Mortari’s affection curled warmly around him as he let out a long suffering breath.
They rode out to the ship at a gallop. The tails of his coat made twin banners behind them as they caught in the wind. Mortari delighted in showing off his new rider. Alexander noticed the other Sapphire stallions were pure white except for the dyed hairs in blue or if not colored, festooned with azure ribbons. Mortari’s golden highlights gleamed like something rare and precious in the otherwise uniformed landscape. Some mounts clearly belonged to high ranking women, finely tacked and polished down to hooves painted in gold lacquer. Others bore the scars and wounds of battle hardened war-mounts with pride and those greeted Mortari and himself like brothers.
For the first time since he arrived at the crescent shore, Alexander almost felt comfortable.
It only lasted until Bennonton and Chirmeng, Death of the Oathbreaker rode up beside them. The Marshall and his rider, the Calvary General, were tacked and dressed in the most elaborate gear imaginable. His jacket gleamed in dark cornflower blue, broad chest covered in ribbons and medals. Silver and gold gleamed off buckles and the leather shinned with a mirror-like luster. His long hair-feathers fluttering in the wind didn’t look ridiculous at all. They were glorious and lovely.
The mount was polished clean as well. All evidence of the battle wounds were scrubbed away except places where dapples of blue ink were painted to highlight where there the coat had been pierced. He was completely healed. The man was as imposing as his mount, huge and god-like. Alexander felt like a boy riding his father’s mount as they rode together.
A soft caress of reassurance from Mortari steadied him. You are still young. You have not even hit your full growth yet. Time, my rider. Time.
And yet he was still nervous and foolishly his heart had wedged in his throat. Strange to be so intimidated by the man now when he’d been at ease beside him as they talked in his room. There was something about the uniform and the sword and the haughty expression on the man’s hardened features. What if he turned cold and cruel like Shylo had? Maybe Alexander misjudged him like the others. Perhaps Bennonton was only nice in private like Shylo had been when he’d used him as a pillow to cry on before throwing him to the wolves.
Perhaps the man felt the growing discomfort and doubt, or the information was shared between mounts and thus to the big warrior. He rode closer, near enough that their thighs brushed together for a moment.
“You look very comfortable astride, Zan’Dar,” Bennonton said at last, turning his head to offer an unexpectedly warm smile. “Bareback is a bold move for a new rider. Aren’t you worried about falling?”
“No. He’s very easy to sit.” He enjoyed impressing the older man. Even more, he delighted when the man leaned over to clap his shoulder with unexpected affection.
“Well, we will get that proud mount some worthy gear soon. You can’t start training Kha’che bareback.”
“What is that exactly? I saw it in the list of events to participate in.”
“It is sword-play on horseback and lance-work. In the upper levels, there are moves for rider and mount to disarm pikemen. Mostly the harder moves are for display. It’s too dangerous going up against pikes.” He lazily patted the long sword hanging at his hip. “Your riding is good. How is your blade work?”
“I’m not familiar with any of the names of your weapons. I’ve done some preliminary training with a rapier but was just getting started with it before getting—um—well, what happened to me.” He hedged around explaining the cause of his arrival there. It was bad enough that Prince Shylo knew about it. The story might have tainted the young man’s opinion about him. He didn’t want the same to happen with the Lord General. He wanted this man to respect him.
“I would be honored to teach you.” He smiled in a way that suggested Alexander did not hide his shock very well. “I am allowed my own distractions at Festival and my mount and I owe you.” He stroked a hand down his mount’s neck while he watched Alexander. “Besides, I think you will need to know how to duel if you plan on staying here after Festival.”
It reminded Alexander that he wasn’t really sure what he planned for his future. After Festival and beyond that to the rest of his life were mysteries.
You will know better what path to walk by the end of Festival, rider. First things first, we attend to your training, Mortari whispered into his tangling thoughts.
“I would be honored if you would train me.”
The smile the big man fixed on him was full of playfulness. “We will see how you feel after the first week, my friend.”
The general had many more reasons to be cold given the length of time he’d spent on the border, and yet despite that he was kind and generous. Alexander watched him helping the men, women and their mounts onto the first ship. The elegant vessel would cross from the island, the seat of the royal palace, to the crescent shore and the festival that awaited them. Although the general had seemed badly wounded that morning, he made no show of it now, appearing untouched by anything as petty as mortal pain. Now and then, while he spoke with his officers and the guard, his laughter floated back to Alexander.
At last he joined Alexander at the rail and grinned down at him as the ship cut across the narrow stretch of water. Their differences in height and size were even more apparent when they weren’t on horseback. To soften the contrast, Bennonton slouched forward, crossing forearms as he leaned into the wind.
“It might be difficult to find me during Festival, but should you need me, I want you to have your mount cry out to mine. For any reason.” He smiled warmly and played with one of the tokens on his chest before slipping it off. “This, is not an act of mockery. I name you friend and ally, Zan’Dar, Keeper of the Lifebreath. Be my champion for the Festival.”
“But—Shylo—”
“Is a fool and a coward and…you said yourself that it was done as ridicule.” His bright gaze drifted down Alexander’s coat and then back to his eyes as he smiled. “And you seem to have forgotten to put his token back on this morning. Which is the only reason I’m so bold.”
Alexander chewed at his lower lip and then quietly explained what happened the first night he was there at the camp. How the young prince had crept into his bed to cry and then left without a word of explanation or thanks for his comfort. At last he murmured, “Mortari said I should not wear the token as it is an insult.”
“Zan’Dar. You are not required or obligated to take anyone into your bed. Particularly one who would not cherish a kindness you provide to them.” He reached out and gave his arm a squeeze and inclined his head. “I would not come to you uninvited like that. Although I guess this morning might have made you assume otherwise. I didn’t think it would make you feel uncomfortable.”
“No. I mean, you didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Just—I’m not sure what it means. It was as though I belonged to him despite how he seems to despise me.”
“The only one who owns you is that fierce mount of yours. I doubt he will let anyone unwelcome cross your threshold going forward. The role of champion does not come with any secret agenda. It only allows people to see how I hold you in esteem. See the mark here? It is the seal of my coronation and the date that Chirmeng and I joined together. It is not a ribbon with the token of Festival, which is open to many translations including concubine, consort or whipping boy.”
Alexander’s stomach twisted at this information and he gasped, “What? But, why would he do that?”
“He is young and foolish and he thinks he has the upper hand. Or, perhaps he was trying to impress his older cousin Yuli and our sister. I can’t say for certain. I’m sorry, though. I’m sure my uncle would apologize, too. He didn’t see it, did he?”
Thinking back on it, Alexander didn’t remember anyone except Shylo and their friends witnessing the exchange. He gave a little shake of his head and a shrug, feeling foolish and ignorant. “I don’t want to be your whipping boy, either.”
The general threw back his hea
d and laughed. His amusement was echoed by Mortari who soothed over the insult with soft mental caresses. I told you, rider, he is a good man. The men would not follow him if he were cruel and played such games. And…I understand he never selects a champion. This is honest and should you not wish to accept it, he will be wounded, even if he hides it. He is a man of passion and honor. My brother would have selected nothing less.
He realized that the big man was drawing the offered token away and that there had been too long a span of time spent in expectant silence. Alexander reached out to take it and jumped at the charged shock that buzzed through his fingertips at the contact.
Mortari tightened his protection around him with a thoughtful inspection of the energy still radiating warmth along his palm. Alexander sensed Mortari and Chirmeng speaking in private, keeping their conversation shielded from him. Alexander caught up the token before it could fall and ducked his head so he could pin the prize over his heart.
Lord Bennonton stared at him all the while.
Well, perhaps there’s a reason the little brother thought he felt something. Are you hurt, rider? Mortari explored the tingling spot thoughtfully and decided for himself that all was well.
Alexander rubbed his buzzing fingers over his jacket and shared an uncertain smile with the big man. He found himself unable to form any response let alone the right one. Thank goodness everyone was content to let him return his gaze to the sea while his emotions tumbled around inside him.
The huge general didn’t act embarrassed or ashamed, and he didn’t press Alexander about the sensation. There was no mistake that he had experienced the same thing. He didn’t reject or excuse it and he didn’t fuss over it, either. Bennonton seemed to be considering it with a great depth of respect. After some time had passed in silence, he asked, “Did you find the instrument to your liking?”
Alexander blinked up from the view, surprised that this was his first question after the strange contact between them. “Um, I’m afraid I couldn’t make it sound like anything close to music.”
“You just need a few tips, I’m sure.” He withdrew a flute from an inside pocket of his jacket with a smile and demonstrated.
And Alexander thought himself clever for finding the inside pocket in his own new garment to hide his instrument.
With skillful patience, he showed Alexander the correct fingerings and the proper way to hold the instrument as well as how to form his mouth to blow. Even with the distraction of watching the man’s full lips he managed to get a nice series of notes from the tricky thing. Bennonton called it a reed and it was held like a recorder except blown into like a flute.
When they reached the shore, Bennonton slipped away to attend the riders and mounts in disembarking. He gave a warm smile over his shoulder and then he was back into the role of general. His strong voice rang up and down the deck giving orders to men, women and beasts.
Chapter 12
When they finally walked from the docks through the throng of people, Alexander realized how much the crowd had grown. There was a mix of races, not limited to the feather-headed peoples who seemed to be natives of Talgraem. There were people whose skin tones ranged from ivory to onyx. He forced himself not to stare at the more exotic blues and purples of flesh and hair. Unlike when he’d arrived, the classes of the people were varied. Not everyone appeared to be wealthy lords and ladies.
Alexander finally found himself alone after assuring Mortari, Bennonton, Chirmeng, and a number of the guard that he was only going to wander through the festival. He promised that he wouldn’t cause any trouble. He only wanted some time alone, if only for an hour or two. Mortari’s thoughts were filled with amusement as he murmured, You are never free from me. I will go with my brother, but I will come if you need me. Know it.
He really wanted to be in his spirit form where he felt natural and safe, only for a little while. He found a place to stash his clothes behind the royal family’s tent. No one was around to see him strip and embrace the shadowy form of the stag. He enjoyed the rush of relief at the moment the change enfolded him and coiled tight. Safe and whole.
In fact, it felt stronger somehow rather than depleted from the efforts of the previous night.
The festival filled the long beaches with sound, activity and the dizzying scents of food, spices and perfumes mixed with the wood smoke of camp fires. There were performers, dancers and musicians of every size and color. Vendors were selling everything from the slightest baubles to furnishings and ships, wagons, chariots and other vehicles of transportation. Clothes for people and tack for mounts ranged from plain to extravagant. He got caught up in the throng, gawking at the spectacle around him.
When he found himself admiring a fine saddle, he realized that he didn’t have a single coin to his name and had no idea if the price the vendor was calling was really fair. The saddle was not fancy, however the carefully tooled workmanship appeared skillfully done. He liked the quality of the leather and the lack of flashy silver and gold. It was fine enough to have the front display and overshadowed most of the entry level saddles that were little more than a girth strap, a rough leather square to sit, simple rope stirrups and a grab handle at the withers.
He struggled to understand the currency. Crowns and pentacles were most common. The lower end saddles ranged from dozens to fifty pentacles. They were black stones carved flat with something scraped or stamped into the surface. The saddle he liked was five crowns and people scowled at that price. Few were parting with the silvery coins. Not even the most elaborate silver and gold inlaid saddle was as expensive to cost an elusive golden scepter.
Only later when he was walking past a merchant selling fancy wagons did he hear them talking about scepters to the scorn of the customers gathered around.
“Majesty. Majesty!” A voice called from one of the tents. When he hesitated and looked around, a lovely, dark skinned woman came running towards him. She bowed low and then lower when the movement caught his attention. “Oh, Black Stag. Oh, Majesty! You must come and let my daughter comb the dust from your coat. A polish for your hooves. A drink of fresh juices.” She didn’t look at him directly, speaking to her feet as she continued to bob slightly in a series of little bows, hands cupped together beneath her chin.
Several mounts near him offered curious glances and flicked ears at the woman before finally moving on. He was left to consider her strange behavior alone. Well, something to drink would be refreshing. As for the brushing, while it seemed strange it was harmless enough. Before he had decided, the woman called for the daughter who came forward with a bowl and brush.
Behind her was a young man who watched the activity while drawing on a canvas with long, flourishing strokes. The girl’s hands trembled as she began to carefully brush at Alexander’s coat, combing the thick ruff of his chest fur. All the while she groomed, she crooned some song and the boy drew. Every now and then she adjusted her dress, pulling it down in the front, allowing the straps to slip down her shapely arms.
The woman meanwhile had slipped back into the tent, only to return as the girl was encouraging him to drink from the basin she’d brought out. The liquid smelled like melons and the cold drink was almost too sweet as he shyly took a taste of it. There was fermented liquor in it, too, and he blinked up in surprise at the strength of the flavor.
The woman laughed and the group continued coaxing him to drink more. All the while his antlers were strewn with a wreath of brilliant pink flowers.
Uncertain of protocol and not wanting to be rude, he lapped another small drink, feeling his head swim with the effects. When he looked up, blinking through the petals, the young woman was gazing at him with wide, hopeful eyes. She chewed at her lower lip and then glanced at her mother and then back to Alexander as she took a step forward.
“You like her. Yes?” the woman asked when Alexander stood there blinking from girl to woman.
Like her?
“She thinks you’re going to bond with the girl.” A man’s voice intrude
d as the woman’s agitation grew more obvious. “Don’t drink anymore of that.”
Bond?
He looked to the voice and his stomach tightened. The pang of happiness mixed rather nicely with the buzzing effects from his drink. Lord General Bennonton had changed out of his uniform and now wore the lighter festival garb. The sapphire silks did very nice things to his broad shoulders and showed off the muscles of his chest as the fabric hugged against him. As he moved closer, the pantaloons whispered around his powerful legs. The cloth was both loose fitting and nearly transparent which made Alexander stare up the length of the muscular thighs to the man’s groin. How could he possibly be dressed so modestly and yet appear indecent at the same time?
And why was Alexander gawking at him? His heart pounded with vigor at his suddenly lustful response to the man.
“I’ll buy the portrait,” Bennonton said, ignoring Alexander and the others as he moved towards the boy with a purpose. “What is the price?”
“But…” The woman floundered, obviously distressed. The girl seemed to realize that their plan wasn’t working and began sniffling softly.
“He isn’t one of the Honored,” Lord Bennonton said, not looking away from the boy.
“He isn’t?” The woman’s eyes went very round.
“Oh, he’s beautiful enough to make you believe it, I’ll grant him that, but no.” He took a step closer to the boy. “However, I will buy the art. Do you paint? Can you finish it?”
“Y-yes.” The boy showed the rough sketch and stared up at the man in sudden acknowledgment, the canvas slipping from his hands as he hastily dropped to his knees.
“Steady. Steady.” The general laughed and caught the portrait as it tumbled down, narrowly saving it from the dirt. “Don’t grovel. Gods and devils. Up. Stand. I’ll pay you three scepters but it must be painted. I will return for it.” He gestured back to Alexander although he didn’t look away from the boy. “With the flowers. Of that color, exactly. Understand?”
An End to Summer Page 9