As drinks were passed around, Haltese circulated, shaking hands, his eunuch hovering as usual.
Ranell kept to the sidelines, not wishing to mingle. He knew that this kind of celebration was necessary to boost the spirits of the men, but he believed it was far too premature. The Second City was taken, but it had to be held.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Lorar next to Epal Danorr, and it irked him, though it shouldn’t. He grimaced, allowing that Epal had every right to be with her. She made no move to approach, and her agnate smirked at his discomfiture. He sipped at his red wine but it tasted bitter. Despite Lorar’s close proximity, he kept thinking about Jan-re Osa. Surely he hadn’t given her any reason to believe he desired her?
Uncannily, Jan-re Osa emerged from his thoughts and entered the room, startlingly attractive in a deep blue shift that concealed her allure yet emphasised her curves. She picked up a glass of wine, sipped it and studied him over the lip.
Haltese strode over to Lorar, bowed slightly and took her hand. They were close enough for Ranell to hear them. “I have heard from men of good taste concerning your beauty, Lorar,” said Haltese, “but now I find that I may have to cast them all into the palace jail!”
“Why is that, Prince Haltese?” Lorar asked, attempting but failing to extract her hand from his grasp.
“They lied to royalty, to me. Their descriptions of your beauty were inadequate.”
She chuckled, lowered her eyes, almost coquettish, and Ranell almost hated her for that; she’d never been one to simper to royalty. “You must not imprison them on my behalf, Prince. I would hope you would be a merciful king.”
“With you by my side, my dear, I could be anything!”
Ranell tightened his grasp on his wine glass. He’d heard enough. He stepped forward, spilling a little wine. “Prince, you overstep yourself. Lorar was promised to me!”
The room fell into an expectant hush.
Cocking his head at Ranell, Haltese said, “Oh, really? I understand it that her agnate now enjoys her favours, not you!”
Lorar let out a sob and flushed.
“You besmirch Lorar’s name, Prince Haltese!” He flung the contents of his glass at the prince. “I challenge you to a duel!”
Men and women gasped. The eunuch Masteef took a pace forward, but Haltese stayed him with a raised hand and a shake of his head. Agnate Epal chuckled.
Jan-re Osa clasped Ranell’s shoulder, whispered in his ear, “Is this wise, Ranell?”
“Ah,” crowed Haltese, “I see the slave girl has your health at heart. Go and warm her, and I shall forget your insult, innman!”
Ranell shrugged off Osa’s hand and glared at her, grating his teeth.
“No, stop this, please!” implored Lorar. “My agnate will decide my future, and it never can be with Ranell. Please, Ranell, don’t do this!”
Baron Laan approached them. “The prince can only fight nobility.” He eyed Ranell. “Therefore, innman, it must fall to me to be your champion.”
“This is absurd!” Haltese blustered. “It is this misguided boy who feels insult, not you! Why step in on his behalf? If he cannot fight, he must apologise – or face the dire consequences after I am enthroned!”
“You are mistaken, Prince,” Laan grated. “I have very good cause to fight you.”
“I know we don’t exactly like each other, Baron, but I think nothing can give you cause–”
“I know you have lain with my wife!”
This revelation drew more gasps from the onlookers. Guilt showed on the face of Haltese. He thrust out his chin contemplatively. “Very well, Baron Laan. Tomorrow, as the sunlight pierces through the duelling room’s high windows, we will fight.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SAELEC
“The coward’s weapon, poison.”
- Anonymous
First Sapin of Darous
Red Tellar Inn, New City, Lornwater
Lorar stood beside Epal Danorr, her stomach tied in knots. Her agnate was not too pleased, and he had shown it last night. Her bruises were hidden by judiciously draped clothing; he’d raged as he hit her, telling her over and over that he would rather see Ranell duelling instead of Baron Laan. She’d pleaded for him to stop for, she argued, she had no say in the matter. It was protocol! That had made him worse. In the dark recesses of his black mind he must suspect that despite what she averred, her heart would always belong to Ranell. No matter what Epal did to her, no humiliation or physical hurt would alter the compass of her heart.
She held her hands to her chest, the better to feel the heady beat of her blood. The way Ranell challenged Haltese had sent shivers of fear through her, but guiltily, paradoxially it also suffused her with a warm delight: he still loved her.
With every fibre of her being she regretted what she had said to Ranell since her father’s demise.
But she was fearful now, for she’d publicly given her word to the agnate.
No matter what her heart told her, she was lost to Ranell and must accept it.
***
Morning sunlight streamed through the high windows to illuminate the duelling room and its polished wooden walls which were adorned with all manner of shields and weapons. The floor was a series of padded rush mats. Armed sentries were stationed at the doors. The huge room dwarfed the people assembled; it reminded Ranell of the Long Gymnasium; it was only a short while ago since his father Ulran had duelled there to enlist men. That, of course, was not long before the mysterious arrival of Cobrora Fhord and the unparallelled appearance of hundreds of red tellars in the sky.
As then, the tension was almost palpable as Baron Laan and Prince Haltese advanced soundlessly, their eyes flashing warily, weapons ready.
Haltese had been generous and allowed the older man to choose.
Baron Laan had selected a needle-sword – a long thin-bladed affair with a nasty point and an effective bulbous hand-guard.
“A true nobleman’s choice,” Haltese had said. He settled for a scimitar: “The curve slices flesh just like carving roasted meat at a forbidden festival!”
Nobody laughed and Ranell thought the comment tasteless.
The observers sat in carved wooden chairs on one side of the room: General Luascar, still with his arm in a sling, Ranell, Lorar and Epal Danorr, Cobrora Clen, Baroness Laan Jaora and Aeleg. The eunuch Masteef served as the prince’s aide and Jan-re Osa was the baron’s.
The baroness’ normally creamy white complexion was now exceedingly pale as she watched the proceedings.
Haltese was the first to engage, stepping forward deftly, swirling his scimitar left and right, barely missing the baron’s head. Ranell was impressed. He’d never seen the prince in combat, though he’d heard the man had acquitted himself well in the attack on the city’s defenders. His attack had been faultless; he’d given away no bodily sign or indication with his blue-green eyes. A worthy opponent.
He studied Baron Laan. He was almost three times the prince’s age, and the strain already showed in the beads of sweat on the baron’s creased forehead. His hazel eyes darted over the prince, perhaps seeking an opening.
The pair clashed again, both on the attack, one and then the other parrying with smooth swordsmanship.
Sword blades resounded in the hushed room, darting left and right, up and down; the swordsmen circled, ducked, swerved out of harm’s way, parried, offered counter-strike and feinted thrust.
Within only a short time it seemed that Haltese was acting rashly, forcing the pace, as if attempting to tire the older man. But the baron’s response was measured, and firm, allowing no access for the prince’s flashing blade. Maybe Laan was warming up now, and experience would be the master?
So much for that idea! Haltese’s blade sliced a section of leather off the shoulder of the baron’s jerkin.
Close!
Haltese grinned, pressing home his attack, encouraged by that down-slice.
Baron Laan backed away, defending, his free hand reaching to
his shoulder; it came away bloody.
“First blood is enough!” called Lorar, reaching for the hand of the baroness.
“Only death will be enough!” rebuked the prince. “I will reign as I fight now – with no quarter!”
This declaration was met with stony silence – which was broken by a strange gurgling noise from his aide, the eunuch. All eyes turned on Masteef. Blood leaked from his eyes.
Haltese raised his free hand. “Wait, Baron!”
“Is this some filthy trick, Prince?” the baron demanded.
Phlegm flecked the massive man’s mouth as he uttered a piping high shriek and his bull-neck strained.
“This is no ruse, Baron!” shouted Ranell. “Halt the duel!”
The two women and Epal Danorr gasped almost in unison as Masteef’s eyes rolled upwards and he fell thunderously from his chair.
Cobrora Clen rushed over to the stricken pledger, knelt beside him. He shook his head. “He will not be singing any more songs of romance, I fear,” he declared.
Haltese sheathed his sword. “What’s happened?” he demanded, striding towards his aide. But before he could reach Masteef, his pace faltered and he sank to his knees, emitting a similar gurgling sound and fell over sideways onto the rush matting. His eyes bled too and then his limbs shuddered and were still.
General Luascar let out a curse and exclaimed, “This must be a nefarious jest by Nikkonslor!”
Cobrora Clen got to his feet and was the first to reach the stricken prince. He hastily examined Haltese and announced, “They’re both dead – poisoned!”
“What?” Baron Laan exclaimed.
“Poison?” queried the baroness.
The rest of them rushed to the side of Haltese, the eunuch forgotten.
“That’s impossible!” Ranell said. “He’s been fighting a duel. How did he get poisoned?”
“Aye, and who administered the fatal dose?” Baron Laan asked, comforting his wife.
Cobrora Clen’s fingers delved into the deceased prince’s mouth, and lifted the eyelids. “The signs are the same in his aide. See, the dosage has left a faint purpling round the tongue. I believe he ingested saelac – undetectable by taste. And it’s slow-acting.”
“If it takes time to have an effect,” Lorar suggested, “then he must have taken it last night, perhaps?”
“Aye, after his pledger tasted the same food, no doubt!” exclaimed General Luascar. “This is dark magic!”
“No, General,” said Cobrora Clen. “It is plain murder.”
A couple of the sentries slunk out.
***
Second Sabin of Darous
The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater
Bad news tended to have its own fast carrier bird system. Nostor Vata delivered the grave information to King Saurosen. His reddish-brown complexion took on a rust hue, while the spider nevus on his left cheek grew inflamed and his hollow cheeks seemed accentuated. He sank onto his throne, head in his hands. “Our only son is lost to us, Jikki,” he railed. “Lost!”
“He wanted to oust you from that throne, Sauri, remember that!”
He raised his head, glared. “It’s our son we’re talking about here!”
She studied her sandalled feet. “I know, and I feel his death most keenly. But it does mean we might have an advantage now–”
“Advantage? How? My heir is dead!”
“Now, the rebels are without a leader, without someone to usurp you. They may have perceived Haltese’s claim on the throne as legitimate, but now… now he is dead…”
“They will come against me anyway. They hate me!”
Nostor Vata offered Saurosen a small cup. “Sire, please take this – it contains a calming powder to alleviate the heart-pain.”
He looked distrustfully at her. “How do I know it isn’t poisoned?”
Her blue-grey eyes pierced him. “I will taste it for you.”
“No, I trust you,” he said hastily and took the cup, drank it in one gulp.
Eyeing Jikkos, Nostor Vata said, “Highness?”
“No, I do not need calming.”
Lady-in-waiting Fio entered and approached the queen. She held a message.
“What is it, Fio?” Jikkos asked.
Fio glanced with concern at the king. He rested back against the throne, eyes shut, hands wringing in his lap. “It is a response from Lord-General Launette.”
Saurosen’s eyes opened and he turned to Fio. “Let me have it, then, woman!” He clicked his thumb and finger.
Bowing, Fio gave him the small scroll and then backed away.
Saurosen broke the seal and read the contents, his eyes scanning the document more than once, his complexion darkening. “A minor difficulty, he says! Pah!” He flung the scroll at Jikkos.
Catching it to her chest, she read aloud: “I’ll see what I can do to help. I still feel it is a minor difficulty for you. Nostor Vata, a little more of your powder for the king.”
***
Second City, Lornwater
Word of the death of Haltese reached the rebels and it instantly demoralised them. Prince Haltese had inspired them and proved a brave fighter, not holding back like so many princelings in the past. But who were they fighting for now?
Another incursion from the Old City gates met with perfunctory resistance and the Second City was almost lost. Only the rallying cries of Ranell and General Luascar goaded them on to repulse the attack.
***
Madurava House, Old City, Lornwater
Entering the courtyard surrounded by assorted bushes and flowers, all in bloom, Lord Tanellor bowed eloquently to the sister in charge. “Dear Daughter Dramomna, I bring sad tidings.”
She was garbed in a long silk robe of scarlet, blue, brown and green, the primary shades of the compass. “Sit with me, my lord.” She gestured at a stone bench in an alcove. Only her hands and face were visible. It was a kindly face, with deep blue eyes, sharp high cheeks and a generous mouth.
They sat together.
She turned her eyes on him, wide and earnest. “What news from outside?”
“Prince Haltese is dead.”
“Oh, that is most unfortunate. I do believe you put great faith in his bringing stability to the kingdom?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“What do you plan now?”
He was at a loss. His message that Fio carried to Cla-Damen Estan had been plain enough, but the so-called expert swordsman had failed. And now the heir himself had been mysteriously done to death. “My options are suddenly quite limited, my lady.”
“Daqsekor will provide, I’m sure.”
“Do you require guards here? I have men-at-arms available.”
She shook her head. “It is good of you to offer, but no, thank you. I doubt if any faction would actually invade our hallowed house.”
“Not even the Inner-godders?”
“No, not even those misguided fools.”
He stood, bowed. “Remember, my town house is only next door. If you need me or my men, raise the alarm.” He indicated the bell in the tower that overlooked the courtyard.
She got to her feet. “Tread with care, Lord Tanellor. You are a good man.”
***
Red Tellar Inn, New City, Lornwater
Baron Laan and his wife had hired a room on arrival; he’d insisted on paying.
“The Red Tellar’s never hosted so much nobility at any one time!” Renell replied good-humouredly.
The baron gently gripped his arm. “You risk a great deal using your inn as the headquarters, Ranell. I feel certain your father would approve.”
“I’m not too sure. He’s never been one for politics. He fights for right, though, and for too long the king has done everything wrong according to his subjects.”
“Precisely!” the baroness answered, linking an arm with her husband.
Now, as the death of Prince Haltese sank in, Laan stood on the balcony, watching the rioting in the streets. He turned to Jaora. “This is not good
, my dear. My plans have come to nothing.”
“And I bedded Haltese for nothing, it seems!”
He hugged her. “Well, not quite. Your persuasive wiles convinced him to seek allies against his father. And those allies have shown their antagonism to the king. Now it transpires that Saurosen could soon be cast out.”
“What are you going to do? I’d rather not bed another–”
He kissed her, lingeringly, passionately. “I wouldn’t ask it of you.” With reluctance, he let go. “I must side with Thand.”
“But if the rumours are true, he will at best be a puppet ruler–”
“He can legitimately claim the throne once Saurosen’s deposed.” His mouth curved. “I’ll go and see what Ranell and General Luascar have planned. Maybe they will agree to the Thand option.”
Leaving Jaora alone in their room, he descended the stairs and entered the meeting room.
General Luascar, Ranell, and the Sardan Cobrora Clen were poring over maps of the three cities, shaking their heads, as well they might.
“Have you plans for what to do next?” Laan asked.
Ranell and the general eyed him glumly.
“No,” said Luascar. “We were able to revive the people’s morale, but I don’t know how long it will last. They need a new king if they’re going to sweep away the old one.”
“So,” Laan said, “they don’t hunger for a republic yet?”
Luascar scowled. “May the gods forever forbid! One was enough in Floreskand’s history!”
“Then,” Laan proposed, “we must endeavour to get Nemond Thand out of the Old City. He is after all next in line when Saurosen falls.”
“Ha!” snorted the general. “Easier said than done. We need a magician, I warrant!”
Stroking his chin, Ranell said, “And perhaps we have one, in a manner of speaking.” He turned to Brother Clen. “You managed to glamour your way into the Red Tellar. Could you do the same for a group of us to enter the Old City and Nemond palace?”
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