Barok must be warned. I started toward the door that lead out onto the Deyalu but stopped short. Opening that door would be my death. My hands would not stop shaking.
Behind me the horrible men laughed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
I looked back at the trunks and a perilous thought steadied my nerves.
Could I? What other choice did I have?
The brute that had offered to become my protector unlocked another closet to reveal my prince’s swords and armor. The hard metal drew reverent exclamations from the rude men. “Take all of it to Yarik’s residence and count your fingers because you’ll lose one for every mark you leave upon it.”
With a Dagoda grin, I stepped toward them.
“Don’t go getting any ideas,” the senior man said. “You’re not getting your hands on anything in here, sweetmeat.”
“I was looking to you, not the swords,” I sang. He froze in place as I continued forward, leaned into him, and kissed his neck. His fellows cast jealous looks at him and stared at my body. He told them to leave with a jerk of his chin and they moved out with some of the heavier pieces of armor.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Leon,” he mumbled.
“If you can be gentle, I would be happy to have a protector as strong as you. Where can I meet you later?”
He blinked at me while my body gave itself to the fantasy that he was my prince. It took him some time. “By the far gate, behind the livery.”
“Could we go now?” I asked.
“No, holiday today, sweetmeat. I have to get these trunks down to Barok’s carriage and everything else moved across to Yarik’s residence.”
“I could stay and help. Perhaps fill the trunks for you?”
He tried to hide a grin, nodded, and fumbled with several tall spears before he made his way out.
The fireplace in the corner had gone cold and the battered old trunks waited. I’d been left alone to decided what my prince would take into banishment. A hasty list took shape, and I was about to take stock of the winter clothes they’d started with when I stole a glance at the armor.
I discarded all caution and snatched a helmet, shield, and the three best-looking swords from the dozen that remained. It went into the second trunk and another trip seemed worth the risk. A long suit of chainmail upon a wooden dress form caught my eye, but the porters would certainly notice its absence. On a shelf behind it, though, three more suits lay folded next to the heavily-padded garments that seemed to match them. Its weight was a surprise, but into the trunk it went.
A way to hide the treasures took its turn. I hurried to a tall dresser in the servants’ space. Inside I found all the fabrics I’d I hoped for and more. I hefted up bolt after bolt of brocaded silk, smooth wool, and soft linen. Another drawer contained a wide box filled with every color and kind of eyelet and hook, ribbon, lacing, couched twist cord, thread, button, and bobbin lace. What marvelous garments it would all make. My prince would be so happy for it all. The fabrics layered over the armor, and I closed the lid as the boots and joking voices of the porters thumped and burped back up the stairs.
They labored within the armory, unaware of my pilfering, and it was difficult not to smirk at the questions they would later face. I doubted they had enough fingers.
They brought more trunks meant for other destinations, and I raced from closet to desk to shelf to collect the most valuable items before they picked the place clean. They leered and whispered, but with Leon standing in the center of the room, none of them laid a hand on me.
Time became a blur and a mountain of everything written in my prince’s hand topped off the third trunk. I lashed the second and third closed while the last of the furniture disappeared down the stairs.
A new man entered the room and searched my prince’s desk. He was not dressed as a servant, but his trade was a mystery to me. A tight bandage circled his arm.
“Where are Prince Barok’s writings?” he demanded. “There should be a manual here. His manual of sword.”
No one answered him, and he started toward the trunks. I stepped in his way.
“You may not touch these.”
“Step aside.”
“You forget where you stand, sir. If we let you rob from these trunks, we will all suffer for it.”
The man took hold of my arm and squeezed. “I will not say it again, girl. Step aside.”
“Let her go,” Leon said, and the porters collected around us.
“Do you know who I am?”
The porters wilted, but I did not. I knocked the man’s hand off my arm. “Neither Gensish nor Babsi said anything to us of you. Do you have permission to be here?”
He spat a curse at me, gave up his plan, and fled.
Leon winked at me as the men grunted and grinned at the victory. “We are taking the last of his things out now. Can we get the trunks next?”
I nodded, and he wrapped me in his arms. His men gathered up the last load and made their way out. Soon all that remained was the black trunks and Leon’s broad frame. He kissed my neck and his hands started to gather up my skirt.
“Did you know my father?” I asked.
That set him back on his heels and he let go of my skirt. “Don’t worry about that, sweetmeat. No one will hold that against you anymore.”
His words confirmed the newest of my fears. My father had become a terrible man. I almost asked what he had done but did not need the details. Dagoda had taught me what men were capable of.
I let real tears pour from my eyes, and Leon was kept at bay. I took him by the hand and led him down the stairs. I made a show of calming and wiping my eyes.
“I am expected in the booking room. I’ll meet you behind the livery?”
He nodded and tried for another kiss, but I opened the door and the throngs of people hurrying by robbed him of his courage. He didn’t know what to do, so I squeezed his hand in goodbye, and started toward the booking room. He straightened his coat and made his way into Yarik’s residence.
The moment he closed the door behind him, I made my way back up and hid inside the first trunk beneath the jumbles of winter clothes. The layers warmed the last of the tremble from my limbs.
The porters returned for the trunks a time later. I pushed against the sides while they carried them down, and almost cried out when they dropped my trunk onto the gritty stone of the carriageway.
“Damn it, what did she pack these with?”
“Books and such. Did the trunk break?”
The lid came open as they examined it, and I froze.
“Split the corner.”
One of them laughed. “Or was it you that broke it, Leon?”
“She did like the pounding,” he said and they all joined in the laughter. “Leave it. It’s someone else’s problem now.”
The lid closed and they started away. “We’ll all get a taste of her tonight, right?”
“If you have two silvers,” he said. Their laughter faded and the heavy doors closed behind them.
Then I truly cried, and the tears choked me. I was in the middle of a second great sob when the doors on the far side slammed open. Angry voices tumbled out, and I recognized the practiced demure of Alsman Gensish.
“Prince Yarik, put away your sword.”
“No. I am going to gut him.”
“My lord, you must depart. You cannot arrive late to the Urmand Academy. Yield.”
“You idiot. My uncle runs the damned province. They’ll wait.”
“But—”
“Shut up, I said.”
I pulled a cloak out of the way and stole a look through the crack in the corner. Yarik stood in the middle of the carriageway tunnel with a sword aimed at Barok’s doors while Alsman Gensish and a number of Hemari collected around him. He was an oily and sharp-chinned version of his father, shorter than Barok by at least a hand, and dressed up to hide how plain he was. He couldn’t hold still and his sword wobbled about like a toy.
“Ya
rik, please,” Gensish hissed. “Towb did not fail completely. Banished is as good as dead, and Bendent has other daughters you can put a child in. His eldest, perhaps? She is not the most attractive girl, but she would be eager, yes?”
“No more of your schemes. I should never have trusted your plan in the first place. Not only did you fail to kill him, you cost me a wife and an heir. I’m going to gut him.”
Gensish’s calm voice became shrill. “Quiet. Quiet, I say. We are in the open. Come. Let’s get you back to your carriage. I’ll send for that Dagoda girl so you’ll have some company on the road.”
“In the open? We’re in an empty tunnel, you imbecile. And what makes you think I would want that whore after Barok has had her? I swear it to Bayen above, dear alsman, if a hundred diseased slaves have not climbed on top of her by sunset, your wife and daughters will suffer worse.”
I shivered.
Gensish crossed his arms. “I will see it done, Lord Prince, but you will get back into your carriage and you will be to Urmand on time. Minister Sikhek will arrive here presently. Do you want to explain to him why you are still in Bessradi?”
Yarik went quiet and his sword sank to his side. Gensish gestured to the Hemari and three of them marched Yarik away. An officer lingered.
“Why did Bendent pick this one?” Gensish muttered. “He didn’t even come close to passing the exam.”
The officer shook his head. “Enough talk. What say you, alsman, perhaps there is time enough to have a go at that green-eyed wench before you toss her into the Warrens?”
“An excellent notion. I believe she should be in the booking room now,”
They made their way up, and the carriageway tunnel felt like a tomb.
I would have cried again, but there was nothing left of me. Fatigue and warmth had their way.
7
Prince Barok Yentif
My morning with the swordmasters began with the usual drill of guards—ready positions that moved from one to the next in a thrust, stroke, or parry. Forward in attack and backward in defense; the choreographed movements always woke my mind. The manual of sword they came from was what these men had taught me, but I had long ago found it inadequate. Shortest distances and straight lines were ever their argument, but many of their forms moved unnaturally from one to the next and pulled a man out of line. They did not understand that each movement of wrist, elbow, and shoulder was not a straight line, but a series of circles, the combined arcs achieving the straight thrust or effortless parry of the same. I rewrote their manual, but my attempt to demonstrate its priority had been met with laughter. Every day since, I made a point of drawing blood from one of them. To add to the insult, I promised a copy of my manual to any man who could do the same to me. Many Hemari, including a noble colonel, and even a pair of my brothers had come to try me. Not since I was eleven and Yarik got lucky had I ever been so much as scratched.
We finished the simple drills, and I saluted the senior swordmaster sharply before stepping in toward him again. The man did not step away. He instead set his rapier crisply against mine and tried for me with an elegant thrust. There was a passion in his movement, and I grinned as he pressed me back. His movements were my own. He had been studying me for some time, and he wanted a copy.
The blades blurred between us. I heard the astonished remarks of those gathering to watch. My guards and others rushed across the lawns, concerned that we were dueling. Others stopped them from interrupting.
He meant to do it. The slightest nick and I would have to give him a copy.
I parried another direct series and retreated again but found that I was out of guard. He came in quick, before I could correct, and his rapier drew the slightest red line across the top of my thumb.
He had done it.
I relaxed my guard with the intention of congratulating the man. But he did not yield and thrust at me again. I knocked it aside, and my blade sung through the air as I fought off his advantage. He did not mean to earn a copy of my manual—he meant to best me and call it his own.
We circled each other. Now it truly was a duel. The guards were dim to the difference, but the smug swordmasters knew. They wanted to see me take a knee and lay down my sword in defeat. I growled, parried another sharp thrust and reposted with all of my speed.
The man did not know it, but my manual had its own flaws of defense, and it was the reason he had beaten me. I pressed him hard, intent on returning the favor. His attempt to repost as he retreated exposed him. I set his attack aside, leapt long, and pierced his arm above his elbow.
I expected him to howl, but he did not make a single sound. He dropped his sword and hung his head in what I will generously describe as a bow. His fellows gathered around him, and one man tore off his own sleeve to tie the bleeding arm.
“I was inclined a moment ago to give you the copy you sought, but I can see now that it is beyond you.”
I tossed my bloodied blade to an attendant and strode back toward my residence for some fresh clothing. I let out a heavy breath and did not have to wonder at the source of my anxiety. I had learned nothing new from my victory. The flaw in my form was still there, and now another shared it.
My alsman and my day guards fell in behind me as I climbed back toward the Deyalu. “My lord, I beg your leave to discuss with you an appropriate compensation for the swordmaster’s wound.”
“Will I need to send his sword to his family?” I asked.
“Goodness no, my lord. The wound is not fatal, but he will be dismissed if the wound prevents his trade. Healers are expensive as you know.”
“That is not my concern.”
“Of course, my lord. My apologies.”
I stepped past the guardsmen at the top of the stairs, and into the cool shade of the Deyalu. The space was crowded with my brothers.
A group of a similar age was nearby. Their names were of little importance and the details of their lives even less so. They were enjoying a good laugh, though, so as my eyes adjusted to the light, I approached to hear what had them in such high spirits.
“How did she die?” one asked the eldest of the group.
“Her throat was cut and she bled to death.”
The morning’s concerns were reawakened by the topic, and I stepped into the circle to find out what they knew. As usual, I was the tallest of the group.
“Who was the girl?” I asked.
The group realized my presence. Several pointed at my attire, and they all began to laugh. They were in state dress, layers of white and yellow robes beneath gold-brocaded jade green dalmatics. I closed my eyes for a moment to hide my embarrassment. There was to be a parade that morning to wish Yarik farewell and escort his carriage out of the city. At the top of the Deyalu, the silver-robed echelons of elder princes were already assembling, so there was nowhere near enough time for me to get into the complicated layers of dalmatic and robes. Why hadn’t my alsman reminded me? I opened my eyes, content at least that I had sufficient cause to request the wretched man’s dismissal.
The eldest of the group chuckled. “Pretending you do not know, young one? I do not think that will work very well.”
Young one, indeed. He was not even three days older than I was. If I had not spent so much time despising Yarik, this petulant dribble from my father’s loins would have driven me to murder. He was so worthless he had not even attempted the Urmand Exam. Finishing a duel with him would be very satisfying. His insinuation was a terrible surprise, however, and their knowledge of the incident did not bode well.
I replied absently, “I was told something had happened in my cellar, but I know little more than that. I forget your name, brother, but no matter, tell me what you know of it.”
“I’ve changed my mind. Your feigned ignorance is very believable. Perhaps you should take fewer baths?”
The tittering crowd gathered closer. They were as smug as the swordmasters and even more eager to witness my destruction.
“You bait me with trivia. The girl did not
matter.”
But my tactic somehow failed as a fresh cascade of laughter filled the Deyalu and doubled the size of the crowd.
“Your tutors need to work on the meaning of words with you more, dear brother, if you think Arilas Bendent’s daughter was a trivia.”
My mouth opened but nothing came out. Their laughter surrounded me.
Arilas Bendent of Urmand was the chairman of the Council of Lords and had power and influence second only to my father and the Sten. Much of my family’s gold was mined from Urmand’s hills, and the Kaaryon’s elite sons were trained at its academy. And most worrisome, his full name was Bendent Yentif, seventh cousin to my father.
This was getting serious. The death of a royal would mean an official investigation, and I wanted nothing to do with my father’s agents. The entire topic, for that matter, was one I needed to get free of.
At the top of the Deyalu, the senior princes began to move. I started toward them and said, “Time to form up for the parade.”
They looked to the eldest instead of following me. “I do not know why you would bother. You will not be allowed into line dressed like that. Perhaps you should run ahead and make sure the crowds are in order. Someone born of a miserable peasant should be capable of that much at least.”
The roar put the sneer of victory on my brother’s face, but he was dreaming if he thought I would skulk away. I stepped across the circle instead.
“Say one more ill word about my mother. Please.”
The laughter was extinguished, and my brothers took several steps back from me. The ring leader was left alone in the center. He was not even half my weight.
“Prince Barok, my apologies.” he whispered and bowed low. “I did not mean to insult your mother. She was the most beautiful woman that ever lived—may Bayen keep her in peace. And you are correct. It is time for us to be going.”
The group scuttled away as fast as their layered dalmatics would allow, leaving me alone and again unsatisfied. I had not bullied my brothers in some time and remembered why I had stopped doing it. It earned me nothing.
Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series Page 4