WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Dek tried not to smile, but it was hard not to when you looked at Arthur Mongey. Unlike his counterpart, Grouig, Mongey was rarely without a smile. Even his name meant smile in the old language.

  "She said she hoped I choked on my supper and died gasping for breath,” Dek answered. “She assured me she would not lift a hand to help me should that happen."

  "Oh, dear!” the Archbishop said, his laughing eyes sparkling. “No wonder you've been sitting there so tensely and chewing so methodically."

  Even Archbishop Grouig laughed at that remark and the Patriarch nodded as though the words might have been his thoughts as well.

  "I'm accustomed to her insults, Your Eminence. I imagine I'll suffer more of the same—but on a larger scale—as the countdown to the dissolution of our marriage advances."

  "If there is to be dissolution,” Lord Assyl, the Senior Tribunal judge, injected.

  "There will be,” Dek stated loudly and clearly.

  "Let us discuss more palatable matters,” the Patriarch said. “Deklyn, tell me of this new peace initiative of which I've learned. How do you think it is going?"

  With talk turning to the envoys from Tarryn and Geddyn who were meeting in secret in an attempt to work out a peace accord, Deklyn was more in his element. He was—first and foremost—a trained warrior.

  "I am hoping some good will come of it,” he said. “This gods-awful war has been going on far too long."

  "I agree,” the Patriarch said. “We will add the envoys in our prayers at morningtide."

  "It is sincerely wished you will be here to say many masses for us, Your Beatitude,” Lord Gael said. “May we hope you will be with us for Raahoil?"

  "Indeed, we will,” Archbishop Grouig replied for the Patriarch. “And well beyond, I imagine."

  Dek groaned inwardly for the sacred festival of Raahoil was over three weeks away—which meant the priests would be there at least a month. He released a long sigh then signaled for a servant to bring him more wine. For the next thirty minutes, he listened to the plans for the festival, bored out of his mind as Lord Gael waxed inexhaustibly over past masses held on the Cliffs of Doolane two miles north of Drogh-gheay.

  "While I enjoy the other three festivals, I do believe Raahoil is my favorite,” the pompous man stated.

  "Mine, as well,” Archbishop Grouig agreed.

  "Would you gentlemen like to retire to the library?” Lord Assyl inquired. “I am sure the Patriarch would be more comfortable."

  "Excellent idea!” Lord Gael responded.

  With the Patriarch leading the way, Dek lagged behind the other men, grinding his teeth at having to continue dancing attendance for another hour or two until the priests retired for the evening. He longed to be astride his horse and racing to Sheidaghan instead of listening to the longwinded Lord Gael regaling everyone with still another reminiscence of Raahoils past. He desperately needed Maire's quiet company and gentle smile, her soft lap in which to lay his head.

  Taking a seat across from the Patriarch, he crossed his ankle over his knee and settled in for what he knew would be a boring time. He rubbed his palm on the chair arm, discovered a loose thread and began to pluck at it, only partially listening to the small talk going on around him. He would nod now and again in the pretext of paying attention but his mind was on Maire.

  Time dragged on. Dek had unraveled several threads and at that moment was intent on unraveling another, his brows knitted as he worked at the thread.

  "Are you bored, Deklyn?"

  Suddenly aware of the deep silence surrounding him Dek looked up to find ten sets of eyes staring at him. The Tribunal judges were frowning sharply. The councilmen and auxiliary priests looked embarrassed. Archbishop Grouig looked indignant while his counterpart—Archbishop Mongey—looked vastly amused. The Patriarch was sitting with his fingers pressed together beneath the layered folds of his triple chins, his expression one of sharp inquiry.

  "I'm sorry, Your Beatitude. I must have been woolgathering,” Dek answered truthfully as he smoothed the loose thread to the chair arm. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and the heavy censure coming from most of the men watching him.

  "Would you like to be excused from this scintillating conversation we are having?” the fat man questioned.

  Dek opened his mouth but before he could speak, the Patriarch held up his hand. “We know you are still mending from the battle at Unita. Perhaps you should get to bed early this eve and make an early start with us for the morningtide."

  Suppressing a groan, Dek nodded and uncrossed his legs. He stood. “Thank you for your understanding, Your Beatitude,” he said, bowing to the Patriarch. He nodded to the other men then left before anyone could prevent him. Behind him, he heard laughter he knew must have come from Archbishop Mongey then felt an icy finger of dread scrape down his spine when he heard the word Sheidaghan.

  Stopping dead still in his tracks, he snapped his head around but the two patriarchal guards who acted as the Patriarch's bodyguards and who were never far from His Beatitude’ side closed the library doors, keeping him from hearing anything else.

  With hands clenched, Dek took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the landing, he stopped again. To either side of his bedchamber door were two more patriarchal guards in their distinctive red and gold livery. He stamped down the urge to bellow and started walking. Plastering a smile he didn't feel on his face it was all he could do not to turn around and go back downstairs to confront the Patriarch. The AnÉilvéis mercenaries snapped to attention at his approach.

  "Good evening, men,” he greeted them.

  "Good eve, Your Grace,” the men responded in unison. One hurried to open the bedchamber door.

  Dek thanked him before entering the room, stopped, and then turned to look back at them. “I take it the Patriarch assigned you to be at my door all night?"

  The older looking one of the two cleared his throat. “Aye, Your Grace. All night, every night."

  Dek nodded then gently shut the door in their faces, even though he wanted to slam the portal as hard as he could.

  For a moment he stood in the center of the room—fuming and searching for something to smash—but then his better judgment took control and instead he flung himself face down on the bed and growled from frustration.

  * * * *

  "Well, you look like shite,” Jules whispered as he fell into step beside Dek as they made their way to the morningtide mass. It was just after daybreak but every man and woman of any rank above servant at Drogh-gheay was expected to attend the service.

  "He posted guards at my door,” Dek whispered back as Guy joined them.

  "I saw them going up and figured that was what was happening,” Guy said in an equally low voice.

  "Did you tell her what's going on?” Dek asked his cousin.

  "Aye and I told her you wouldn't be visiting until he left,” Guy responded. “She said she understands."

  The men reached the chapel door, allowing the Tribunal judges and their lady-wives to precede them.

  "Meet me in the stables after we break our fasts,” Dek said. “And don't dally!"

  Guy and Jules looked at one another as they followed their overlaird into the chapel. Until he was seated in the family pew at the front of the room, no one else could take their seats. When he genuflected then knelt to say his private prayers, the people quietly sat—Guy and Jules in the pew directly behind Dek's. Ynez was already seated with her hands primly clasped in her lap. She gave no indication her husband had entered the pew for she was staring straight ahead. When Dek was finished with his prayers and slid onto the seat, she moved further away from him.

  The Baron just as studiously ignored his lady-wife as she was ignoring him. He had his attention locked on the altar and when there was a tinkle of bells to the rear of the chapel, he stood without offering her his hand to rise. Turning his head to watch the Patriarch processing up the aisle between the rows of pews, he heard her call him a mannerless beast and smiled. The Patri
arch passed Dek at that moment and—no doubt thinking the smile was being bestowed on him—inclined his head in greeting.

  Throughout the service Dek sat attentively and without giving in to the urge to glare at Ynez. From the corner of his eye, he saw her foot bouncing in agitation and knew from experience, she was in a bitchy frame of mind. He had not missed the two guards who had escorted her to the chapel. They were standing at the other end of the pew against the wall and would be there to take her back to her room. He had no intention of visiting her chambers again until the following week to perform that month's Seeding. When the last amen had been intoned and the recessional had vanished up the aisle, he was surprised when Ynez reached out and grabbed his arm.

  "I want to see Miriam!” she hissed at him.

  Shrugging away her grip, he didn't bother to look at her. “No."

  "Why not?” she whispered fiercely.

  He stepped out of the pew, genuflected then turned to give her a cold look. “Because I said so,” he replied and started up the aisle.

  "Deklyn!” she called after him but already Guy and Jules were between her and her husband and the two guards had moved quickly into place to flank her—one having hurried around the pew to block her exit as the other moved down it to keep her from escaping that way.

  "She's gonna make a scene at the morning meal,” Guy mumbled to his brother.

  "She'd better not,” Jules replied. “The Patriarch isn't fond of her to begin with."

  Despite what Guy predicted, it was to be a quiet breakfast that morning for Dek. Archbishop Mongey had informed the Tribunal judges their presence was not required at the meal, turning them away from the dining room with a pleasant but firm smile. He informed them, neither he nor Archbishop Grouig would be breaking the fast with the Patriarch, the Baron and his lady-wife. Absent, too, would be the auxiliary priests.

  Bidding Dek and Ynez to sit to either side of him at his place at the head of the table, the Patriarch blessed the food then dove in with relish, his jowls wobbling as he ate.

  "So, tell me, Ynez,” the Patriarch said in between forkfuls of ham steak and crisply fried potatoes, “what are your plans should the marriage be dissolved?"

  Dek cut his eyes to his wife, frowning at her as he placed a spoonful of baked apple into his mouth. She was eating demurely—knife and fork in hand—with her gaze upon her plate. She looked up at the questioned, turning to look at the Patriarch.

  "I have not given it much thought, Your Beatitude. I am still hoping the gods will grace us with a child,” Ynez replied.

  Dek choked on the apple he was swallowing and had to grab his napkin. His face turned beet red as he coughed, striving to dislodge the food. When he finally did, he shot Ynez a look that was filled with poisonous intent.

  "You should be more careful, husband,” Ynez said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him. “You could choke to death that way."

  "What of the Baron's Cochianglt?” the Patriarch asked smoothly. He paused with his coffee cup at his lips, viewing Ynez over the rim. “What of her?"

  Ynez waved a dismissive hand. “When I conceive...."

  "That's not going to happen,” Dek snapped.

  "When I conceive,” Ynez said, continuing as though he hadn't spoken, “the question of Deklyn's paramour will be of no consequence. According to the marriage contract, he must put her aside and—under very stiff penalty should he not do so—have nothing more to do with her."

  The Patriarch nodded thoughtfully then set his cup into its saucer with a light clink of china meeting china. “Do you know what will happen should you not put her aside, Deklyn?” he asked softly.

  Clenching his jaw so tightly he was getting another headache from the pressure, Deklyn was glowering at his wife. The food he'd consumed had left behind a bitter taste in his mouth. He stared into Ynez's amused eyes, wishing he could wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until there was no life left in her lying, deceitful body.

  "His Beatitude asked you a question, husband,” she said, one side of her mouth drawing up in a smirk.

  "I'm not deaf, Ynez,” he threw back at her. “I heard him."

  "Then, pray to give His Beatitude your answer,” she said, once again batting her lashes at him.

  Dek's eyes narrowed dangerously but without looking at the Patriarch, he gave the religious his reply. “Aye, Your Beatitude. I am aware of the penalty involved."

  "Just asking,” the Patriarch said then leaned back in his chair—the frame groaning beneath his immense weight. He threaded his fingers over his protruding stomach, shaking his head as the servant came forward with the coffee server then turned his full attention to the young Baron. “What are your plans this day, Deklyn?"

  Dek blotted his lips then tossed the napkin aside. He had lost his appetite and his stomach had been soured. “I will be riding into Cathair as soon as my captains are ready to leave."

  "That would be your cousins? Guy and Jules?"

  "Aye, Your Beatitude,” Dek answered.

  "Fine men,” the Patriarch announced. “We like them."

  "What business do you have in Cathair, husband?” Ynez asked in a sly voice.

  Dek looked across the table at her with venomous intent and she drew back with a hand to her throat, flicking a worried look at the Patriarch. “Nothing that concerns you, wife,” he answered, teeth clenched. He looked to the Patriarch. “How will you be passing the time, Your Beatitude?"

  The Patriarch sighed heavily. “Alas, we will be with your Archimandrite,” he replied, speaking of the head of the local church. “We will be going over his books, seeing to the schedule for this year's confirmations and baptisms, firming up plans for the other three High Holy Days.” He sighed again. “The usual things that occupy a busy cleric's mind.” He reached out to put a pudgy hand on Ynez's arm. “Would you do us the honor of accompanying us this day, Ynez? There are the matters of the confirmand gowns to be sewn, the party arranged for later, the young girls chosen to honor the Blessed Mother for Beeal Voayldyn."

  "I would be honored, Your Beatitude,” Ynez said, jumping at the chance to dodge her jailors.

  Dek frowned. “Ynez has been confined to her chambers, Your Beatitude,” he reminded the Patriarch. “She...."

  "Will be under our strict supervision so therefore I believe we can forego the remainder of her punishment,” the Patriarch stated in a voice that brooked no argument on the matter. His porcine eyes bored into Dek. “You may go about your business without worry concerning your lady-wife."

  "When will you be returning, husband?” Ynez asked. She hoped whatever took him from the keep would divert him for a goodly portion of the day. With any luck at all, she could wangle her way into seeing Miriam.

  Dek shook his head. “I have no idea. It depends on how quickly I can see to the business at hand."

  "Take your time,” the Patriarch said and when Dek glanced at him, the overweight man smiled. “Complete your business now then you can settle down to keeping us company for the remainder of our stay."

  The steady look being sent his way from the beady eyes of the religious left no doubt in Dek's mind that the Patriarch was giving him permission to see Maire. Nothing got past the Ecumenical Patriarch Keish Buillovvee.

  "Thank you, Your Beatitude. I will do as you suggest,” Dek mumbled.

  "Then shoo!” the Patriarch said, waving his fingers at Dek. “Be about your business, my son. The sooner you go, the sooner you will return. If needs be we ask you send word if you will not be in attendance this eve for we will not hold supper for you."

  Dek got to his feet, bowing his head to the cleric. “Thank you, Your Beatitude. I will keep that in mind.” He never glanced at his wife as he took his leave.

  Once her husband was out of sight, the Patriarch turned the full force of his unsmiling gaze on Ynez.

  "You may be excused from table, Baroness, and about your own particular brand of business—whatever that is. I have informed my guards they are to intervene on your behalf
should the Baron's men try to restrain you from your tasks. You once again have the freedom of the keep.” He narrowed his pig-like eyes. “Be wise in how you use your time while your husband is away."

  "Thank you, Your Beatitude!” Ynez said then shot to her feet, barely remembering to curtsy respectfully before she departed.

  Motioning the servant over to pour one last cup of coffee, the Patriarch informed the man he would be taking the coffee in the Baron's office. “Pray to send word to the Archmandrite to let him know where we will be.” With difficulty he pried himself from the chair.

  "As you wish, Your Beatitude,” the servant acknowledged. He made no move to aid the Patriarch for to touch the religious person would be blasphemous.

  * * * *

  "I'm not sure this is wise, Dek,” Jules said. He, Guy and the Baron had reached the crossroads leading into Cathair. Dek urged his mount in the opposite direction toward Sheidaghan instead of the capitol city.

  "He knows where I'm going,” Dek said. “Take your time in Cathair. I'll be spending the night with Maire.” At Jules’ look of horror, Dek held up his hand. “In a bed other than hers but with her, nevertheless."

  "You've done some dangerous things before but this is bordering on insanity, cousin,” Jules admonished. “You're courting a session with the ta'zeer. You do know that, don't you? Maire isn't expecting you so why...?"

  "He's going to do it whether you approve or not, Jules, so shush,” Guy snapped. “He is aware of the consequences of his actions.” He controlled his prancing horse with a tight press of his knees and by drawing back on the reins. “Besides, the hag isn't with child yet and with any luck she never will be."

  "And you'd better hope that continues to be the case,” Jules muttered. His face was etched with worry lines.

  "I know what I'm about, Jules,” Dek said then kicked his steed into a gallop.