Knights Magi (Book 4)

by Terry Mancour

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that,” agreed Tyndal, smiling, as he unfastened his cloak pin.

  What the hell are you doing? Rondal screamed in his mind.

  I’m getting comfortable, Tyndal replied. You should, too. This is going to take awhile.

  Why?

  I don’t know yet, but she’s up to something. Just follow my lead for once.

  Rondal didn’t reply, but he did remove his summer mantle and lay it on a stone bench with Tyndal’s. Next they removed their mageblades and laid them on top.

  “So what have you ladies been filling your time with today?” Tyndal asked as Lady Kresdine led him by the hand to a larger bench . . . large enough for two, and sporting a long, soft pillow of down.

  “Idle gossip,” Lady Thena said, “vicious, brutal, scandalous gossip. A common weakness of our sex, I’m afraid,” she added with a coquettish smile.

  “How delightful!” Tyndal said with a grin as he settled into the great stone seat. Lady Kresdine settled in beside him, an intoxicating cloud of floral scent following her. Rondal just stood there, looking awkwardly around, as if purposefully avoiding the seat next to Lady Thena.

  Sit down, idiot! Tyndal shot. And don’t mention magic!

  Where do I sit?

  Next to the pretty girl, maybe? Tyndal shot back sarcastically. I said follow my lead. I’m smiling, you be smiling. I’m sitting down, you sit down. And then keep your mouth shut.

  I . . . I can do that, Rondal said, and then plastered a smile on his face before sitting down next to Thena.

  Tyn, she’s . . . she’s kind of young, isn’t she?

  Only a year or two younger than we are, Tyndal pointed out. She’s getting to sit next to a handsome young knight errant. Some girls go their whole lives without getting a chance like that. It’s what they dream about, or didn’t you figure that out at Chepstan? So shut up and let her enjoy the moment.

  I’m not handsome, was all Rondal could respond.

  Try not to let her know that, Tyndal advised, and turned his attention to the woman sitting so alluringly next to him.

  “Now,” he began, settling in, “as we are strangers in your land, we are curious about its history and the reputation of your noble lord. Is he a puissant gentleman?”

  “Daddy?” Thena burst out with a giggle.

  “My daughter is impolitic,” Lady Kresdine said, smoothly. “Her father is of noble lineage and distinguished house. Sir Gamman was properly squired and belted, but his skill lies far more in oratory than action. He has never drawn his blade in anger,” she admitted. “When he serves out his duty to his liege, he oversees the garrison at Garsby Castle, protecting our land from invasion from Bocaraton.”

  Tyndal was surprised. “I was not aware of the danger of invasion from Bocaraton,” he admitted.

  “There isn’t one,” agreed Lady Kresdine, who seemed disappointed in the political situation. “My husband spends a month watching the wheat grow outside of the castle walls. Every autumn,” she said with some deliberation, “betwixt the equinox and the Feast of Huin. We ladies are left in solitude at that time . . . and are always welcome of diversion.”

  Tyndal almost swallowed nervously, before he caught himself. Her meaning was unmistakable. One thing he had learned from the patient tutelage of Lady Pentandra in the arts of love was knowing the subtle ways a woman indicated how desirous she was . . . often in ways she herself was unaware of. Tyndal had a suspicion that Lady Kresdine knew precisely what she was doing, and what she was saying. He responded as he knew she wished.

  “Mayhap if we are near Ramoth’s Wood we could stop by to alleviate your inactivity,” he said, diplomatically. “But if your lord is not renown for his skill at arms, of what use is his oratory?”

  “Oh, my lord has a gift with speech,” she said, with quiet humor. “He can expound at length upon whatever topic comes to mind . . . endlessly.”

  “Do his words have such value, milady?” asked Tyndal. It was clear that Lady Kresdine had mixed emotions about her husband’s talents.

  “Apparently his entourage believes so,” she admitted with a sigh. “He is considered a troubadour of some repute . . . by some. A small but . . . small band of knights and admirers who follow him incessantly, eager for whatever spittles of wisdom or thick, steaming piles of verse might fall from his lips.”

  “My lord sounds . . . charismatic,” offered Rondal, looking uncomfortable with Lady Thena’s proximity and casual attire. For her part, the young noblewoman was eyeing his fellow like a kitten eyes a mouse that might or might not be too large for its abilities . . . but who was daring enough to make the attempt. Poor Rondal . . . he had no idea what a voracious young woman absent the frontiers of propriety was capable of. And from her attitude and demeanor, Lady Kresdine was not discouraging of her daughter’s attentions. On the contrary.

  “Charismatic?” she asked, amused. “Mayhap. Our marriage was arranged by my father and seemed a well-suited one, at the time. He was charismatic,” she disclosed. “I had hopes of . . . well, let us not speak of that. Our union is pleasant enough. My lord’s business and his philosophies keep him away frequently, and my daughter and I have found amusement and distraction in society. We attend what functions we’re able, and entertain ourselves at need. Ah! My servant returns. Let me pour us some cool wine, gentlemen,” she insisted, leaving the bench and her mantle behind. Clad only in her swimming shift, still damp from the pool, there was little Trygg had given her that Tyndal did not gain a glimpse of.

  That confirmed it enough in his mind. Tyndal had no doubt just in what form that entertainment occurred. Regardless of her other motivations, here was clearly a woman who exercised her frustrations by supplementing her marital fulfillment with . . . well, with passing knights errant, he reasoned. Like himself. He could not help but feel excited by that thought.

  Rondal was, too. But not in a positive way. Tyndal, what are we doing?

  At least it’s we now, Tyndal said, as he watched Lady Thena straighten Rondal’s baldric unnecessarily. You’re being seduced, he observed. See how she’s touching you when she doesn’t need to? And how she’s looking at you and looking away? She admires you. In a moment she’s going to ask you to tell her how manly you are, somehow. Don’t disappoint the lady. Brag a little.

  But that’s hardly chivalrous—

  It’s completely chivalrous. You are entertaining a lady. That’s what a good knight does. She just wants details, so she knows who she’s seducing.

  She’s not seducing me!

  Not if you stick with that attitude, agreed Tyndal. Ishi’s glorious holy twat, Ron, when the universe decides to grant you a boon, dare to take it, won’t you? Bravery on the field is hollow if a man is a coward in the bedchamber.

  We’re not in a bloody bedchamber! he said as Lady Kresdine brought a tray of silver goblets around to his bench. We’re in a bloody garden in the middle of the bloody afternoon!

  Which means that we can actually see their faces without the glamor of candlelight, Tyndal pointed out. They might not be the fairest ladies in the land, but they are comely enough. Pretty ladies in a beautiful garden with a creepy giant rabbit . . . this is an errant’s dream!

  Those sorts of dreams usually end with an angry husband and father with a band of fanatical followers with swords chasing the hero out of the domain.

  Relax, Tyndal soothed. He’s far from here, we have legitimate business, and believe me, this is not milady’s first such entertainment. She’s of the kind who treats love the way some knights treat tournaments, and she’s grooming her daughter for the same. You are merely an exercise, he pointed out. So enjoy the examination for once.

  “To Ishi’s lips,” Lady Thena said, dipping her finger in the sweet white wine and letting a single drop fall from her lip to the ground in solemn libation. It was a maiden’s blessing. It required a response. Tyndal watched in amused sympathy as his horrified fellow was forced to complete the rite or humiliate his hostess. He knew which course
propriety and chivalry required.

  Rondal swallowed, dipped his own finger into the wine, and touched his mouth.

  “From Ishi’s lips springs the font of love,” he mumbled. Lady Thena looked utterly pleased with herself. She leaned forward and planted a soft, sweet kiss of surpassing elegance on Rondal’s startled lips.

  Kiss her back, you idiot, Tyndal growled into his mind. This is a sacred rite.

  Rondal didn’t reply, but he found it within himself to respond with some cautious enthusiasm. Lady Thena broke the kiss and relaxed, looking quite pleased with herself.

  The rite was supposed to ensure a maiden’s future happiness, under the pretense that the holy lips of Ishi fell best on lips oft-kissed. The rite could be as chaste as a peck or . . . not, depending on the maiden, the lad, and the circumstances. But to decline even a peck was considered a bit of an insult, once she had begun the rite.

  It was a coquette’s game, but one that frequently led to even deeper rites of the goddess of Love. Even respectable girls from conservative families performed the rite. It did not necessarily indicate that a lass was interested in a lad . . . but that was certainly the case in this instance.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Thena said, sweetly, sipping her wine. “May I inquire as to your position and station? Surely a knight so young has yet to bare his blade,” she added, suggestively.

  It’s a challenge, Tyndal counseled, amused, as Lady Kresdine returned to settle beside him. Do not fail it. Charge ahead with valor. Despite the encouragement, Rondal stammered and stumbled to the point where Tyndal was forced to rescue him.

  “Actually, milady, Sir Rondal was born a commoner, as was I. Simple mountain lads from the vales of the Mindens, apprenticed to a common trade. But then the goblin invasion occurred,” he said, gravely, “and our homeland was overrun.”

  “Duin protect us!” Lady Kresdine said, her eyes wide in genuine fear. “We have heard of the invasion, but . . .”

  “We were there at the beginning,” affirmed Rondal.

  Finally. Rondal had, at least, learned enough of warfare to be able to discourse on it with some authority and confidence. He almost didn’t sound like an idiot. “At Boval Vale, which now lies at the heard of the Dead God’s dark empire. We were besieged, and both of us were required to take up arms in defense. We were rescued from certain death only by the intervention of Minalan the Spellmonger,” he said, keeping their relationship with the man a secret for the moment.

  So the boy wasn’t a complete idiot.

  “That sounds . . . awful!” Lady Thena said, enrapt.

  “It was worse than you can possibly imagine,” Tyndal agreed. “Only what came after was worse. Once rescued, we followed Master Minalan into battle, as did many Bovali. For our service on the field at the Battle of Timberwatch, we were knighted by the hands of two dukes – the night before Duke Lenguin died from his wounds.” It never hurt to drop a few names, and naming a recently-deceased Duke could not help but elevate their status.

  “Surely many fought in that battle,” Lady Kresdine observed. “Yet not all came away ennobled and knighted.”

  “There were dark deeds done that day,” Rondal said, with sincere gravity. “I pray you ladies not ask us our parts, for they were fell. So many did not return from that fiery field that I would not sully their memory with a casual account.”

  Oh, well played! Tyndal encouraged. You completely avoided the fact that you were stuck safely in a tower for the entire battle while I repeatedly risked my ass!

  I’ve been practicing for that one, admitted Rondal. It’s kind of embarrassing to note that you got your knighthood for accurate field observations.

  You’ve more than made up for it since, reminded Tyndal. “That was even more treacherous a day than the Battle of Cambrian Castle, the day that Sire Cei and Lady Lenodara the Hawkmaiden slew the dragon,” added Tyndal, out loud. Nothing could top that boast, lest it was he who had wielded the lance. “In truth we are still recovering from that battle. Sire Cei, whom we serve, has mandated a period of rest and repose before we return to battle.”

  “I do hope you have found sufficient comfort and support, Sir Tyndal,” Lady Kresdine said, licking her lips. Her eyes held new respect for her guests. And they didn’t even know that they were magi, he reminded himself. Just a couple of knights errant out erring.

  “Well, save to further our studies,” reminded Rondal. “We took part in the War College at Relan Cor this spring. And we have of late been practicing tilting and other noble arts at Chepstan Castle. That was hardly . . . restful.”

  “Such busy, strong young knights,” Kresdine smiled. “We are so favored to have you here to entertain us today—what is it?” she demanded, as her obsequious steward reappeared.

  Lady Thena, who had arrayed herself quite comfortably against Sir Rondal, made no move to add distance between them in front of the servants, which told Tyndal much. He knew who ruled at Ramoth’s Wood, and it wasn’t the knight with the fondness for rabbits.

  “Begging your pardon, milady,” said the man, “but I searched the accounts until I found the record. We do, indeed, owe a sum to Cargwenyn for the purchase of honey. It is . . . a substantial sum,” he said.

  “So substantial we cannot settle it at present?” she asked, warningly.

  “If my lady will inspect the listing,” he said, with a trace of warning in his voice, “she may make her own determination.”

  Lady Kresdine looked momentarily taken aback, but she recovered quickly. “So I shall, and we will get to the bottom of this. I will ask my gentlemen to bide a moment while I do, and then perhaps they will entertain us further at a picnic out in the meadow?” She looked at her daughter pointedly. “Why don’t you go change into something suitable, my dear,” she instructed. “We will return anon with our luncheon.”

  When the ladies had left, Rondal bolted up out of his seat. “What are we doing here?”

  “Being seduced,” reminded Tyndal, casually. “I told you that. Is there something wrong with Lady Thena?”

  “She’s pretty,” agreed Rondal, sullenly. “But she’s young!”

  “Old enough to ask for Ishi’s Kiss. And perhaps more. She’ll be wed within a year, if her mother can find a right match. Until then, she wants to practice.”

  “Her mother is right there!” Rondal whispered harshly, ignoring the mind-to-mind link that would keep them from being overheard.

  “Her mother is all but holding her skirt,” Tyndal pointed out. “Look, she’s a coquette. She’s being groomed for such a life, as much as we are in our chosen profession. No one is asking for your hand in marriage, Ron, she just wants to enjoy an afternoon with a lusty young knight. If it bothers you so, stop short of assaulting her virtue, if you must.”

  “And are you like to do the same with her mother?” Rondal asked, accusingly.

  “I’m uncertain as to just how much virtue Lady Kresdine has left,” joked Tyndal. “But do try to hold yourself in check from saying anything too stupid. In fact, if you have any doubts, use the Long Ears to overhear what they’re saying. I’m sure we will find it instructive.”

  “That would be . . . impolite!” Rondal said, when he couldn’t think of a more damning condemnation.

  “Intelligence gathering often is,” reminded Tyndal. “But in a way we are on a mission, and if you doubt my summary of the situation, I invite you to listen to what the ladies say between themselves. You need not act on any information you so discover,” he promised.

  “All right,” Rondal said, after a few moments of struggle. He sat down next to Tyndal and they both cast the spell. Finding Kresdine and her daughter within the manor by voice was not difficult – indeed, the lady of the manor was being quite loud as she argued with her cowering servant.

  “What do you mean, we owe them nine ounces of silver?” she was demanding.

  “Nine ounces and one half ounce, and three silver pennies, when interest on the debt is calculated,” the man corrected. “My lady,
the honeys of Cargwenyn are of surpassing quality, and are blessed by Noapis. My lord prefers a godly honey with which to sweeten his porridge—”

  “If you had any idea what your lord actually preferred,” Kresdine reproved angrily, “you would look upon me with pity and revulsion. What is the state of the treasury?”

  “My lord has four ounces of silver and thirteen half-ounces, as well as some copper coin. We should be receiving nearly double that, this market, but we just paid—“

  “Shut it!” Kresdine said, angrily. “I have two hot-blooded young knights down there who are demanding payment – and my idiot husband left me nothing! Typical! Thena, how much coin do you have?”

  “Mother, I—” she protested.

  “Don’t you start with me, little lady!” Kresdine exploded. “I spent a ransom on your introduction party, and I know you received at least some token from those no-account uncles of yours! How much?” she demanded.

  “I have but three ounces of silver left,” the young woman admitted.

  “What did you do with the rest of it?” her mother shrieked.

  “A girl has expenses, Mother,” the younger noblewoman shot back. “Did you not teach me that?”

  “Oh, shut it! We have to do something to mollify them – your father is already near to being the laughingstock of the Bontal Vales, the last thing we need is for it to be said he does not pay his debts! Damn him and his lackluster poetry! And these are no mere country knights, Thena, these are men of position. They serve Sire Cei the Dragonslayer, who himself is the castellan to the Spellmonger.”

  “Mother, are not spellmongers mere bourgeouise?” asked Thena, disdainfully. “Why do we care—”

  “You little idiot!” snarled Kresdine. “This has naught to do with class, this is about power! The Spellmonger is the talk of the entire Bontal, along with his Dragonslayer and his Hawkmaiden. Now he has knights wandering around collecting his debts . . . this is a disaster! If we fall from favor now, when we are searching for a good match for you, all of our work will be undone.”