered at once, sword drawn. Then, seeing that Nyctasia was in no danger, he sheathed the weapon and bowed. “Yes, my lady

  …?”

  Corson started to her feet, speechless with outrage and disbelief. “You-!” she choked. It was the same man who’d fought with her at The Lame Fox.

  2

  Nyctasia was satisfied with her arrangements. She’d provided for those of her servants whom she trusted, and the rest believed that she’d long since fled the city. That night she and Corson would slip out of Rhostshyl by a postern gate in the city walls. The sentry had been well paid to let them pass unchallenged. If it were another rainy, moonless night, all might yet be well.

  She appeared confident and self-possessed, but inwardly Nyctasia was torn by warring passions. That she, an Edonaris, should be forced to slink through her own city like a common criminal, sneak out a back gate like a fugitive-! Though she opposed her family’s pretensions to sole rule of Rhostshyl, yet strong ties of duty and heritage bound her to the ancestral home of the Edonaris. The city-state of Rhostshyl was governed by those members of the ruling families of the rank of Rhaicime, and Nyctasia should have been a strong voice on that council. Instead, she was an outcast, hunted from her home.

  Though it was not by her own choice that she went into exile, she doubted the honesty of her own decision at times. Other duties claimed her-other desires drew her. She had long ago promised that someday she would join her lover, Erystalben ar’n Shiastred, in far-off Hlasven and there was no longer anything to be gained by waiting.

  It was on her account he’d been driven from the city. Her family had been furious when she’d taken a lover from among the minor nobility and refused the husband chosen for her.

  At first they had all but encouraged the connection, hoping that the Shiastred family would therefore take their part against the Teiryns, for Erystalben would one day be head of the House of Shiastred. Nyctasia’s rebelliousness had not posed a serious threat until the unlooked-for death of her mother raised her suddenly to the rank of Rhaicime. It was then that the Edonaris became more insistent that she honor the marriage agreement that promised her to her cousin Thierran. They blamed Erystalben for her continued refusal, and he at last fled Rhostshyl rather than see his people incur the enmity of the most powerful family in the city. He had wanted Nyctasia to come with him, but while she had yet hoped to effect a conciliation between the rival families, she felt duty-bound to remain. Those hopes were shattered now and she would deny herself no longer.

  Her reverie was broken by the shrill cry of a young beggar-child at her elbow, urging, “Alms, kind lady!”

  She dropped a few coppers into his waiting hand, and looked him straight in the face. Accustomed to indifference even from charitable folk, the child was put on his guard at once.

  “Who’s following me?” Nyctasia asked.

  Without seeming to look, the child gave a creditable description of Sandor.

  “Is there no other behind him?”

  “Oh, a younger one, lady? He’s just come round the corner.”

  “Good. Now be off with you.” Surprising the urchin with another coin worth more than the rest, she slipped into a narrow alleyway and let herself in to a dilapidated row-house. Nyctasia had rented houses in every quarter of the city, though she took care that the owners did not learn who their tenant was.

  Sandor waited near the mouth of the alley. Before long, the other man passed by and hesitated, glancing down the passageway before he moved on.

  “You won’t find her that way, friend.”

  The stranger whirled round to face Sandor, who grinned knowingly and beckoned to him. “You’re following the Lady Nyctasia,” said Sandor. “Don’t trouble to deny it. I’ve been after her all day myself, haven’t you noticed? She came down this way and I know where she is now. I think we can be of help to each other, don’t you?”

  “What do you want of me?”

  “Nothing more than you’ve been hired to do. It’s two against one this way, easier for both of us. Once she’s dead who’s to say which of us did the deed?

  We’ll both collect our pay.”

  “That’s a bargain. Where is she?”

  Sandor led him down the alley past the building Nyctasia had entered and stopped before an old, boarded-up house. “We’ve only to wait. There’s no other way out.”

  They hid in a doorway across from the house. When Nyctasia did not appear, the youth grew more and more uneasy. “Where is she? What does she want in there? Are you sure-”

  “Patience, my friend.” Sandor took out a flask and tilted it to his lips. “Still green at this, eh?”

  His companion flushed. “Give me some of that!”

  Sandor laughed and passed the flask to him. “No need for haste, she’s bound to come out soon. If you mean to live long at this trade you’d best learn to bide your time. Here, you’ve had enough of that-it’s no drink for babes.” He took back the flask and corked it, then caught the young man as he folded and fell.

  3

  “i’ve seen him before, but I can’t think where,” Nyctasia mused, looking down in some perplexity at the drugged youth. “Well, we’ll soon find out.” She crushed a few pungent leaves between her fingers and held them to his nose. After a moment he opened his eyes, choking.

  “Teiryn or Edonaris?” Nyctasia demanded.

  “Wha-?”

  “Who sent you to kill me-the Teiryn or the Edonaris!”

  He looked about him, still groggy, realizing that he was lying on a bench in a strange room. When he saw who it was who questioned him, he gasped and groped for his knife.

  Sandor strode up, holding the missing knife as if it were a toy. “Her Ladyship asked you a question, man!”

  The young man stared at him, then broke into a feeble laugh. “I should have heeded your advice, friend.”

  “What advice was that?” said Nyctasia.

  “I told him he was too hasty by half, my lady. He’s a raw one and no mistake.”

  “He must belong to the Teiryn, then. Only they’d hire such a bungler.”

  “I’m no hireling killer! I came to avenge Lord Rhavor on my
own.”

  “Of course!” Nyctasia exclaimed. “Rhavor’s servant-you were often with him of late.” So that was how he’d known where she was likely to be found. She cursed herself for her carelessness. When she and Rhavor ar’n Teiryn had met in secret, this fellow had been in attendance on him, yet she’d never given him a thought.

  He was glaring at her. “I was with him the day you set your curse on him-just before he died! I heard you!”

  “Then you merely heard me speaking to him. You must have heard any number of people speak to him that day. Why don’t you kill all of them while you’re about it?”

  “You’re the one did it. Everyone says so.”

  Nyctasia laughed. “My nurse used to say, ‘If everyone tells you the sun’s the moon, it will still be the sun.’”

  “He died of the same curse as the rest of them!”

  “Yes, he did. And Teiryns were dying of it long before I was born.” She paused and said sadly, “Though your master might have lived years longer, if he’d not weakened himself with drink. Many’s the time I tried to tell him it would be the death of him.”

  Rhavor’s servant was puzzled by Lady Nyctasia’s manner. Why should she deny the deed when she had him in her power? The words came back to him: “Rhavor, you’ll be dead by first frost!” Could they have been meant, not as a threat, but a warning? He didn’t believe her, yet somehow he was no longer afraid of her.

  “You bewitched him,” he muttered sullenly.

  “Why is it,” Nyctasia sighed, “that everyone believes my lies, but I can never persuade people of the truth?”

  “Lady, if you let him go, he’ll only come after you again,” said Sandor.

  Nyctasia looked defeated. Motioning Sandor aside, she said, “Lock him up downstairs and see that someone fetches him away after dark. Once I’ve reached safety, I’ll send orders for his release. If you’ve anything to report, I’ll be at the corner house till midnight. Stay at your post else.”

  “Very good, my lady.” He bowed. “Good fortune await you. Lady Nyctasia.”

  “Farewell, Sandor.” She crossed to the threshold of the next room, then paused.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  Nyctasia pushed aside the dark drapery curtaining the window and looked out across the city to where the last rays of the sun gilded the western towers of the Edonaris palace. For hundreds of years, its walls had witnessed the proud history of the Edonaris line. Ever since they had come to power in the city, the Edonaris had been known for their liberality and benevolence. They had been responsible for the elimination of slavery in Rhostshyl, and had tempered the harshness of the city laws in other ways as well. Thieves were no longer put to death in Rhostshyl, and many cities along the coast had followed this example.

  It was while the Edonaris dominated the Rhaicimate that Rhostshyl had entered the Maritime Alliance, benefiting from treaties of trade and mutual defense. The city had prospered and grown under their rule.

  Nyctasia had always been proud of her name, but now she feared that this heritage had been betrayed. Though the Edonaris had come to power by lawful means, there were now those among them who would use any means to keep that power in their own hands. She was sure that it would not be the enmity of the Teiryn that destroyed her House, but the ruthless ambition of the matriarch Mhairestri and her supporters.

  And yet she herself was not guiltless-she had been forced to take measures that repelled her, in order to counter her enemies. It had sickened her to learn what callousness she was capable of, what deceptions she would use, for her own ends.

  She had never thought to find herself taking prisoner a young fool like that-yet that was not the worst thing of which she accused herself.

  Nyctasia leaned her head in her hands. She was resolved to put all that behind her and leave Rhostshyl while her spirit was still her own. She would be free of this madness! Erystalben needed her, and she could now do no good by remaining.

  With Rhavor’s help, some compromise with the Teiryn might have been possible.

  But there was no one else among them who would listen to reason.

  Rhavor had made no secret of his belief that his family’s fanatical rivalry with the Edonaris was absolute folly. He had often held the feud up to ridicule.

  Nyctasia half smiled, remembering an encounter with the drunken Rhavor in Market Street. He had accosted her with a cheerful, “Ho! An Edonaris in my way! Cut her down, cut her down!” in blatant parody of his kinfolk.

  Nyctasia had joined in the game: “A foul, Teiryn! Have at you, miscreant!”

  Waving their rapiers with exaggerated menace, they’d engaged in a ridiculous duel, parting with mock threats and laughter. How ironic that she was accused of his murder, when in truth she missed him sorely.

  It was probably his own kin who killed him, she thought bitterly, though he’d plainly been set on destroying himself ever since the death of his wife. He had seemed to welcome the onset of the wasting sickness which cursed the Teiryn line, and had refused to husband his strength by abstaining from drink.

  Lord Rhavor was already familiar to Nyctasia by reputation, when she’d first contrived to meet him at a tavern he was known to frequent. He’d not been long a widower, but Nyctasia was still a girl, and he’d been more amused than offended when she’d blurted out her plans for a marriage-alliance between them.

  “My dear girl, not only am I twice your age, but I’m an ailing man as well. I’d soon make a widow of you.”

  Nyctasia flushed. “But, my lord, think what it could mean! If a Teiryn and an Edonaris should wed, there might be an end to this senseless feuding. Our families would be forced to come to terms!”

  “Or to murder us both,” he suggested with a smile. “You know as well as I that they’re too caught up in their game to let a dying man and a child stand in their way.” In truth. Lord Rhavor was not yet gravely ill. He spoke thus to discourage Nyctasia, but she would not be swayed from her purpose.

  “Then you’ve nothing to lose, have you? And for my part, I am willing to take the risk.”

  “I believe you. But you’re surely not of an age to marry without your family’s consent, and I very much doubt that the Edonaris would think me a suitable match for you.”

  “I know all that,” said Nyctasia impatiently. “I shall come of age in due course. But till then you must not take another wife-that’s the gist of the matter!”

  The mask of frivolity fell from Lord Rhavor’s countenance. “I have no mind to marry again,” he said coldly.

  “That is all I ask,” said Nyctasia, rising. “Forgive me. If the affair were not of such consequence, I should not intrude upon your grief.” She tugged awkwardly at her sleeve for a moment. “Naturally I don’t mean to take her place,” she said stiffly, “I propose a political alliance. At least give some thought to my plan.”

  “Just as you like, Lady Nyctasia,” he said indulgently. “We shall speak of it again when you come of age, if I live to see the day.”

  Lord Rhavor had many years yet to live, but when Nyctasia had reached her adulthood, he continued to oppose her plan. By then the illness had taken its toll and, though the remnants of his days meant little to him, he was reluctant to let Nyctasia risk her life for such a doubtful venture.

  They continued to meet, however, and she’d still had hopes of persuading him, up to the time of his death. Now even that hope was gone.

  Nyctasia let the curtain fall back, covering the window. Darkness had descended on the city, and the towers of the palace were lost from view.

  4

  Nyctasia was alarmed to see someone standing at the gate of the corner house.

  None of her people knew of this place save Sandor, and he wouldn’t wait about outside; She was to meet Corson here soon, but it was a man who waited there-she could tell little more than that in the darkness.

  She walked past the house without a glance or the slightest change in her stride. She was dressed in the shabby clothes and hooded cloak
of a student, but the stranger was not fooled, “Lady Nyctasia!” he called after her, his voice low and urgent.

  She immediately whirled around, crouched, her arms crossed over her chest, but the other made no move to throw a knife. He only stood in the shadows, waiting, watching her, motionless.

  Nyctasia slowly stood and drew her sword. “Edonaris or Teiryn?” she said wearily. It was getting to be a habit.

  “Neither the one nor the other, milady. A messenger. I bring you a letter.”

  “And why do you faring it here?”

  “Such were the directions, my lady.”

  “Who gave you those directions?” she demanded.

  “Milord Shiastred,” was the answer.

  Nyctasia’s heart raced. She expected a letter at any time from Erystalben, and he could well have sent such a messenger as this. Yet her family knew about him.

  This letter might be a trap to draw her within arm’s reach of a killer. Nyctasia considered her own kinfolk much more dangerous than the Teiryns.

  “Is an answer expected?” she said.

  “A token, my lady, that His Lordship may know you received his message. A lock of milady’s hair.”

  Nyctasia laughed. “’Ben doesn’t know I’ve cut it. You’ll have to take him this.”

  Still keeping her distance, she tossed one of her gloves to the messenger.

  “I’ll leave this here, shall I, my lady?” he said quietly, reaching into his jacket. Nyctasia prepared to throw herself fiat to the ground at the first glint of steel, but he drew out only a roll of paper and laid it on the gatepost, then bowed and walked off without waiting to be paid.

  Nyctasia examined the letter by the dim starlight. The seal was indeed that of Shiastred and she tucked it inside her shirt, smiling at her own fears. Only Erystalben could have known to send a messenger here.

  But then she heard footsteps close behind her and she hastily unlocked the gate and slipped inside the yard.