The buxom woman gave Samson a gap-toothed smile, playfully slapping him on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. “Friends of the bards are always welcome, the more the merrier! Besides, this one looks like he could use some fattening up.” Turning back to the prince, she asked, “So what’s your pleasure?”
The prince slid a pair of silver coins across the table. “Two of your famous lamb pies and a couple of dark ales to wash them down.”
Her beefy hand deftly scooped the silvers. “I’ll have the girls bring your order out. And don’t forget to bring your harp next time.” Winking, the redhead retreated to the back room. Samson watched her go, mildly shocked by her familiarity with the prince. His face must have betrayed his feelings because the prince leaned forward and said, “Relax! Marg Staghorn is the owner. She’s only being friendly and looking out for business. Marg is a good sort. She knows that a popular bard will easily double the profits, so she does her best to make us feel welcome.” Winking, the prince added, “I’ll wager she sends the girls out with her largest tankards, half again as big as the regular customers.”
Still perplexed, Samson said, “So you actually play here? For money?”
The prince laughed. “Yes, of course! I am a bard. Bards need an audience almost as much as they need music.” The prince leaned back with an easy grin on his face. “When I first came to Pellanor, I made the rounds of the pubs to hear the local minstrels and to find a place to play. I eventually found my way to the Green Stag. Good meals and honest fare attract couples as well as families, which makes a much better audience than a room full of drunken men. With quiet charm and an attentive audience, the Stag is a great place to experiment with new melodies and lyrics. In a place like this, a bard can feel the people respond to the music. Fortunately, Marg is always on the lookout for new talent. Until the Coronth commission, I was playing here twice a week.”
“So you play for money?”
“No one would take me seriously if played for free.”
Surprised by this other side of the prince, Samson asked, “So do they know you’re a prince?”
The prince leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “No, and you’d best call me Justin outside of the castle. I want to be judged on my music not my title.”
A prince masquerading as a commoner, the idea shocked Samson. Before he could respond, a serving girl arrived setting a steaming meat pie in front of each of them along with enormous tankards of dark ale. The savory aroma teased Samson’s hunger.
The prince said, “Dig in while they’re hot. The crust is always crisp and flaky, the lamb is always tender, and the gravy is a rare treat. You’ll not find better in all of Pellanor.”
Samson took his first taste. The pie melted in his mouth, flaky crust and savory gravy. All thoughts of conversation fled. Later, as Samson used the last of the crust to wipe the plate clean, the prince said in a casual voice, “So tell me, what do you really think of the plans for Coronth?”
Samson choked. Reaching for his tankard, he took a long swallow. Draining the dark ale, he set the tankard back on the table, wondering if he should tell the truth. “The plans are well thought out, but it will be very dangerous.” The ale gave him courage. “The Pontifax and his priests are ruthless. If a witness is caught, they’ll face a gruesome death in the Flames.”
The prince leaned forward. “No one is saying it won’t be dangerous, but how many more will die if Coronth does not change? And what if this evil cloaked as a religion spreads to Lanverness or Navarre? Far better to stop this evil from within than to provoke a war between the three kingdoms.”
Samson nodded. “The Pontifax needs to be stopped. The death of my father haunts my every dream, but...”
“Will you go back to Coronth and lead the change from within?”
Samson studied the prince, amazed by the intensity of his passion. It seemed the young royal truly cared about the fate of Coronth. Perhaps it was the ale or perhaps it was the prince’s charm, but either way, Samson needed someone to talk to. With a resigned sigh, he told the truth. “The evils of Coronth haunt me every night. I’m plagued by images of what I might have done. Sooner or later, I would have stood guard in the temple square.” He shook his head, fighting back the vision of his father in the flames. “I want to make a new life in Lanverness, an ordinary life, but I know I’ll never find peace unless I go back.” Samson took a deep breath, trying to shake his fears. “I’ll go back to Coronth and I’ll do my best, but I am no hero.” Looking searchingly at the prince, he added, “I am an ordinary man, just a commoner, born to follow not to lead. The lords expect too much.”
“Perhaps that is the very point.”
Samson stared at the prince in puzzlement.
“Evil grew in Coronth because ordinary men went along with it. They looked away, they closed their ears, they said nothing. We need an ordinary man to convince other ordinary men to stand up and make a difference. It is the common people we hope to reach, not the nobles.”
Samson stared at the prince. The explanation made more sense than anything he’d heard before. Without thinking, Samson said, “A prince with a bard’s tongue is quite a formidable combination.”
Startled, the prince nudged him with an elbow. “Call me Justin. Don’t ruin it for me!” He waved to a serving girl and ordered another round of ales. When the fresh tankards arrived, he leaned forward and said, “There is more inside of you than you give yourself credit for. You will do well in Coronth.” In a conspiring tone, he added, “And you won’t be alone. I hope to join you in Balor.”
The shock must have shown on his face.
The prince smiled. “Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.”
Samson snapped his mouth shut, but the question poured out. “Why would you go to Coronth?”
In a quiet voice, the prince answered, “I am willing to go but it remains to be seen if I am able. I cannot go to Coronth without the permission of my father, the king. I am still waiting on a reply.”
“But why go?”
“In the history of Navarre there has never been an heir to the throne who was also a bard. When I proposed to study the small harp, many on the council opposed my plans, arguing that music is merely a frivolous past time, but my father understood and overruled the council.” With a keen gaze, the prince said, “I became a bard for three reasons: for the love of music, for the response of the audience, and to make a difference with my songs. I can study to be a bard in Wyeth, but in Coronth I can use my music to make a real difference, to help the people of Coronth as well as Navarre and Lanverness. How can I not go?”
Samson just stared at the prince. The prince’s idealism was infectious. The plan was undeniably mad, but it was also full of a hope, and it had been a long time since Samson truly had any hope. If Prince Justin was going to Balor, then perhaps there was a chance for this mad scheme to work. Raising his tankard in salute, Samson said, “To the noble idealist and to the ordinary man. Let nothing stand in their way!”
Clinking tankards, the prince replied, “To the power of ordinary men!”
As they finished their second ale, a strange friendship formed between the refugee who once wore the tabard of the Flame God and the prince who was also a bard. Samson did not know what the future would bring, but he suspected he would be able to sleep at night, and for now, that was more than enough.
49
Liandra
The queen fingered the scroll lying on her desk. As usual her shadowmen had been quite thorough. Told to watch for a party from Castlegard, her men had shadowed the princess from the moment she reached the outskirts of the capital city. Instead of coming straight to the castle, the party took a room at one of the better inns. Having just come from the social backwaters of Castlegard, Liandra understood the girl’s desire for a better wardrobe, but instead of gowns of silk she’d sought the street of tailors. Amidst the city’s dazzling markets the princess limited her purchases to the practical: a new set of clothes, a shirt of
fine-linked chainmail, a studded leather hauberk, a small round shield, and a tooled leather scabbard for a short sword. Nothing but leather and steel. Even the new wardrobe was shocking, made by a gentleman’s tailor instead of a lady’s seamstress.
Dismayed, the queen set the report aside, another girl of royal birth unaccountably drawn to the sword, such a waste. King Ursus should have sent the girl to the Rose Court years ago while there was still a chance to salvage her. What was Ursus thinking to have waited for so long? Perhaps the man had simply been bashed in the head one too many times. Liandra had long suspected that all that bashing of swords against helmets only served to addle men’s brains. Kings were no exception to the malady. With a sigh, the queen resolved to meet the girl before passing judgment. There was no use worrying about the past when it was the future that mattered.
A page knocked lightly on the door, indicating that her guest had arrived. Placing the scroll in a drawer, the queen took a seat in front of the fireplace. Privacy would give her a better chance to plumb the depths of this princess who chose to carry a sword.
A cheerful blaze crackled in the hearth with two chairs set before the fire. The queen artfully arranged the folds of her silk gown. Satisfied, Liandra signaled the page and the Master Archivist escorted the princess into the room. With a bow, the master said, “Your majesty, may I present Princess Katherine of Castlegard.”
Waving a dismissal to the men, the queen’s gaze never left her guest. The door to the solar clicked shut. The queen and the princess were alone.
A believer in first impressions, the queen was always curious to see what aspect of a person’s appearance or manner dominated the first meeting. For most it was their clothes, or their hair, or the expression on their face, but with the princess the dominant feature was her bearing. Her stride rang with pride and determination as she followed the master into the solar. Standing alone, exposed to a queen’s scrutiny, the girl held herself upright and erect with a clear and open gaze, her hand casually resting on her empty scabbard, as if she missed the hilt of a sword. The princess projected a presence that belied her age. Clearly this was not the confused young girl that Ursus described in his letter. Instead, the queen found a young woman who understood herself and was confident in her choices. By the queen’s standards, her choices were painfully misguided, but nevertheless, there was a depth to this young woman that Liandra found intriguing. Based on her first impression, the queen decided the interview would be well worth her time. “Welcome to the Rose Court.”
As the queen expected, the princess made a half bow instead of a curtsy. “Thank you for the welcome. I am pleased to meet the queen who rules so well from a single throne.”
The queen allowed a small smile of approval. Deciding to test the young woman’s mettle, Liandra deliberately followed the greeting with silence. Knowing that few people are truly comfortable with silence, she often used it as a tool to test her guests. In Liandra’s experience, the person with the least power always spoke first, the brevity of the silence defining the insecurities of the petitioner. She wondered how many minutes of quiet the princess could endure.
The silence also served another purpose, giving the queen the luxury to observe her guest. Long blond hair framed an oval face with well-defined cheekbones and a cute nose. The princess would have been merely pretty in an ordinary way were it not for her eyes. Striking sea-green eyes gave the illusion of layered depths. They were eyes other women would be jealous of and men would drown in. A pity the princess’s heraldic colors of red and white did nothing to bring out her eye color. In the right gown, the young woman would be striking if not beautiful. Instead, the princess wore clothes that screamed of her choice to carry a sword. White leather pants tucked into knee-high doeskin boots and a white silk shirt set off by a red leather bodice laced tight to conform to the shape of young breasts. A white cape flowed from her shoulders and an empty red scabbard rode comfortably at her hip. The queen did not approve of the young woman’s choices but at least the tailor had found a way to add a touch of style and femininity to her clothing. Perhaps all was not lost.
The logs in the fire crackled, the only sound in the room.
Finished with her inspection, the queen was mildly surprised the silence had lasted so long. It took a great deal of poise for a young person to withstand such a long stretch of quiet. Wondering how she’d gained such confidence, the queen peered into her eyes. As if acknowledging the game, the princess nodded and smiled. Amused, the queen decided to make an exception by breaking her own rule. “We are forgetting ourselves, please be seated. We have much to discuss.”
The queen waited till the princess was settled. “You were late in coming to Pellanor. We trust that there were no problems on the road?”
Nodding as if she expected the question, the princess replied in a measured voice, “The journey proved longer and more difficult than expected. Henchmen of the Mordant tracked us from the Isle of Souls to a remote wayhouse in Wyeth. In the depths of the night they abducted me, taking me into the wilds of the forest.” She shrugged as if the incident did not merit further discussion. “It took a few days before I was re-united with my escort.”
Reading between the lines, the queen suspected that somewhere in the experience the princess had earned the right to wear a sword. Her survival did much to explain the young woman’s unexpected poise. Liandra was curious to learn more but her first priority was the protection of her people. “The south has long been free of the Mordant’s shadow. Are you sure these men served the Mordant?”
“The men are dead, but their leader wore a medallion inscribed with a pentacle. I’ve sent a dispatch to Castlegard warning the king.”
A sudden chill descended on the room. The warmth of the fire did little to dispel the cold. Shadows seemed to lengthen as if reaching for the two women. “There is more you should hear.” The girl’s voice was grave. “There were only four in the band, but they were a strange lot. One was a twisted dwarf and the other a type of ogre. Over seven-foot tall with long dangling arms and a misshapen forehead, the captain named the ogre a Taal. He said the Mordant breeds Taals in a place fouled with magic, a place left over from the War of the Wizards.”
The tale sounded like something a drunken bard might concoct to frighten small children, but coming from this strange young woman, the queen believed every word. She fingered her pearls, pondering the details. “We trust the Octagon Knights to be the sword and the shield of the southern kingdoms. Still, a warning should never be wasted. We would ask you to meet with our counselors so that they might hear your tale directly. Those who guard Lanverness must be warned.”
“I will aid Lanverness in any way possible.”
Pleased with the answer, the queen leaned back in her chair. The warning of the Mordant was important, but it was time to shift the conversation in a different direction. “We have behaved as princes should, speaking first of the safety of the realm, but there are other matters, private matters, that should be discussed.” With a deliberate pause, the queen added, “The afternoon is young but we feel a glass of wine is in order. Would you join us in a glass of red?”
The request clearly caught the young woman off guard. Puzzled, the princess gave a slight nod of her head.
The queen rang a small bell. A servant appeared, bowing low. “We will have a glass of wine, the red claret will do nicely and the fire needs to be stoked. And see that the lamps are lit, there are too many shadows in this room.”
A bustle of servants descended on the chamber. Fresh logs and a satchel of aromatic herbs were added to the hearth bringing light, heat, and the sweet scent of sage. Lamps were lit, dispelling the odd shadows. A liveried servant offered glasses of red wine served in delicate goblets. Once the wine was accepted the servants vanished and the two royal women were left to the comfort of the solar.
Despite their differences, they sat in a thoughtful silence, soaking up the heat of the fire and slowly sipping the wine. When the princess’s glass was t
wo thirds empty, the queen said, “Your father, King Ursus, has asked that you foster at our court. We are pleased to welcome you, but we wonder what your wishes are in this matter?”
The princess stared into the fireplace. The queen waited, giving her time. After a while, the princess said, “If truth be told, my father ordered me to Lanverness. I did not wish to leave Castlegard, but having left, it seems the journey was meant to be.” Meeting the queen’s gaze, the princess added, “I have chosen the way of the sword, yet, I am impressed that a woman rules such a rich kingdom from a single throne. Perhaps the gods sent me here for a reason. Perhaps there is something here I am meant to learn?”
Her answer rang with honesty. It was the type of honesty the queen did not often hear at court. Perhaps the princess could be nurtured into something more than a sword. “Born and raised in Castlegard, it is not surprising you chose the sword. The sword would have been the only type of power ever shown to you…but swords are the power of men. Men are born with might and so they almost always seek to rule by strength, it is their heritage and their natural advantage…but there are better ways to rule.” Lowering her voice, the queen said, “Women rule by intellect, by the allure of our sex, and by the compelling power of gold. In the long run, these three will always trump the sword.” Noting the stubborn skepticism on the young woman’s face, the queen asked, “Who is more powerful, the king of Castlegard with all of his knights, or the queen of Lanverness with all of her gold?”
The crackling of the fireplace was her only answer. The queen let the silence lengthen and then said, “Do you have a purse of coins?”
Puzzled, the princess nodded.
“Empty your purse on the table and look for the answer among the coins.”
Confused, the princess nevertheless complied. Up ending her purse, she poured a shower of coins across the tabletop. The two women peered at the coins as if studying the cards of a fortune teller. It took the queen only a moment to read the answer but the princess examined each coin as if seeing it for the first time. Looking up from the coins, the princess said, “My father gave me this purse. There are several coins from Radagar and a few bear the many-headed hydra of the Delta, but almost all the coins bear two roses on one side and the likeness of the queen of Lanverness on the other.”
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 33