A flicker of black caught his eye, and his head jerked around involuntarily.
The black-haired man skirted the dancing area, brushing the massive forearm of a giant in red, who whirled to confront the slender figure in black.
Duran smiled.
He did not know the giant personally, except that as the younger son of a minor mining baron, Trigarth had achieved a certain notoriety by surviving in the arena and a certain success with women by dropping to the level of combat in the circus and succeeding.
Duran’s angular features relaxed as he watched the confrontation develop.
“…apology…?” asked Trigarth.
The man in black inclined his head politely, but quizzically, as if he could not believe what Trigarth had asked.
“I think you owe me an apology.” By now the hall was quiet enough for the words to reach Duran.
“I beg your pardon, but I believe I owe you nothing.”
The smaller man turned, his carriage conveying his opinion of the big man, an opinion Duran silently seconded, though he would never have been fool enough to voice it.
Trigarth stepped around in front of the other, blocking his departure.
“I would appreciate that apology.”
The smaller man’s eyes surveyed the massive two plus meter form of Trigarth. His lips quirked, as if to sneer, then his face cleared.
“Are you trying to insist that sheer dumb mass requires respect?”
Duran’s mouth dropped, as did a number of others’. Was the man mad? The wealth of Trigarth’s house could pay off any death claim.
“Never…have…I…been…so…insulted.”
“Then you have been extraordinarily fortunate. Now, if you will excuse me…”
Duran caught sight of Helene among the watching dancers. Even from ten meters he could see the unnatural brightness in her eyes as she watched the pair.
“I could crush you!” rumbled Trigarth.
The man in black laughed twice. Two cruel barks conveyed a sense that Trigarth was less than the lowest of the low. Then he shook his head sadly, as if to convey pity on the big noble and gladiator, and began to turn.
Duran could see it coming, watched as Trigarth lost all control and launched hands and body toward the smaller man with a speed that caused Duran and others nearer to the pair to draw back.
Duran, his angular features tight again, waited for the stranger’s dismemberment, his own reflexes keyed so that the scene seemed to play out in virtual slow motion.
Trigarth’s whole body drove toward the man in black, who stood motionless for long instants. Just before hammering arms blasted through him, the smaller shifted, and his hands and body blurred as he moved.
Thuddd!
Duran gaped.
The small man appeared untouched, unmussed, and was again shaking his head sadly, this time at the unconscious figure of the giant on the floor.
Three of the staff guards arrived too late, expecting apparently to rescue the stranger’s remains.
“He is unconscious, but you should find that he will be all right, except for a bruise on his jaw where he struck the floor. He must have had too much of something.”
The senior guard asked something.
“Merhlin of Avalon, guest of Lord and Baron H’Llory. I will be staying as his guest for at least several days more.”
Another question followed.
“I suppose I could claim I was a baron, were I so inclined. Would that make any difference?”
Duran shook his head. So fast…so incredibly fast. And so strong. Was the man human? Then he bit his lip.
As Merhlin of Avalon dismissed the security force, a copper-haired woman touched his black-sleeved forearm. The woman’s eyes glittered in the light.
This time, instead of dismissing Helene, Merhlin surveyed her coolly, then offered his arm.
Duran gulped the last from the goblet in his hand, choking it down, and ignoring the burning in his throat. He clutched the empty goblet as if he wanted to crush it into powder.
Instead, the unbreakable crystal squirted from his fingertips and struck the ornate floor tiles, bouncing away from him.
Clink! Clink. Clink.
He could see his sister Aermee look up in surprise, and then avert her eyes as she recognized that he had been the culprit. The couple next to him drew back and looked away.
The sound of the bouncing crystal echoed in Duran’s mind as he turned away, but he was not quick enough to avoid the smirk on Helene’s lips as she swept up the ramp with the man called Merhlin.
Duran swallowed and slowly retracted his steps across the hall. Even people he did not know drew away in distaste as he headed for the exit not taken by Merhlin and Helene, the exit that began the long walk back to the family suite, and, in all probability, toward a quiet talk with his mother, the baroness. Either shortly, or the next morning, when Aermee would have reported her extreme embarrassment at his behavior.
Duran sighed, loudly enough to cause another set of averted faces.
LX
The copper-haired woman shook her head, tossing the glistening curls back over her bare shoulders, conscious of the effect as she again exposed her breasts. She straightened her back as she reached for the crystal wineglass.
Leaning back against the pillows, she brought the crystal to her lips, first to scent, then to sip.
Gerswin refrained from shaking his head. The hard line of her jaw and the ever-occurring cruel glint in her eyes were so at odds with her slenderness and the softness of her skin.
He whistled three notes, double-toned, more as a test than anything else.
Helene shivered at the sounds, but said nothing and took another sip that became a gulp.
Gerswin paused before beginning another song, forcing himself to keep his face almost impersonal as he watched her reactions.
She raised her eyebrows, arching her back again.
Gerswin began another song, not a love song, for Helene had proved strangely indifferent to the gentle songs, the wistful ones, and had been aroused by his adaptations of the military themes, the ones where he had played hope against force, honesty against betrayal.
‘That’s right,” the woman whispered hoarsely as she set the wineglass aside. “That’s right.”
Her lips parted, her tongue running over her lower lip, wetting it and retreating. Her breathing deepened as his double-toned notes built toward what he would have called hope and its betrayal.
Her shoulders shifted, her hips beginning to move with the conflict of the song, as she began to lean toward him.
Gerswin could see her darkened nipples stiffening further as whatever fantasy played out behind her too-bright green eyes intensified with the last notes of the song.
Even before the tones died away, her fingers were digging into first his forearms, then his back as he in turn drove into her, directly, brutally, and without finesse or foreplay, knowing that such power was what she wanted, what she expected.
“AaaaaaAAAAHHHHH!”
Her cries filled the not inconsiderable expanse of the bedroom as her legs locked around him in a series of thrusts, and as her body arched into him and upward, upward.
Waiting until she subsided, he did not leave her, but turned his head to start another song, with a more muted conflict theme, drawing her into another series of releases, more gentle than the first, and letting himself go as well, trying to shut out other faces, other places, with a final thrust more brutal than he had intended.
“Ooohhh!”
Helene lay against him only momentarily before easing back onto the bed, propped against silken pillows, a faint smile on her face.
“You are a magician.”
The coolness of her tone brought him back to his purpose.
“Never said one way or the other.” He managed a cool mocking tone, which masked the contempt he felt, both for himself and for her.
“Where did you come from? I’ve never met anyone so strong.”
> “Anyone you couldn’t wear out, you mean?”
Without the spell of his music, she might easily have outlasted him, and then some, but that wasn’t the question. He needed certain revelations from the copper-haired harpy.
“I would scarcely confess that, even if it were true.”
“What would you confess? You know, I know nothing about you, except your name and status. You could be some baron’s young wife, for all I know, but he’d be a fool to let you run this free, and twice the fool not to.”
“Oh?”
Gerswin matched her smile with one a shade more mocking. “But then, you’d never let yourself be bound, would you?”
“That answer takes no magic.”
“But you do admit I possess some small magic?”
“I’ll admit that, at least in some areas.” She sat up and took the wineglass, downing the remainder of the wine in a single gulp.
“Will you admit that you’re sought after?”
“Surely. But for what? Body? Or money?”
“Both. For your wealth by the older, and your body by the younger. Like that angular-faced young fellow who couldn’t keep his eyes off you at the arena. A puppy dog.”
“Him. He’s nothing.”
“Some baron’s offspring, I presume, ready to propose a contract in an instant.”
“He already has.”
“But you’re here,” laughed Gerswin, “instead of in young what’s-his-name’s arms. Not that you couldn’t be and still have accepted.”
“Duran wouldn’t know what to do. No strength. No magic.”
“Seemed capable enough for a youngster.”
“Youngster is precisely right. He’ll never grow up. He’d never be more than just a tool, even if I did accept his contract.”
“That indicates you have not. You’re a hard lady, willing to use anyone…or your own magic.” Gerswin forced a leer, let it be seen that it was forced.
“Why not?”
“You feel no guilt,” asked Gerswin with a quirk to his lips, “about holding your body out to this Duran to get him to do whatever you want?”
“Of course not. Why should I? If you can use your magic to get my body—not that I mind—why shouldn’t I use my body to get what I want?”
Gerswin laughed, a hard bark, knowing that the hidden scanners had more than enough on tape.
“Poor Duran…poor anyone. Whoever gets you won’t know how to handle you.”
“Duran won’t get me. He’s too weak. Besides, I’d probably find a way to avoid the contract even if he did everything I asked.”
“Everything?”
Helene stretched, tossing her copper curls off her bare breasts.
“Sing me another one, a stronger one.” Her eyes brightened as she slowly dropped her head, letting her hair fall back across her breasts, before tossing it over her shoulders, squaring her shoulders, emphasizing her translucent skin, her nipples again taut with anticipation.
Her tongue moistened her lips once more as Gerswin began the progression of double-toned notes, this time weaving the theme of betrayal versus betrayal.
LXI
Duran’s long steps took him toward the portal of his father’s screen center. He barely nodded at the security console as he passed through the endurasteel pillars, but his carriage stiffened and he slowed as he recognized the figure in black sitting in the chair across from his father.
His second surprise was the stillness, for all the screens had been blanked, save one, which displayed only the name “Helene” upon it.
The man in black stood, as did Jorge Fugazey.
“I believe you have at least seen Merhlin, Duran,” offered the baron to his son.
“Twice.” Duran’s tone was as angular as his strained face.
“Merhlin has brought me some rather impeccable references, which I have checked thoroughly, as well as some rather interesting information.”
“I see.”
“The question was whether I let you see it before making my decision and whether I asked your opinion, or whether I did what I thought best and merely informed you.”
Duran inclined his head. “It must be rather earth-shaking for you to have consulted with and gone to the difficulty of investigating a total stranger.”
Both his father and the stranger ignored the unconcealed bitterness in his tone.
“Before we continue, Duran, I suggest you view the segment of the tape on the console. I can verify, and have done so, that the speaker is indeed Helene, and that the tape has not been altered. There are no stress levels in her voice.”
The older man’s voice contained a sadder note, one that brought Duran up short as his father continued, for he had never heard it before. “Knowing how you feel, please remember that the one thing I have never done is lie to you. That is also why I have gone to the trouble of having all aspects of this thoroughly checked.”
“Why all the sudden concern?”
“Because I would prefer that you leave yourself something besides the choice of suicide through a woman and suicide through stupidity or stubbornness.”
Duran swallowed. For his father even to have admitted the stranger, and then to have spoken so directly in his presence, meant that the man was either immensely powerful or in his father’s trust, or both.
“There is a sound block around the screen. For your own peace of mind, I suggest you use it.”
Duran glanced from the pale face of his father to the impassively hawkish visage of the black-haired stranger, then walked to the console and tapped the sound block controls. The wall of silence enfolded him.
He touched the stud to start the sequence, sinking into the swivel as he watched Helen’s unclothed figure swim into view on a rather imposing bed, tossing her glittering curls off her naked breasts.
Duran wanted to shut out the words, to turn away from the scene even as his eyes drank in the cruelty and lust in her face and the slender voluptuousness of her body.
He did not turn, forcing himself to hear every last word. Mercifully, the sequence was short, the betrayal shorter.
He reran her damning words twice, then blanked the screen.
After sitting there silently for several minutes, he dropped the sound block and stood, turning to face the other two, his eyes scanning the man identified as Merhlin, wondering how old or how young he was.
Certainly older, but how much?
He was letting his thoughts drift, Duran realized. Concentrating on the moment, he eased himself into the vacant swivel next to his father.
“Do you want my opinion?” he asked. Even to himself, his voice sounded thin.
“Do you want to give it?” asked his father gently. “You don’t have to give it, you know.”
“It couldn’t have been faked,” Duran admitted. “Don’t tell me how, but I know that.” He paused and pulled at his chin. “Does it matter? I don’t know. I knew I should be able to accept her for all her faults, knowing what I would get and what I wouldn’t. Or I should be able to say good riddance.”
“What is the price you pay for taking her?” asked Merhlin.
“A man has to die. But all men die.”
“Would you stake your life on that?” asked Jorge Fugazey.
Duran looked from his father, the baron, to Merhlin and back again.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“For all practical purposes,” added the baron, “you may regard both Baron H’Llory and Merhlin as allies and dependents of Commodore Gerswin.”
Duran sat immobile. After a time, he spoke.
“Does that mean you are withdrawing your support, should I continue my efforts to have Commodore Gerswin removed?”
“No. It means that the commodore can remove or negate any protection I can offer. That would mean some risk. Considerable risk. That I cannot deny, nor could I let you proceed, should I choose to, without your knowing that. That is why I thought you should see the tape. You are my oldest son, and you will be sacrific
ing your life for someone who cares nothing for you. From her, you would have neither respect nor love.”
Duran looked at the floor. “Do I have to decide now?”
“No. It might be better if you thought it over.”
Merhlin rose to his feet. “Fear my actions have caused a great deal of trouble, but I have been as honest as possible, and I think it would be better if I withdrew.”
“Do you call that honesty?” Duran’s hand stabbed toward the console he had so recently sat before.
“Helene is free to make her own choices. So are you. You can live or you can die.” While Merhlin’s light baritone penetrated, his tone was gentle, as if instructing a child.
“You think I’ll die?”
Merhlin took a step backward. “That is what you must choose, Ser Fugazey.”
“Are you betraying Helene, then?”
“Scarcely.”
As Merhlin’s eyes caught Duran, the younger man felt as though he were pinned in his seat.
Merhlin bowed to Jorge Fugazey, the bow of an equal, Duran observed, and said, “I will depart…as I arrived.”
He stepped out through the portal, which closed behind him.
“What did that mean?” snapped Duran.
“Duran…your foolishness could have cost us both dearly.” The Baron Fugazey’s voice was harder, in a resigned way, than Duran had ever heard it.
“I don’t understand—”
“That’s right. You don’t understand. Console three beta. Run it before you utter another word.”
As Duran stumbled toward the indicated console, the older Fugazey stood. His steps took him in a tight circle, and his eyes darted to the console where his son studied a series of scenes.
When Duran had completed his assignment and blanked the screen, he turned and eased himself toward where the baron stood.
“I sound like a locked loop, but I can’t say I understand. Could you explain…please?”
“Duran, those last scenes. Who was there?”
“Me, Mother, Aermee, you, Donal, Frynn.”
“And the vantage point?”
Duran glanced down. Never had his father asked so many questions he couldn’t answer. Accounting and law—there he could hold his own. The same for marketing, tariffs. But this?
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