“There are murmurs about the schwarm tracks; they seem to be going away from us,” Sos observed.
“True. It is time. The schwarm are migrating – a little early, but it may have to do with the increased tremor activity.”
“Then why are we going in this direction? Don’t we need to harvest them?”
“No, we have more urgent matters ahead of us. We can track the schwarm afterwards.”
“Urgent matters? Where are we going now?” Sos asked, bewildered by the ancient tunnels they passed through. Some were even blocked with thick cobwebs, untrodden for a long time by schwarm or any other creature. A number of men and women in U-Gath’s group followed.
“We head in the direction of Lornwater, using old disused tunnels,” U-Gath revealed.
Sos tempered his sudden elation at this news. “Why?”
“Scouts have passed word that there are roaming Nhyrachons. We have received word from another group that has had women abducted by the Nhyrachons.”
“Is K-Kwan safe?”
U-Gath gave him a sideways look. “She is. In numbers there is strength, and the Nhyrachons know this. They need our women to breed. We must mount a rescue!”
***
Third Dekin of Fornious
Endawn, the royal palace
King Asselan Dahl Treyan IV’s fleshy small mouth curved in a smile of welcome as Launette entered the royal bedchamber. He patted the bedspread. “Sit by my side, Launette,” he said, his voice a faint whisper.
Launette concealed the shock at seeing how the king had deteriorated since last they spoke. Dahl Treyan’s normally pale complexion was now virtually white, the skin paper-thin, blue veins showing under the flesh. His close-set weak green eyes lit up as Launette sat on the bed next to him. His red hair used to be luxuriant and long, yet now it was streaked with grey, as was his beard and moustache, and all hung unkempt. He was big-boned, but now he was grossly obese, with triple chins. His nightrobe was secured at the throat by the clasp of Endawn, a sunburst crest in gold; it was stained with food on the chest.
“I am saddened to see you bedridden, sire.”
“A minor inconvenience.” His mouth twisted. “My physicians assure me I will be out and about soon enough. You have seen your son?”
“Yes. He is already a confident young man. Strange what even a brief absence does – I see changes in him.”
“You should be proud of him.” The old king chuckled and spittle dribbled over his grey-flecked ginger beard. “Though I have been reliably informed he is not comfortable with our instructions on etiquette! Yet it has always been thus here, as you well know.”
“Indeed, sire.” House Yordine, like Houses Senstar, was an old noble family that originated in Kclenand. When Kclenand was destroyed in the “Great Upheaval” of 1348AC the royal family made their way to Endawn, while the original House Senstar became divided, half emigrating to Lornwater, half to Goldalese; yet the two branches retained their ancestral torans in Taalland. Kclenand had developed strict court rules and House Senstar followed them rigidly and so even now they sent a few children each generation to be trained in court etiquette in Endawn.
“It is an axiom of Kclenand that sensibilities are protected by refined manners.”
“But you don’t know who is being sincere, then, sire.”
“Do you, really, Lord-General? I doubt it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VILARE
“I always have an arrow left in my quiver.”
- Dialogues of Meshanel
When Launette returned to his quarters, Aniri was waiting for him, agitatedly flapping a lace fan about her face. Her emerald eyes shone with love, but concern tainted them. “You seem anxious, my love?” he observed.
“I have every right to be, dear. Ukasur is marrying into royalty.”
“So? Our mother was royalty, the daughter of Queen Neran. Royal blood flows through Yordine veins.”
“Of course I know that, Launette,” she snapped, forcefully flicking the fan shut. “Sometimes, you do state the obvious!”
He held her free hand in his. “Explain.”
“It’s their damnable reliance on protocol.”
“We knew this when we agreed to the arrangement.” He had no need to elucidate further, for Aniri knew their history. “Unlike his father, the Prince Regent is not hidebound by custom. I believe he will bend their ways to suit himself and perhaps their political correctness will be ameliorated.”
She opened her fan, and raised it to her face; her owlish eyes peered at him over its edge. “You think so?”
“I’ve spoken to Alyne and he’s a decent fellow. He is tired of constricting tradition for the sake of it.”
“He told you that?”
“Yes. Though he has still to bring round his courtiers and nobles, not to mention his politicians!”
She waved the fan, and the slight draught was pleasant, and perfumed. “But when he is king…”
He grimaced. “We’ll have to see.”
“How is the king, anyway?”
“A mild stomach ailment. He should be up and about tomorrow; or so say his physicians.”
She studied him. “And what is your prognosis?”
He darted a glance at her. She read between his thoughts with ease. “I am fearful for his life. His voice is weak and his pallor is not good. He has gained too much weight. It’s not a wasting illness, quite the opposite. His appearance has deteriorated, apparently in only two days.”
She folded the fan, pointed it at his stomach. “Something he ate, perhaps?”
“The physician told me the king always employed a pledger. And to slay that theory, the pledger has no ill effects from any of the food he tasted.”
“Magic?” she whispered. All her days she’d been fearful of mystics, good or bad. He sympathised; he was wary of them, especially Sister Hara; but her kind had their uses from time to time. “They give me the shudders!” she had exclaimed more than once.
“It can’t be dismissed – but performed by whom? And to what end?”
“Almost everywhere seems riven by dissension.”
“I do not think so, my dear. Goldalese is as peaceful as ever. Granted, Arisa bears watching, if the reports from my spies are to be believed, and of course we have the reported skirmishes by the populace against Saurosen.”
“And Tarakanda watches and waits,” she breathed.
He chuckled and held her tight, kissed her cheek, breathed in her heady scent. “I could have done with you in my early battles. Your suspicions might have saved me countless men who rode into traps my officers failed to perceive!”
“You know I would have willingly fought by your side. In full armour, if need be.”
“But for the fact that you were carrying our childr–” He stopped abruptly. “Sorry, my dear, that was tactless of me.”
How could he be so insensitive? She had carried four babes to term and they had all been stillborn. She had genuinely feared she was cursed. And then the miracle they had prayed for happened: she gave birth to a boy. Maybe he needed lessons not in etiquette, but in compassion.
Tears glistened on the brim of her emerald eyes and she let him gently wipe them away with his large fingers. “We have Lahaltz now, my love,” she whispered. “All that pain is forgotten – well, almost.”
He held her close as they walked to the window and looked into the courtyard two storeys below. Five young ladies garbed in courtly dresses stood near a bronze and marble fountain, gazing up at their window. Aniri signalled to them, and they all offered radiant smiles. “Who do you wish to favour?”
He studied them. Aniri did him great honour, having selected five fine women, one of whom was to be his concubine for the duration of his stay in Endawn.
A Floreskandan male might be attended by three different women: courtesan, mistress and wife. Each had her separate functions. “Mistresses we keep for pleasure, concubines for daily attendance upon our person, wives to bear us legitima
te children and be our faithful housekeepers.” Although this system was largely outmoded it still existed in certain Families, and Aniri insited on preserving it.
Sometimes he wondered if she preferred it so that his carnal demands on her were thereby limited. She was loving and devoted, as always, but of late he had noted a coolness in her physical need. Her sexual reticence was relatively recent and it grieved him, for he quickened at her tender touch and the years rolled back to their courtship days, when life seemed simpler. He did not believe that her coolness had anything to do with the household concubine, Sister Hara, since Aniri had expressly recruited the woman since she was a Sardan. “You need the edge a mystic can give you,” she’d told him. It had taken courage on her behalf, he understood, for her to welcome Sister Hara into her house, considering her normal abhorrence of witches, though he argued that Sardan were not necromancers at all.
He was not greatly interested in an Endawn concubine, his mind on more grave matters. “I would rather favour you, my dear. You know that.”
“I know, and I look forward to it tonight. But the city’s courtesies must be observed, my husband.”
“In that case, then, the one in the green,” he said.
“Don’t be greedy. There are two in green, dearest.”
“The dark-haired lady in green,” he specified.
Aniri clapped her hands and pointed her fan at the lady with dark hair wearing a green dress. The others disbanded, chattering and giggling, leaving the woman alone. She looked at Aniri and Launette, her face reflecting a smile that could not conceal anxiety.
“Smile for her sake, husband. Her name is Fayua Vilare.”
He smiled at Fayua Vilare, and gestured for her to join them in the apartment. “I presume she knows how to find us?”
“I instructed them earlier while you were with the king.”
***
Launette found the afternoon heat was oppressive in their quarters, despite the valiant efforts of Fayua Vilare wafting a large feathered fan to cool him. She only wore a simple leather and chain-maile loincloth and matching sandals; her flesh glowed with the sheen of sweat as she stood uncomplainingly. Uncomfortably sweaty himself, he lay sprawled nude on a leather sofa draped with colourful linen.
Vilare was attractive and intelligent, he had discovered as she’d entered their apartment. Aniri made introductions, adding, “Vilare, you are to please my husband in any manner he sees fit. Is that understood?”
“Yes, mistress. As you informed all of us earlier.” She bowed deeply to Launette, her gaping cleavage offering him a generous view of her breasts. Since then, she had learned where the food and drink was stored, where Launette and Aniri slept, where she would sleep – at the foot of their bed – and where the vast wardrobes were situated, including her own. She was quick-witted and never needed to be told anything twice. She was alert, and her eyes always seemed intent on something or someone. And of course she, like the four other contenders, was a spy, though he had no idea for whom she worked. Perhaps she would reveal something during their pillow-talk.
Now, while she wafted the fan, he watched Aruna grooming Aniri for tonight’s banquet. Aruna talked endlessly about making preparations for their departure to Arath Tower. He hated the fact that his wife must go there with Aruna to act as a chaperone to Ukasur for the next two months prior to the scheduled wedding. That was one reason why Aniri had arranged for the concubine Fayua Vilare to be here, to amuse him while she was gone.
There was a knock on the door and Bilorn entered. “You sent for me, cousin.”
Launette stood, tugged a length of linen and wrapped it around his waist. “Yes, I need a favour.”
Bilorn eyed Vilare. “It seems you have settled in well!”
Launette gestured at Vilare. “You may desist. Go and bathe. I will join you later.”
“Yes, at once,” Vilare said, lowering the fan and hurrying from the room.
“The woman pleases you?” Bilorn asked, glancing furtively at Aniri.
“It is too early to say, Bilorn. I will let you know.”
Bilorn pointed to a plain unadorned sword in its sheath lying on the sideboard. “Is that really Kromodaal?”
“Yes.” Launette crossed the room and picked up the sword, unsheathed it. “Named after the Kclenand smith who made it for the head of our House.”
“They say he only made the one sword.”
“He achieved perfection and decided he could not repeat that. He died the following week.” He wielded it expertly, slicing the air.
“Is it true it never needs to be sharpened?”
“True – so far.” Launette sheathed the sword, lowered it to the sideboard and gently clasped Bilorn’s arm, and led him to the window. “Have you any more news about Lornwater?”
“The latest saptor I received brings bad news,” Bilorn said. “Rioting is out of control. There are many deaths. And the New City is besieged…”
“That bodes ill for the king, doesn’t it?”
“His men can hold the New City indefinitely, cousin. Saurosen will prevail.”
“I wonder…”
“But you didn’t ask for me to discuss Lornwater’s problems, did you?”
“Quite right. I want you to stand pledger for me tonight.”
Bilorn bowed. “That will be an honour.”
Aniri glided to Bilorn’s side, touched his arm. “Aren’t you concerned that someone might attempt to poison Launette?”
“If they intend to do that, then my sacrifice will save his life. It is the very least I can do for my cousin. He has come to my aid more than once in battle. My life is his.”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that.” She studied Launette. “You have no enemies, my dear, only sycophants and friends…”
“I can cope with those, dearest,” Launette replied. “It’s the family connection that most causes me concern.”
Aniri pointed out the window, adding, “Our son and your heir needs protection, I agree.”
From the window Launette watched as his son and Curama entered the courtyard. He was amused by their surreptitious closeness. Curama’s hair was fair like her brother’s, but longer and curled more, reaching her shoulders; she had dimples in her cheeks, a ready white smile and blazing green eyes. Despite the age difference – she was eight, half Lahaltz’ number of years – already they seemed to make a fine pair. Indeed, an ideal couple to sit on the throne of Lornwater in the future. That was for much later, however, for Lahaltz and Curama must remain in Endawn for several years yet. Other events must come to pass before that became more than a possibility.
And those events could not be hastened. He bit his lip, tempted to send a saptor to Taalland but refrained. For now, he must be circumspect with his communications.
Later, after Bilorn had left, Launette went to the bathroom.
In the bath, Vilare lathered soap on him and he was soon aroused. He probed her bodily and mentally, but she did not let slip who she was spying for; as he dried himself, he mused that he would enjoy probing her further.
***
The banquet was in the Lord-General’s honour; so with Aniri on his arm he was the last to enter. Bilorn and Ukasur followed them and polite applause rose as they passed the assembled throng. Senstar Curama and Lahaltz were not present, as this was considered an adult affair.
The dining hall was long, the ceiling high. Skirting the walls were crests of noble families; Launette noted that some of them had died out – through bad marriage, internecine conflict or treachery. Along the upper gallery were stationed a number of Endawn archers, male and female. Launette had known of the intention to put them there and had with great difficulty convinced the prince to permit him to allocate his own men to stand by the archers. He had no wish for a repetition of that attempt on his life at the Manderranmeron Fault. The prince, rather than being offended, said that he understood and approved the measure. He politely reminded him that the attempt on Launette’s life had been made by one of his
own men.
On entering and being welcomed by the prince, Launette had abided by the polite rituals of the city, tempering his tone with honey, his bow with aplomb, while inwardly he grieved for his sister, Ukasur. For Asselan Alyne Dahl was an unprepossessing sight with his sallow complexion, close-set leaf-green eyes and short cropped brown hair, thinning prematurely. His greeting was pronounced in a deep bass voice, emitted from a fleshy wide mouth. Tall, big-boned and corpulent with a protruberant belly, the fifty-one-year-old royal heir was going to seed.
Launette was seated at the head of the long table, beside the prince. On the Endawn prince’s other side sat Aniri, while Ukasur settled next to Launette, as etiquette demanded.
Wearing gold silk pants and shirt, a jewel-encrusted belt, and incongruously a beret with a feather in it, the prince stood and formally welcomed Launette and his entourage.
During the toast proceedings, Bilorn as Launette’s pledger tasted his lord’s food and drink; there were no ill effects, nor had either of them believed there might be – though the ailing king gave Launette pause.
Finally, Launette raised his goblet and gave a toast to the absent king’s health.
Then the jollity could begin.
The banquet was a pleasant meal, comprising duck, venison, trout, pastries and fruit, all tested first by Bilorn, and washed down with plenty of wine and small talk.
One aspect of the entertainment proved interesting – several archery contests, the archers being both male and female. “I have always admired your female archers,” Launette observed.
“That one is a comely piece, besides being an excellent shot!” the prince said, pointing to a shapely woman scantily clad in leather, her hair draped over her back to her firm round buttocks.
“My admiration is reserved only for their skill, sire,” Launette countered.
The prince guffawed and clapped his hands. The archers retreated, to be replaced by lissom dancers, male and female, draped in see-through silk of rainbow colours, cavorting and performing acrobatics with apparent ease.
“See that one, she is quite the contortionist, is she not?” the prince exclaimed.
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