by Matt Heppe
Hadde swallowed hard and almost choked. “I am, Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty,” a voice called out from the audience, “how can this—this woman—this bumbling ragamuffin—be an ambassador?” A chorus of voices agreed.
Boradin raised his hand for silence. “Different ways in different lands,” he said. “Things weren’t always as they are now. More of you should read the Ancient Texts.” He returned his gaze to Hadde. “What brings you to Salador?”
“I…uh,” Hadde stuttered. Why was he asking when he already knew her mission? “I… come on behalf of my people, Your Highness. The Wasting is taking a terrible toll on Landomere. I come in search of aid.”
“Hadde of Landomere,” the queen interrupted. “Why are you not married? Why are you not home caring for your children and your husband’s household?”
The sudden change of subject bewildered Hadde. “Not married, Your Highness? I’m a huntress. As for children, well, the Wasting has left me barren. I’ve lain with a man, but—”
Someone shouted and pandemonium broke out. Women blanched and turned away. Others gasped and fanned their faces. Men yelled angrily at Hadde.
She looked around desperately for some escape. Had Waltas felt like this? The thought flashed through her mind.
A puff of wind struck her. “You would think they never had sex.” The voice came from right behind her ear, but as if it had come from far off. Hadde spun, but saw no one.
A gentle breeze whirled around her and the world went strangely silent. People rushed to aid a stricken woman. Mouths opened and closed. Hadde couldn’t hear a thing. Her face streamed with sweat and she wiped her brow.
“Hadde, it’s I, Morin.” The air suddenly cooled. “They cannot hear us.”
Hadde faced the prince, her mouth agape.
“Watch.” Smiling, he turned to the crowd. “You’re all a mass of ignorant fools,” he called out.
She looked around, and while some stared at Morin, none showed any sign of having heard him.
“How?” Hadde asked.
“What do you think?” Boradin’s voice cut in.
Hadde turned to the king. “It’s magic. Like you did to Waltas?”
“In a way, very different,” Boradin replied. “My brother and I control the elements. If we don’t wish the wind to carry our voices, it does not.” He turned to Morin. “What are you thinking, Prince Morin? Why have you interrupted my assembly?”
“The nobles put on quite a show of offense. The mood was turning on her, Brother. Saladorans are not used to foreign ways.” He smiled at Hadde. “It makes them furious when we do this. But then again half of them are worthless and the other half are jackasses.”
“Enough of this,” Boradin said. He turned his attention on the audience.
“We must do more, Brother,” Morin interrupted. “She must be protected.”
Hadde stared at Morin in wonderment, her mind still reeling from the sudden chaos. Why was he doing this? His cocky self-assuredness had put her off at first. But now, here he was standing up for her, even against the king. Perhaps the prince was not another Waltas.
“Every moment we speak with her she gains status,” Boradin said. “They wonder why she’s so important the king attends her so closely. It’s enough.”
Morin shook his head. “We must do more, Brother. If she’s to stay in Sal-Oras, her official status must be clear to the people. She will be sorely tested as it is.”
“Very well.” Boradin waved his hand in dismissal.
The breeze fell off and Hadde could hear again. There were no voices, just the sounds of people shuffling their feet, the rustle of fabric, and an occasional cough.
Boradin raised his left hand. “I declare that Hadde of Landomere is an ambassador from her land to myself. She is to be given all the rights, privileges, and immunities as such.”
There were a few gasps from the crowd but nobody called out an objection.
“Furthermore, she’s to be given the same respect one gives,” the king cocked his head to one side as if thinking. “That one gives a baroness.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Hadde said into the shocked silence.
The king took the queen’s hand and rose to his feet. Around the room people dropped to their knees, bowed, or curtsied. “I declare this audience at an end,” Boradin said. A small entourage followed the king and queen as they departed through a side entrance. No one else moved.
The moment the door closed behind the king’s party the room erupted. Several people rushed for the main door, but most remained where they were in animated discussion. Hadde had no idea what to do.
Morin appeared next to her, his friend Astor a step behind. Morin bowed low, and taking her hand, kissed it. “Congratulations, Ambassador.”
Hadde swallowed. Dozens of people watched their exchange. “Prince Morin—”
“I’ve heard a bit of your journey to Sal-Oras. Extraordinary. Don’t you think, Astor?”
“It was, Captain,” Astor replied.
Hadde took a deep, calming breath. She had never met anyone like this prince. He commanded the attention of anyone near him, had more self-assurance than anyone she had ever seen, and seemingly knew no fear. And he had saved her.
“Your journey, Ambassador?”
“It was difficult,” was all she managed.
“I was told you’re quite an archer.”
“In my own land I’m a huntress,” Hadde said, recovering slightly. “I grew up with a bow in my hands.”
A hushed crowd of onlookers encircled them. Morin appeared oblivious to them, his entire attention on Hadde.
“You even manage to wound a few of the varcolac?”
Hadde shook her head. “Wound? No, I slew at least four and injured more.”
“Really?” The prince turned to his friend. “Did you hear that, Astor? I had an opportunity to speak with Earl Waltas when I arrived and he didn’t mention that count.” He turned back to Hadde. “You’re certain that you are correct? Or maybe the earl is in error?”
Her flush turned to one of anger. “He—I think he miscounted in his haste to escape his pursuers.”
Morin laughed. Many in the crowd joined him. “Is that so? I’ll have to mention that to him.” He glanced around the room as if looking for the South Teren noble. After a moment he looked back at Hadde. “It’s said Landomeri archers are the best to be found. I wonder if that’s true. It’s a shame none of your male countrymen came with you.”
“One did, Prince Morin, but he was slain by Saladoran brigands.”
“Oh? I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” For the first time his self-assurance seemed to falter.
“And, Prince Morin,” Hadde said, “I’m as fine an archer as any man.”
“Really?” His smile returned. “We must have a contest. Are you occupied tomorrow afternoon?”
“I don’t know.” Hadde glanced at the crowd, wondering what she had gotten herself into.
“Ahh, it will be fun. Something to help pass a winter’s day.”
“I…”
“Come now, don’t let me down.”
She met his gaze. For a moment she said nothing. She was a Landomeri huntress, maybe she could show this prince a thing or two. “I promise I won’t.”
Chapter Twelve
“Come in,” Hadde called to the knock at her door.
“Hadde, I—” Maret started. “You’re wearing your old clothes.”
“I had Celena return them to me. At first she refused, but I said I would go naked rather than wear Saladoran attire.”
“You said that? What did she do?”
“She began to argue, so I started to undress in front of her.” Maret stared wide-eyed. “She didn’t take it well,” Hadde continued. “But I felt like a fool in Saladoran clothing. I couldn’t bear the way people treated me.”
Maret bowed her head. “That’s why I’m here. I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. When that vile earl said that you were common,
well, I thought that you had been tricking me all along. But then I saw how the king and Prince Morin treated you, and I knew that I had nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I don't understand. You were there? I saw you leave.”
“I... I came back to see... to see the audience.” She paused a moment before adding, “I saw that you must be very important.”
“And if I wasn’t important you would like me less?” Hadde turned from Maret and threw another split log on the fire. A shower of sparks flew up the chimney. She never wanted for wood, and never had to cut or fetch it herself. It was good to be a Saladoran noble.
“No, not that.” Maret paused. “I just couldn’t associate with you any more. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“I just don't understand what makes you think you're any better than anyone else.”
“But we're nobles.” She said the last word as if it explained everything.
Hadde sat, staring into the fire and contemplating her response. These Saladorans were so different. Would she ever understand them?
Several thunks outside the window pulled her from her thoughts. Through the wavy glass she saw activity in the courtyard. She opened the window and smiled. Four men practiced with their odd Saladoran bows as a dozen more watched. “Come and see this, Maret.”
They knelt by the window and watched as the men loaded and loosed arrows at targets fifty strides away. After a few shots a group of boys scurried up to the targets and recovered the missiles.
“What are those bows called?” Hadde asked.
“Their crossbows?”
“Is that what they are? Crossbows?” Hadde watched a bit longer and said, “They aren't very good, are they? I mean... they're competent, but....”
Maret giggled. “They aren't the best in Salador, but I think they are pretty good. Look, that one hit the middle. Oops, that one missed.” A stray bolt flew across the courtyard and smacked into the stone wall beyond. “The Footmen of the House are better. Some of the Guild Companies are among the best, they say.”
“Then why aren't they taking part in the contest tomorrow?"
“The squires are noble. It makes it more entertaining for the members of the court. And the squires are good enough to beat...” Maret's voice faded into awkward silence.
“They are good enough... good enough to beat me, you mean.”
“I... ah....”
Hadde laughed returned her attention to the squires. “You truly think they’re good?”
“Well, yes, don't you? Especially the squire on the far right. Many people are putting money on him.”
“Putting money on him?”
“Gambling. They’re wagering money that he will win. Do you place bets in Landomere?”
“Of course we do. We just don’t use money.” Hadde paused. “Are many people placing bets?”
Maret nodded. “Gambling is very popular.”
“Is anyone…putting money on me?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Be honest, Maret.”
“Um, not that I know of.”
“Are you betting on me?”
“Don’t be silly. You’re a woman.”
Hadde’s grip on the windowsill tightened as she resisted the urge to rail at Maret. The girl’s ignorance was infuriating. But it wasn’t just her—it was all Saladorans. They needed to be taught a lesson.
“Did you say something?” Maret asked.
“No, nothing.” Hadde forced a smile. “That red dress you loaned me. May I give you something for it?”
Maret perked up. “You want to buy it from me?”
“I guess… I’ve never bought anything before.”
“Of course I’ll sell it to you.” Maret smiled. “I’m so happy you changed your mind and will wear a dress again. You look so pretty in it.”
“I’ll wear it once more, at least.”
***
Hadde woke early the following morning, dressed, and ate a light breakfast brought by servants. Being served and treated with deference felt so strange. She hated it. Why would anyone bow before another? Why would someone expect it of others?
She polished her bow and checked the fletching of her arrows until the hour of the contest arrived. Maret tried to visit, but Hadde wanted to be alone.
“They’re waiting for you outside, Ambassador,” the stable boy said as Hadde arrived. “They sent someone to fetch you.”
“Thank you for saddling my horse.” Hadde said as she patted Lightfoot’s neck.
“Gran came this morning and told us you wanted your pony. You’re certain you don’t want it rigged sidesaddle?”
“No, that isn’t necessary.” She finished strapping her bowcase to the saddle.
“But you’re wearing a dress.”
“I know.”
He gaped as she sprang into the saddle. Hadde had cut the dress’ skirt in half and sewn the parts into two billowy trouser legs. When she stood or walked with slow, even steps the folds of the fabric hid what she had done. However, when she mounted her horse, she could separate her legs and put a foot in the stirrups on either side.
“What’s your name?” Hadde asked.
“Puddle, Lady.”
“Thank you for taking care of Lightfoot. I think I’m ready now.”
She straightened the folds of the dress, Puddle opened the door to the courtyard. Tapping her heels to Lightfoot’s flanks, Hadde emerged into bright autumn sunlight.
The crowd closest to the door took first notice. A few snickers were followed by gales of laughter. Acting as if she hadn’t heard them, Hadde leaned forward and patted Lightfoot’s neck.
“Let them laugh.” Looking up, she smiled at the hundreds of spectators in the courtyard. More poked their heads out from the keep’s windows or watched from the parapets above.
Five shooting lanes crossed the courtyard, the center lane empty. A crossbowman and a page stood in the others. Prince Morin stood in front of the contestants. He gave Hadde a curt bow and motioned her to the open lane.
Hadde rode Lightfoot to her position on the shooting line. It lined up with the closed main gate of the keep. Morin approached her wearing a frown. “Ambassador Hadde, why are you mounted?”
She looked around as if suddenly noticing there were no other horses. “This isn’t a mounted contest?”
Morin laughed, as did all of those who heard her. “No, of course not. Let me help you from your horse.”
“But why are the targets so close if we’re not shooting mounted?” She pressed her right leg to Lightfoot’s flank and Morin stepped back as the horse turned in place. “Silly horse. Stand still.” She kept up the pressure and Lightfoot continued to turn. Hadde rotated her head to keep her eyes on the prince. The crowd roared with laughter. Lightfoot stopped and Hadde dramatically wiped her brow.
“Are you ready to begin?” Morin asked.
Hadde nodded and fought not to laugh at his discomfiture.
“Are you going to dismount?”
Hadde shook her head.
“Very well.” He stepped in front of the shooting line. “Each of you will fire ten arrows into the target. The red center is worth three points, the white two, and the blue one. At the end of ten arrows the man with the highest score will be counted the winner of the contest. A tie will be broken with first death.”
“First death? That sounds dangerous,” Hadde said. A ripple of laughter rolled across the crowd.
Morin rolled his eyes. “First death, Ambassador Hadde, means that each competitor fires one arrow at a time and the first to score an uncontested three wins.” He faced all of the competitors. “We’ll start from the right of the line. Let the contest begin!”
Hadde pulled her bow from its case and watched as the first squire scored one point. His page handed him another bolt as the second man earned two points. Hadde pretended to fumble for an arrow as Lightfoot rotated to the right.
The second crossbowman moved to grab Lightfoot’s bridle. He was a stride away when she dre
w her bow and sent an arrow into the target.
Her baffled competitor stopped and stared at the target. Three points. Startled gasps emanated from the onlookers. The laughter stopped.
Lightfoot continued rotating.
Hadde drew and loosed another arrow as the target came into view. Three points. Someone clapped, but for the most part the crowd stood silent. A third shot scored two more points.
“Ambassador Hadde, one at a time please,” Morin called out.
Lightfoot stopped and Hadde sat facing the crowd. “My apologies, Prince Morin, I couldn’t seem to stop.”
He grimaced. “Shall we continue?”
Hadde nodded and turned Lightfoot toward the targets.
She passed on the next two rounds. The two squires on her right had scored five and four points respectively. Hadde had eight. The two men to her left had two and three points each.
As Hadde nocked her fourth arrow, Lightfoot broke into a trot and wheeled to her right. Hadde rode a figure eight around two of her competitors. As she circled each one she loosed an arrow into her target. Five more points with two arrows. Her competitors looked sullen but there was more laughter and applause from the crowd.
“Prince Morin,” she called out. “My frail, womanly arm is tired. Would you mind skipping me for a few rounds?”
“Very well,” he said with a resigned sigh.
She allowed her competitors to skip her on their next four turns. All eyes watched expectantly as she pulled five arrows from her bowcase and dismounted. Morin gave her an odd look as she placed all five arrows in her left hand—the same hand in which she held her bow. She gave him a quick smile and then loosed the arrows one after another as fast as she could, pulling another arrow from her fingers the instant the previous one left her bow. She wasn't concerned with her aim, she knew they would be close enough.
The four arrows hit the target in the span of six heartbeats. She lowered the bow—the final arrow still held under her little finger.
Grinning, Hadde looked back at Morin and was surprised to see him still staring at her. He glanced at the target. "Impressive. You're up by one." He paused before ordering the three lowest scorers to shoot their last bolts. The prince didn't pay their efforts any attention. Nor did the crowd. The initial applause following her rapid shooting demonstration had quickly faded. Now all she heard were angry murmurs.