Green, Sharon - Lady Blade, Lord Fighter.htm
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"No, her loyalty isn't in question and never can be," Duke Rilfe grudged after a moment, still unhappy but forced, as always, to be fair. "She may turn this household inside out with her pranks and high spirit, but she would never betray it. Is it too late to give you permission to spank her lame?"
The Duke's anger had turned to sour dissatisfaction, and Traixe grinned to know they were now over the worst of it.
"Too late by a decade or more," he said, also knowing his old friend would forgive his amusement. "Not to mention that blade now hanging at her side. If her husband-to-be is wise enough to become her husband in fact, he'll have to find a way around it if he decides it's not too late after all."
"The man's a King's Fighter, not a laced and beribboned sham-noble with perfumed kerchief," the Duke said in a ftttingiy low tone, gesturing his friend with him to the chairs
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, he'd earlier refused- "He won't let a thing like that stand in his way, not when he stops to think about it. And consider how much better his wedding night will be, to find a dry-eyed and eager bride instead of one soaking the linen with her tears. He'll still be a stranger to her, but not a feared one."
"Laced and beribboned," Traixe echoed, the expression frozen on his face, his body suddenly motionless in the midst of seating itself. Duke Rilfe, already in his chair, stared at his friend without understanding, which Traixe seemed to notice after a moment. He completed the movement of sitting, rather heavily, the Duke thought, then shook his head in annoyance.
"You hadn't planned on telling her what he's really like, but now you can't afford not to," the Duke's advisor said, automatically shifting his sword into the carved slot of the chair. "She's not the shy and quiet little thing we've been picturing, remember. If he minces in the way he's supposed to without her knowing what's happening, she'll take one look at him and reach for her sword."
"I hadn't thought of that," the Duke admitted, rubbing distractedly at his face as his mind worked. "No one but you and I were supposed to know, but it wouldn't do to have her attack my new heir even before the naming. We'll have to— Ah, Evon take it and broil it! We can't tell her, Traixe!"
"But why not?" the other man asked, his confusion obvious. "If we don't there'll be hell to pay; that I'll wager gold on. Once you speak to her you'll see . , ."
"See that she'll then have to play a part more demanding than ours?" the Duke interrupted, just as upset as his advisor. "The Servants of Grail must be hoodwinked; if not, it's Sofaltis whose life may well pay for the failure. Everyone in the house must know her status as a Blade by now. What will happen if she greets the appearance of young Kylin without a murmur? That would be like shouting the truth to everyone in hearing, and if she tries to pretend disapproval, how convincing will she be? Do we dare take the chance that she'll be convincing enough?"
"No more than we dare take the chance that she'll refuse to be convincing at all," Traixe answered, sour frustration having wrapped him around. "It won't take her long to see that hers is the life which is most at risk, and she's already told me she wants to lure Rymar's murderers into coming
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after her. She may well turn out to be the embodiment of sweet reason, but after speaking with her this afternoon—"
"You strongly doubt it," the Duke finished for him, accepting the opinion with a nod of understanding as he sat back in the deep chair. "For her sake most of all, then, the thing goes ahead as planned. You and I will be shocked at Kylin's lack of manliness, but there will be nothing we can do. The wedding will need to proceed as planned."
"What we can or can't do isn't what's gnawing at me," Traixe said, still sourly unhappy and wishing the Duke's servants had stayed in the room long enough to warm him some wine. "I've already agreed the girl mustn't be told, but I'd still like to know what will happen when she catches first sight of the groom-to-be. I don't envy your future heir, my lord."
"Traixe, you can't let yourself worry about every little detail," the Duke soothed him, sipping now at the excellent wine in his cup, his gesture one of dismissal. "I'll speak to Sofaltis before the feasting tonight, and give her formal notice of the planned wedding. After that she'll need to accept the man even if he slithers in on his belly and hisses at her. She's my daughter, after all, and a daughter is still required to obey her father."
A daughter, yes, Traixe couldn't help thinking, but a Blade? The big fighter settled back in his chair, unaware of the fact that his thinking had already changed to brooding. He had a feeling deep in his bones that had nothing to do with advancing age, although he would have been happier with stiffening up as its cause. The feeling had always warned him of unpleasant things to come, but this time the Duke had told him not to worry. If he worried anyway, could that be considered insubordination and disobedience? Traixe sighed, glad that at least he'd had the foresight to speak a few words of warning to his fighters, about bracing against a possible storm. He had also told them what to expect if any of them should put a hand to the girl, even at her express invitation. As if there weren't enough problems to worry about. . . .
"What do you mean, she resigned?" Rullin thundered, the look in his eyes causing the Company clerk, a man of proven courage and ability, to wish he was elsewhere. The Fist
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leader leaned his knuckles on the clerk's desk, which afforded an unimpeded view of the flames of rage flaring from the Blade. Behind him three of the others of his Fist hovered menacingly, as though it were the clerk's fault that the girl was gone.
"Just what I said," the clerk repeated evenly, knowing better than to try backing off in a situation like that. "She came in here last night, asked to see her book, then wrote something in it. After she left I looked to see what, and found the resignation. That's about as official as it gets."
"Rull, what are we going to do?" one of his men asked, in his own way more agitated than the Fist leader. "Her gear is gone, her horse is gone—and now this!1'
"It's all my fault," the big Blade answered, straightening away from the desk but not turning to the others. "If I'd stopped her last night—but it's too late for that now. All I can do is go after her."
"Leaving us two Blades short?'' another of the three asked, more quietly than the first. "We'd need to break up the Fist until you got back."
"Which means we'd be better off going with you," the third put in, also calmly. "To help you rehearse what you're going to say to her, if nothing else. She belongs^to us, too, you know."
Rullin nodded to show that he did know, but what he didn't show was the relief he felt. He would have gone with or without the Fist, but with them along he would have the chance to relax and examine the very disturbing thoughts he'd been experiencing since the night before. He'd talk to Soft and Gentle when they caught up to her, all right, but what he would say might not be what the others were expecting.
Chapter 4
I made use of my bed chamber to get a couple of hours' sleep, and when I woke again I went out to the sitting room to find that someone had brought my saddlebags and gear. I took it all back into the bed chamber, stripped off the well-worn leathers I had on and washed, then got into my dress leathers with the silver trim. If nothing else 1 expected to be impressive at the feasting, enough so that the barons and counts guesting with my father would know who they were dealing with. He didn't need their approval before naming an heir, but their opposition could get to be annoying. I was combing my hair and trying to decide whether or not to band it when a knock came at my door, and when I went to open it found a small serving girl standing there holding a gown in both arms.
"The lord Traixe sends his compliments, my lady," she said with a curtsey, smiling from a round and plainly pretty face. "He said to say he knows you traveled without much in the way of baggage, and would therefore like to offer you this gown for the feasting tonight. It was made for one of his daughters, but somehow came out much too lon
g, and then the seamstress died and his daughter was afraid to wear it even if it were shortened, and— He said you wouldn't mind."
The gown she held was" a gleaming silver with jet black panels alternating, as beautiful a creation as any to be found in the feasting halls of the north. At another time I wouldn't have minded wearing it in the least—nothing but leather can get very tiresome after a while—but that was the wrong occasion for telling everyone how womanly I was. First they
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had to meet the Blade, and then they would have less difficulty getting along with the woman.
"Please convey my thanks to Lord Traixe, and say that I would feel honored if I might borrow the gown at another time," I told the girl, watching the smile fade from her face. "I've already dressed for tonight's feasting, and I'm really not in the mood to change again."
"Oh, but my lady, you can't go like that!" the girl exclaimed, close to being horrified, her brown eyes wide. "The other ladies will all be gowned, and the Duke will be ..."
"Very glad for the difference," I finished firmly, grateful for the sleep I'd had. If the girl's reaction was any indication of what I was about to face—which it probably was—I was sure to need all the self-control I could muster. My father was certain to be annoyed if I ended up inviting one of his guests to join me and my sword outside.
The girl looked to be ready to continue the discussion, so I gave her a friendly smile and closed the door in her face, then went back to combing my hair. Having spent half my life in the north meant I had learned to look at things in the northern way, but that didn't mean I'd totally forgotten how those of the south viewed them. Members of the lesser nobility tended to be very rigid in their beliefs and habits, the women just as much as the men, which meant my father and I might have something of a struggle ahead of us before I was accepted. If I stood up to them stubbornly enough they would have to accept me or challenge me, so I had to make sure they were more than reluctant to give the challenge. The game-playing would have to be balanced as carefully as a battle attack, but I was determined to see it work out.
The one lamp I'd lit in my bedchamber had been straining at the dimness for a while, but I didn't notice it until I went back out to the sitting room. All the lamps were lit in there, and a fire laid in the hearth as well, and the serving girl who had come to my bedchamber door earlier was moving around straightening things that didn't need to be straightened. There was no sign of the gown she'd had, but when she turned her smile was back in place.
"My lady, there's been word from your father the Duke," she said, coming across the carpeting toward me. "When you've finished dressing he asks that you join him for a few
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moments before the feasting, and has sent someone to bring you to him. He's a messenger and he's waiting outside with the fighters, and— Are you really going to wear that sword?" Her eyes had gone wide and rounded again and she'd stopped about five feet away, as though debating whether it would be safe to come any closer. Or maybe it was a matter of taste that put her off, and she didn't think a black swordbelt went well with black and silver leathers.
"1 hadn't realized the custom had changed," I told the girl, deciding it might be best to find amusement in everything that was said to me for as long as I could. "Aren't members of the nobility still expected to wear their usual weapons to a feasting? In case they need to be called on to defend the castle in the event of an attack?"
"But of course that's still the custom," the girl answered, blinking at me in confusion. "There hasn't been an attack for years and years, but— Don't you know that's only supposed to apply to the men?"
"It is?" I asked, trying to make my eyes go as wide as hers. "Well, what do you know? Maybe in that case I'd be best off first asking my father. The messenger he sent is outside, you say?"
Her nod was very relieved and satisfied, saying she was glad she'd told me something I hadn't known. She was a good deal better than the servant I'd had during my last visit, but I intended speaking to Traixe as soon as I saw him. If he couldn't find one who was difficult to shock, I'd do without a girl altogether.
The hall outside had five men instead of four, and the older man who wasn't a fighter did a double-take when I left my apartment. He had so obviously been expecting someone in a gown that it really was funny, and then he made it better than the serving girl had.
"By alt the gods, my lady, you 're supposed to be dressed," he blurted, his round and pudgy face snowing how appalled he was. The rest of him was quite a bit like his face, and he looked up at me from the midst of his own finery.
"Evon help me, do you mean I've come out naked again?" I demanded in turn, quickly crossing my arms in front of me. "I'm so terribly embarrassed, and oh! What you must think of me!"
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; The man suddenly didn't seem to know what to think about anything, and the chuckling coming from the four fighters of my bodyguard only helped to turn his face ruddier than it had been. When he settled on affronted dignity he drew himself up, and then seemed doubly upset that he still didn't match my height.
"That was quite amusing, my lady," he allowed, etching a smile on his face to show that he really did have a sense of humor. "Sir Fonid has spoken of the sharpness of your wit, and as always he's quite correct. Am I to take it that you mean to attend the feasting just as you are?"
"You may take it, keep it, or give it away if you like," I answered with a pleasant, friendly smile, disappointed that he hadn't managed to put a third "quite" into the speech. "You're here to show me to my father?"
"Of course, Lady Sofaltis," he said in a stiff and brittle way, bowing to cover his expression. He had briefly forgotten the only reason he was there, and resented the fact that I'd reminded him of it. "If you will follow me, please."
He led off down the hall and turned right, going toward my father's wing of the castle, and just the way I followed him my bodyguards followed me—or, at last, three of them did. The fourth moved out ahead to walk just behind the round, unjolly messenger, an eyes-ahead who would probably be the first to fall if there happened to be an attack. None of us really expected there would be an attack, not right there in the castle, but that only goes to show how complacency can ruin even professionals who should know better.
If the two doors on either side of the hall hadn't been opened just at the same time, we would have had no warning at all. The hall was broad in that wing, the carpeting old but still thick, most of the rooms left unused unless there was a royal visit with an entourage to put up. The wall lamps had been lit and left that way, obviously to keep us from becoming suspicious, but the fighters of my bodyguard must have been just as used to passing doors there that stayed closed as I was. The sound of the doors being thrown open just as we passed them made us all reach for our hilts, and then the fight was on.
How do you describe a fight between five defenders and four times their number or more in awkwardly swinging but
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grimly determined attackers? My first thought was to wonder where the hell they all could have come from, but that was a question to be answered at another time. The men all wore homespun with small swatches of leather pinned to them, and the ones who swarmed in front of me didn't stand very long. I had the fleeting impression that they weren't terribly eager to face me, for which 1 couldn't blame them, but the wide hall wasn't so wide that they had much of a choice. We fought almost in each other's laps, my bodyguard swallowed up fast in the raging torrent of bodies, each of them probably as alone and surrounded as I was.
I didn't realize how wordlessly quiet the fight was until I heard a shout and the pounding of boots on carpeting above the clatter of steel, obviously a sizable group coming to join the elbow-lo-elbow melee. I had managed to put my back to a wall hanging before anyone had found the opportunity to swing at me from behind, and was spending most o
f my time keeping the men in homespun from charging in on me. One or two of them had tried throwing their lives away to a purpose by attempting to impale themselves on my sword— which might have kept my blade entangled long enough for the others to reach me—but I wasn't fighting my first or second battle. After I'd cut down the first of them to try the ploy the others had given up on it, but when they heard the approach of a relieving force they grew even more frantic than they had been.
I honestly don't know how long I would have stood against them then if they'd been even slightly more skilled with the swords they held. I'd whittled them down to half a dozen or less, but still couldn't attack without exposing my back to their friends. Defensive fighting usually does very little more than give your opponent a chance to find an opening through that defense, but you don't attack in a situation like that— especially without mail—unless it's to a purpose or your life depends on it. They all began beating at me with their weapons, as though they thought they were holding sticks instead, and only the heavy sweep of my blade kept them from rushing forward as they struck. Then the newcomers reached us with shouts of outrage, and the attackers, almost as one, turned and threw themselves at them. Needless to say, it was only a matter of seconds before
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was no one left standing who didn't have my father's ^/colors on the left side of his tunic. The newcomers had been ^f, more of Traixe's fighters, and their leader stormed up just a xV-little behind them from what was probably a different direc->? lion, not realizing that his shouted orders were coming too ^ late. Traixe was trying to tell his men to keep at least a . ? couple of the attackers alive for questioning, something they , should have thought of on their own and might have if they ' hadn't been so outraged. All of the attackers had escaped the need to worry about being asked anything awkward, and when Traixe saw that the expression on his face made some of his men look as though they were envying those who littered the floor.
". . . damn' fool byblows who use mush for brains!" Traixe was muttering as he came up to me, furious but still inspecting me closely. "Are you hurt in any way at all, Sofaltis? If you aren't it can only be because Evon stood as your shield and guided your blade—as well as having been your teacher.''