Green, Sharon - Lady Blade, Lord Fighter.htm

by Lady Blade, Lord Fighter

  Frask, having left the pack horses to Strangis, dismounted as soon as they'd stopped and came to hold Kylin's bridle so that his lord might also dismount. Kylin made a production out of it, brushing his cloak aside and then swinging down with careless grace—only to lose the grace at the last moment

  and be left with nothing but the careless. Frantic footwork kept him from going flat on his back, but in the process his swordbelt went askew and the scabbard nearly ended up unmanning him. He grabbed for the stirrup leather and managed to steady himself, at the same time silently thanking Evon that it wasn't a war horse he rode. If he'd tried that nonsense with his favorite mount Thunder Shadow, he would have been lucky to get away without teeth marks in his hide.

  With both feet firmly if somewhat heavily on the ground, Kylin smoothed his clothing and swordbelt straight with short, gentle movements, then turned toward the open doors as if nothing had happened. Frask was looking down at the ground with his jaw clamped tight, obviously having enjoyed Kylin's effort and trying not to show it, but the fighter hadn't been the only witness to the affair. Inside the doors were more people than had been there the last time Kylin had looked, and every one of them stared in frozen speechlessness.

  "Is this Duchy so barbaric I need to ask for something to soothe the dust from my throat?" Kylin plunged in at once before he decided to think better of it, his normally deep voice whiny and petulant. "1 knew it would be like this, I just knew it, but would "Father listen? He certainly would not, and now I've come all this way just to watch them pretend to be statues, as though they'd never in their lives seen a gentleman before. ..."

  "Lord Kylin, please forgive us!" one of the statues said as it came to life, a statue that hadn't yet reached the doors before stopping. The man was obviously an upper servant of some sort to judge by his clothing, and he spoke from a place behind all the others who had magically appeared. Closest to the threshold were the guardsman and the door servant, with another servant and three boys who were probably there for the horses behind those two. Directly behind the boys were two maid servants with trays, pretty enough to make Kylin groan inwardly at their expressions, and behind the girls was the man who had spoken.

  "Lord Kylin, your road cup and an assortment of tidbits are right here," the upper servant went on in an instantly soothing way, pushing the girls forward ahead of him. "Please step into the hall in full welcome from Duke Rilfe, who will be here personally to greet you in a moment. I am Sir Fonid,

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  and would consider it an honor to have fetched whatever you require."

  The others in Kylin's path melted away to either side, probably afraid of being run down as the important new arrival sniffed disdainfully then lumbered forward through the doors. There was an attempt at grace in the heavy gait, but the results of the attempt were not pleasant to the eye. Kylin's pretty red boots had small strips of wood in them, to keep him from reverting to his natural walk. When he reached the trays the girls held he took a goblet from one and a handful of tiny sandwiches from the second, swallowed the sandwiches fast before tasting the wine, then turned to the man who had named himself Sir Fonid.

  "A pity the Duke's master cook has taken ill," Kylin remarked, dabbing delicately at his lips with a pale green kerchief from his wide sleeve. "And do be sure to let me know when your better wines have been brought up from the cellars. I tend to enjoy unusual occasions such as those."

  Sir Fonid's expression was a strictly held neutrality as he bowed, but the shuffling and muttering to be heard elsewhere in the hall gave Kylin a good deal of hope. There had to be fighters somewhere in the house, and the sooner they got there to hear what he had to say, the better it would be.

  "You must be exhausted after your journey, Lord Kylin," Sir Fonid said when he'd straightened from his bow, still wearing the neutral expression. "If you'll excuse me for a moment I'll have a chair brought, and also make certain that the Duke knows of your arrival."

  He bowed again then escaped as fast as he could, something that would ordinarily have made Kylin laugh out loud. He, himself, was the sort who would have preferred staying to bait the unpleasant new arrival, but even a high servant wasn't really in a position to do that. The man was retreating in good order to await the arrival of stronger reinforcements, and it wasn't possible to fault him for using such sound tactics. The delicate new arrival therefore turned away from the departing servant with a flick of his kerchief and a put-upon sigh, then returned his attention to the tray of "inferior" sandwich snacks. He hadn't eaten much when they'd stopped at noon that day, but with his appetite back he was ready to make up for it.

  Duke Rilfe knew he'd been difficult to keep up with on the way to the main entrance hall, but Traixe's stride had matched his every step of the way, the two of them ignoring the fighters straggling behind. He couldn't credit the luck they'd had so far, with Kylin showing up only a day behind Sofaltis, but he knew it couldn't last. Tradition forced a three-day celebration period on him before the ceremony could be held, and those three days could well seem like three hundred if there was trouble. If only he could lay hands on the one in his household who was in Nimram's pay! There was no doubt there was such a one, everything pointed that way, but they'd all been with him for so many years! How could he let Traixe ask questions the way he wanted to, with instruments of persuasion that would—

  The Duke stopped short just at the entrance to the hall, startled at sight of the man who waited there. For a moment he'd forgotten what Trame's son would look like, and very briefly he prayed fervently that it was a disguise. The man was just as large as the King's Fighter he remembered, but somehow muscular size had been turned into mountainous flab, commanding gestures had become over-graceful waves, and the balance of a Fighter was nowhere to be seen. And those clothes! In full daylight he must be blinding, and Duke Rilfe couldn't heip admiring the man's courage. There wasn't much in the world that could have gotten him into clothes like that, especially in the midst of strangers.

  "Red boots to go with a red swordbelt," Traixe muttered, glancing at the Duke with amused pain quickly hidden. "Shall we go to greet your future heir?"

  "And get it over with as fast as possible?" the Duke murmured back, sharing the amusement before resettling his expression into the scowl it was supposed to be. "I think it's time we found out what in hell is going on here!"

  The Duke's last words were spoken forcefully enough to reach everyone in the hall, causing them to turn toward him as he stalked forward. The servants faded quickly back out of harm's way, but the nightmare in flowing Flower colors tripped forward a few steps and then bowed.

  "My dear Duke Rilfe, how good of you to finally find the time to greet me personally," the man sniffed, the petulance

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  in his tone bringing the Duke the definite urge to put a fist in the other's face. "My father assured me I would be more than welcome here, especially since I come to fulfill family obligations. I really do believe I shall need to speak with him when next he and I meet.''

  "Which, if Even's luck should return, won't be that long in coming," the Duke growled, glaring into blue-green eyes that thankfully weren't entirely like the rest of the man. "Your father was supposed to have sent a husband for my daughter, and although he and I have had our differences of late, I refuse to believe him dishonorable. He would have kept to his word."

  "And so he did," Kylin answered with another sniff, brushing at his sleeves to fluff them. "As his son / fulfill the word he gave, and he advised me not to allow you to be rude and abrupt. As the betrothal has already been registered with the King's court—something done by you, I believe—I must be welcomed with full ceremony and hospitality. It is the Law."

  "Laws need to be challenged every now and then to keep them viable," the Duke snarled low, held where he stood only by the presence of Traixe's hand tight around his arm. That damned
superior, smug smile on the fool's face—! "You come with me right now! This conversation calls for more private surroundings, where impertinent young men might be—reasoned with. Traixe! Make sure he follows!"

  Duke Rilfe turned away to stalk out of the hall again, leaving a hard-eyed Traixe to see to the visitor. Kylin could tell that the man who'd been put in charge of him was an experienced Fighter, but neither he nor the fighters who now followed the Duke out had gotten insulted enough to start anything physical. With that in mind he thought fast, then came up with something to add.

  "If you think I'm going to give up the life of a Duke's heir, you're quite mad," he called after the stiff, retreating back, making sure he added a ridiculing simper. "Since my father won't have me at home for some reason, this Duchy promises my sole opportunity for living as a gentleman really should. I won't . . ."

  "Ease up before he forgets you're playing a part, you young idiot!" the man Traixe hissed at him in the lowest of voices as he closed a hand around his arm. The Duke had

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  nearly paused in his stomping exit, and Kylin realized Traixe was right. Kylin's aim was to start a fight, but not with the man whose heir he would be.

  "Very well, I'll come, but I trust I've made my position clear to everyone," Kylin said in supposed answer to what Traixe had hissed, men let himself be manhandled out of the hall. Kylin was pretending to be extremely put-upon, but Traixe was feeling considerably better. The arm he'd closed his hand on was larger and more muscularly hard than the Duke's or his own, something that had been very cleverly concealed by Kylin's gracefully garish clothing. It looked like things really were going to work out well, the way plans as complex as theirs rarely did. With Even's help they were almost out of the woods.

  It didn't take long to reach the Duke's study and enter behind him, the fighters having been left out in the hall with the on-duty House Guards. The Duke seethed with hopefully pretended rage and glared at Kylin while servants hurried around setting out refreshments, leaving Kylin nothing to do but look critically and unenthusiastically around at the mar-velous chamber. His father had a study like that, with his ancestors' weapons all around him, and Kylin had always felt strengthened after visiting the place. The weapons represented the continuity of life as well as his family's responsibility to stand themselves before any danger threatening those who weren't similarly armed. Not every man could be a fighter, but every man deserved the defense of his lord, should the need arise. The people provided sustenance while their lord provided safety, and—-

  "What in broiling hell is this?" a voice suddenly demanded from behind Kylin, causing him to turn around. With the servants still mere the door to the hall hadn't yet been closed, and standing just inside the doorway with fists on hips was the sort of girl Kylin hadn't been expecting. She was a big girl but lithe and shapely, with long brown hair banded around her brow above flashing gray eyes. Her black leathers, swordbelt and silver medallion said she was a Blade, which made the son of Arthil wonder who she could be. A girl like that was enough to interest any man, and that despite the fact that she was no more than pretty. Spirit had a more lasting attraction than beauty with nothing behind it, but then

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  Kylin remembered he was, for ail intents and purposes, a married man. Night house girls were one thing, not at ail the same as someone who seemed to be a member of Duke Rilfe's household. . . .

  "Sofaltis, what are you doing here?" Duke Rilfe demanded in turn, almost sounding shaken. "1 was going to send for you later ..."

  "Were you really," the girl interrupted with cold fury, her eyes on a Kylin who suddenly wanted desperately to be rid of the role he was still being forced to play. "Word travels unbelievably fast around here, which means I heard about the arrival of your newest guest without having to wait to be told about it by you. Arc you seriously trying to suggest that this is a son of Duke Trame of Arthil?"

  "Kylin of the House of Torain at your service, my lady," Kylin couldn't keep himself from saying with a bow, but to his horror it also came out with a simper! "Do allow me to say how honored I am to . .

  He had begun to step forward automatically to reach for the girl's hand, but was stopped in his tracks when that hand went to the hilt hanging to her left. From the look in her blazing gray eyes he knew she would draw on him if he came one pace closer, and it never occurred to him that he'd almost found the fight he'd been looking for. Going up against a Blade wasn't a lark under any circumstances, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt the girl.

  "Absolutely and immovably no," the girl said in a growl to Duke Rilfe, the blaze in her eyes now meant for him. "Never, under any circumstances, not even if Evon himself appeared to demand it! Do you understand me? NO!"

  With that the girl turned and stormed out of the study, the fighters in the hall falling all over each other to get out of her way. Kylin thought there were more fighters out there than had been there when he'd arrived, but the servants being hurried out of the chamber by Traixe kept him from certainty. He turned away from the door being closed to see Duke Rilfe standing with his head down and one hand over his eyes, but didn't get the first hint about what had just happened until the man Traixe came back from the door shaking his head.

  "It has to be my fault," Traixe said, sounding old and tired. "Everyone knows Evon dislikes having people count

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  their victories before they're won. What are we going to do?"

  "What can we do but go on with it?" the Duke asked with a sigh, sounding much like the other man as he uncovered his eyes. "We'll have to think of something to tell her, something a lot more compelling than the truth would be. And you. Did you have to talk to her, not to mention try to approach her? Are you intent on getting yourself killed?"

  This time the Duke was addressing Kylin, and since everyone left in the chamber already knew what he really was, there was no reason not to shrug and grin.

  "Being too attracted to danger has always been a failing of mine," he answered in his own voice, straightening up from the slouch he'd been making himself stand in. "I know how close 1 came just now, and I hope you'll excuse me for considering the meeting worth it. Under the circumstances it's terribly bad manners to ask this, but—who is she?"

  Traixe chuckled as he recognized the look in the young Fighter's eyes while he asked his question, and even Duke Rilfe was forced to show a faint grin. As badly as everything had suddenly gone, they hadn't dared hope for so excellent a turn of events.

  "So you want to know who she is," the Duke said abruptly, no longer showing any amusement. "You come here to marry my daughter, and the first thing you do is insult me, then ask about a woman of my household. Is there to be no end to such insolent and frivolous misdoings?"

  "Oh, no, don't tell me!" Kylin said with a groan after thinking for no more than seconds, suddenly wishing he were back in the middle of a nice, calm war. "I can understand your wanting to get even with me for what I said down in the hall, my lord, but please don't tell me that was my future wife! I don't think I could stand it—"

  "He's really bright," Traixe said with more than chuckling, clapping Kylin on the shoulder before moving toward the refreshments the servants had laid out. "And I think he'll be needing a drink."

  "Bright but not terribly lucky," Duke Rilfe contributed with his grin returned, but also with some measure of compassion. "You should have let me distract you into defending yourself, Kylin, you would have had a few more unconcerned

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  minutes that way. It was your misfortune to be too bright to be lured into that, and also your misfortune to meet Sofaltis before I could prepare the way. So you like the look of her, do you?"

  "Just now mat doesn't seem to be the point," Kylin answered, his broad face registering pain, his voice so hollow the other two men nearly laughed. "I can't believe I actually sim
pered at her. I'd stake my swordarm on the fact that she doesn't know what we're up to, so the only question 1 have is this: how quickly can we get her back to tell her?"

  "We can't," the Duke said quietly, sympathizing deeply with the young man who stared at him. To be less than a man in the eyes of the woman who was his would be painful for any man, but under circumstances like those—"I regret having to say it, but we can't let Sofaltis know what we're doing. If she happens to find out, it might well mean her life."

  "The girl, as you may have noticed, is—headstrong," Traixe put in, coming forward with cups for Duke Rilfe and Kylin. "If she finds out that one of the main purposes of the marriage is her protection, she'll most likely rear back and refuse to go through with it.''

  "But she's already refused to go through with it," Kyfin objected, accepting the goblet of wine automatically. "Not that I can really blame her, after what she thinks she saw. Can't we tell her the truth about me at least, and then convince her the marriage is for the protection of her father? A man without an heir is a tempting target for anyone with an interest in promoting chaos, and that should be close enough to the truth to satisfy anyone."

  "That would be a fine idea except for one thing," Duke Rilfe said, glancing at Traixe where he now poured wine for himself. "Sofaltis doesn't know who's behind our troubles, but she's already found out the hard way who the primary target is. There was an attempt made against her yesterday, here under my very roof, which shows how desperate Nimram's people were growing. Evon willing, your excellent performance of a few minutes ago should convince them they have little or nothing to worry about, but what will happen if the truth leaks out before the ceremony is concluded?"

  "And Sofaltis is—Sofaltis," Traixe added as he came away from the board with cup in hand. "She's already an-

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